#and obligatory be afraid for the next chapter warning
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Showtime
Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x Female Reader/You
Rating: SFW (later chapters will contain smut and will be tagged accordingly)
Warnings: Language, mentions of drug use, kissing, Eddie being flirty one minute and nervous the next (loves it)
Word Count: 2734
Summary: Part 6. Eddie gets brave and invites you to his band’s show.
A/N: Part six of my Flattery Will Get You Everywhere series is here. Check out the links below for previous chapters. Also, I’m completely infatuated with the idea of a virgin/low sexual experiences Eddie. I’m really into that vibe of him being nervous and then kinda finding his footing like mid-thrust or some shit lol. Like that shit makes me feral. So I use that characterization of him a lot. This coupling will be another example of that. Next and final part will contain all the smut. So enjoy and share with your friends! Feedback is that good shit.💗
Disclaimer: As always, reader inserts are true reader inserts. If you find any specifics in regards to reader’s appearance, kindly let me know and I will fix that.
*Find previous and future chapters here
*Check out my other Eddie fics here
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Eddie was nervous as shit.
The bar around him was the standard crowd. The five drunks that were normally at his band’s shows were in their obligatory spots. All seemed right. Except that he was two seconds away from hurling.
He couldn’t believe he’d done what he did. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through tonight. He was antsy and afraid to even look out into the crowd for fear of seeing you there.
After Reefer Rick’s welcome home party, Eddie had taken the liberty of looking you up in the phone book. And then he’d done the unthinkable. He’d called you. And not only that. He’d invited you to his band’s show at the Hideout.
You’d happily agreed to come. And that’s where Eddie’s nightmare started. Because it was the night of the show and any minute you were going to walk in and see him puking his guts up.
His fingers twitched and he felt sweatier than normal under the bright lights of the sorry excuse for a stage. He fiddled with his guitar, making sure it was in tune and the strings were tight. He needed tonight to go well.
Soon, it was showtime. Eddie didn’t bother looking into the crowd, but he swore he could hear you. As soon as Corroded Coffin was announced, an unfamiliar cluster of yells hit his ears. It was higher pitched and definitely more riotous than any he’d heard before.
Without glancing up, he played his heart out. Zoning out and tuning into the music. He lost himself in the moment, as he often did, and just rocked his ass off.
Before he knew it, the set was over. He was breathing heavily and definitely sweating through his shirt as he exited the stage with his band mates, storing his precious guitar on her stand. He chanced a look at the bar and found you looking at him like you never had before. It was heady and alluring. And it was drawing him in like he was under some kind of spell.
“Hey, you came,” he greeted, taking note of the way your thighs crossed as you sat perched on the bar stool. Your skirt rode up, exposing more flesh. He tried hard not to stare.
“Of course. Told you I would,” you said with a warm smile, reaching out and tugging playfully at his denim vest.
Nearby he could see some of your friends. They were drinking and laughing, bringing the energy level in the bar that much higher. It was nice to have people his own age in the hole in the wall bar for once.
“You enjoy the show?”
“I did. You guys were great,” you praised, stained lips breaking into a wide grin.
“Thanks.”
His chest filled with pride and he caught himself feeling sheepish at the compliment. It meant the world coming from you.
“Drink?”
You handed him an ice cold beer, exactly the thing he needed after being under the hot lights.
He accepted the drink with a nod and greedily guzzled the cold liquid down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling your eyes on him as he did so.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, feeling the need to cut the tension. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to touch you.
You sipped on your own beer, waving his words off. “I wanted to see you in action.”
He decided to take the stool next to you, seeing the male gazes in the establishment start to wander in your direction. He faced you, your legs nearly touching his.
“You looked great up there. Very metal,” you flirted.
Eddie still found it difficult to be so openly desirous with the opposite sex. He got intimidated easily. And you were very intimidating. But something about you also eased his nerves. Made him feel as if you would be his if he asked. That was enough of a confidence boost for him, which is why he kept coming back for more.
“You’re one to talk. I like the outfit,” he threw back with a generous roam of your figure. He more than liked it.
You were wearing a black leather skirt and black heels. Your breasts were hugged by a black silver-studded bra with fringe coming off the edges and over your rib cage. It was hot.
“Thanks. Just threw a little something together,” you replied cheekily.
“It suits you.”
As had become the norm since he’d met you, conversation flowed. The flirting and teasing were in full effect. And that electrically charged heat between you both was intense. Maybe it was because of the last time he’d seen you and the kisses you’d shared. Maybe all the pent up attraction was finally boiling over. Or maybe it was both. Either way, it was palpable.
Hours passed and your friends came and went. Eddie offered to drive you home until you were both ready to leave. He caught the knowing smirk your friend threw your way at the gesture, but you ignored it and accepted his offer with a smile.
Bon Jovi’s You Give Love A Bad Name was playing over the jukebox. It was low enough that he could still hear the steady thrum of shots and drinks being poured from down the bar. And it was low enough that he heard you lean over and whisper into his ear.
“You okay?”
You sounded concerned. He was confused by the question until he realized he was bouncing his knee at a rapid speed, his body finding it hard to sit still.
He nodded, consciously stopping the repetitive motion. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
He could tell you didn’t believe him. The truth was, he was thinking about driving you home and why he’d volunteered to do such a thing. He knew why. It was because he didn’t want to leave you yet. Your time together always seemed rushed and interrupted, never fully allowing you both to just be.
“You know,” you began, garnering his attention. “I was kinda afraid to talk to you that night at Rick’s. When I bummed the cigarette.”
Eddie’s eyes widened, unwilling to believe such a thing. You laughed at his expression and continued on.
“No, I’m serious. I thought you would turn out to be some kind of asshole trying too hard to be mysterious. Turns out you’re actually a really nice guy.”
He was flummoxed by your compliment. And admittedly shocked by your initial appraisal of him. Sure he tried to project that image, but it didn’t mean he was actually those things.
“Don’t go spreading that around,” he joked, feeling bashful.
“I’m serious, Eddie. You’re an alright guy.”
He was caught off guard by the use of his first name, something he was sure he’d never heard come from your lips before. He took note of the way you stared at him, lips pulling into a smile that went right to his heart and groin.
“Do you wanna get out of here?”
You were surprised by his forwardness, but not put off by it. Instead, you grabbed your purse and nodded, downing the remainder of your beer.
“Let’s go.”
He belatedly realized he had his equipment to break down and load. He looked towards the stage and could see his band mates gathered there, some of them shooting a sly smile his way.
“I’ll meet you outside. I gotta pack up my shit,” he said into your ear, pointing to the stage at his back.
You nodded, “I gotta use the ladies room anyway.”
He watched you go, feeling only slightly guilty for tracking your ass in the skirt you wore. He released a heavy sigh and made his way to the stage when you’d turned the corner out of sight. A barrage of questions and slaps on the back welcomed him.
After dispelling the group of guys and their banter, Eddie got to work putting his guitar away. He eased the instrument into the case and with all the care of a parent with a newborn, he packed it into his van.
He was just shutting the back doors when you came out, a fresh coat of lipstick on your lips. He cleared his throat and hurriedly rushed to open the door for you. You thanked him and eased yourself into the vehicle carefully so as not to expose yourself.
Once you were settled, he got in on the drivers side and started the engine, unsure of what his plan was beyond this point.
As if reading his thoughts, you spoke up. “Your place?”
“Yeah, yeah that works,” he agreed, trying and failing not to seem like he was in over his head.
The car ride was quiet. He let the radio play, the rock station he had it on doing enough to fill the silence. He peered over at you every so often, seeing your painted nails thrum to the beat against your thigh.
He thought about what would happen once he got to his trailer. He had zero expectations and he hoped that whatever came to be, he didn’t make a fool of himself.
A few minutes later he pulled into his driveway. He did the same as he’d done at the bar and ran around to your side to assist you out of his van. You accepted his hand with a smile. When he thought about pulling away, he changed his mind and kept your hand securely in his. He used it as a ruse to help you walk over the gravel and wobbly steps leading up to his trailer. You didn’t seem to notice or care either way.
“Welcome back to my abode,” he announced as he led you in and flicked on a few lights.
You set your purse down and sat in the same spot you’d occupied the last time you were here. He wordlessly grabbed two beers and handed one off to you.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said with a tight nod, choosing to sit beside you rather than on the arm of the sofa like he’d done previously.
“You wanna smoke?” You produced a perfectly rolled joint from your cleavage, making his eyes widen slightly.
He chucked. “Yeah, definitely.”
“You get to do the honors this time.”
You handed the joint and a lighter off to him, letting him have the first hit. He lit up and took a long pull. Probably too long, but he needed the boost. He passed it back to you and watched as you expertly took a hit and let it sit in your lungs for a long time before exhaling. His limbs already felt heavier and he could tell by the look in your eye that you felt the same.
“I was scared of you too, you know. Shit…still am,” he admitted with a humorless laugh.
Your piercing eyes found his through the tendrils of smoke that surrounded you both. You arched a brow, surprised by his admission.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He took another hit and blew out the smoke, away from you. “You’re intimidating as fuck, you know that?”
“Am not,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.
Eddie turned to face you, a serious expression taking over his features. “Yeah you are. But not in a bad way. No, it’s just…,” he paused, struggling with how to word his thoughts. “I’m not explaining myself very well.”
“No, it’s okay. Keep going,” you encouraged, hand reaching over and rubbing at his knee.
It was comforting.
And distracting.
“You-you’re beautiful. And funny. And have great taste in music. And you just seem like you have your shit together. That’s intimidating to a burn-out like me.”
“You’re anything but a burn-out.”
He took the compliment. Appreciated it. Even if he didn’t believe it.
“And I could say the same thing about you, Munson,” you teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.
The joint is long forgotten as he reached forward and set it in the ashtray on the coffee table. He sat there for a long moment, just thinking. He felt your hand shift from his knee to his back, rubbing in soft circles.
“Eddie, you okay?”
One glance at you and he was making a move.
He leaned into your space and captured your lips, his chin accidentally colliding with yours before you steadied his face with your hands. You cupped his cheek as he ran his hands up your legs, stopping at the hem of your skirt.
He let his tongue dance along the seam of your lips and you immediately opened yourself up to him. For the second time, he tasted you. He took in every aspect of you and committed it all to memory.
“Bedroom…” you breathed against his lips, fingers now tangled into the fabric of his shirt.
“You sure? I mean, I didn’t bring you here for that,” he hastily explained.
You only smiled and stood, taking his hand and pulling him along with you. There was only one hallway in the trailer and he followed you down it as you guessed where he slept. It wasn’t hard to find. His door was open and a lamp was on, highlighting the posters that littered his wall.
“Is this okay?” you asked once you’d made it to his bedroom, stopping near his unmade bed.
He nodded, hoping like hell he hadn’t left anything incriminating out.
Your eyes took in his space, hand still encased in his as you stepped out of your shoes. He watched you curiously, feeling you gently tug on his hand as you moved onto the bed.
You released him as you made yourself comfortable on his pillows, back partly propped up by his makeshift headboard. He could only watch in rapt fascination, too stunned by your presence in his room, let alone his bed.
“Penthouse, huh?”
Your words made his eyes snap to the crinkled magazine clutched in your dainty fingers. A lewd display of nudity decorated the page you held open, a saucy smirk aimed at him.
“I’m more of a Playboy girl myself.”
You set the magazine aside and waited. His feet wouldn’t move. A swirl of emotions had him planted to his spot. Lust. Embarrassment. Overwhelming horniness. Nerves. It all formed into a pit in his stomach.
At his hesitation, you got up onto your knees and moved to the edge of the bed, mere feet from him. You reached for him and he stepped closer, concerned that you’d topple off the mattress. You anchored yourself against him, your touch soothing as you peered into his eyes.
“We don’t have to do anything, Eddie.”
He felt his neck burn hot.
“It-it’s not that. It’s just…I don’t have a lot of experience here. With this.” He gestured to the space between you, seeing understanding flash across your features.
“That’s okay. Whatever you wanna do,” you practically purred, making his jeans feel ridiculously tight.
Your nails traced delicate patterns into his neck and he found himself relaxing with every passing second.
“Will you lay with me?”
He nodded and this time he followed you onto the bed, settling in between you and the wall. He shed his vest and laid on his back, feeling you turn on your side to face him.
The soft melody of whatever song wafted from the radio filled the air. Eddie rarely completely shut off his music. He usually always kept it on. It was habit.
Minutes ticked by as you both laid there. His high was seeping into his bones as he relaxed further into the mattress. His eyes began to drift shut, only opening occasionally when your bare foot brushed his leg.
“Thank you.”
Eddie craned his neck to look down at you. “For what?”
“For just laying here with me. It’s nice,” you softly explained, fingers lifting to trace the design emblazoned on his shirt. It was an innocent gesture, but it made his skin come alive beneath your touch.
He could see the apprehension in your eyes. You were being vulnerable. He didn’t like seeing you so subdued. So he reached forward and lifted your chin, slanting his lips over yours.
It started out short and sweet, but it soon escalated beyond that. This time he welcomed it. This time he didn’t shy away. This time he rolled himself over you, slotting himself between your legs.
“Eddie…” you moaned.
He was a goner.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things
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Monday's child: An annotated playlist for "Baker boxer teacher grief"
I should give the obligatory warning that my SnowBaz fic “Baker boxer teacher grief” is VERY SAD and therefore, unsurprisingly, these songs are VERY SAD. I think they’re best listened to when you’re wrapped up in a cosy blanket and/or sweater, with a hot drink, cuddled next to someone that you love.
Annotations below are probably at least a little spoilery, so if you haven’t already, why don’t you read the fic that inspired this? Here it is on AO3: Baker boxer teacher grief (Or: The thing that lasts)
“Black Star” - Gillian Welch
This is a cover of a Radiohead song, and in my head, it was playing in the first chapter, during the drive from Watford to Hampshire. The lyrics don’t really relate to this story specifically (I listen to a lot of Radiohead to set the mood, rather than for the lyrics) but I love the aching, wavering way that Gilian Welch sings:
Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite
That brings me home
“Seventeen” - Sharon van Etten
“Seventeen” - Sharon van Etten feat. Norah Jones
In an earlier draft of this story, there was a lot more focus on Baz and Mordelia’s relationship, exploring the tension between them, and how they each relate to their father quite differently. That angle got chucked when I decided to tell more of the story from Simon’s POV, but I’m still very fond of the Baz/Mordelia relationship in this story.
I always imagined the original “Seventeen” being the version for Mordelia, especially the building intensity in Sharon van Etten’s Tiny Desk performance. And the version with Sharon & Norah Jones seemed to me more of the Baz version, tinged with nostalgia and fondness, while he thinks of his sister who reminds him so much of himself.
I used to be free
I used to be seventeen
Follow my shadow
Around your corner
I used to be seventeen
Now you're just like me
“Spring and Fall” - Natalie Merchant
Again, a song where I had a very specific version in mind - in this case, the performance in Natalie Merchant’s TED talk “Singing old poems to life,” with the intro on Gerard Manley Hopkins. Manley Hopkins wrote, “It is to explain death to a child, and it deserves a piece of plain-song music.”
This is a song for Swithin up in his treehouse, playing jacks with acorns.
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, lake the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
“Song to the Siren” - This Mortal Coil
I had toyed with the idea of pulling the thread of The Odyssey through more of the story, but I abandoned it in order to reference a lot of other stories instead.
“Song to the Siren” is lovely and haunting and full of longing, and I imagined it as part of the backdrop for the late-night conversation that Simon and Baz have in bed, after the wake.
Did I dream, you dreamed about me?
Were you here when I was full sail?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks
For you sing
Touch me not, touch me not
Come back tomorrow
“Undertaker” - Bry Webb
This is the first of three songs which I think of as “the funeral songs.” A fascinating song about death, somewhere between merciless and merciful.
Whether debutante
Or bone shaker
Husband, wife
Or heart breaker
I am known by everyone
I will be standing by
I will be standing by
“Videotape” - Radiohead
The second of the funeral songs. I don’t think I really have to say anything. It’s fucking “Videotape.” This is the version from “From the Basement.”
This is my way of saying goodbye
'Cause I can't do it face to face
I'm talking to you before
No matter what happens now
You shouldn't be afraid
Because I know today has been
The most perfect day I've ever seen
“Company of Friends” - Danny Schmidt
The third of the funeral songs, and a good one to end on (especially if you’re still feeling a bit raw from “Videotape”).
I found out about this song from the podcast Our Plague Year, which I listened to a lot during the pandemic. I like to walk by the river close to my house, and more often than not, I’d wind up in tears while listening to this podcast. But it’s okay, because trees and squirrels and birds don’t judge.
Again, I feel like I don’t actually need to add much commentary to the song itself or how it relates to “Baker boxer teacher grief.” It’s best if you just listen for yourself.
When I die, let them judge me by my company of friends
Let them know me as the footprints that I left upon the sand
Let them laugh for all the laughter
Let them cry for laughter's end
But when I die, let them judge me by my company of friends
If you end up listening to any of these songs, do let me know. <3 Take care.
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Imperium 3: Chapter 2
Novus dies incipit. (The new day begins.)
“Starr okay?! What happen?!”
Vanala was by Starr’s side in an instant as soon as he woke. He tried to control his breathing, deep inhales and exhales through his mouth, but the fear was still there, the fear was just as strong. Vanala put one of her wings on his knee, and her touch was just enough to bring him out of despair. Nevertheless, tears still stung at the corners of his eyes, wildly unfocused and darting around to make sure he was still in his tent.
“Bad dream? Scary monster in tent? Talk to Vanala,” Vanala begged, “Starr look as if he’s seen ghost!”
“We…nightmare,” Starr shivered, tucking into himself. He felt naked without the mask, resting on the log mere feet from his reach. He couldn’t bring himself to take it. “Bad nightmare.”
“Talk it through with Vanala,” She plopped herself down next to him, her little legs just barely poking out from underneath her body, “Best way to work through scary things.”
Starr almost didn’t respond. He was too pained to admit that this methodology terrified him, but there was a sense of urgency that was involved. The more he collected himself, the more he realized that Vanala should know. She was there, tumbling through a tormented sky, chased down by a…what even were those things? They weren’t Miran creatures, he’d remember that. But wouldn’t he remember if they weren’t, too? Or…
Do you? Remember them?
Gods above…
“You were there,” Starr explained slowly, carefully, “You were falling out of the sky with someone else. You…there were two giant creatures following you. One was like a snake, the other like a bird -”
“Starr dreamed of Vanala coming to Mira.” She breathed, “Froyoyo told tale many times, but Vanala never mentioned other who fell with her…”
“Were those the two yggraliths? Syri…”
“Syriahnydra and Corvhesperikon. Two yggraliths that nearly killed Vanala. Corvie spoke to Starr in dream, sounds like.”
“What does it mean? Why would we dream of this?” Starr asked, desperate. The images were still flashing in his mind, so vivid and lifelike that it was hard to believe he wasn’t actually there. His fear permeated through his body, and like a disease, Vanala soon mirrored his expression. The weight of the dream was setting in, its implications.
“Vanala thinks she knows,” She told him, “But cannot say for certain unless Vanala checks.”
“Checks what?”
“Both yggraliths die in fight with Froyoyo and Vanala. Remains still here, on Cocytios. Corvie’s body easier to locate than Syri’s. Vanala would go to confirm body is still there.”
“Let us go with you,” Starr offered before he could fully think about what he was saying, “If it is not there, then you will need all the help you can get.”
Vanala opened her mouth, likely about to argue, but she gave a frustrated sigh. “Not want to put Starr in danger if Corvie is alive. Very dangerous yggralith.”
“That is precisely the reason we mean to join you,” He urged, “Would it not be dangerous for you to go alone? If not us, then at least bring Froyoyo -”
“Someone say Froyoyo’s name?”
Speak of the devil. Starr tilted his head up as Vanala whipped around, and there was Froyoyo, peeking his head out of the tent flap. In one of his wings was a stack of branches, freshly cut. Starr thought he saw a familiar tuft of pink and white fur poking out of the stack - Sprinkle Sprinkle always did like to pick the strangest hiding spots - but he said nothing to reveal the littlepon’s location.
“Good morning, hubbypon! Vanala just checking on Starr. He had bad nightmare,” She explained, letting out a few nervous laughs at the end.
Froyoyo cast his glance between the two, squinting as he tried to get a read on them both. Starr tried to smile, though it was a pained thing, strengthened by the pain he already felt. Froyoyo didn’t look one bit convinced by either of their acts, and Starr thought for certain that he’d probe into the situation more. But instead, the Heropon smiled back, readjusting his grip on the wood.
“Have Tutito make Starr tea. Tea make things better. And grab thermonana too, Parpapa brought in good bunch during gathering this morning,” He said, “Froyoyo going to put wood down, then go scout for ether crystals. Low on fire crystals.”
“Always low on fire crystals,” Vanala chuckled, “Caravan in cold continent after all, should not be surprising. Though…no more fire crystals near hot spring right next to caravan?”
Froyoyo shook his head. “Have to go to northeast ring for fire crystals until crystals replenish next to spring. Tried to teach Rockoroad and Banan to mine, but Rockoroad very violent. Took more than needed, and just ran through last of what he got.”
“Right,” Vanala remembered the incident, as did Starr. Funny how Froyoyo mentioned that Banan was there, yet he didn’t make so much as a peep when Rockoroad was flinging crystals left and right. That littlepon was an odd one, that was for sure.
Froyoyo let the tent flap go, feeling the conversation was said and done, and walked further away until Starr couldn’t hear his footsteps in the snow. Once he was sure he was far enough away, he turned back to Vanala, who immediately hissed, “Froyoyo going close to where body is. Ether crystals grow on northeast ring, and body is just slightly south.”
“Should we go with him?” Starr pondered, “We can say we want to help with his efforts, and then make sure the body is still there at the same time.”
“Yes yes yes! Perfect idea,” Vanala cheered, “Though hubbypon may question motives…Vanala and Starr just lie! Perfect excuse, perfect plan. Starr so smart!”
She jumped up, raising one of her hands, and Starr promptly gave her a small but cute high-five. The compliment made him blush; had he ever been called smart before? Did she really mean that?
I never considered myself smart, at least. I mean…everyone else was smarter. Simple as that.
You were plenty smart. You just had other strengths that people tended to focus on more.
I…I guess. I just wish I could be smarter. Maybe then…
Starr shook that inner conversation out of his mind, snapping back to reality. He realized that Vanala was heading for the tent’s exit, likely so she could track down Froyoyo and announce their plans to join him. He grabbed his mask, sliding it over his face and adjusting the skull’s snout so that he could see out of the eye sockets. What creature had this once belonged to? He wasn’t supposed to be able to tell, he thought - the littlepon had decorated it with paint and even whittled the horns down shorter to alleviate its weight. It was a comfortable fit, and at this point, Starr couldn’t exist without it.
He exited the tent, squinting in the Cocytios sun, powerful and blinding. It was a clear day, naught a cloud to be seen, but that meant the snow looked even whiter and brighter than before. Many of the Desserta Caravan’s members were already out and about, making preparations for the day ahead. Love and excitement and anticipation dominated the land, and contagious as it was, Starr smiled at the sight.
It was easy enough to spot Vanala bouncing towards Froyoyo, and Starr nearly went to follow. But of course, his mere presence had alerted one of the littlepon, and he was soon gazing down at Pecana. He was the oldest of the nine littlepon, a fluffy brown Nopon with welcoming chocolate colored eyes. Starr shouldn’t have been surprised to see him - this was Pecana’s daily routine, saying good morning to everyone he came across - and yet, with his goal and his worries so deeply rooted in his psyche, he ended up startled.
“Good morning Starr!” Pecana cheered, then quickly picked up on Starr’s mood and shifted slightly. “Is friend Starr okay? Looks paler than normal…”
“Unfortunately, we had a bad nightmare,” He told him half of the truth, “We are a little shaken from it.”
“Oh no!! Nightmares bad, nightmares bad indeed!” Pecana fussed, “Lelemon have bad nightmares sometimes. Best thing with Lelemon’s nightmares is tea and blankets! Pecana will go fetch both for Starr, stay here!”
And before Starr could stop him, Pecana darted off, likely going to track down Tutito for that tea. He sighed, continuing forth towards Vanala and Froyoyo. By that point they’d managed to start talking to each other, and by the time Starr reached them, Froyoyo had just turned away, heading down towards a group of tents and a log pile. Starr watched carefully, waiting for the moment that Froyoyo got out of earshot. One more step should suffice -
“Hubbypon welcomes company for journey. Had no questions about it,” Vanala relayed the information before he could even ask about it, “Hubbypon want to leave in next half hour. Enough time to make preparations and grab supplies.”
“Perfect,” Starr mused, “We shall grab snacks. We should be home before nightfall, no?”
Vanala thought on it for a moment. “Sounds reasonable. Yes yes, before nightfall. Be quick with - WHAT IS SPRINKLE SPRINKLE DOING UP THERE -”
She bolted towards one of the tents, and perched on top was a rather proud Sprinkle Sprinkle, wings tucked into his body like a bird. He hardly registered his mother’s concerns, fluffing out as a little gust of wind washed over the caravan. Starr rolled his eyes. He’d be down eventually to cause more chaos. For now, this was a rather tame spectacle. And for now, he couldn’t get caught up in the littlepons’ antics. There was work to be done.
~
Preparations went smoothly, and Starr volunteered to carry the sack of supplies with him. After all, Froyoyo had his broadsword to carry, and Vanala had offered to hold the bag that would house the fire crystals once they’d made it to their destination. Starr and Vanala had also made sure to put their ether gauntlets on before they left. Using water ether was still intimidating, but Vanala reassured Starr that the gauntlets would help. They were a focus, she called them in the beginning, an object that was easier to concentrate willpower into. From the few times he’d used them in routine defense missions, he liked how they felt. They were snug, but not tight.
Almost like my gloves!
Yeah, those looked weird. A lot of human armor looks weird, honestly.
I…I guess that is just human style? I never really questioned it myself.
I can tell. If you had, then you would not be wearing shiny leather jeans into a combat zone.
Oh come on, those were excellent pants, they brought out my -
“Shut UP,” Starr hissed beneath his breath. Fortunately, Vanala and Froyoyo didn’t hear this outburst. They’d gotten far enough away from the caravan now, moving past the waterfall and following the river downstream to the northeast. The water closest to the land had frozen over, but some patches of running water still remained, especially in the waterfall itself. In the light, the river shone like diamonds, and every indigen that flocked to its banks would eventually walk away enriched by its life. Admittedly, the waterfall was one of Starr’s favorite locations, and one of Vanala’s favorite spots to take him for training. He observed a group of caribears making their way closer to the water, and one made eye contact with him. Starr smiled, nodded. The bear blinked slowly, a sign of understanding, before dipping its head to drink from the river.
The water was treating them nicely, all things considered. Though some patches of snow were deeper than others, Vanala and Froyoyo managed to push through. Starr almost thought to pick them up at one particularly bad stretch, but decided against it. Froyoyo would’ve chopped his head clean off if he’d tried to help. They took a break two hours in, munching on some of the thermonanas in relative silence as Froyoyo kept watch on their surroundings, and soon enough they were back on the road again.
It was only when Starr saw the ring in the distance that he knew they were close. Even from this far away, there were gleams of red crystals, growing out of the wreckage in all different directions. The ring itself wasn’t nearly as big as those in Oblivia, but considering it was buried in both ground and snow, there was the possibility of it being larger than it appeared.
Starr looked up at the sun, its position in the sky. He harbored that it was midday, that they’d made better time than he was expecting. Looking back at the ring, he squinted. Vanala and Froyoyo had continued on down the slope, heading for the ring. But just off to the right, more rings emerged from the ground, nearly as large as the mechanical wreckage. He’d seen the bones of this deceased creature before, they were quite hard to miss. That wasn’t what drew his attention, however, and the very thing he spotted made his blood go cold.
“Vanala, Froyoyo, wait!” He called out, and the two Nopon stopped in their tracks to turn, to look back up at him. Once he had their attention, he pointed at the bones - and at the man-made vehicles and humanoid figures surrounding it. “Those look like humans.”
Froyoyo scowled, holding a wing over his eyes to shield the sun and get a better look down the hill. “What flesh trees doing all the way out here?”
“And what flesh trees doing at Corvie’s grave…” Vanala mused. “Curious, very curious. Hubbypon, Vanala wants to investigate.”
A statement so sure, that any doubts Froyoyo wanted to voice died the moment she spoke. But his silence still said everything they needed to hear, his expression still said everything he felt. The human saying that eyes were the windows to the soul suddenly made more sense to Starr than it ever had to Pongo or Mira.
Starr saw an opportunity, catching on to Vanala’s plan moments after her declaration, and he stepped forward, the snow crunching resolutely under his boots. “We will accompany her. You can start collecting the crystals as we investigate, and we shall return to you shortly.”
“...Be careful,” Froyoyo sighed, reaching his wing out to touch Vanala’s cheek. “Vanala and Froyoyo not know how dangerous these flesh trees are. Trust Vanala’s judgment.”
Vanala leaned into his wing, humming contentedly. Starr had learned in his time with the caravan that this was the equivalent of a kiss on the cheek, an action so delicate and loving and cherished. There was a time where he wished that he had someone there with him, someone he loved, so he could give that same show of affection. And, perhaps, he could experience one in return…
I do not know if anyone would have wanted to do that with me.
L’Cirufe would have.
Would he? He would be angry at how long we have left him for. He would want nothing to do with either of us.
No. Stop. He still loves you despite everything.
Would he…would he love this? What we are, right now?
Starr growled a curse under his breath, silencing both voices in his mind. How dare he question Starr’s existence like that, how dare he refer to him as “this” as if he were some kind of beast, untamed and unwanted and completely irrelevant? Who did Pongo think he was? Nothing but a piece of a whole, he’d be broken without him, fragmented and useless. L’Cirufe wouldn’t love that husk of a hero. He’d love Starr, because like this, he was complete, he was reborn. He was everything Pongo wished he could’ve been.
Or…no. No, was he kidding himself? Where did this bout of confidence come from, all of a sudden? Was he really reborn, or was he a broken vase put together with cheap glue, one threat away from shattering all over again? What was this solution, if not a permanent one? When would he be useless to them, when would they move on?
Starr held his breath, squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps that would stop the tears.
“Starr doing that thing again.”
Starr opened his eyes to find Vanala staring up at him, a patient gaze and saddened smile. Froyoyo was not by her side, and one look over the horizon told Starr that he’d started towards the ring. He even had on Vanala’s empty pouch, the one she’d brought for the crystal collection. She must’ve given it to him when he was…preoccupied.
“Sorry,” Starr mumbled, “We did not mean to get distracted.”
“No apology needed. Vanala just making sure Starr’s okay. Is Starr okay?”
No.
No.
“Yes.” The lie was smooth, smooth enough to convince himself that it was the truth. “Are you ready?”
Vanala swallowed, her fur fluffing out with nervous energy. “Have no room to be scared. Vanala ready to go.”
Starr nodded, and the two began their descent down the hill. The closer they got to the bones, the more he could pick out the humanoid figures, the vehicles and Skells that they’d driven to get to this point. Many of them were near the bones, holding various tools and equipment. Starr couldn’t help but tap into some of Pongo’s memories - what would they be doing here? Of course, it was curiosity, a need to understand, that brought them here. Humanity had explored five of the Miran continents already. It was only sensical that they’d eventually find Cocytios, and perhaps one day, they’d find the other continents strewn about the planet. Exploration was one of humanity’s greatest motivations, after all.
Yes, all of it made perfect sense…but why did it fill Starr with such dread? Why did he want to turn back already, even though he and Vanala hadn’t even interacted with these humans yet? It was too late to turn back now, considering how close they were. And this close, some humans had already noticed their presence. Some had their weapons drawn, guns, pistols, swords, shields, psycho launchers, javelins, shit shit shit Starr didn’t want to be here anymore this was a mistake oh gods above -
“Vanala, right?”
Oh no.
Vanala had hopped up to the nearest humans while Starr stood, frozen in place, staring, watching, waiting. One of the ones that stepped up to greet her was familiar, donning red and purple armor. Her white hair glistened in the sunlight, feathered delicately above honeyed skin. Who…okay, this was someone that Pongo must’ve known. That had to be it, right?
Elma. She…I cannot let her see us like this. It would hurt her.
“Vanala recognizes flesh tree! Friend is Elma!” Vanala waddled up to her without a care in the world. “What Elma doing here? Why humans interested in bones?”
“We’ve slowly been conducting an expedition around Cocytios,” Elma explained, “We happened upon these remains a week ago but didn’t have the proper technology with us in order to analyze it. Considering how far the ribcage stretches, this could be one of the largest indigens we’ve ever cataloged.”
“Not indigen native to Mira. Yggralith remains,” Vanala corrected her somberly, “Vanala happy humans take interest, but dangerous here, very dangerous.”
“A yggralith?” She raised an eyebrow, “Like the one trapped in Sylvalum?”
“Vanala not know anything about yggralith there, but if yggralith in Sylvalum is alive, very bad news!”
“Luckily, it’s no longer causing any serious problems. That being said…it’s rather unusual for a planet to be host to two yggraliths, living or deceased -”
“Three! One dead in ocean.”
“Three?!” Elma was dumbfounded, now kneeling to meet Vanala’s gaze. Her voice went lower, almost too low for Starr to hear due to his distance. “How has Mira survived three yggraliths…there’s definitely something strange about this planet.”
“Can’t say planet is too strange - Vanala encountered weirder before!”
“Pardon?”
“Now Vanala should be going! Hubbypon harvesting ether crystals and went on ahead. Should get back to him before complaints start.”
She quickly turned and headed back towards Starr, who nearly followed after her. However, as Elma stood up, she locked eyes with him - fuck, shit. Every part of his body turned to ice, unable to move. What was he supposed to do?
“Vanala? Who’s this?” She asked, head tilting ever so slightly.
Vanala piped up, “This friend Starr! Has been helping caravan lots lately.”
No. No, why did Vanala have to say that?! Elma knew his name, she had to remember it from when he - when he was a monster, a wretched Ganglion creation to serve as a weapon and nothing more, he had attacked her and Lin and Solstice and Nessa, gods above he’d hurt them all, he couldn’t do this, he thought he’d be able to push this down and ignore all the bubbling feelings inside his chest but that was impossible when everything, everything was his fault -
“Nice to meet you, Starr.” Elma said, and in that moment, Starr knew that she knew. “I’ll let you and Vanala get back to work.”
A grin, a nod, and she had turned away to address the other humans standing by. None of the others questioned him, none of the others took an ounce of interest. They had their mission, and Starr and Vanala had theirs. Still, something in his heart grew sad, a longing he hadn’t experienced before. Did Elma actually know? Was he being paranoid? Why, why was he so scared that she’d recognize him as Pongo, why did he want to maintain that distance?
Confused, frightened at his inability to answer his own questions, Starr kept standing there until Vanala reached a wing out to grab his hand.
“Vanala and Starr should go.”
“Were we foolish, to think this would help us?”
It was a whisper, a question he couldn’t stop himself from asking. Vanala went to respond, likely an answer regarding his dream and coming to visit the gravesite, but the implications and deeper meaning soon sank in. She sighed, and Starr felt like he was being pitied, and his stomach churned as it thawed out from the ice of Elma’s encounter.
“Vanala not sure who Starr was before. Vanala can only say that short time with Starr has been good. Starr growing as person every day. If being away from flesh trees continues to help Starr heal, so be it.”
For a moment, Starr thought that Vanala was privy to Pongo and Mira, their fusion into one soul, one mind, one body. But that last sentence gave the impression that she didn’t, and he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. There had been too many close calls today, too many. Already he could feel the stress transforming into fatigue, and they still had a long journey back home after collecting the ether crystals. He had to stay vigilant, stay on guard.
…But he was allowed to feel these things. He was allowed to be vulnerable. Pongo would’ve bottled this up and pushed it aside to rot and fester. Starr was not Pongo, he was not Mira, and he would not make either of their mistakes.
“Thank you, Vanala. Now, we should rejoin Froyoyo,” Starr pivoted around, taking a few small steps anticipating Vanala’s agreement, “He might require our height for the crystal harvesting.”
“Froyoyo will find way! Always does,” Vanala chuckled, following after Starr quickly, “Though extra height always helps. Nopon so tiny compared to flesh trees!”
“Small but mighty,” He countered. “That is a human saying, we believe.”
“Good saying! Vanala might steal it.”
“...Is it possible to steal a saying?...”
“That saying too. Means Vanala likes it and might use it!”
“Oh! That makes sense.”
Thankfully, their conversation was jovial enough to distract Starr the entire way back to the ring, and even all the way back to the caravan once Froyoyo had collected a satisfactory amount of ether crystals. But during their ascent over the snow-covered hill, Starr snuck a glance back at Corvhesperikon’s gravesite, at the humans surrounding its fragmented form. He quickly regretted his decision and picked up the pace when he realized Elma was watching him.
~
At first, Elma was surprised that no one had questioned how she’d “discovered” a new continent. Maybe they recognized her status as a Reclaimer and figured her pension for exploring was responsible. Truth be told, she had ulterior motives for returning to Cocytios beyond the thrill of new discoveries, motives she couldn’t readily explain to anyone besides Lin.
Nessa had vanished. That on its own was enough to warrant a search, but on top of that, Pongo hadn’t returned. Surely a year was long enough for the planet to rebuild his body, no? So she created an expedition under the guise of simply exploring, putting down a very sparse amount of data probes. The skeleton upon their entry into the continent just happened to be a nice surprise. Funny, how she and Lin hadn’t noticed it before when they were with Nessa.
Vanala’s visit was also a surprise. Elma gathered that they were still a decent ways off from the caravan’s home base, so the reunion was the cherry on top of their journey so far. But then, there was the human with her. Starr, Vanala called him. He hadn’t spoken a single world and looked like a deer in the headlights once he saw Elma. His hair was longer, braided, and it was hard to see underneath his skull mask, but…
Elma didn’t press it, not then, not there. But as the night overtook the day, as BLADEs settled into their tents after a long day of work, she started forming a plan. She knew the way to the caravan - even if she didn’t, Starr and Vanala left tracks in the snow, and she could follow those. She had to know. She had to. She stayed awake in her tent, reconfiguring her dual guns and polishing her swords in case she encountered any hostile indigens on the road. When she could no longer hear any signs of life outside, Elma stood herself up, took one step towards the tent’s entrance.
That was when the ground shook, and a piercing bright light enveloped her vision. All she heard before the unconscious took her was a deafening roar, coming from just outside, and the sickening crunch of bones as they rose from the snow.
#xenoblade x#Imperium 3: Chapter 2#y'all thought I'd write an imperium without elma? think again#this is set in canon after all#I just put a lot of ocs in it fkjdhjk#anyways obligatory hug starr moment#and obligatory be afraid for the next chapter warning
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vampire hunter rosa and vampire vyn?
The Hunt
This was accidentally posted when I was tinkering with the draft on the mobile app (and some have seen it prematurely, since it got a couple of likes)--with the embarrassing draft notes and all aaaa (⌒_⌒;) and I couldn't find the option to set it back as draft so had to delete it (and retyped).
I am super duper happy I got this kind of ask. The possibilities!
This is a one-shot, but the imps in my head have charted out enough material to make this a short series (including NSFW bits between the vampire hunter Rosa and vampire Vyn); so if you like to see more of this let me know and I'll work on chapters in between the other asks :'D
Bonus points for anyone who can identify what game I've been loosely referencing in this bit
Holy. This thing is goddamn long. I had too much fun with it.
Eeep. Obligatory WARNING: Suggestive stuff at the end. Also some gore.
Year 1700's, Duchy of Stellis
The night air was cold, damp, and heavy with despair.
The cobblestone roads leading away from the town center increasingly become more desolate, deserted, and bereft of signs of any living activity.
The hoofing of horses pulling the lone carriage traversing the roads and narrow alleyways leading towards the Chateau de Haspran resounded loudly, heralding the arrival of two hunters who have come to hunt the feared vampire ruling over the Duchy of Stellis--the Duke of Stellis himself, Duke de Haspran.
The two hunters sitting in the decrepit carriage--the only one whose owner was willing to take them near the Chateau--were inspecting their weapons.
Artem of the Hunter's Guild loaded his flintlock rifle, forcing down the wadding with the rifle's ramrod before giving it a light shake. All good. If it doesn't rain, that is.
"Are you nervous?" asked the second hunter, whose face was hidden by a leather mask, and rest of the head obscured by the shadow underneath their cocked hat. In their hands was a threaded cane, a seemingly nondescript walking stick that has already seen much blood.
"We are only going deep into enemy territory." Artem slung his rifle across his shoulders. "Nothing so terrifying, oh no."
"It is alright to admit fear, you know." The second hunter crossed their legs, the shifting of their legs revealing a flintlock pistol holstered to the hip. "I am afraid. We are already the tenth and and eleventh hunters sent to 'bring the demon to task."
A pregnant pause hung over the two companions.
"I am not afraid," said Artem after much thought. "I have long since resigned myself to certain death the moment our--" he cleared his throat, as if he regarded his next few words with such distaste. "Ehem--nobles have decided the Duchy of Stellis required 'saving' from the Night Duke de Haspran.
"However, I am of the opinion that you do not deserve this fate, Lady Rosa."
The second hunter often referred to as Lady Rosa of the Hunter's Guild let out a soft laugh. "This fate is preferable, rather than becoming an unwilling consort to the von Hagen brat.
"Better to die on my own terms than be locked up in that pretty spire in Orchidshine and made to produce spawn after spawn."
"There is a line of ladies willing to undergo such a fate, if you must know," Artem remarked as he tightened the belt of his rapier sheath.
"Then let them," Rosa flippantly replied as she lazily spun the threaded cane with the gloved fingers of her right hand, like a baton. "I have no desire to live out my nights merely spreading my legs."
She then sliced the cane through the air, the sharp movement producing a loud crack sound. With a flick of her wrist, the body of the threaded cane split into several segments, revealing its trick form as a bladed whip--numerous silver razors connected by a fine silver chain catching the glittering moonlight and cutting through the chilly breeze.
Satisfied, Rosa once again flicked her wrist to return the whip to its previous form, as an unassuming walking stick.
"If this should be our last mission together, Artem, please accept my sincere thanks...both as you partner and your friend." Rosa then stood up, tapping her cane against the glass separating the passenger's benches from the driver's seat.
"This is far enough. We shall alight here."
===
The two hunters similarly clad in heavy coats walked side by side in the narrow, dark alleyways to their destination up ahead--Chateau de Haspran--bathed in the ominous glow of the gibbous moon.
Their footsteps echoed in unison as their heels struck the cobblestones.
The rows of crowded houses and various buildings in various states of disrepair, which lined both sides of the road, were shuttered, windows boarded up, and no light sources visible from within. It was obvious to the hunters however, that there were people inside, hiding.
Hiding perhaps, from them?
The Chateau de Haspran loomed ever larger, ever more sinister against the backdrop of the gloomy night sky with each and every step.
Rosa took out her threaded cane from within her coat, holding it in her right hand to ready herself of any ambush.
Her left hand, trained to ambidexterity enough to handle firearms despite not being the dominant hand, slipped slightly into her coat--ready to grab any of her numerous flintlock pistols holstered to her inner coat and hip should the need arise.
Beside her was Artem who walked into a more relaxed manner, but whose eyes sharply scanned the path ahead including any possible routes that they may take on foot, even on the rooftops.
"I think this is where we need to part ways, Lady Rosa." Artem finally spied a cluster of towers, tall enough to give him a good view of their planned battleground and where he may provide firearm support for his partner, who will be doing most of the siege.
"You speak as if we will never see each other again, rather than this being part of our normal procedure."
"Truthfully, I feel that it is," Artem admitted, not one to mince words; his uncovered face showing a wan smile. He then tipped his hat to her. "Lady Rosa, thank you as well for your companionship all these years. I am ever glad to have made your acquaintance in the Themis Hunter's Guild."
"And I, yours." She returned the gesture.
Rosa resumed her walk towards the main gate of Chateau de Haspran, while Artem's path took him to the inner alleyways to make the climb over the makeshift ramparts leading to the towers.
===
Inside the Chateau de Haspran, Duke Vilhelm de Haspran was working on a patient.
However, he was not ignorant of the yet another Hunt placed on him by the nobles of the neighboring duchy. A twitch of his silver eyebrow was the only tell exhibiting his utter displeasure at the situation.
The old man on the operating slab, fully conscious, spied the irritated look of the vampire standing over him.
"Ah, Vyn," The old man's tone was amiable. "Is it another of those outsiders again? I thought I heard the bells ring out earlier before sunset."
"Never you mind, Sir Bennett," The vampire said, dismissively, in dulcet tones. "Instead, ready yourself for the procedure." He produced a roll of thin cloth and with deft hands wound it tightly around the old man's upper right arm, tight enough to numb the feeling on the lower arm.
Duke de Haspran then removed the leather glove covering his right hand, revealing slender, almost alabaster-white fingers tipped with sharp fingernails.
"This will hurt, so ready yourself."
"I know, I know."
With nary a warning the duke sliced open the main vein of the old man's right wrist, his preternatural golden eyes throwing a quick glance at the old man's face to gauge his pain tolerance.
Blood dripped steadily to the silver pan placed just below the edge of the operating table.
Duke de Haspran bent on one knee to dip a finger in the blood catch. He briefly tasted the blood, letting the iron taste roll in his mouth along with his saliva.
"You have had much too much to drink recently, Sir Bennett. I am disappointed."
The old man on the operating table hissed in pain, yet struggled to carry on their conversation--something that the Duke always encouraged as losing consciousness during his procedures may pose risk of death. "Ahh...you know. Nothing else to look forward to than drink."
"You do know that if the men of your house produce substandard blood I will be forced to take your family's blood tithes from your precious little grand daughter."
At the mention of 'grand daughter' a slender figure scurried out of the shadows from a corner of the Duke's operating room. It was a younger girl, aged around fifteen years, wide-eyed and pleading.
"T-that is fine, Lord Vilhelm," she stammered. "Just please, heal my grandpa! I will give ten vials of my blood!"
Ten vials was the maximum the Duke de Haspran would take from an individual in each transaction.
The Duke sighed. "Regeneration of his liver will take more than that. But fine. Ten vials as a starting price." He adjusted his monocle. "Then I will decide on how much more to take depending on the toll the organ regeneration will be on my current blood stores."
The grand daughter nodded, despite not fully comprehending what he just told her--all she knew was she needed the vampire Duke's help in curing her grandfather's disease, and that she must pay the price.
===
The door to the operating room suddenly burst open.
It was Luke, the Duke de Haspran's Master of Arms and personal guard.
Luke had yet to fully prove his loyalty to him--he had defected from another duchy that attempted to usurp his holdings--but Duke de Haspran already decided his skill with weapon smithing and immense hatred of his domicile of origin as enough for now.
"Lord Vilhelm! I apologize for the intrusion, but--"
"I know. I can feel their presence closing in." Duke de Haspran took the bloodied wrist of his patient and licked the wound that he sliced open previously, slathering on a generous amount of his saliva to close off the cleanly-sliced flesh.
"It is regrettable, but I need to take care of our guests."
He then put a hand on the top of the girl's head. "Kiki, I need you to watch over your grandfather for now."
Kiki blushed, secretly pleased that the Duke de Haspran remembered her name. "Y-yes! And Lord Vilhelm...be safe..."
"You know where to find the bandages should your grandfather need them."
"Yes!"
"Be gentle with them, Vyn," came the voice of the old man before Duke de Haspran and Luke closed the door to the operating room behind them.
The two strode through the dark, sparsely-lit corridors of the Chateau's interior. "I have seen only one Hunter in approach," Luke reported.
"Two," Duke de Haspran said. "I can feel at least two hostile presences outside."
Luke fell silent. "So it really is her..."
This piqued the Duke's interest. "Is it an acquaintance of yours?"
"There is only one Hunter bearing the rose coat of arms, where I come from." Luke pushed open the door leading to the armory, quickly lighting the sconce lamp within with a flint lighter. "Of course, I do not know if other territories have their own Rose Hunter."
Light flooded into the armory, revealing weapons of differing varieties and origins. Blades of all lengths, shields, armors, and Luke's personal contributions--personal siege weaponry and experimental ballistics--lay neatly arranged and ready for deployment should the need arise.
"But if it is two people including the Rose Hunter and no one else, it only means it is Lady Rosa and her partner Artem of the Themis Hunter's Guild." Luke inspected a rather sizable long pipe outfitted with the ability to fire projectiles. "They always come as a pair, and do not work with others."
"So, only two of them." Duke de Haspran eyed the contraption in Luke's hands warily. "I thought we already talked about avoiding damage to property in my holdings."
"Yes, but they function as well as an army if left alone unimpeded." Luke checked if the chambers of the flintlock grenade launcher were fully loaded. "Do not worry Lord Vilhelm, most this can do on stone and even wood is leave scorch marks. I cannot same the same for flesh, however."
"Do as you wish," Duke de Haspran relented, massaging his temples. "I will just discuss the matter of property damages with you after the fact."
Luke fell silent, then blinked as he felt the familiar tingle in his head which, he suspected, is caused by the vampire's attempt to intrude in his thoughts.
"You wish me to spare your...friends?"
"I truly could not hide my thoughts from you, could I?" Luke murmured, pursing his lips.
"You may, with enough practice." Then, he added, "Whether your friends will live or die after this farce of an attack will depend on them. I will put my myself and the safety of my property above their own lives."
"I understand, Lord Vilhelm."
"Do not take it against me should they fall by my hand."
Luke crossed his right arm over his chest and made a small bow. "Of course, Lord Vilhelm."
Duke de Haspran opened a chest containing his sparse personal effects. From it he unfurled a dark cape lined with wine-red velvet, throwing it over his shoulders and fastening its clasps over his neck.
The vampire took out a scabbard and belt from the same chest, handing it to Luke.
"Help me, will you?"
"Of course." Luke slipped the baldric--the sword belt--across his lord's shoulder and buckled it across the chest. He then removed the greatsword--the Holy Moonlight Sword--from its display rack and sheathed it in the scabbard now strapped to Duke de Haspran's back.
"Then let us make haste," the vampire said to his personal guard. "Sir Bennett awaits our return."
===
Rosa finally reached the gate; it was the usual ornate wrought iron gate typical of lavish lodgings owned by the nobility except for one minor detail: off to the side of the grand gate, just by the giant hinges that connected the left gate to the rest of the equally ornate wrought iron fence, was a tall stake on which a severed head was impaled.
None of the flesh remained, but an ivory skull picked clean was left behind.
"Tasteful," Rosa remarked at the grisly sight, then tried opening the gate with a small push.
It gave with little effort.
If only our previous prey were as welcoming, Rosa thought as she pushed the gates all the way open and walked into the courtyard.
The courtyard was full to the brim of various blooms and flora; however in the moonlight what could have been vivid reds, pinks, yellows and other beautiful floral hues were instead awash with various shades of blues and dark purples, lending the entrance leading to the Chateau an eerie atmosphere.
Rosa planted her heels in the middle of the expansive courtyard, her threaded cane in her right hand, its tip digging at the grass underneath.
She took a deep breath.
"Duke de Haspran," she projected her voice loud and clear without the need to shout. "I, Rosa of the Themis Hunter's Guild, have come here to put your vile deeds to task."
Vile deeds? Really now.
Rosa blinked. It wasn't a voice that carried through the air. It was a gentle, soothing voice sent directly into her head.
"W-where are you?!" Rosa looked around, trying hard to stamp down the panic that threatened to burst out. She have killed numerous vampires, but most of them were mere fledglings and none were powerful enough to even think of attempting telepathy.
Look above you, came the maddeningly soothing, genial voice, that spoke as if he was welcoming an important guest.
Rosa's head snapped up, and sure enough perched directly high above her, right on the peak of the gable roof of the chateau's foyer easily five storeys high, was a caped figure with long silver hair shining brilliantly in the moonlight.
Despite the distance she could make out the vampire's golden eyes piercing through the dreariness of the dark blue landscape of a gibbous moon night.
Let me welcome you properly, Lady Rosa.
Rosa's vampire prey stepped off the roof gables and, with his wide cape and silver hair fluttering in the thin wind, effortlessly landed on the ground a few paces away from her.
"Good evening, Lady Rosa," said the vampire, this time in his normal voice that carried through the air, as he made a short bow. "I am the...creature that you seek.
"I am known as the Duke de Haspran of the Duchy of Stellis."
Rosa eyed the vampire from head to toe warily.
As a vampire, the Duke de Haspran's stature was on the unremarkable side.
Rosa had previously made short work of thralls that were several heads taller than him, or of considerably heavier, more muscularly built, but there was something about the vampire in front of her--as impeccably dressed, and good looking as he was--that quietly screamed of how much danger he posed, and that her life was already forfeit by the time she set foot in the courtyard.
Said dangerous vampire had his hands neatly folded in front of him, the smile on his unnaturally-glowing golden eyes beatific.
"I do not suppose there is still a way to parley with you?" Duke de Haspran said. "The night is a pleasant one, and I do not wish to sully it with the ugliness of battle and..." his voice fell a couple of octaves lower. "...death."
Rosa smirked, fully knowing that her face was not visible behind the leather mask that obscured her visage. "I am afraid not, vampire," she said, truthfully. "This is not a mere guild task, nor are we allowed to return without the head of our mark.
"Also, we are here representing our Guild, and we cannot dare speak on behalf of them. Except," Rosa then makes a half step backward, holding her threaded cane in front of her. "with our weapons."
Duke de Haspran sighed. "Ah, this is regrettable."
Then, in a matter of seconds, a strong gale whipped around Rosa, tearing away her cocked hat and leather mask obscuring her face.
The wind dissipated as fast as it happened; Rosa's long auburn hair spilled down her shoulders, and her bared face now openly displayed her shock at what had happened. "W-what--"
There was no change or movement to be seen on his form, except for the fact that his right hand has slipped out of its glove, his long-nailed slender fingers stretching languidly. "Do forgive me, Lady Rosa," he murmured as his eyes gazed on Rosa's face. "But I want to know how my enemy looks like...before I kill them." His tone finally dropped all pretense of friendliness.
"Such a shame; a beautiful flower such as you, only put to waste in such a barbaric profession." Duke de Haspran whispered as reached over his shoulder, pulling out his great sword single-handedly. "They have done you a great injustice."
He then started to walk towards her, the great sword held by his side. "I sincerely wish your lot in your next life will be a better one--"
A projectile--a silver bullet--hit the vampire's shoulder, causing him to flinch and break off from his approach.
"Artem!" Rosa exclaimed, glad for her partner's timely support. She could see him in her peripheral vision aiming downsight with his flintlock rifle from a far off rampart.
His accuracy despite the great distance was incredible as always.
Seizing the chance given to her, she made an overhead slash of her cane--swinging it as how one would with a sword--aimed directly at the Duke's neck.
It connected, but the cane only bounced and did not do any noticeable damage to the vampire. It only earned Rosa an indignant glance from Duke de Haspran.
That was the moment that Rosa realized she had been set up for failure right at the beginning. The threaded cane, even when in its inert form, should have been able to inflict noticeable pain. It also happened to be the most powerful weapon she had in her possession; her flintlocks, much like Artem's, were only brought along to distract or stall the enemy and not much more.
To see it merely bounce off the vampire's bare skin told her that her life was well and truly forfeit.
I'm dead. Haha. Well, it has been a good life, thought Rosa ruefully. Well, might as well have fun while it lasts. "Hey, vampire, let's dance," she murmured with a seductive lilt to her voice, a small smile playing on her lips as her right wrist flicked to transform the threaded cane into its trick form, the silver blade whip.
She did not notice the telltale touch, a tingle, in her head as she made her attack.
With a short hop backwards she sent the bladed whip slicing through the air, aiming directly at the Duke's arm holding the great sword.
He parried easily with his blade--as if he was carrying a light rapier instead of a heavy blade that was usually held with both hands.
Unperturbed, Rosa once again brought down her bladed whip at him only for the Duke de Haspran to catch the blade of the whip with his bare hand--this time successfully drawing blood--and tugged at it strongly enough to pull Rosa towards him.
His sword was poised to thrust at her the moment she enters its range of attack, only for his movement to be halted by yet another bullet hitting him on the shoulder of his sword arm.
Luke, fend off this girl's partner, if you please. He is irritating me. The personal guard, being human, could not reply via telepathy of course--but he knew that the message was received.
Now, about you. He focused his full attention now to Rosa, who, he noted in amusement, now held the handle of her whip with her mouth, leaving her hands free to dual wield her flintlock pistols.
She steadily fired a stream of bullets at him, one pistol per bullet, all of which were easily fended off by the preternaturally quick parrying of the Duke's great sword.
Rosa casually tossed spent flintlock pistols to the ground and quickly drew replacement pistols out of her coat--she did this in such quick succession that the Duke initially thought she was armed with pistols capable of containing multiple rounds.
Amazing, he noted. Themis Hunters Guild indeed has sent their prized Hunter to me, finally.
All the firepower did was to stall him, however, and eventually Rosa ran out of pistols. Duke de Haspran easily counted around fifteen pistols on the ground. She is obviously outfitted for a blitz attack, but she will easily lose in battle of endurance...how unfortunate for her to be sent to me.
"It's my turn, little girl," he smiled languidly as he easily spun the Holy Moonlight Sword in his hand and, lifting it above his head, swung it down to Rosa's general direction. He did not care to aim it at any specific part of her body--the blade was large enough to guarantee crippling damage or maiming if it connected anywhere on her person.
Rosa quickly hopped aside to avoid the blade, which tore at the ground on which it landed instead. That could have been my arm. I wish to die in one piece, she thought. I guess simple wishes don't come true for bastard, abandoned children like me.
"Ah, that is your wish?" Duke de Haspran said.
Rosa looked at him incredulously. "You--you read my mind?"
"Surface thoughts, yes," the Duke admitted with a winsome smile as he switched into a thrusting position, his sword arm cocked behind him. "Well then, let us kill you in one piece."
===
Artem frantically bit into a cartridge and poured the powder into his rifle's flash pan with shaking fingers. Even at this distance he could see that Rosa was facing imminent death--despite all the talk of being resigned to their deaths earlier, he couldn't bear to stand and watch idly by even if he knew that it was only a matter of time before Rosa was finally cut down.
After ramming the wadding and bullet Artem once again aimed downsight to at least buy his partner another second--every second counted, especially when each bore the potential to bring with it a miracle--but suddenly the rifle was kicked away from him.
"Hey." came a familiar voice.
It can't be...
"Luke." Artem was about to say he was happy to see his old friend alive, being the seventh Hunter sent to kill Duke de Haspran who never returned, but the fact that he kicked away his weapon only meant one thing.
"You traitor," was all Artem could manage to say.
Luke shrugged, which was a feat considering the heavy steel pipe strapped to his shoulder. "What. We never had their loyalty either," he said, rather darkly. "We are just expendable weapons to them."
Artem did not make any effort to retort, as there was nothing false in Luke's statement.
"I suggest you stand down."
"You know well that I cannot do that."
Luke sighed. "This is the problem with you two. They've succeeded in brainwashing you into thinking that there are no other options to live out your lives." He shrugged off the steel contraption off his shoulders, aiming its business end at his erstwhile colleague as he quickly stepped several paces back. "I'm not going to waste time with you Artem--the sooner I get rid of you, the sooner I can go down there and beg for Rosa to be spared."
"What?"
Before he could get any further explanation, Luke fired his prized flintlock grenade launcher point blank at him.
===
An explosion resounded, exactly at the spot where Artem had set up his supporting position.
Rosa was about to resign herself to her final fate, but, seeing that her partner have gone up in flames, something akin to a frenzied despair had been fanned within her.
"Artem!!' she shouted.
Duke de Haspran had to stop mid-thrust and turned to look at the ensuing fire. "Scorch marks only, indeed." he noted wryly.
He was about to face Rosa once again when he felt a sharp sting by his side.
Rosa looked at him, her expression blank. "Got you." In her hands was a silver dagger, the blade end sticking to his side.
Vampire blood trickled down to the ground.
The vampire hissed, as contact with silver was indeed painful for his kind, but both he and Rosa knew that the wound wasn't anywhere close to immobilizing him, much less killing him.
Recovering from the pain, Duke de Haspran smiled at Rosa sadly. "You...really want to die this badly?" He pulled out the dagger from his flesh and tossed it to the ground.
It was not a rhetorical question. He had touched her mind from the beginning, and he knew that she was essentially on a suicide mission. "I was going to stall for time. I was waiting for your friend to go here and plead your case."
"There's nothing in it for me," Rosa whispered. "My only living friend is now gone.
"Please kill me."
"I see. This is indeed regrettable." Then, he opened his arms toward her. "Come here. I will make it painless."
Rosa's lip trembled. "Why are you suddenly being kind to me, Duke de Haspran?" She stepped into his arms.
"Because I am a creature of medicinal arts," he simply said.
The vampire gently supported the small of her back with his left hand.
His right hand quickly thrust through her chest, piercing her flesh, breaking her ribs, splattering her blood, all with only one strike of his sharp claws.
He pulled out his hand, gored with Rosa's blood and pieces of flesh.
"I do not consider myself...a monster."
Gently he gathered what was once Rosa's body in his arms, carrying her as if he would a lover, if ever he would have one.
===
It was too late.
Luke ran as fast as he could, to reach the courtyard, but as soon as he arrived, he only managed to witness how his master snuffed out the light of his friend's life. Literally, by his hand.
"Rosa...ROSA!" Luke cried out. "No!"
Desperately he tugged at Duke de Haspran's cape. "My lord! Please! Please, spare her life! I am willing to do anything, anything..." His words slowly become incoherent.
"Unfortunately, Luke, she is beyond saving," Duke de Haspran said, ignoring the pleas of his personal guard. There was no denying the fact that there was a fist-sized hole in the girl's chest.
"She said that there was no need for her to live, as her partner is already killed. By your hands, if I am not mistaken. So I killed her, upon her request."
"What?!" Luke looked up at him. "No--No! Artem is alive!"
"What?"
True enough, in a nearby pile of rubble a hand jutted out; Artem picked himself up and half limped out of the pile. However as soon as he saw the bloodied sight of his partner his knees gave out and he wept hard.
I was not able to sense his hostility, which is why I was not able to pick out his presence. Luke must have talked sense into him sometime ago.
"My lord, please! Please! I know--I know there is one way for you to save her life!" Luke pleaded.
"No," the reply came quickly. "I have never turned someone into my....kind."
"Then please...try."
Duke de Haspran and Luke both glance at Artem, who now moved to a supplicating posture, his forehead touching the ground.
"Please, save Rosa." Artem plead, gritting his teeth. "I don't care what it takes. I will pay the price as much as I can."
The vampire noble looked at the fresh body in his arms, and then at the two men who are begging for her to be brought back.
After much deliberation, Duke Vilhelm de Haspran relented.
"I...will try."
===
After sending off Sir Bennett and his grand daughter for the night--having made sure the old man had his wounds fully closed off and symptoms temporarily abated--he hurriedly carried Rosa off to his personal quarters.
"The operating theater would not do," Vilhelm had said to Luke when the latter started to prepare the operating slab for Rosa's procedure. "Turning someone into a vampire is an intricate process.
"Do not interrupt me. Even if I take several nights, I myself have yet to acclimatize with the procedure."
And now, as Rosa is laid out on his bed naked, and Vilhelm himself in a similar state of undress--the real reason why he did not want to perform the turning in the operating room, nor have any one stand in as attendant was revealed.
To call it an 'intricate process' was a misnomer. Rather, it was an 'intimate' one.
Or so the books have told the vampire noble.
Vilhelm bent over Rosa, his long silver locks a veil that shrouded his conflicting feelings about the entire affair.
He did not even know if he would be successful, nor know what exactly would happen to him during the procedure, but the pleas of the two men managed to reach him.
And so Vilhelm willed himself to be put in such a state of vulnerability to save this one person who he had mistakenly sent to the afterlife.
A tome lay open just beside where Rosa lay, its text in full view.
Vilhelm took a deep breath, and recited the first line. "Ancient beings, I command thee in the name of darkness."
He brought his right wrist to his mouth, and with his fangs he scored the skin over his artery deeply, drawing blood. With a sharp hiss he squeezed his lower right arm with his left hand, making sure to saturate the wound he inflicted on Rosa's chest with as much of his own blood as possible.
This was the first difference between his blood medicinal arts that he performed on the people of his duchy, and on Rosa. His general practice made use of the people's own blood stores, taken from their regular blood tithes. The tithes were not merely for his own feeding, but rather also a way to procure blood that may be used to heal those with serious illnesses that Vilhelm had the power and knowledge to cure.
Rosa was currently the only being who has received Vilhelm's own blood.
Medical curiosity was partly the reason he acceded to his personal guard's and the hunter's request and so, with his breath abated, Vilhelm tried to observe how his blood worked on Rosa's grave wound.
Nothing yet happened.
Quelling the doubts that threatened to poison his thoughts, Vilhelm turned to the tome, and read aloud the second verse.
"In this space, Gods shall be powerless; in this circle, the rules of Gods shall be forfeit."
Maybe not enough blood... Vilhelm was about to squeeze out more of his vampiric blood, when he finally felt faint stirrings of blood magic from Rosa.
Encouraged, Vilhelm continued reciting the text off the tome. "I shall be your master, my words your command."
Suddenly, the blood coming from Vilhelm started to glow an eerie shade of carmine. A tendril of blood that connected from Vilhelm's wrist and Rosa's wound glowed more brilliantly than the rest of his blood, its color shifting from carmine to electric purple.
Entranced at the sight, Vilhelm felt an invisible yet compelling force that drew him somehow to the girl unconscious underneath him.
Having no experience with females--neither human, nor vampire--Vilhelm did not understand the exact nature of what he was feeling until much later.
Unfazed, writing off the mysterious stirrings of his loins as part of the blood magic, Vilhelm read the next line.
"From this moment onward, your heart, body, and soul all belong...to me."
It is at this moment that Vilhelm realized the full implication of what the turning procedure entailed. But there was no more turning back, and so he watched in rapt fascination as the gored wound had its flesh quickly repair itself, the broken bones restored, and immaculate fair skin replaced.
Yet Rosa was still unconscious, and so Vilhelm recited the last verse in the page.
"Your spirit is inextinguishable, this contract eternal."
As soon as he uttered those words, the most magnificent sight Vilhelm would ever behold happened: Rosa's entire body glowed, the brightness eventually filling the room to such an intensity that he had to avert his eyes.
The electric purple thread of blood joining Vilhelm's wrist to Rosa's erstwhile wound glowed white-hot, until it dissipated along with the rest of the mysterious illumination.
Rosa started to breathe, her naked chest rising and falling with each breath.
Vilhelm suddenly felt a strong wave of exhaustion--he realized that he had let out too much of his own blood--and before he could think of how to replenish it, he fell on top on Rosa, instantly losing his own consciousness.
==
When he opened his eyes, Vilhelm saw Rosa watching over him, a blanket draped over her shoulders to cover her nakedness.
"I am sorry," he started to speak, but his voice came out too softly, and he found himself too weak to move. Yet his first thought was to apologize to Rosa. "I fell unconscious before I could replace your clothing."
"I realized that," Rosa replied.
Vilhelm saw, as her mouth opened to speak, that she had gained her own fangs.
"...how long was I sleeping?"
"I do not know," Rosa said, her olive eyes--now infused with a faint, ethereal glow--gazing at him intensely. "But I think at least two days. Or is it two nights?" Rosa let out a soft, quiet laugh. "How do you vampires count the days?"
"The same as how others who speak our language do, I suppose."
"Fair enough."
"Are you hungry?"
"Yes. Very," Rosa said, her eyes still fixated on him. "But I do not know how to satisfy this hunger."
Vilhelm sighed. He was still too weak, but feeding his made vampire took precedence. With an unsteady fingertip he sliced an artery on his neck, letting his own blood flow into rivulets that drew channels on his naked alabaster skin.
"You can try...this..."
Wordlessly Rosa bent over to him, her lips closing in on his wound, sucking on his blood eagerly. Her tongue licked his skin clean of any missed drops of precious blood.
"Hahh..ah--just...just like that," Vilhelm moaned. He felt increasingly weaker, but at the same time he felt the same stirrings of the alien sensation he that threatened to overcome him while doing the blood magic on Rosa.
The feeling that made him want to do things to the young vampire currently feeding on him was spreading over his loins, but Vilhelm, as inexperienced as he was, did not comprehend this.
What is this that I'm feeling!?
"Don't h-hold yourself--ahh--back," Vilhelm's moans filled the room, his whimpering breaking the once sacred silence that covered them as he remained sleeping. "Don't--you don't need to--hahh--subdue your hunger in my account--hnnh!!"
The sensations of Rosa's tongue against his skin was electrifying. The sensations pooled and concentrated in his nether regions...
Vilhelm found himself holding Rosa closer to him with his arms, albeit with a weakened grip, and slowly overcome with the urge to devour her--but not exactly feed on her. Whatever he felt, was of a more primal nature.
What is this what is this what is this what is this what is this what is this--ahh
"Mhm," Rosa steadily sipped and lapped at Vilhelm's wound, relishing his flavor and the sustenance that he was giving her at his own expense. Then she paused.
"I know what you're feeling," she gave his neck wound another languorous lick.
She managed to hear his thoughts. It was very loud and clear.
Vilhelm moaned once again. "...what--"
"While I still have traces of humanity inside me," Rosa murmured as she lifted her head to look at Vilhelm rather lustily, "Let me show you how humans devour each other. You may find it rather...delicious."
"Consider it payback for whatever you did to me..." She licked her lips. "Master."
She then removed her blanket, and moved to straddle his naked body.
The rest of the night was filled with more moaning, cries, and other sounds from Vilhelm that Rosa found were definitely to die for.
#tears of themis#tears of themis fanfic#vyn richter#mo yi#tot vyn#vyn richter x reader#luke pearce#artem#tears of themis au#tot au
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An Unexpected Encounter at Sea (Chapter 1/?)
Summary: Isabelle and Emily had left Hisui two days prior, their partner Pokemon newly evolved, and a promise newly made to a new friend. However, that promise seemed like it was going to be fulfilled much sooner than either of them had ever anticipated.
Author's note: uhhh this is a lot of backstory infodump, but I promise it's worth it for the end. I had this idea for this AU not long after I posted the second post with info about the girls, and I've been thinking about writing it for a few days now... and now here it is. I think I'll likely be adding more to this story too, so. Chapter One?
Warnings: none that immediately stand out to me (but don't be afraid to let me know if there's something I might have overlooked)
pairings: none (also obligatory blankshippers dni. there are no ships in this fic, and there will be none in the future.)
Wordcount: 3195
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37717015/chapters/94163011
Other Chapters: Next
They had left Hisui two days ago.
Apparently, they weren’t allowed any reprieve from the (friendly, mind you) chaos that their visit to the region had brought.
Isabelle’s day started as days on the sea normally did- waking up in the cabin she shared with her sister, getting dressed, eating breakfast.
Emily would have been up already, to check that they hadn’t moved too far off of their planned trajectory. They were heading to the Kalos region next, a plan since before they had arrived in Hisui. This was normal for them- they would plan their next trips while already on one. It was an efficient use of time as they spent days on end on the sea!
Isabelle yawned, walking up the stairs to the deck of the boat. Emily was standing next to one of the two masts, tying a rope around a cleat in a clean cleat hitch. The boat’s off-white sails were unfurled as they helped to carry the boat forward in the sea breeze.
“Good morning!” Emily called as she finished, straightening (heh) up and turning around to face her twin sister. A cheerful smile was on her face as she moved to the helm, standing behind her Chandelure as she looked to the horizon. The sun was not very high in the sky- Emily was likely up right at dawn, as she usually was. Isabelle was a later sleeper.
“Good morning,” Isabelle called back, a smaller smile appearing on her face as she climbed the last few stairs to the deck of the boat. There was water to every side of the boat, no land to be seen anywhere near. This might have come across as daunting to someone unfamiliar with navigating while at sea. For Isabelle and Emily, this was second nature.
Her Eelektross chattered happily to her right. It was sitting at the starboard edge of the boat, head leaning against the gunwale as it watched the water slip past.
A Pokeball at her hip popped open, and a stream of light curved up to her shoulder as her Sobble left its Pokeball to sit on her shoulder. Her smile grew, and she lifted her hand up to pet Sobble on the head. The Water Lizard Pokemon cooed at the touch and pressed against her neck.
Emily turned around. “Popplio’s out for some exercise! It really seems to be enjoying being back out at sea again!”
“Well, though Hisui had some gorgeous rivers and lakes, I doubt anything can really compare to the vastness of the ocean when it comes to ‘enough room to roam’,” Isabelle remarked.
Emily nodded, glancing out to her right at the water. “Those three lakes in particular, though- I’d still love to learn more about them in the future.”
“We’ll be back to Hisui at some point in the future! Perhaps by then, Professor Laventon will have done more research into them.”
Emily nodded, her smile broadening. Chandelure twirled next to her, looking like it was enjoying the breeze as it blew past its arms. Isabelle had never known a Fire-type to have such an affinity for anything at all associated with water, but Emily’s Chandelure seemed to love being at sea. Though it still actively avoided touching the water, it seemed at home on their boat. It helped to keep things lit up at night when the sky grew dark, so they could still do their boat maintenance before bed without tripping or messing something up. It had been an essential member of their crew from the beginning.
Eelektross, still laying on the starboard side of the boat, was something of a bodyguard for the boat and everyone on it. It wasn’t terribly uncommon for them to come across a territorial water type during their travels, and Eelektross was perfect for helping them deal with those threats. They’d even found someone who was able to teach Eelektross Giga Drain in Unova while it was still an Eelektrik- for the times when one of those territorial water types also happened to be Ground type as well.
Isabelle recalled the time they came across a Whiscash while on their journey to Alola several months back. She had never been more grateful for the fact that they’d taught Eelektross that move than she had been at that exact moment.
Popplio and Sobble were two of the newest members of their crew. Both Isabelle and Emily had decided that they really needed water types for help while at sea, and so Emily had caught Popplio while in Alola, and Isabelle had caught Sobble while in Galar. Those had been the two trips immediately before their trip to Hisui, so the two Pokemon were still finding their place on the boat.
Isabelle walked across the deck to sit next to her Eelektross, Sobble hopping off her shoulder to lay on the gunwale. The water was crystal clear here, and she could see wild Water-type Pokemon swimming below them. They were still technically in the waters surrounding Hisui, so she could see a number of Mantyke, Mantine, and Finneon. She even caught sight of a Tentacool, which made her slightly nervous. They would have to keep a watchful eye for any alpha Tentacruel around.
Watching the Pokemon swim by reminded her of the adventures they’d had just days ago in Hisui. The stop had been planned before they arrived in Galar, which was very normal for them, but they hadn’t quite chosen their goals for the Hisui trip until after leaving Galar. That had been when Emily had remarked that Lampent and Eelektrik had been stuck in their middle stage evolutions for quite some time. Isabelle had reminded her that not all Pokemon evolve on their own- that certain conditions sometimes had to be met.
“Well, while we’re in Hisui, why don’t we look into how Lampent and Eelektrik evolve, then?”
That had become their goal. That goal turned out to be trickier than they expected, as neither of the Pokemon were native to the region, so a lot of research and trials and tribulations had gone into figuring out how to evolve the Pokemon.
But those trials and tribulations had introduced them to many new friends.
Isabelle couldn’t help but smile upon remembering the people they’d met in Hisui. Akari had been one who had stood out among all the people there first. She had greeted the two at the harbor on Prelude Beach when they arrived, alongside her superiors in the Galaxy Clan (Commander Kamado, Captain Cyllene, Professor Laventon), and she had practically dedicated herself to helping them evolve their Pokemon as soon as the two had outlined that goal to her. She was a passionate and smart young girl, no more than 15 years of age. And due to her work with the Hisui Pokedex and research into so many different kinds of Pokemon, she’d had many ideas of how to figure out how to get Lampent and Eelektrik to evolve (two of which eventually worked).
And then there had been Ingo. The first and most immediate thing that had stood out to them about Ingo was the fact that the man looked uncannily similar to both of them. Same hair color, face shape, build (except for being of the opposite sex, of course)- everything. Even their ages were similar, Ingo being around 30 while she and Emily were 29. Almost as if he were their long-lost triplet or something. However, hearing about Ingo’s story had made both girls fairly convinced that was not the case. Ingo had suddenly appeared in Hisui one day, wandering around the Alabaster Icelands where he was found and taken in by the Pearl Clan. He also had a severe case of amnesia and had very few memories about who he was before he arrived in Hisui.
However, despite this, the man still seemed to have a great deal of spirit. He was loud, expressive with his words yet not his face, and had a natural affinity for working with Pokemon. Akari had introduced him to them when she had suggested that maybe Lampent and Eelektrik needed battle experience to evolve (which had not been the case)- they’d had very little experience in Pokemon battles, but Ingo seemed to love nothing more than a good Pokemon battle and had happily agreed to train them and their Pokemon in them. He’d been a good teacher too! He also had loved to listen to them talk about their journeys, and hear their stories from all of their trips around the world. Their stories from their childhood in Unova had seemed to be of particular interest to him. In response, he told them about Hisui, about the Pokemon native to the region, and about Pokemon battles.
Isabelle’s smile disappeared as she recalled the few, scattered memories the man had told them about.
A partner, a Pokemon who wielded flames with mastery. Interestingly enough, upon watching Lampent evolve after touching a Dusk stone, Ingo had remembered that his Pokemon partner had, in fact, been a Chandelure. A confusing fact indeed, considering that Chandelure was not found in the wild in Hisui.
A man who looked like him, who loved winning more than anything else. Yet another memory Ingo had remembered more of after watching one of their partners evolve. Once Eelektrik had evolved to Eelektross via a Thunder stone, Ingo recalled that the man wore an outfit nearly identical to his, but the coat and hat were white. His face was identical to his, but he was always smiling. And that man’s beloved Pokemon partner was an Eelektross. He and his Chandelure had fought alongside that man and his Eelektross many times before.
Akari then had the idea that they should try that exact style of battle, to see if that could help to trigger any more memories of that man. And so they had- Akari and Ingo against Emily and Isabelle. Due in no small part to Emily and Isabelle’s lack of experience with battles, Ingo and Akari had won easily. And Akari’s hypothesis had been correct… at the end of the battle, Ingo had turned to her and said…
“Well done, Emmet!”
Emmet. Ingo’s twin brother, whom he hadn’t seen in the three years he’d been in Hisui.
It was like a switch had been flipped after that memory returned. Ingo suddenly had to deal with three years’ worth of grief and longing as he remembered the man and just how close they had been. It had broken both of their hearts, as neither Isabelle nor Emily could even begin to imagine how losing the other would feel. If Ingo had been as close to Emmet as the two of them were to each other, he must have been struggling greatly with the fact that not only had they been apart for three years, but also that he had no idea where Emmet was.
The last week they’d spent in Hisui had been largely scouring the Galaxy Team and the two Clans for a man named Emmet, or someone who had any sort of lead of a man named Emmet who looked like Ingo. They’d had no luck at all, which had lead to the promise Isabelle and Emily had made him when they’d left- that as they traveled, they’d keep a sharp eye out for a man who looked like him, who was named Emmet. And that if they found him, they’d take him to Hisui immediately to reunite the two.
Isabelle sighed, wishing that it was easier to track a single man down out of who-knows-how-many people there were in this world. Alas, as much as they’d try, she doubted she and Emily would ever come close to finding Emmet, considering how little time they usually spent in a region before moving on. She could only hope that Ingo’s friends in Hisui could be of more help to him in his quest to find him.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Emily settled on a seat in the middle of the boat’s deck, crossing her legs.
“Everything that happened in Hisui,” Isabelle responded, laying a hand on Eelektross. “Wondering if Ingo and Akari are looking for Emmet right now.”
“I’m sure they are,” Emily nodded. “Or Ingo is, at least, if Akari isn’t busy with her research.”
“It’s so odd that we barely have heard of this man, and we’re still so invested in his well-being,” Isabelle remarked with a small laugh.
“It’s because we’re worried about Ingo,” Emily shrugged.
“That’s probably true.” Isabelle turned and leaned her back against the side of the boat. “By the way, as I was watching the Pokemon in the water as we’ve been moving, I’ve seen a few Tentacool. Best to look out for any alpha Tentacruel around.”
Emily nodded, shuddering as she remembered their run-in with an alpha Tentacool while exploring the waters near the Cobalt Coastlands in Hisui. Thankfully, the then-Eelektrik had been able to team up with Akari’s Luxray to fight the Pokemon, but she was certain that if Eelektrik had been on its own, the fight would’ve been very close. Thankfully, her sister’s Pokemon was now not only better trained in battling, but also evolved, so hopefully, if they ran into an alpha of Tentacool’s evolved form, they’d be able to hold their own against it.
Both girls’ trains of thought were very suddenly interrupted by a sudden very loud clash of noises coming from the lower deck of the boat. Both stood up quickly yet still cautiously to avoid rocking the vessel, and Eelektross floated up and over to Isabelle’s side. Sobble hopped off the gunwale and began to climb up Isabelle’s body. Chandelure turned around, looking at the two with concern.
“Did Popplio return and I didn’t see it?” Emily wondered, confusion growing on her face.
Almost as if on cue, the two heard a splash, and a blue body lept out of the ocean and landed on its back two flippers on the portside gunwale, holding its arms out in a dramatic pose as it barked to announce its presence.
“Popplio??” Emily turned to face her smaller Pokemon. “If you’re right here, then who’s-”
“I’ll go look,” Isabelle insisted immediately, carefully grabbing Sobble who had settled on her arm and handing the timid Pokemon to her sister. “Eelektross, come with me, please.”
Eelektross chattered again to let her know it had heard her, and Isabelle headed immediately for the stairs.
“Be careful, please!” Emily called after her, letting Sobble rest on her shoulder.
“I will!” she called back as she started quietly down the stairs.
She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected to see. A pokemon, maybe, one that had lept out of the ocean and onto their boat accidentally, perhaps? That seemed the most likely conclusion, but still. Something felt off, and she made sure Eelektross was staying close to her.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she peered warily around the corner into the small living space that was the lower deck of the boat. It was divided into three areas- a bedroom, partitioned off by a partial wall, a dining/lounge area that had both a table to eat at and a couch to sit on, and a kitchen, stocked with all the necessities for a long journey at sea (thanks to the hospitality of the Galaxy Team in Hisui).
And, laying on the floor in their kitchen looking dazed, were two whole humans who most definitely had not been there before.
Before she could begin to process the two humans in the kitchen, something else caught her eye. A small, green Pokemon, whose head was shaped like a raindrop and whose eyes were big and blue. Its body was small compared to its head, yet it still had two arms and two legs. The legs did not seem to be regularly in use, however, as the Pokemon floated in the air above the floor. It stared at her, giggled softly, and disappeared in a mist of green sparkles that lingered in the air where it had been.
Isabelle, her mouth hanging open, turned to look yet again at the two humans laying on the floor of their kitchen.
The first person that caught her eye looked to be a woman, dressed very peculiarly in her mind. She had blonde hair and wore a headband with gray hemispheres at the ends covering her ears, and two long black cords dangling from those hemispheres. Her dress was short and sleeveless, yellow with black and tan arrow stripes in the middle. Under the dress, she wore black tights, leading down to yellow heels. She was thin and had pale skin, along with striking blue eyes.
The other person, however, caught much more of her attention.
Silver hair. Gray eyes. A coat and hat that looked to be nearly the same as Ingo’s, except in white instead of black.
And a face, identical to that of the Warden’s, except for the broad smile instead of a perpetual frown.
Isabelle’s heart felt like it stopped.
The man in white groaned, sitting up holding a hand to his forehead. “Elesa. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I think…” the woman, Elesa apparently, responded, propping herself up with her arms. “How about you?”
The man squinted at his surroundings. “I think I’m alright. Where in the name of the world were we taken?”
His eyes wandered around the room and then settled on Isabelle.
He almost immediately got to his feet, hand going to his belt and settling on what she thought might be a Pokeball (it looked very shiny and metallic- nothing at all like the ones she kept Eelektross and Sobble in).
“Who are you?” he asked, almost demanded very nervously. The woman he called Elesa also spotted her and got to her feet as well.
“I think I’m the one who should be asking you that, considering you’re the ones who just suddenly appeared on my boat,” she shot back, nervous at the hostile way they faced her.
“Isabelle, who are you talking to?” the worried voice of her sister called from up the stairs.
“A boat?” the man repeated, looking very confused.
“Emily, we have company,” she called back, not taking her eyes off the intruders.
Seconds later she heard her sister clambering down the stairs, landing next to Isabelle at the bottom. Chandelure followed right behind her.
The woman’s mouth dropped at the sight of them. “What in the world?”
Isabelle stepped forward, trying not to let her nerves show. “I’ll ask you the same question you just asked me. Who are you?”
The man, realizing they were cornered, considering Isabelle and Emily blocked the only exit, lowered his hand from his belt, still keeping his guard up.
The woman, still looking shocked, was the first of the two to speak up. “Uh, hi. I’m Elesa, I’m the Gym Leader of Nimbasa City in Unova.”
Isabelle’s mind reeled. Nimbasa Village?
“And this is-”
“I am Emmet.” the man stood straight, hand going up to his forehead in a salute. “I am a Subway Boss in Nimbasa City in Unova. I am looking for my brother.”
#submas#submas fic#warden ingo#pokemon oc#legends arceus#pokemon legends#pokemon legends arceus#akari pokemon#subway boss ingo#submas ingo#submas au#submas ancestors#fic spoilers beyond this tag#subway boss emmet#gym leader elesa#pokemon#fanfiction#pokemon fanfiction#submas fanfiction#submas emmet#elesa pokemon#emmet pokemon#celebi mention#though it's not explicitly stated that it's actually celebi#but it is
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Eyewishes - Ch. 2
AN: Did I just sit down and write all of this in like two hours on a whim after over a month of inactivity? Yes. Is it good? God, I hope so. Anyways. Obligatory spoiler warning! This fic takes place in season 2, but contains spoilers for certain things up through the end of season 4. Also, in this chapter I describe scars and thus, the implied wounds that caused them. So warning for that. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
Chapter One
Someone had blinded them in their left eye.
Well, perhaps something might have been a better term given the situation, but Y/N truly didn’t know. It was incredibly disconcerting. They had no idea who or what had blinded them, nor any knowledge of anything about themselves from before they reached the doorstep of the Magnus Institute. It was obvious they were suffering from amnesia, and without much effort they Knew that if they were to go to a hospital their affliction would be diagnosed as retrograde amnesia specifically, as opposed to anterograde amnesia, the difference being… well, they could go on and on with textbook definitions and possible causes. But no matter how hard they tried, they could not See into their own past.
The handiwork was at the very least neat, so perhaps there was a clue there. On several occasions Y/N had found themself losing track of time and spending hours staring at themselves in the water-stained mirror of the Archives’ seldom-used bathroom, analyzing every detail of their wounded eye. Two lines of scar tissue ran over their brow and eyelid down to their cheek, perpendicular to each other in a way that formed an “X” over their eye. Was it intentional? By the way their gut churned when they asked themself that, Y/N suspected it might have been.
And though the damage done to their eye was horrific enough, Y/N wasn’t convinced that it alone was what was causing their stagnation. They could probably write it all off to that, but something that pulled at the back of their mind told them that there was more. That something else had happened to them, but they just couldn’t remember. Couldn’t See. There was, of course, the situation of their stomach, but… Well. That was a bit more difficult to address. Besides, they’d only learned of that when they’d first had the opportunity to change clothes over a day after they’d arrived at the Institute. Martin had been kind enough to locate and bring to them some clothing in roughly their size, but they’d decided quickly to keep the flannel. It was cold down in the Archives, and maybe it was just their imagination, but it seemed like when they wore it the barbed wire surrounding their memories retreated just a little bit.
The others weren’t as friendly. Tim and Jon were suspicious -- rightly so, if a bit misguided -- and only allowed them to stay in the Archives after quite a bit of persuasion from Martin. And luckily for Y/N, the thing seemed just as content to avoid them as they were it. Then, there was Elias.
Elias didn’t visit the Archives too often, but that didn’t matter, because he was always Watching, even if the others didn’t realize. He couldn’t See through Y/N’s eyes, though, something that had become apparent quite early on in their stay at the Institute. All the more reason to isolate themself from the others. They might have both been on the same “side”, but his demeanor towards them made it quite clear that this meant nothing to him.
That being said, it wasn’t that much of a surprise when Y/N felt the staticky presence moving down the hallway towards the bathroom door. They had been staring again (for approximately 42 minutes and 37 seconds), and again, no answers were coming. They gripped the edges of the sink and did their best not to look away from their reflection as the door opened.
Elias was immaculately dressed, as usual, in a dark green three-piece suit that was utterly out of place in the drab surroundings. His gray-streaked hair was pristine, and he had a pair of thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, through which he was watching Y/N intently.
“Ah, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it, one of many that the two had passed between themselves since Y/N’s arrival. “Hiding from the archival staff? I suppose I can understand that. They can certainly be a little…” He turned on his heel so that he was fully facing the mirror, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Unsettling at times.”
<What do you want.>
He chuckled (it wasn’t a genuine laugh, of course. Y/N doubted if they’d had any sort of genuine interaction since he’d threatened them) and began to approach them. His steps were slow, drawn out, giving them apt time to meet his gaze in the mirror, but they didn’t. He’d only enjoy it if they were to watch him as he was watching them. Like a curious predator.
He stopped mere inches from them, and Y/N was almost relieved until he leant forwards. The moment his chest hit their back they stiffened fully, only just able to stop their neutral expression from faltering as Elias dipped his head down to the right of theirs, not quite touching, but still far too close for comfort. Carefully, he brought his hands to rest on the edge of the sink next to their own. He had not stopped trying to make eye contact with them.
“I just want to talk, Y/N. I’m sure you must have questions you’d like to ask me.”
<None you’d actually answer.>
His gaze narrowed slightly. “No, probably not. But why don’t you try me?”
They had to close their eyes to stop themselves from looking up at him at that. Did he want them to try and Compel him? Even if they were at their strongest, they didn’t think he’d let them do so successfully. No, he was probably just gloating. They reopened their eyes, but did not look away from their own reflection. <Why don’t they know?>
“You’re going to have to be a little bit more specific than that, I’m afraid.”
Their brow furrowed. <The Archivist, and the others. Why don’t they know they’re under the Eye? Or that there’s a Stranger posing as their friend? Why haven’t you told them, when-->
Elias cut them off with a tsk, tilting his head as he did so. “Really, Y/N, don’t you have more important things to worry about?” They watched their eyes widen as he placed his left hand on their cheek, fingers just grazing their scars. His touch was cold. “Poor thing… I can’t imagine what--”
<Stop it.> They felt frozen in place as they watched his fingertips trace over their skin.
“Ah, right. All you can do is try and imagine what happened to you. Or am I mistaken? Please, tell me exactly just what it is you can remember, Y/N. Or is it really nothing at all? So much lost knowledge, it must be taking a toll on--”
<Stop it.> In a burst of movement Y/N spun around to face him, their gaze finally meeting his. They nearly gasped at the force of it, and a wave of shivers wracked their body as the raw feeling of being Watched invaded their senses. Their reaction was obvious, and Elias’ small smile immediately broke out into a pleased, toothy grin.
The trouble was, it felt very, very nice to be Seen by another avatar of the Eye. Of course, there was no way Elias could Know that Y/N felt that way, but if he’d had much experience with other avatars of their god, which was likely, then it wouldn’t take too far of a leap to come to that conclusion.
It didn’t help that with his hands firmly planted on the sink edge, Y/N was practically caged-in between it and his body.
“Oh, Y/N, it really is a shame…” He’d lowered his voice to a purr as he brought his hand up to cup their cheek once more. “Because judging off of what’s left, you truly must have had beautiful eyes.”
That was it. With as much force as they could muster they pressed their palms against the lapels of his suit and shoved him away from them. He must’ve decided he’d had enough fun for one day, as he let Y/N push him off with far more ease than they’d expected, and did not move to stop them as they stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind them. Every nerve in their body felt hypersensitive as they focused on getting as far away from Elias Bouchard as they could while staying within the boundaries of the Archives. They didn’t think he was going to follow them, but they couldn’t be sure after the way he’d been Looking at them just moments before. Y/N wasn’t used to him being so direct -- the statements he’d made in regards to their lack of memory had surprised them, but it just meant he was better at piecing things together without the aid of Seeing into one’s mind than they’d hoped -- nor to being confronted with so much power from another avatar. Though, worryingly, they didn’t think that he had exactly been using full force in there.
He was just toying with them, that was all. They had expected him to start doing so at some point, so that in and of itself wasn’t a surprise.
They just didn’t account for how good it would make them feel.
Taglist: @decora-peaches
#fanfic#fanfiction#elias bouchard#elias bouchard x reader#jonah magnus#jonah magnus x reader#the magnus archives#tma#tma fanfic#the magnus archives fanfic#x reader#reader insert#nonbinary reader#gender neutral reader#fiction#creative writing#marzipan writes#slow burn
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i know they're losing (chapter 2)
Hello everyone! Since the last chapter received such a positive response (well, if screaming could be called a positive response), I've decided to not make you all wait long for the second chapter of this fic. Also, I have no self-control. Anyways!
Once again obligatory disclaimer this is characters not people, don't ship real people, etc.
Chapter Title: over snow and winter's morn
Chapter Wordcount: 3203
Content warnings: more discussion of death, also quite a bit of Scott being a bit of a dick. He's going through it, besties.
AO3 Link
Chapter 1
Actual fic under the cut:
Jimmy doesn’t get a chance to return the ring any time in the next few weeks. Scott must have told Katherine that he visited, since she doesn’t come to bother him about it, and every time Jimmy tries to go to Rivendell, something gets in the way. Demon attacks, urgent business in his empire, once even Scott’s own guards turning him away. Apparently Scott is a ‘busy elf’. Jimmy doesn’t doubt he is, but he also doesn’t doubt that Scott’s actively trying to avoid him. Scott is a petty man, ultimately, and Jimmy knows this, used to love it like he loved all his husband’s flaws, all his imperfections that were perfect to Jimmy. Now, though, it just hurts that Scott’s turning that pettiness on him.
Finally, something changes. Jimmy gets an invitation (in person!) from one of his closest allies; Lizzie wants to hold a ball, and she wants as many people as possible to come. It will be fancy and formal, with dancing and politics and all the things Jimmy’s just a bit awkward with, but he is an extrovert at heart, and well...Scott will be there, as Lizzie warns him.
“I know you and him don’t really get on, so I get if you don’t want to come. I really hope you will, though, it’s going to be a fun night!”
Jimmy nods. “I’ll be there! I need to talk to Scott anyways, actually, got to return this ring to him. It’s important, I think.”
“Gotcha! See you there,” Lizzie says with a broad smile. Jimmy appreciates that she doesn’t ask any questions about the ring, especially given that it’s the one thing holding together his emotional state right now.
And that’s how he finds himself frantically searching for something fancy enough to wear to a formal ball, wishing he’d had the forethought to plan for this a bit better. Scott would have planned, he thinks, would have had an outfit laid out for each of them and the time it would take them to get there exactly calculated.
He shakes that thought off, settling for a green tunic with copper accents. It’s not the most elegant thing in the world, especially when you take into account the slime that’s dripped onto it, but it’ll have to do. It’s representative of his empire for sure, and the copper is a nod to his ally. It’s good enough, and that’s what matters, Jimmy thinks.
Lizzie greets him when he enters the ballroom, smiling widely with her new fiance by her side. “Jimmy! Glad you could make it!”
“Yeah, yeah, I did make it! Here I am!” The smile he gives her is genuine; he likes Lizzie. She's fierce and kind all at once, the best kind of ally.
Joel offers him a brief wave, which Jimmy happily returns before Lizzie drags him off to chat.
“So, heard from a little birdy you’ve actually been visiting Scott,” Lizzie says, a grin like the cat that got the bird on her face.
“As a favor to Katherine,” Jimmy quickly clarifies.
She nods. “She did say that, yes. She also said she heard about the visit from Scott himself.”
Jimmy hates himself a little for being pathetic enough to ask “What did- did she say what he said? Was he talking about me?”
“She didn’t say exactly, but he seemed ‘shaken up’, apparently...and a little wistful.”
“Oh, no. Lizzie, no.”
“Say, why did you have his ring?” She’s still grinning, a little more evil this time.
“It’s a long story!” Jimmy blurts, and flees. How’s he supposed to say ‘oh we were married on a server where we thought we were going to permanently die and then we respawned here and now Scott’s refusing to talk to me because the grief over my last death is slowly killing him’ tactfully? There’s just no way to do it! Nice one, Jimmy, now she thinks you’re in love with him or something, he thinks ruefully. Not that he isn’t- wasn’t. Wasn’t. Scott’s made it very clear that he and Jimmy are through.
Still, even with his depressing thoughts, the ball is pretty okay. No one’s gotten assassinated, there haven’t been any demonic appearances, Lizzie’s already showing off her engagement ring, and he’s pretty sure Joey’s going off about how hot demons are. It’s a decent party, by empires standards.
Scott makes an appearance some twenty minutes or so later, stepping into the ballroom with typical elven grace. He’s not a very elven elf, as he once told Jimmy, short and sarcastic with a love for mortals, but he still looks twice as elegant as everyone else in the ballroom. The shakiness in his step from a few weeks ago seems entirely gone, and for a minute, Jimmy’s heart leaps in hope. Maybe he’s getting better?
Well, only one way to find out. Jimmy swallows the complicated knot of emotion in his chest as he crosses the ballroom, coming to an ungraceful stop in front of Scott. Up close, the elf looks worryingly pale, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like a strong breeze might sweep him away.
“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets.
“Elvenking,” Jimmy returns, dipping his head a little. Look, Scott, he can be formal too, alright? “Care for a dance?”
Scott stares for a long moment before giving a single nod. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind.” He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.
Now, Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and he’s not too proud to admit it. He steps on Scott’s feet, gets off-rhythm once or twice, and nearly crashes them straight into Lizzie and Joel. But despite their current status as enemies(ex-spouses?), Scott says nothing about it. He’s silent, in fact, seemingly caught up in the music. There’s something wistful about his expression, something soft and gentle hidden under his icy facade. If Jimmy tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that the two of them are back in 3rd life, dancing under the stars, and Scott is looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.
The illusion is shattered, however, by how heavily Scott is leaning on him by the end of the dance. He’s unsteady on his feet, grip like iron on Jimmy’s hand and shoulder. Though Jimmy can’t feel his hands though the gloves, when he brushes against Scott’s arm, it’s still a little too cold to be entirely right.
The music slows and then pauses before the next song, and they head for the edge of the dance floor.
“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He steps away, face falling back into the emotionless facade so quickly it’s hard to be sure the tender expression of a moment before wasn’t a dream.
That’s the final straw for Jimmy’s fragile self-control. “Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?”
“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back.
“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”
“Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I’m still in love with you, you know.”
“I know,” Jimmy says, a little softer, a little bitter. “I know, trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”
“That’s not what I’m do-”
“Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf!” They’ve kept their voices low enough, but people nearby are still starting to stare at them. Jimmy can’t bring himself to care. “You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”
Scott’s expression is pained for a moment before he covers it with a glare. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”
“No you’re-”
“I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.”
“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy protests. “I want you.”
“You can’t have me.”
“But why? Why, Scott?” His voice breaks, embarrassingly enough. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.”
“I can’t give you that!” Scott snaps. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.”
“Enough for me? For ME? All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existance once in a while!”
“And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”
“Why can’t you care about me?”
“Why can’t you move on?” Scott counters.
“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.
In the silence that follows, he realizes that most of the ballroom must have heard the end of their little lovers’ quarrel. In fact, Lizzie’s somehow appeared next to him, laying a hand on his arm.
“Is everything alright, boys?” Her tight smile says that they will most certainly get kicked out of the ball if they continue this, and Jimmy can’t blame her.
“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” Scott says, switching to a formal tone with ease that Jimmy envies. He dips his head in respect, and only Jimmy sees how his hands tremble. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.”
She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”
“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and sweeps away.
“Coward!” Jimmy shouts after him, anger making him bold. “You’re a coward, Scott!”
“Stop it,” Lizzie scolds. “You’ve already made quite the scene, and I did essentially kick him out. I’m not sure how much further you really want to carry it.”
“He is though, Lizzie, he’s a coward! Doesn’t want to face me because that means facing- well, facing everything that’s happened!”
“What do you mean, everything that’s happened?” Lizzie turns to the gathered audience of people who have been watching the spat, shooing them off as best as possible. They slowly disperse, thank goodness. “You and he are enemies, right?”
Jimmy almost winces. “It’s a bit- it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“I can see that. Jimmy, that looked like a messy breakup!”
“It, um, well, it was. Sort of.”
“Oh, Jimmy.” Lizzie’s giving him a sympathetic look, which she follows up with a tight hug. “Next time, how about we don’t invite him?”
He nods against her shoulder, rage leaving him as quickly as it came. Instead, he just feels...tired. “Thanks, Lizzie.”
“Of course. We look after each other, yeah?’
“Yeah.”
Jimmy leaves the ball exhausted, still reeling from everything that happened. The few lingering bits of anger are what gets him home, a bitter taste in his mouth from the bitter words he spat. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott! He refuses to regret them.
Scott’s ring nearly ends up in the swamp again, but Jimmy’s cooled down enough by the time he gets back that he can’t bear to throw it away. Instead, it goes in a box which he tucks into his old storage chest, somewhere he’ll never have to see it again. Scott can go to hell if he wants the ring back after all that.
-
For a while, Jimmy’s plan to tuck the ring and never think about Scott again seems to be working. Lizzie visits a few times to check on him, but she never asks specifically about Scott, and Jimmy doesn’t say anything about him. He receives radio silence from Rivendell, and he tells himself that it’s good, that he doesn’t want to hear from Scott.
So yes, his plan is working, up until he gets a knock on his door and opens it to find Scott there.
The elf looks terrible, frankly, almost worse than he did at the ball. His hair, which is usually so nicely done, is a mess, cyan strands falling all across his face. His clothes are wrinkled and have swamp mud on them, his eyes have dark circles as violent as bruises, and he’s swaying a tiny bit. In short, he looks like he didn’t sleep for a week, chugged coffee, and fought god in a denny’s parking lot.
Jimmy thinks he’s kinda hot.
No, he doesn’t. Fake news, brain.
“Hi,” Scott says.
“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy’s voice rises, in shock or outrage even he doesn’t know.
“I came to apologize.” Though he looks like he’s going to pass out at any second, Scott’s voice is steady. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps, but there’s little real rage behind it.
“I know. I- uh- fuck.” Scott’s hands are shaking as he pulls out a little box from some hidden pocket. “I brought a gift as an apology.”
Jimmy takes it, curious despite himself, and finds that what’s inside is a silver bracelet with little crystals embedded in it. Flowers are the predominant design; he recognizes roses, hyacinths, irises, anemone, and poppies. On the underside, there’s elven lettering, though Jimmy has no clue what it says. The whole thing is a little clumsy, not quite as professionally made as the ring Scott once gave him, and Jimmy looks up at Scott. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.”
“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says.
Scott’s shoulders slump with relief. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”
“Do the flowers mean something?”
“They do.”
Jimmy doesn’t press for details.
“I-” Scott starts again, a tremble in his voice that wasn’t there before. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.”
“Is it that- that dire?”
The barest nod. “This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence, Jimmy staring down at the bracelet.
Scott breaks it. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am yours still, if you’ll have me.”
A part of Jimmy is very tempted to throw both Scott’s gift and his love back in his face. He can’t bring himself to stay mad, though, not when Scott’s looking at him like that, with so much raw vulnerability. So much devotion, like Jimmy’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. It would be so, so easy to break that last strand of fragile hope in his expression; he’s offering up his heart on a silver platter, ready to shatter. Jimmy could- should- yell at him, reject his gift, tell him that he’s ruined any chance he has at Jimmy’s love.
Jimmy kisses him instead. It’s messy and it’s sudden and he very nearly drops Scott’s gift in the swamp in his haste to tangle his hands in Scott’s hair and press their lips together, but it’s real.
The little startled noise Scott makes gets cut off by Jimmy’s mouth on his. Scott’s lips are chapped and taste a little of glowberries, but Jimmy doesn’t care. He’s going to kiss his damn husband, something he thought he was never going to get to do again.
When they finally have to separate, Scott’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed. It’s a good look on him, Jimmy thinks, much more alive than his pale, rigid expression from before.
“So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?” Scott’s voice is wry, collected, but his blush ruins the smooth effect.
“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”
“Just checking.”
Jimmy kisses him again, just to shut him up. Scott goes with it easily, leaning into Jimmy’s embrace without complaint.
They pull apart quicker this time, and Jimmy holds the bracelet out. “Can you help me put this on?”
Scott nods. His hands are cold against the skin of Jimmy’s wrist when he fastens the clasp, but Jimmy grabs them and holds them in his own warm ones until they don’t feel quite so much like ice. It’s something. It’s a beginning.
“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.
Scott nods again, and he doesn’t let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.
They talk about a lot of things. Empires, 3rd life, nightmares. Pufferfish, cake, flowers. They talk about the trials and tribulations of ruling; really, Jimmy complains that people keep attacking him and Scott nods in sympathy.
Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.
“I need to get home,” Scott says. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.
“Don’t go! Please,” he adds, feeling his face flush at how desperate he sounds.
“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep.”
“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”
“No, no.” Scott kneels back down, peering at him like Jimmy’s a puzzle that needs solving. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Jimmy.”
“I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts, and immediately flushes again. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”
“Hold on. What was that about a demon?”
“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me,” he manages. “It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!”
Scott’s frowning, worry wrinkling his brow. “Alright. How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.”
Jimmy nods, feeling especially pitiful as Scott helps him to his feet. “Thank you.”
“Always. Do you still have the ring I gave you?”
“I do, I just….give me a moment to remember where I put it.”
“Good. It’s important.” Scott doesn’t elaborate, and Jimmy is too distracted looking for the ring to ask what he means.
Scott’s offer of protection feels flimsier when he has to lean on Jimmy as they travel back to Rivendell, but even then, it’s impossible to feel quite so afraid now that Jimmy isn’t alone anymore. And it’s even harder to fear anything that could happen when he’s safe in a warm bed, his head tucked against his husband’s chest. They’ll be okay, Jimmy thinks. They’ve been given another chance, and this time they’re going to get it right.
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OBLIGATORY part 4
Draco x Pureblood!Reader (Series)
Series Masterlist
There’s a bit of a time skip thing happening in the middle of this chapter because I have poor planning skills but I think it still works! Let me know if something reads weird, I did some re-writes on this since I haven’t touched this series in a WHILE.
When your parents arrange for your betrothal to a certain young Malfoy heir, how will you handle the strong dislike between the two of you?
PART 4
Word count: 1500
Warnings: Swearing, angst
Ever since he’d given you the old leather-bound book, Draco had started avoiding you more avidly. No longer did you find him staring at you in Transfiguration or throwing snide comments at you across the dinner table. It was like you simply ceased to exist. Now you were the one staring, weighing the options that hung heavily in the air.
You started to notice how tired he looked. Bags under his grey eyes, hair more disheveled than you were used to. You knew he often got letters from his parents and they seemed to cause him to retreat into himself even farther. He was pale and looked ready to crumble if you so much as looked at him. Of course, this wasn’t the case, he still snapped at Gryffindors and kept up his grades to an incredible standard, but something was off. Even you could see that.
You were starting to get worried when he disappeared from the common room for hours at a time, even missing classes at certain points. Pansy and Blaise admitted that they hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. It was almost as if Draco Malfoy was becoming one of the Hogwarts ghosts.
“I have bigger fish to fry” rung through your ears. Right, because he was now considered an important member of pureblood society. Swearing allegiance to the Dark Lord. You didn’t understand why anyone would throw away their life like that, especially a minor. He was up to something, you could feel it in your bones.
You shook your head. It wasn’t your problem and he wasn’t your responsibility.
Months. That’s how long you’d been searching for a solution. Nothing, except that damn book Draco had found. Trouble was stirring, you could feel it in the air.
Potter and his friends seemed to be plotting among themselves. Pureblood families started forming two different groups; those with Death Eater parents and those disgusted by their former friends. You heard the teachers whispering wherever you went and there was an eerie hush through the castle whenever the daily profit reported another death.
You wanted to run away, hide, scream and never see any of your peers again. Unfortunately, until you broke that contract, you’d have nowhere to run without basically having a glowing sign over your head everywhere you went.
You spent the next week trying to corner Draco. Every time you got close enough to talk to him, Crabbe or Goyle would get in your way or he would just disappear into the crowd. It was incredibly frustrating, like trying to catch smoke with your hands.
You finally managed to catch him by staying up in the common room, watching students trickle out to their dorms. You stayed awake to the best of your ability, spite motivating your eyes to stay open. Finally twenty minutes after the last straggler had shipped off to bed, the soft click of a dorm room opened and a blond head of hair snuck past your spot by the dwindling fire quietly.
“Malfoy.” You stood up as he froze in his tracks. “Look at me.”
“What.” He spun on his heels to finally look you in the eyes. His stare was deadly and you could see his jaw clench.
“I want out. I want out of this fucking contract and this is all I have.” You held up the leather bound book you’d been carrying around for weeks.
“I don’t have time for this Y/L/N,” he grumbled, “there’s more important things than your stupid vendetta against me.”
“This isn’t about you, you selfish prick,” you snapped, “I need out.” You ground out.
“You have your whole life to figure shit out, I don’t.” He muttered.
“What does that mean?” You looked at him questioningly.
“Nothing, never mind.” He refused to meet your eyes, “stop bothering me.” He growled and stalked away and out of the common room before you could respond.
“Fine, I’ll have to do it myself then.” You spoke aloud as you watched him walk away from you.
You did stop bothering him. All the way through the Easter Holidays you stayed in your family library. Picking through different potion books and ignoring your parents calls for you to attend events with them. You snuck around your own home as if it was a graveyard and you were afraid of waking the dead. Even your mother couldn’t manage to get you out of your room. You were focussed and nothing could draw your attention from your goal. An obsession in your mind.
Back at Hogwarts you coasted through your days. Attending classes and eating dinner before choosing to lock yourself in an abandoned classroom every evening. You stole ingredients from the potion’s cupboard, hoping Slughorn wouldn’t catch you.
You managed to completely burn through two cauldrons with your first batches of Draught of Living death which did nothing to help your nerves. The calming draught was luckily much easier to come by. A little trip to the hospital with a strong case of nerves and Madamme Pomfrey was all too happy to give a hysterical teenage girl something to calm her down.
Finally you had your opportunity. Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw for the final Quidditch game of the year. The whole school would be attending and you could hide in your classroom and perform the ritual yourself. You crossed your fingers and hoped everything in your draught of living death and after checking the recipe one more time you bottled it. Clearing all of your potion supplies you placed the contract on the desk in front of you, the two draughts sitting next to it threateningly.
You bit the inside of your cheek and read the worth page one more time. You’d take the calming draught first, then the draught of living death, quickly slice the palm of your hand and simply let the blood drip onto the contract. What worried you was someone finding you passed out over a contract full of blood. What worried you more was never waking up again and no one finding you at all.
“Okay, ya know what, either this works or I don’t have to live with the consequences, right?” You spoke out loud to yourself.
Unstoppering the two vials you quickly shot down the calming one as the door to the classroom slammed open. You dropped the half empty vial and cursed under your breath.
“Are you insane?” The voice cut through you like ice.
“Get out of here Malfoy, this is none of your business.”
“Unfortunately, it is my business.” He stalked over to you, stopping a foot away from you as you gripped the vial of death in your hand behind your back.
“Have I ever been unkind to you? Have I mistreated you in any way?” His tone was cold, questions falling from his lips as if they’d been there all along. “Am I honestly so repulsive to you that this is a better option than just marrying me?” His hand shot out to reach behind your back and tried to pry the vial from your grasp.
“Don’t touch me with that vile thing,” you spat and shoved Draco away from you, you knew the mark that rested underneath his sleeve and it terrified you more than you could say.
He looked taken aback and almost ashamed. Before he could react you turned away from him and downed the potion in your hand. Snatching your wand off of the table you pointed it at your hand and slashed the soft skin.
“This is pointless Y/N,” Draco grabbed your bleeding hand and held it away from the parchment in front of you. “It’s a copy, it’s not going to fix anything. I’m taking you to the hospital wing before you pass out.”
“I’m not stupid Malfoy,” you spat and pulled your hand from his grip with quite a bit of effort, “I swapped the contracts over easter. This is the original.” The blood pooling in your hand was starting to run over the edge of your hand and you held it over the parchment, spilling your blood over the page.
“Not stupid my ass.” You heard him growl as your vision started to blur and your head felt full of fog.
“I….” You took a big breath and tried to steady yourself, before you lost control of your body and collapsing.
Obligatory Tag list:
@xkonpinkx @detroitobsessed @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @pointlesscoconut @irlkell @thehumanistsdiary @mo-onstarrs @summer-writes-words @aplaintart @jjjmaybank @rainstorm22
#draco x reader#draco malfoy series#Draco Malfoy#Harry Potter#harry potter series#harry potter fanfiction#Obligatory series#obligatory#draco x you#draco x pureblood!reader
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20 First Lines Tag
Thank you to @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz for the tag! This looks cool!
Rules: Post the first line of as many WIPs as you have of either completed, partially worked on (and have some sort of first line for) or are currently working on (including multiple versions of drafts).
I don’t know if I can get to twenty without digging through some discarded files that should never see the light of day, so take the top things I keep going back to work on! (I also added genre because while I write mostly fantasy new adult, there is some other stuff thrown in.)
1. Embracing Shadows (Draft 1- Completed!) (Fantasy New Adult):
“So, why are we here again?” Lauren asked me as I peered through the forest from the temple tower, trying to find anything out of the ordinary in the dark.
2. Embracing Shadows (Daft 2) (Fantasy New Adult):
I had two problems: the weather and the company of soldiers chasing me.
Each footstep crunched in the snow as I ran, flurries of flakes blinding me as I pushed through the forest, twigs from trees catching on my armor and slashing my already freezing face. Behind me soldiers were yelling, the distant sound of many more people running. When I came to the forest, I was supposed to be the hunter, not the prey.
3. Rising Dawn (Embracing Shadows Sequel) (Fantasy New Adult) :
You only come to the City of Gods when you want something. (But is this not a raw-ass line?? It’s one of my favorites.)
4. Twin Shadows (Embracing Shadows Prequel Novella) (Fantasy New Adult) :
Even after years of training and over two years of being a full fledged Shadow, Madi’s arrow still veered up.
“That’s no dinner for you tonight.” I told her, her next shot even further away from the center of the target.
“It’s the wind, Aster!” She snapped, the both of us knowing fully well that it was a windless day in the early spring of Abyej.
5. Our Lady Knight (Draft ?? I have tried reworking this so many times but I refuse to give up on this story) (Fantasy New Adult) :
The light caught the rubies in the crown, and I thought it almost looked like blood.
6. Tainted Blood (Contemporary Young Adult):
Chapter 1- I Get Chased By a Demon Chihuahua
I mean, now I know it was a hellhound, but at the time I just couldn’t figure out why it was chasing me.
7. From my Untitled Superhero Story (Can we appreciate the chapter title ‘Origin Stories That Begin with Stupid Decisions‘ tho) (Contemporary New Adult):
I wasn’t sure which stupid decision kicked everything off.
It was either deciding to take a job at Blaise Industries or having a one night stand with the son of the CEO of Blaise Industries.
Now I know what you’re thinking. ‘Katie! Obviously the second one!’, but in my defense I didn’t know he was the son of the CEO until after we were kidnapped.
Let me explain. (I also love this as an opening line.)
8. Lost in Space (One of the first Star Wars Ficlets I started writing cause I am stuck in Star Wars brain rot) (Featuring an OC too, but not a reader insert- I have standards) :
Jedi aren’t supposed to be afraid.
Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to Anger. Master Yoda would say, Anger leads to Hate, Hate leads to Suffering.
I wasn’t so sure how fear leads to anger though, in fact anger was the farthest thing from my mind as I confronted General Grevious in the hall.
9. From my Attack on Titan fanfiction ficlets because I am also still stuck in Attack on Titan brain rot (Featuring an OC too, but not a reader insert- I have standards):
They never tell you when your world is about to end.
Oh, there were signs. Everything went still, from the rustling leaves and gentle winds to the chirping birds and pets playing. There was just half a heartbeat of silence, the only warning humanity got.
And we all missed it.
10. The Start of the End of the World (from my Dragon Age Origins ficlets cause...as you can guess...I’m stuck in Dragon Age brain rot):
You see, it really started when my mother walked into my room at the ass crack of dawn and threw a heavy, ceremonial dress towards me.
“What’s this for?” I asked, or tried to pass the sleep. What I think came out was ‘Wfmfms phz mor?’. However after nineteen years of listening, my mother understood perfectly, tsk-ing me like I was still a small child.
11. Obligatory, Self-Explanatory Harry Potter Fic (Also an original OC):
The clock chimed once, marking the time as 10:45 am on September 1st, and Bonnie Reid had no idea where Platform 9 3/4 was.
I’ll tag @charleewritesabook, @howdywrites, @ariadnewordweaver, and @thatfizzyyyy and anyone else who wants to do this if you haven’t already!
#writing#writeblr#fantasy writing#tagged#its been so long since Ive posted writing stuff#but it feels good since i actually have been writing#even if a lot of it is fanfiction too lol
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Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Gríma Wormtongue
Additional Tags: is is just shameless nonsense for the yuletide season, eomer and grima on a roadtrip in winter, this is like those stupid hallmark christmas flicks but for Grima and Eomer, Theoden is still alive, Animal Sacrifice, they're anglo-saxons + vikings on horses, it makes sense culturally ok,
Summary:
Post-ROTK, Grima's trying to make good on a vague sorta-promise that he'd be a slightly more ethical individual (for a given value of "ethical"), Eomer is learning what it is to be king-in-waiting. It is all a bit much for everyone involved - made more so when the two are stuck together on a tour of the north of Rohan in the winter season.
Eomer has zero (0) feelings for a certain former traitor. Grima insists his heart is non-existent, he might have eaten it when he was in the womb. Things progress from there.
--
Obligatory Excerpt:
Now that he has this settled, Éomer lands on the next question: is he to do anything about it?
No, he quickly determines, he won’t. Because that would be supremely stupid, even for him. There are two main points for not doing anything about it, he firmly tells himself. And they’re very good points, he reiterates.
Point the first: Gríma is an oath-breaking, traitorous, son-of-a-bitch who cheats at cards.
Eomer is very fixated on the fact that Grima keeps whopping his ass every time they play cards.
Grima: you too can learn the art of card counting eomer. i have faith in you.
Eomer: no you’re absolutely using witchcraft.
Grima: the witchcraft of card counting.
#lotr#lord of the rings#my land is bare: yuletide edition#lotr fanfic#be not afraid of plenty#eomer#grima wormtongue#griomer#grima x eomer#writing
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Everyone Deserves Love chapter 5
A/N: They have met! And now they are stuck together! Will Barba be able to not be an asshole to Devon? Will he stop rolling his eyes? Tune in to find out!
Just kidding; this chapter starts off on the next day. About halfway through, it jumps, so watch out! I do put the dates, so they are kinda important. But in case you miss them, I think I also generally put in a sentence explaining the jump. I also totally head cannon both Barba and Fin as super not-morning people. Also also, I spent...too much time looking up knife wounds for this to be as accurate as it is. Triple also, obligatory straddling/pinning down scene while training >.>
Shoutout to my friend Adrian in Colombia, who translated Spanish phrases for me. They are in English in parenthesis next to the Spanish.
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Tags: blood, stab wounds, knives, fighting
Words: 11k+
Apartment of Rafael Barba
Friday, January 28th. 4:00am
Devon was the first awake—not something new to her. Actually, it was incredibly rare that she wasn’t the first up; ever since taking the UC in California, she had trouble sleeping, exasperated by the time difference. There was just too much going on in her mind, especially now, having to protect someone for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Plus, the root of the problem (that she refused to admit, even to herself) was that she was always on alert, always afraid of resting, even for a few hours at night. She never felt safe, even when she wasn’t working a job. Her place in the FBI was one that she loved, but it also put her in harm’s way often. She knew that she had enemies out there: cartels, mobs, gangs. But she never had anyone come after her directly. She had buddies in high ranking FBI positions, and even in the CIA, that would routinely check if they had heard about a hit on her, but it has only happened a couple times in the past, and always a one-person vendetta. Not a whole gang, like what Barba now faced. Even so, Devon was always on alert, even when simply walking down the street.
So, when she woke up at 4am to a quiet loft on this Friday morning, it was no surprise. She got up, stretched, then got on the floor. She did pushups, sit-ups, stretches, lunges, and every other exercise she could think to do when in the living room of a loft—no chance for a run, and even less of a chance to hit the gym. Barba didn’t look like the “gym” type. Devon chuckled at the thought as she worked. Once finished, she snuck into the bathroom in the hallway, praying that Barba was a heavy sleeper; waking him up early was probably not a great start to the day. She stripped quickly and hopped in the shower. She had shampoo, conditioner, and soap in her grip, plus deodorant, toothbrush and paste, and a variety of perfume.
She prided herself in being prepared for anything that fate threw at her; she collected perfumes and outfits for her job as a chameleon. She was damn good at blending in, and she planned on doing that today. She knew that Barba was…less than ideal as a victim; he was abrasive, spiteful, and seemed to dislike having her around—last night seemed like fatigue took out some of his bite. But she could play into that; she planned on wearing neutral colors, wearing natural-colored makeup, and donning a soft perfume. She wanted to look as plain as possible, wanted no one to notice her. Wanted to just be another face in the courthouse. The only thing that gave her away was the badge and gun on her waistband—though her jacket hid them unless at the right angle—and a knife strapped to her upper thigh. The sheath, straps, and hilt of the knife was black, which blended in with her black slacks. Ever since the UC in California, Devon kept the knife on her at all times—well, maybe not while sleeping.
Dressed and feeling refreshed, Devon tiptoed out of the bathroom. There was no sound from Barba’s room, so she assumed he was still asleep. She opened her laptop and wrote up her report from the day before; she’d have to have a report for every day for Olivia, plus a report for her boss, Jenkins. Even though she wasn’t technically working for the FBI for this, she knew that he’d want a debriefing at the end of this. Soon enough, she heard Barba’s muffled alarm go off, heard him haphazardly slap it until it turned off. He let out a groan and the bed creaked as he stood. A couple moments passed, and then the tale tell sound of a shower starting up filled the loft. Devon finished Olivia’s report at the same time Barba opened his bedroom door, walking quickly to the living room. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, bright blue tie bringing out the green of his eyes. He wore a strong cologne, his hair slicked back; he looked handsome, but his face showed that he was not quite awake yet.
He looked at his watch; he was running a little late today. He sighed, then jumped when he saw Devon sitting on the loveseat, fully awake and dressed. He had forgotten in his rush that she had stayed the night, had thought it might have been a dream.
“Good morning~!” she sang out, closing her laptop. She packed it into a small computer bag, then went to disable the screaming doorstop. Once disabled, she placed it on the coffee table.
“Morning,” he replied, groggily. He grabbed his briefcase and went to open the front door. Devon cut him off, opening it and poking her head out, checking the corridor. Barba caught himself rolling his eyes; he remembered that he resolved to be a “good victim” for her, no matter how ridiculous her safety precautions seemed. Once determined clear, they both made their way to the elevator. His phone went off and he looked to see who was texting him this early. Oh, Olivia. Of course.
Fin and Rollins are outside your loft, ready to take you to work
Barba couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes this time as he responded. I agreed to having one babysitter, not three
Liv wrote back almost immediately. Just get in the car, Barba
The elevator doors opened, and Devon took the lead again. Barba informed her that they had an escort this morning and who to look for.
Devon let out a giddy laugh at some unknown joke, and Barba wondered how someone could be so perky in the morning. “How Liv got Fin out of bed this early, I will never know.” Barba smiled at the fact that someone was as grumpy as he was and followed her over to the detective’s car. They greeted each other, and Barba saw Devon struggling to hide a smile as Fin was downright nasty. He said nothing as he waited for them to get in, Rollins not nearly as successful as Devon in hiding her smile at Fin’s expense.
1 Hogan Place
Friday, January 28th. 7:30am
Fin dropped them off in front of the DA’s building and barely waited for Barba and Devon to get out of the car before he peeled away.
“I know that some people aren’t morning people, but jeez,” Devon chuckled.
“And I thought that I was moody in the morning,” Barba replied. Devon turned to the doors but stopped when she saw Barba turn the opposite direction.
“Trying to ditch me already?” Devon admonished, whipping around to face the same direction.
“Of course not; I just want some good coffee before I have to deal with shitty office coffee,” Barba said. He looked both ways, then did a little jog across the street. Devon, seeing the only coffee stand across the street, kept up with the ADA easily. She looked around on high alert, looking at everyone who even glanced their way. She had her gun on her hip, like normal, but realized two things; 1) it would be too slow to reach for it if someone came at Barba with a gun already drawn, and 2) it probably wouldn’t look good to the public if she did have it drawn. Instead, she opted for the knife she kept strapped to her outer left thigh. It was over her clothes, but it had a button release so that it couldn’t be drawn without hitting the button. She hit that button now and kept the short throwing dagger in her left hand. She was ambidextrous when it came to hand-to-hand combat, including with knives; they were her specialty. She actually felt more competent with a knife than with a gun, but until recently, she hadn’t been given the OK to use them in the streets.
“Did you want something?” Barba asked, pulling Devon’s attention to him. She realized that they were standing at the window, Barba having already ordered. The barista was looking at her expectantly.
“Oh, sure, sorry. I’ll have a large mocha, please.” She looked at the menu really quick, realizing that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and added, “and a poppyseed muffin, please and thank you.” The barista nodded and went to grab the muffin. “Thank you,” she said to Barba as he pulled some bills out of his wallet.
“No problem,” he gave her a puzzled look. “Where were you just now?”
Devon gave another quick glance around their surroundings before answering, “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t die right now.” She said it as a joke, but the realness of it settled on Barba.
“Well, I’m glad you’re the one staying on top of it. I’m not even awake enough to consider throwing a punch right now,” he smirked, grabbing their coffees, and thanking the barista—Jordan, if memory served. Barba tried to hand Devon hers before realizing that her hands were taken up. He knew that she had a muffin, but he was shocked to see a knife glinting in her left hand. Devon hesitated a moment before sheathing the knife at her side—he didn’t even notice the holster strapped to her leg, it blended in well—and took the coffee.
“Thanks again,” she said before taking a sip. Barba opened his mouth to warn her; Jordan may run the best coffee stand in town, but his coffee was also notorious for being incredibly hot. But Devon was able to take a sip, not even flinching. She lowered the cup from her mouth, clicked her tongue a couple times, tasting the coffee, before swallowing and saying, “this coffee is hot as hell.”
Barba laughed at that; a nice sound, Devon noticed. She was glad that he seemed a little looser today than yesterday. Maybe it was just nerves that made him that crabby the day before. She couldn’t blame him; the flood of adrenaline and emotions that come from narrowly avoiding death can sour anyone’s mood, especially twice in as many days. At least this smoldering coffee would make for a good weapon, since she didn’t have the hands for a knife right now.
They quickly made their way back across the street, into the DA’s building. Barba was shocked when Devon didn’t insist on leading him; instead, they walked side by side. It was only once inside that he figured out why; the building was bustling, even this early. Attorneys, police officers, and other general people moved in and out of hallways, ducking into their offices. Barba and Devon weaved their way through the throng, quickly making it to his office. Once there, Devon ripped into the muffin while Barba prepared his first court case for the day. Devon offered him some of her muffin—“you should really eat something before going and standing all day”—but he declined; he had a stash of snacks in his desk. He pulled out a small package of nuts and ate them while he made sure his case was solid, or as solid as it was going to be, going over every little detail that he could think of. Once it was 8:30, Barba gathered his things, mentally aligning himself with his work self; he was in no way a saint outside the court, but he was downright devilish in the courtroom, and he knew it, prided himself on it.
Devon had since finished her muffin and mocha and stood when she saw Barba gathering his things. She made a last-minute decision, leaving her laptop behind; she wouldn’t be able to work in the gallery anyways. She muted her phone and followed Barba out of his office. What had always seemed like a short, easy walk from his office to the courthouse now seemed to take forever. Devon’s head was constantly on a swivel, watching the crowded street, marking every person who looked a little too long, who gave a weird look. One man reached into his pocket and Devon’s heart leapt into her throat until she saw him simply pull out his phone and start typing. This is going to be a very, very long job, she thought.
It was a relief when they made it to the stairs leading into the courthouse. If Barba felt any of the anxiousness that Devon did, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he seemed calm, collected. He took the lead up the stairs, and Devon let him. He knew the courthouse better than she did, so she let him lead her through the winding hallways, keeping an eye open to the people around. They made it to the courtroom, and Barba went up to his normal table, while Devon sat directly behind him, turning to look at everyone who opened the door behind her, just in case. She still didn’t particularly enjoy being in a courtroom, but her fear was much more manageable, thanks to the time she spent with ADA Casey Novak. This quickly became their routine for the whole day; they walked together to whichever courtroom Barba was assigned, He went to the table while she sat and watched from the gallery as he destroyed the defense’s case over and over again. Devon was impressed with how well he conducted himself in court, glad to see he was just as capable, even more so, than the past ADAs she dealt with. Then they would leave, sometimes going back to his office, but more likely, heading to another courtroom. They broke at around 2pm; they hid in Barba’s office and ordered takeout while he worked on some papers and she trolled the FBI database for information on the Aces. They barely got their food by the time Barba was called into the DA’s office to ask about the attempt on his life the day before. Devon was honestly shocked it took that long for his boss to mention anything. She strong-armed her way into the DA’s office with Barba, much to his chagrin. The DA—Jack McCoy—wasn’t too pleased about it, but she knew how to deal with his type. She let Barba relay in brief detail what had happened, and then explained that she was there to protect him. Seemingly satisfied with that, McCoy kicked them both out of his office. Afterwards, they hurried back to Barba’s office, and got a couple of bites in before it was time to go back to the courtroom.
“I’m sorry about this,” Barba said, indicating the food. “Don’t get much time to eat in this profession.”
“Don’t be, it’s fine. Work is work,” Devon smiled. She knew what it was like to not have a moment to yourself, let alone to eat. And the last thing Devon was, was a complainer. So, they went back to the courtrooms, the cases, the defense vs. the prosecution. It wasn’t until 6pm that they made it back to his office. Only two of the cases had ended in convictions today, but they were in Barba’s favor. Devon marveled at how well-spoken he was in court; she may be a negotiator, but she wanted to learn some of his tricks. Maybe she’d pick them up if she watched him work enough.
Barba put the takeout container down, sighing contently. “I promise that most days aren’t this intense. Maybe a week or two every other month. I’m not normally in court this often. I’m usually in here, prepping,” he gestured at his office.
“Why the big case load?” Devon asked. She was genuinely interested; she had never worked closely with a lawyer before, especially an ADA. She didn’t know the ins and outs, but if she learned, maybe she could add that profession to her repertoire of fake jobs she took while undercover.
Barba sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Besides the one case that got moved to today from yesterday, there was a huge sex trafficking bust a couple months ago. A lot of the people involved took a plea, but the ones who didn’t are finally getting processed. Those two cases from today will be continued tomorrow, but after that, it should slow down.”
Devon nodded. “I forget how long the courts take, sometimes. I’m actually surprised that their being processed only a couple of months after the fact.”
“Through some legal maneuvers, and with urges from the mayor, the DA was able to speed up their trials.”
Devon gave Barba a knowing look; she knew how the Big Bosses pushed around things that they wished to. Liv complained about 1PP all the time, and she had experienced it every now and again with the Feds.
“Well, I don’t mind; running around so much means time goes by much quicker.”
Barba smiled at that, “sometimes, too quick. Speaking of,” he looked at the time, “I think that’s it for tonight.”
Devon looked at the clock on the wall. 7:05pm. “Wow, calling it early, eh?”
“I try and not spend my whole life trapped here, as much as it appears otherwise,” he replied. Devon grinned, standing up. Barba stood as well, grabbing his things. Devon swung her laptop bag over her shoulder, unsheathed her knife—she wanted less conspicuous tonight, and her gun still felt heavy in her hand--and made her way to the door. Barba waited behind her, without prompting today, as she cracked open the door and made sure the coast was clear. It wasn’t until after the elevator doors opened, letting them off, that they noticed how many people were still around. Devon kept the knife by her side, though she kept her arm loose, flexible, ready to defend. But they met no obstacles as they made their way outside. Devon was shocked to see that Fin and Rollins were once again parked outside, readying to escort the two back to Barba’s place.
“Liv said she texted you,” Rollins said as an explanation. Taken aback, Devon took out her phone and noticed that there were a couple missed texts from Olivia. Then it dawned on her; her phone was still muted from earlier. She’d have to remember to keep it on vibrate from now on. She sent a quick apology text, promising to call once they were secured at Barba’s place.
Apartment of Rafael Barba
Friday, January 28th. 7:30pm
“Today wasn’t so bad,” Devon commented after hanging up her call with Liv.
Barba had been working on the coffee table again and looked up. “No, it really wasn’t. I hope I’m not being lulled into a false sense of security, what with no attempt on my life today.”
Devon was going to joke about how the night was still young but thought better of it. She realized that she still didn’t really know this man; she didn’t know his humor, and she didn’t want to worry him. Besides, today really had been pretty good; she didn’t notice anyone tailing them, or anyone threatening. But that just seemed to add to her anxiety; they went from back-to-back attacks to nothing. They could be taking this time to plan. She was going to have to be more alert the next day.
After a couple hours of work, they both said goodnight, and made their separate ways to bed. And with a full day together done, this became their framework for every day afterwards, never really deviating from the norm.
Apartment of Rafael Barba
Monday, March 16th. 9:36pm
“When did you join the FBI?” Barba asked. They were eating pizza for dinner in Barba’s loft. It had been almost 2 months since he was shot at, and Devon took on the job of bodyguard. There hadn’t been an attempt since, which only made Devon more nervous; her head was on a swivel, eyes never settling on anything for too long. Sleep had been becoming harder and harder for her, eyes snapping open at every creak. If Barba was feeling nervous, he didn’t show it; he just went about his day as if nothing were different. At least Liv had called the day before to tell them that 11 Aces were now in jail; the only good news they had gotten. But none of them were talking to the SVU detectives about the hit.
Devon thought about how much she wanted to say. She chose a simple answer. “I was recruited when I was 20.”
“Recruited? How do you get recruited to the FBI?”
Whoops, wrong use of words. “Carefully,” she said, smirking.
Barba knew her enough to know that he’d get nowhere if he pushed the subject. There were only a couple subjects that Devon avoided, mostly her childhood and family. Barba couldn’t tell yet if she locked her past away because of her training in the FBI, or because it was painful to revisit. To be completely fair, he dodged the question about his parents, too, when she retaliated after he asked her first.
After a pause, Devon asked, “why ADA?”
This was how almost every night went when they weren’t absorbed in their own work. One of them would break the silence with a question, and then they’d get sucked into hours-long discussions. They were slowly getting more comfortable with each other—easy to do when they were stuck with each other all day, every day. Devon had even followed Barba into the men’s restroom at the courthouse, to his embarrassment. It took some arguing, but she eventually checked every stall and left, not allowing anyone else in until Barba had finished and come back out, still red in the face.
“To be honest, it wasn’t my first choice…or a path I even considered until my last years in high school.” Barba thought back to his high school years, to his past career choices. He never had a “dream job;” he actually felt like he was living it now, even if it wasn’t something that had crossed his mind as a child. “I had no idea what I wanted to do as a kid. I played around with some stupid hobbies, but they didn’t pan out. So, in high school, I just started taking classes that sounded interesting. I ended up taking a criminology course and fell in love, as cliché as that sounds.” Barba smiled at the memory. “I did well enough that I got a full ride scholarship to Harvard.”
Devon nodded; she liked hearing stories of people finding themselves, finding their passions. She was glad that Barba seemed motivated; he actually loved his job, instead of being forced into it by his parents. Though, she was curious what his idea of “stupid hobbies” was.
Barba thought a moment, then asked, “you said you joined the FBI at age 20. Does that mean you skipped college?”
Devon grimaced. “Uh, yeah, I never even applied.” She tried to shut out the memories from that part of her life, but the familiar knot formed in her stomach.
“Say you quit the FBI; you’ve had enough, and you’re done with all of it. What profession would you go into?”
Devon thought for a long time. It had been so long since she even considered doing a different job. “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve been in the FBI for nearly two decades. They don’t exactly teach job skills outside of my profession.”
Barba scoffed, “come on, you must have had a dream job when you were a child, right? What would you have done if you never joined the FBI?”
Devon knew the answer to the latter, but she knew she couldn’t tell him. I’d be in jail. Instead, she answered, “I didn’t really have a dream job lined up. When I was in high school, I only ever thought about college as just a way to get away from my parents; I had no long-term goals. I honestly didn’t even see myself as attending college, not that I could’ve afforded it, anyways.”
Barba was at a loss for words. He tucked the small nugget of information about her family into his mind, which answered an earlier question; she didn’t talk about her family because it was painful. He could certainly understand that.
Both of them seemed to be content with letting the conversation die there. It was getting late anyways, and Barba had yet another early morning the next day, though not as early as that first day. They went through their nightly routines before saying their goodnights and heading to bed. They both had a little trouble sleeping that night, stuck in memories of past lives, both good and bad.
Apartment of Rafael Barba
Tuesday, March 17th. 4:00am
The next morning, their routine hadn’t changed. Devon was up first, showered, and ready for the day. She had a weird feeling in her gut, so she made sure she packed some gauze and an extra shirt in her laptop bag. She didn’t believe in superstitions, but she did know to listen to her gut; it’s saved her ass before. By the time she was ready, Barba was up and showering.
“Morning,” he grumbled when he came out, voice thick with sleep.
To the untrained eye, he didn’t look any different than normal; sharp suit, sharp hair, sharp cologne. But Devon could see the exhaustion in his expression, in his slightly stooped shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep?” A tired huff was his only reply. “Why don’t I make us some coffee? Carmen won’t care if you’re a little late today. ‘Sides, you don’t have an arraignment until 9:30—we got time.”
Barba was too tired to argue. He sat heavily in the armchair while Devon flitted about the kitchen, scooping coffee into Barba’s French press—something she had teased him about the first time he showed her how to use it (“how can some kid from the Bronx be such a coffee snob?”). While the water heated up, Devon examined Barba’s resting form; his eyes were closed, his breaths were soft. It was almost as if he had fallen back asleep. But he opened his eyes when he heard Devon move to pour the water into the pot. After a couple more minutes, letting the water seep into the coffee the perfect amount, Devon poured them both a healthy amount in to-go cups, pouring in the small amount of sugar she knew Barba liked, and the copious amounts she liked herself.
“Thanks,” Barba said with a small smile, standing and taking the cup from her. She smiled back, then headed for the door, checking the corridor like normal before leading him down to the street.
“What took so long?” Amaro said by way of greeting, though there was no real anger in his voice. Rollins made eye contact with Devon and raised her eyebrows. Devon, oblivious, shrugged and got in the back with Barba.
“Made some coffee this morning. We were up late working,” Devon replied. Rollins’s smile grew, and even Amaro made eye contact with Devon in the rearview mirror.
“Oh yeah? Working on what?” Amaro asked accusingly.
“Get your minds out of the gutter, detectives,” Barba spat before taking a long sip of coffee. If Devon didn’t know any better, she’d swear she saw a blush on his cheeks. But why is he blush—oh, Devon thought, feeling her own face turn red. Is that what they thought they were doing last night? She took her own sip of coffee, attempting to hide her face. They sat in silence for the rest of the car ride, trying to ignore the tension in the backseat.
1 Hogan Place
Tuesday, March 17th. 8:30am
All of the detectives have learned to drop Devon and Barba off across the street from the DA’s building at this point, so that they could get their morning coffee. Even though they both had a cup in their hands, the habit was hard to break, and Amaro dropped them off in the normal spot.
“Idiots,” Barba mumbled as they drove off, and Devon didn’t think it had anything to do with where they were dropped off. Her face was still red, and she couldn’t look at Barba directly. Glad to see SVU is still a gossip ring, she thought.
“Let’s at least grab some breakfast,” she suggested, walking towards Jordan’s coffee stand. Those muffins really were delicious. She heard Barba sigh and follow her.
The tension in the air was still tight, and Devon desperately wanted to say something to change the subject, but nothing came to mind. She looked down at the coffee in her hand, coming up with a weak topic.
“Hey, feeling more awake now?” she asked sheepishly. When Barba didn’t answer, she chanced a glance at him. His mouth was slightly ajar, eyes wide in shock and fear, locked on something over Devon’s right shoulder. Instinct took over, and she threw herself in front of him, coffee flying out of her hand. She had her forearm pushed across his chest, shoving him against the coffee cart, her face inches from his. She felt a pressure that turned to pain in her right shoulder, but adrenaline had taken over, and the pain was soon forgotten. Without missing a beat, Devon whipped around and saw one of the men from the night in the alley—Rogelio Olivera—looking shocked and backing away slowly. His arm was raised, but nothing was in his hand, which seemed odd to her. But she had no time to think about it as she used her momentum, turning towards him to punch him in the face with her left fist. Rogelio went sprawling onto the ground.
Movement in the corner of Devon’s eye caught her attention. Jose, the younger brother and the other man from the alley, was trying to use the diversion his brother set up to attack Devon, knife gripped in his hand. He swung it towards her gut, but she blocked, throwing her right forearm haphazardly into his hard enough that he dropped his weapon. She pushed down on him, letting his momentum carry him downwards, and she punched him hard on the spine with her left, dropping him to the ground. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out one of her pairs of handcuffs and cuffed him before he could regain his composure. She couldn’t get a grip on his wrists with her right hand, though—there was so much blood on her hand, it made everything slippery. In the rush, Devon didn’t think about where the blood came from, nor the fact that the muscles in her right hand weren’t working correctly. Instead, she pushed a knee between his shoulders, forced his hands together with her left, and somehow cuffed him with the right.
“Stop resisting,” she said. Shockingly, he laid still, turning his attention to the right. Devon saw the movement and followed his line of sight to his brother.
Rogelio, who was just getting to his feet, gave his brother a guilty look. He was just out of reach of Devon, so she instead reached for her knife on her thigh. Rogelio saw his chance and took it; he turned and ran. He only made it a couple steps by the time Devon had cocked back her left arm and threw her knife. It twirled through the air perfectly, blade over handle, before embedding itself into his left calf. He stumbled to the ground, yelping in pain.
Devon looked to Barba, who’s mouth was agape in shock and awe, and commanded, “call 911 now. Tell them we need a bus and an officer.” With that, she sat Jose up, telling him not to move, and then made her way to Rogelio. He was clutching his calf, which was bleeding but not gushing, and looked like he was going for the knife. “Leave that there; you’ll bleed out if you don’t,” she advised. She felt like handcuffs were kind of unnecessary at this point, so she half helped, half dragged him to where his brother was sitting quietly, possibly in shock as he stared at the knife protruding from his brother’s leg.
She looked up as Barba hung up his phone, his hands shaking, eyes still wide. “Are you okay?” she asked. In the madness, she never looked to see if he was injured or not. Mentally, she berated herself for even letting this two get close enough to attack, getting distracted by some idiotic rumors. Stupid….
“I’m fine; are you okay?” His voice was full of concern. When Devon squinted in confusion, he continued, “there’s a knife in your shoulder.”
As if he had spoken it into existence, pain shot through her right shoulder. She looked and was able to make out the hilt sticking out of her back. That…explains a lot, she thought, remembering the pain she felt earlier after shielding Barba, the blood, and not being able to use her hand while cuffing Jose. She looked at her right hand, now covered in red, flexing and closing her fingers. At least those still worked, albeit weakly, but she was unwilling to test the full motion of her arm, at least until the knife was removed.
“Never better,” she tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. Sirens were going off in the distance; the ambulance was coming. Devon looked around at the gathering crowd, noticing that most of them had phones out, filming everything. Great; if the Aces didn’t know Barba had protection, they did now. With any luck, they wouldn’t hire anyone outside the gang to take him out; hopefully, it was a personal enough hit that they wouldn’t outsource. Either way, Devon was going to have to make some calls, keep an eye on known hitmen. She ignored the people murmuring about police brutality, and just tried to focus on the next steps. No one looked like they were about to take a shot at Barba, but she still hovered near his side, just in case. The pain in her shoulder hurt, but it wasn’t extreme; she’d had worse before. Though, the blood starting to pool at her feet, dripping off her fingers, wasn’t a great sign. At least she had extra gauze and an extra shirt. Always follow those gut instincts.
The ambulance arrived a few moments later, three cop cars right behind it. One set of cops took Jose into custody while another set took Rogelio to the back of the ambulance. Devon followed, handing the EMT her card and asking for her knife to be returned to her after it was taken out. The EMT looked a little disgusted with her priorities but took the card anyways.
“That was a little tactless,” Barba said.
“That was a really good knife,” Devon replied.
The last two cops came to check on Devon and Barba, get their statements. Once they saw the handle sticking out of Devon’s shoulder, though, they called an EMT over. Devon had lost enough blood to feel woozy, but not enough that the EMT could convince her to go to the hospital. Being a torso wound, the EMT could dislodge it right there, after discerning that no major arteries were hit, though he did so begrudgingly, saying that she should really go to the hospital. After the knife was removed, and Devon received 8 stitches, she went through the whole range of motions that she could; it seemed like the knife had missed the important stuff, though she couldn’t raise her right arm above her head. The EMT gave her a look before forcing her to sit still and wrapping her in gauze. Statements given, and all patched up, Devon led Barba into the courthouse and away from the growing crowd. With the time wasted, they were now running late for Barba’s first arraignment of the day.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You should go to the hospital,” Barba said once away from the peering faces.
Devon focused on walking straight, one foot in front of the other, trying to block out the pain, the wooziness. “I’m fine, really. This isn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed.” Barba whipped to look at her, trying to find out if she was joking or not. “Besides, how are you feeling? You’re due in court”—she looked at her phone—“2 minutes from now. Are you feeling up to it? Should I convince the judge to give you a continuous?”
After the attack, Barba’s hands had been shaking. From fear, adrenaline, or worry, he didn’t know; maybe it was a mix of all the above. But with how long it took to give statements to the officers, to remove the knife and get Devon patched up, and then her fighting with the EMTs to not go to the hospital, Barba’s nerves had calmed down. At least a little bit; better than nothing.
“I’m fine; it’s only arraignments,” he replied. She shot him a skeptical look; they didn’t have time to eat their breakfast and they didn’t have time to make any coffee in his office. He was going to say more to try and reassure her, but they had arrived at the courtroom he needed to go preach law into anyways. Barba had a sudden thought, looking at Devon, or more importantly, the state of her clothes; her shirt, though black, was sticky and turning hard from dried blood. Sitting behind her, one could even see the stab hole in the fabric, the white of the gauze peeking through. In the craziness of the attack, Devon had dropped her laptop bag, and had completely forgotten to change clothes. Barba took the overcoat he had been carrying and held it up for Devon to put on.
“Here, wear this,” he prompted.
Ever sharp, even with her woozy mind, Devon understood immediately, slipping her arms into the sleeves and shrugging the heavy coat on. The winter jacket was way too hot to be worn in the courtroom, but it was better than having a bloodied Federal Agent in the front row of the gallery. Plus, it was only arraignments; they didn’t take long. It also smells like his cologne…she thought, wistfully, mind drifting.
“You’re late, Mr. Barba,” Judge Barth admonished when they both finally walked into the courtroom. He had some snappy comment that Devon missed; she spent all her attention on making it to the bench on wobbly legs.
Devon dutifully sat in the front row of the gallery, right behind Barba. He gave her one more once-over, noticing how her eyelids drooped and how pained she looked, sweat on her brow, before switching his mind into ADA-mode. He could worry about her injury later.
Luckily, it was only a couple arraignments, so after 2 hours, they were headed back to Barba’s office. Devon seemed alert, but not like normal; it was almost as if she was relying more on instincts than on thoughts. Her eyelids were still drooping, her footsteps seemed heavier, and she wasn’t looking around as much as she usually did. But she still hung close to his side protectively, uninjured hand resting on her gun hidden under Barba’s jacket that she was still wearing. They made it quickly to his office, Devon making it through the door first, to make sure no one unexpected was occupying his office. Once cleared, she all but collapsed onto the short couch against the wall, letting out a grunt of pain.
“No calls or visits, please,” Barba said to Carmen. She nodded, and he closed the door, throwing the lock. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance for you?”
Devon turned to shoot him a glare, but in this state, it fell flat. “If you ask me that one more time, you’re going to be the one who needs the ambulance.”
Barba would have laughed at that, but he was too worried about her to manage it. He went over to the little water cooler he had put in—sometimes he needed something besides coffee, only sometimes—and filled a cup. He forced it into Devon’s hand, the left one, the uninjured one. She drank the whole thing gratefully, and he went to refill it.
While he did, she shrugged out of his coat, grimacing at the motion. “Thank god I brought an extra shirt. Though, I don’t think I can put it on,” she chuckled softly, then winced as her mirth cause her body to shake her shoulder painfully. Oh, this was going to suck.
Barba handed her the second glass of water then said, voice barely above a whisper, “I can help…if you want, of course.” She sipped at the water this time rather than chugging it, shocked that he’d offer. Normally, she wouldn’t care if someone she counted as a friend helped her put on a shirt while she was injured. And she did count Barba as a friend. But the conversation with Amaro and Rollins came flooding back, making her hesitate. Did he think of her as a friend?
“Go for it,” she replied drily, trying to play it off as nothing. As if it were just another work thing. As if she didn’t care. Barba nodded, going to where her bag was on one of the chairs, digging through it until her found the extra shirt she had packed that morning. Grabbing it, he came back over to her. Devon moved to sit on the arm of the couch, feet on the cushions. He sucked in a breath as he stood behind her, preparing himself for what he was about to do; he’d never helped dress someone before…well, besides maybe shoving discarded clothes into someone’s arms after a night together. He was glad that her back was to him, that she couldn’t see the blush on his face. Devon grabbed the hem of her shirt and raised it as high as her hurt arm allowed. Gently, he unstuck her shirt from her shoulder—it was still caked in dried blood—and pulled it off of her, left arm first, then over her head, then off her right arm.
He found himself caught staring at the patch of gauze, stark white against Devon’s otherwise tan skin. There was a little bit of red, only a little, to show that some blood had seeped into the material but had since stopped. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to check; he knew that the EMTs already did, but deep down, he had to know for himself, what he had narrowly avoided. And how much she was now hurt because of him. This was all his fault, he knew; if he had warned her, if he made them go to his office instead of out in the wide open, if he didn’t have a target on himself, then Devon would be fine. She would be enjoying her time off after three years of whatever hell she had endured in California.
His gaze wandered from the patch on her shoulder to the rest of her broad back, starting with her other shoulder, than travelling down her spine, then resting on where the waistband of her slacks rested on her hips. She was littered with scars, most of them thin lines of white, but others that were longer, thicker, some that were straight, some curved. One of them even looked like a bullet hole down by her hip. Barba fought the urge to trace the markings along her back, wondering how she had gotten them all.
Devon had winced as Barba removed the ruined shirt from her—a part of her was shocked with how gentle he could be. But she resolved not to make a noise; she didn’t want to seem weak to him, to seem too injured. Besides, sitting and drinking water was already helping her wooziness and nausea, though she knew that she needed food. After what seemed like forever of him being silent behind her, she cleared her throat.
“Sorry,” Barba murmured, shaking himself, ripping his eyes away from a particularly long, thin scar across her spine. He moved to scrunch the shirt up to the right sleeve, slipping that over her injured arm, before helping it over her head and other arm. She fixed the hem while he checked her glass of water, which was still half-full, before sitting at his desk. He pulled out his phone and called in an order from his favorite Chinese place—he already knew Devon’s order after spending this much time together. While he was doing that, Devon felt like she should warn Olivia about the encounter. Devon knew it would get back to her eventually, better to get in front of it.
Just so you know, I was able to subdue and arrest two Aces in front of the DA’s Building
Olivia wrote back immediately. Good work. Is Barba okay?
All business with her, like usual. He’s fine, no injuries. I’m sure it’s already viral
There was silence for a couple minutes before her phone lit up. YOU WERE STABBED? Are you alright? Are you at the hospital? Is Barba with you? Devon laughed, knowing Liv must have seen one of the many, shitty phone videos of the attack.
I’m fine; Barba and I are safe in his office, ordering lunch. An EMT stitched me up; no worries. I’ll call you tonight with more details.
Devon put her phone away before she could see Liv’s reply; she didn’t have the strength to fight off both Barba and Olivia worrying about her health. Barba hung up shortly afterwards.
“Thank you, by the way. That’s twice now that you’ve saved my life,” Barba said.
Devon waved him off. “All in a day’s work,” she smiled, then grimaced in pain.
It looked like he was going to ask if she was alright again but thought better of it when he saw the glare she shot him. He instead changed the subject. “How did you throw your knife so accurately?”
She grinned at some inside joke, then answered almost sheepishly, “many, many years of practice. I’m still practicing.”
Barba looked impressed. “It was pretty amazing to watch. It was like something in a James Bond movie; I never thought I’d see something like that in real life, with my own eyes.”
Devon smirked to herself; the fact that Barba even watched James Bond was weirdly funny to her. “Wanna know something stupid?” Barba perked up. “I started teaching myself to throw knives when I was 13, because I thought it would make me look cool. Then, when I joined the Bureau, I thought that it was a great skill to master. So, I could be a cool, super-agent like some shitty action movie.”
“You’re right; that is stupid,” Barba replied. A beat of silence, then they were both laughing, at least until Devon’s laugh turned into a groan and she grabbed her shoulder. Barba went straight into worried again, launching out of his chair. He made it halfway around the desk before Devon waved him off.
Once the pain subsided, Devon said, “well, it may be stupid, but it has come in handy plenty of times. I think that it’s the element of surprise; no one actually predicts someone to throw a knife at them. Not in real life, and not accurately.”
At that moment, food had arrived. Devon still didn’t know how Barba got lunch delivered so quickly, and he refused to give away his secret. They both hungrily scarfed down most of their food before a thought occurred to Devon, something that she should have asked the day she took this job.
“Do you know how to defend yourself? In anyway besides that mouth of yours?”
Barba finished chewing and swallowed. “I think the last fight I was in was when I was 15. And it wasn’t really a fight. It was more a kid beating me up until my friend chased them off.”
“So, no. Awesome. We’re going to fix that, starting tonight.”
“Tonight? Did you forget that you were stabbed today? You are going to take it easy tonight.”
Devon shot an annoyed look at him. “Is Mr. Never-been-in-a-real-fight trying to boss me around?”
Barba shot a glare right back. If looks could kill, then Barba would at least have some sort of self-defense training. “Damn straight I am. Early night tonight, and you’re going to sleep in a bed. That couch cannot be comfortable.”
“Oh-ho, really? You’re not the only one who relies on spite, Barbs. Besides, injured shoulder or not, I could still kick your ass. And the couch is fine.”
Barba was taken aback by that; not so much the threat, but what she had called him. Barbs. As far as he knew, she didn’t call anyone by a nickname, except for Fin and Liv. And anyone who called Fin by his full name was either not a friend or would not be around long.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But I’d feel better if you were at 100% before hurting yourself on me,” he looked at her over his takeout box, “and yes, the bed. This isn’t a negotiation.”
“And I’d feel better if you knew at least basic self-defense,” she countered, “and you’re right; this isn’t a negotiation. I will sleep where I want.” Stalemate, how most of their arguments ended. She knew he was done talking about it as he rolled his eyes and stabbed what remained of his lunch.
The rest of the day went normally, or as normally as it could; Barba only had the arraignments in the morning, so they hadn’t left his office until 5pm on the dot. Early night indeed. Devon still went through the motions of checking the hallways as they left, keeping Barba behind her, even though he was pretty sure she couldn’t do much in way of protection, though Devon disagreed (“I only need one working arm to use a gun, Barbs”). They met no resistance and made it to the street. They hailed a cab—the detectives were in a flurry after the attack today--and made it to the loft promptly.
Apartment of Rafael Barba
Tuesday, March 17th. 5:42pm
Devon still insisted on Barba placing his hand on her back as she cleared each room. He tried to touch her gently, keeping to her left. Devon thought it was sweet, but she was getting a little annoyed by the kid-gloves he was treating her with.
Once the nightly routine was done, Devon said, “you know I’m still teaching you some self-defense tonight, right?” Barba started to argue, but she overrode him, “nothing too physical. More positions and motions tonight. We can practice them in full when the stitches come out. Deal?”
He huffed; there really was no way to win an argument with her, was there? He may be a successful lawyer, but he could not outtalk the agent when she had her mind set. Stubborn, like him. “Deal,” he replied begrudgingly. They moved the furniture to the walls, giving them enough room to move comfortably. Barba discarded his suit jacket and tie, rolling up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. Devon shed his winter jacket—he let her wear it again for the ride home—and gun, placing them on the table. She then went through the most basic ways to break someone’s hold, whether they were grabbing an arm, a wrist, or the torso from behind. Surprisingly, Barba picked it up quickly. He had some muscle despite being an attorney.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” he said when she commented on it.
“That’s a good thing, promise,” she laughed. Her shoulder was hurting, but it was more of a dull thrum in the back of her mind. Plus, she knew if she mentioned it, or winced at all, that he would call the exercise to and end, and she didn’t want to stop this night yet. She was enjoying teaching him something, his eyes bright with focus, and then watching him recreate the steps. Maybe she’d retire and teach self-defense classes one day, if she was lucky enough to have the chance to retire. “Last one for the night, then we can stop.” Barba nodded and she taught him how to flip a person that grabs him from behind over his shoulder, then mount them, ready to attack the face and chest of his attacker. Simple.
“We’re not going to actually flip each other,” Devon said when Barba started to protest.
“Better not,” he replied. “Now show me the steps again.”
At this point, Devon had almost completely forgotten about the pain in her shoulder; it was a constant throb, but it blended into the background as she focused on the steps. She grabbed Barba by the arm gently as she demonstrated, without actually throwing him, what to do slowly. Barba found that he enjoyed having her teach him things, especially if it meant that she could ease up on her vigilance. It was also a plus that she was touching him, not in a sexual way, but her strong hands on his sweaty skin was enough to make his heart beat faster. He could feel the strength in her powerful form; her hands, arms, back, legs. Every bit of her was muscle.
“May I flip you over my uninjured shoulder? I’ll put the sofa cushions down first. You’ll be safe, I promise,” Devon asked. “But it’s important to teach you how to go from leaning over a prone attacker to on top of them.”
Barba sighed and reluctantly agreed. She always got what she wanted. “But only if you use your left.” Devon nodded and they both stripped the couch of cushions. Barba felt nervous as he stepped up behind her. The thought of flying through the air was exhilarating, but not something that Barba ever thought he’d be doing on a weekday evening in his loft with an FBI agent. He forced himself to breath, to keep his eyes open so that he could pay attention, as he wrapped his arms around Devon’s torso. She pretended to elbow him in the gut, like she showed him, and he let go. She then grabbed him by the arm and threw him over her left shoulder. His world spun until he landed flat on his back, Devon didn’t move, waiting for him to lock eyes with her.
“You okay?” she asked.
He grinned back up at her, feeling oddly alive. “Never better,” he parroted her words from earlier back to her. She smiled back, then went through the next steps slowly, narrating as she went, until she was straddling his hips, knees pinning his hands into the cushions by his sides, hands raised as if she were going to punch him in the face. He fought to keep the blush from creeping up his neck, hoping that Devon would attribute his red face to how hot he was from the workout.
“Got it?”
“I think so.”
She got off him, held out her hand. He took it and she helped him up.
“Now it’s your turn,” she announced. The thought of him straddling her was enough to get the blush to fully infiltrate his face. He turned away, nodding as he did, hoping that she would miss the redness creeping around his ears and neck. Instead, he stood at the cushions, facing away from her.
Devon came up behind Barba and wrapped her arms around his torso. She smelled his cologne, mixing with his sweat, and felt his rapid breathing against her body through his back, matching her own breathing. She hoped he couldn’t feel her heart fluttering in her chest. They’d been doing this for a couple hours and were both slightly out of breath. Bracing herself, she tightened her arms, signaling the start of the exercise. Barba positioned his feet the way she showed him, fake hit her, and bent forward. Devon felt weightless as she was thrown over his shoulder, then slammed into the cushions. Pain shot through her shoulder and she whimpered in pain. Barba, though, was already following the motions that she had shown him, straddling her hips, fist raised above her head in mock-fight. It took him a moment to recognize the pain in her face, to realize what he had done.
“Ah mierda, estas bien? (Holy shit, are you okay?) Did I hurt you?” he asked, dropping his hand from fist to cupping her cheek, searching her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she breathed, heart fluttering and not entirely from pain. Barba leaned down closer, scanning her face for any sign of a lie. “Good form.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Both of them whipped their heads to look at the door. “You expecting company?” Devon asked. Barba shook his head, then scrambled off of her. Devon pushed herself off the floor with her left arm—her right buckled in pain when she put pressure on it--grabbed her discarded gun and aimed it at the door. She moved slowly, carefully, towards the door. Another round of knocking rang out.
“Dev? Barba? It’s Olivia,” Liv’s voice called through the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, Devon made it to the door and looked out the eyehole; it was indeed Liv. Not taking any chances, Devon kept the gun aimed as she unlocked the door. She motioned for Barba to stay put, well away and out of line of sight of the door. Devon opened the door, pushed past the shocked Olivia—she did have a gun in her face when the door opened—and checked the hallways.
“Clear,” she called out, beckoning Liv inside.
Once the door was closed and relocked, Liv took in the pushed aside furniture and cushions on the ground, before asking, “what happened today? Are you alright?”
Devon spent the next couple minutes going over the ordeal from that morning, Barba interjecting a couple of times with his point of view, but otherwise staying silent. Devon then spent the next half hour convincing Liv that: yes she was okay, no she didn’t need to go to the hospital, yes she could still protect Barba, no she didn’t need backup. Barba had surprisingly backed her up, saying that she seemed completely capable. Devon was slightly touched at the gesture, her heart clenching with his support.
Olivia sighed. “Well, the other reason I wanted to stop by was to give you an update on our side. The NYPD have collectively caught another 8 Aces, putting the total at 21 incarcerated. If that number of 65 gang members is accurate, then there’s only 44 left.”
“Only 44?” Barba commented, incredulous.
“Better than 65, yeah?” Devon shot back. Barba rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. She did have a point; 44 was less than 65. But 44 people with the potential to kill him left a twisting feeling in his gut that he fought to ignore.
Liv nodded. “We have patrols working around the clock to pick up members. But they know we’re on them; a lot of them have gone into hiding. And those videos of you taking down two of them in front of the DA Building isn’t doing us any favors.
Devon shrugged. “As Munch would say, good ol’ Big Brother looking out for the gang members in that sense.” They talked for a few more minutes about a couple of known hideouts before Olivia excused herself. Devon locked the door after she had left and stretched. Once her right arm was level with her head, she grimaced and dropped it.
Barba was instantly by her side. “Let me see it; I may have pulled the stitches when I flipped you.” Devon didn’t object as he pulled back her shirt, being even more gentle than when he examined her in his office. “Can I take the gauze off? The EMT said that we should change it out tonight.”
“Let’s get the replacement ready, first,” Devon replied. As Barba went to grab gauze from her grip, she struggled to get out of her shirt.
Gauze in hand, Barba looked up to see her struggling to get her shirt over her head. They locked eyes for the briefest moment before Barba quickly adverted his eyes, cheeks turning red.
“Oh, stop playing choir boy and come help me,” Devon huffed, hiding her own face in the fabric of the shirt she was tangled in. Barba made his way over, his ears turning bright red. He grasped the cloth and gently pulled it up and over her head. He discarded it on the back of the armchair, moving to stand behind her once more. He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed by this—he helped her change earlier today. And while he was struggling with his emotions then, too, this seemed more…intimate. Maybe it was because Devon was essentially stripping in his living room rather than his office. Either way, he needed to get his mind out of his pants. Though, his eyes still got pulled from the white patch of gauze to the scars painting her back. Unlike in his office, Barba wasn’t able to stop himself from touching the longest scar on her back, his fingertip ghosting over the white line that stretched from just under her left shoulder blade and leading to under the gauze. Goosebumps sprung up under his finger, and Devon’s breathing hitched.
“What caused this?” Barba breathed, voice barely a whisper. He wasn’t actually expecting an answer, so he was shocked when Devon cleared her throat.
“I believe that one was a leather belt,” Devon muttered. They sat in silence, Devon unwilling to continue, and Barba unwilling to ask for more. Instead, he set about changing the gauze, questions swirling in his mind…though, he was pretty sure he was starting to get an answer.
He slowly pulled off the old gauze on her shoulder. The stitches were still intact, and there was no new blood on or around the wound. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. How could he be so stupid? He knew she was injured, fought against training tonight. But still, he lost focus, he let her call the shots, and it got her hurt. He chastised himself for hurting her; she saves his life, takes a goddamn knife for him, and he slams her onto the ground. If he hadn’t distracted her this morning, if he hadn’t relaxed his guard, then maybe—
“You alright back there?” she asked, pulling him out of his self-hating spiral. He gently placed the new gauze over the wound, pushing it down against her warm skin. Devon sucked in a breath through her teeth, straightening her back at the pain.
“Let me get you an ice pack,” he said over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen. He needed a moment to collect himself, to get away from the heat in the room, and to also let her get dressed...if she could on her own. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the blood rushing through him, and grabbed the ice pack from the freezer before coming back out to her. She had, thankfully, got into her oversized, pajama shirt by herself.
“Sit,” he ordered. Devon obeyed, sitting in the armchair. Barba had her lean forward, then placed the ice pack between the chair and her shoulder—she jumped at the coolness seeping through her new shirt and gauze--and ordered her to lean back into the chair, holding it in place. She relaxed into the chair, eyes closed at the comfort she felt almost immediately; she hadn’t noticed how hot her skin was in that area...compared to the rest of her that was on fire from his touch. Barba sat on the arm of the loveseat and watched her face. All the tension left her features, making her look younger. He never noticed how much stress she had around her eyes until this moment, something that he noticed with others in this line of work. He was shocked he hadn’t noticed until now, when she was relaxed; her attitude, her…liveliness often exuded off her, making her seem much more jovial than the stress on her face showed. He suddenly wondered how much hardship she had gone through in her life, as an agent and otherwise.
Devon sat like that for a couple moments, and Barba felt like he could stare at her in comfort forever. Memories came flooding back to him; that first night when they sat so close to each other on the armchair, her smile and perky “good morning~!” every day, her eyes and body language when she was alert—dangerous, protective—Amaro and Rollins having their fantasies about why they were late, him straddling her in his living room, hand cupping her face as he made sure she was alright. The scars covering her back like a living tattoo proving that she had lived a full, hard life, yet still found a way to smile.
Oh…he thought before he mentally shook himself; he would not allow those feelings to manifest. He’d learned long ago that that path wasn’t a viable option, that it was his lot in life to be alone, and he’d be damned if his resolve would break after only a couple months with this woman. So, he locked away those memories and feelings, shoving them in a tight little metal box in his heart and throwing away the key.
“I’m fine, really,” Devon finally said, opening her eyes. She looked at Barba, found him staring at her, eyes boring into hers. “That was just a stupid mistake; I got carried away in our training. I’m sorry to put you in that situation.”
“It’s my fault; I knew that you were hurt, and I still went along with it.”
Devon chuckled. “We’re going to get nowhere in a conversation if we keep hogging the blame and self-deprecation. Let’s just say that mistakes were made and leave it at that.”
Barba agreed verbally, but he didn’t really believe it. He knew better, needed to be better. After waiting the allotted 30 minutes that the EMT advised, Barba stood, taking the icepack from her and returning it to the freezer. “We should both go to bed,” he said.
Devon nodded, moving to the loveseat. She knew that she’d be up for a couple more hours doing work, but she couldn’t tell him that. She learned early on that he’d get annoyed if she stayed up half the night working—whether it was a worry about her not being alert the next day, or just a concern for her sleeping habits, she didn’t know--but she just couldn’t force herself to go to sleep. She couldn’t turn her mind off. It was hard enough to sleep at night as it was, and with the attack that happened earlier, tonight was going to be even harder.
“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight, remember? I’ll take the couch,” Barba reminded her.
Devon chuckled and made a big show of stretching out on the couch. “It’s so funny when you think you can order me around.”
Barba gave her a look. “You order me around all the time.”
“And you obey, like, 60% of the time. I appreciate that. Now, off to bed with you,” she gave him a little wave towards the hallway, dismissing him.
He shook his head in disbelief. This woman really knew how to push his buttons. “I’m serious; this couch isn’t good for you. You’re injured.”
Devon pretended to be deep in thought, finger on her chin, before saying, “nah, I like the couch. Goodnight, Barbs.”
This was getting him nowhere; if she wanted to sleep here, then fine. He tried to be polite, gentlemanly, but if chivalry really was dead, then she’s the one who killed it. As he started making his way down the hallway, he stopped, looking over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “Barbs?”
“It’s quicker than saying Barba; only one syllable. Does it bother you?”
He could tell by her tone that she did actually care if it bothered him; if he said yes, then he knew she’d never use it again. But, if truth be told, he rather liked it; a name for him that only she used. It was kind of…cute, in a way. “It’s fine,” he replied, turning back to his bedroom door, a small smile on his lips.
Once he was closed off in his room, Devon pulled out her laptop. She started in on her daily report for Liv, but soon enough, her mind started to wander. She learned something new tonight, something that she didn’t want to admit to herself. But she knew that now, while alone, was the best time to go through it; she had to take the thought out, examine it, understand it, and then lock it away.
She couldn’t deny the feelings and thoughts that she had when Barba had straddled her, or when he touched her back, feelings that had appeared briefly that morning in his office, while he helped her change shirts. The heat that had flooded her face, among other places. And sure, pain was one of those feelings as well, but even that went away when he had cupped her face, had looked at her with such concern in his bright green eyes. It was as if time had stopped; she didn’t even hear what he said to her, though his mouth was moving. That was the moment she had noticed; she had feelings for him. How the hell that had happened, she wasn’t quite sure. Now sitting and thinking about it, she realized that she liked quite a bit about him. She liked how he dressed, his smell, his vocabulary, how he worked, his mannerisms and little quirks. She liked that he tapped his pen when deep in thought. She liked that he mumbled to himself while doing paperwork. She liked how his eyes lit up when he was focused, or when he thought of the perfect argument for a case. She liked the brief, accidental touches, just a brush of a hand, when they were both working on his desk. And the longer, less accidental touches, like when she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the coffee stand, or when they smushed too close in the crowded elevator, his cologne strong in her nose. Maybe it was because she had never spent this long living with someone before. Maybe it was because the past three years have left her emotionally drained, vulnerable. In any case, there was no chance of…whatever they could be from happening. 1) She had a strict no-dating rule with victims, whether he played a victim or not. And 2) she didn’t “do” relationships. She didn’t have the time, energy, or patience to dedicate herself to someone else. Sure, she had taken out some stress in someone’s bed before, but she never had repeats—one and done was her motto. She refused to let someone have that part of her; she kept her heart locked in a stronghold. So, how in the hell did Rafael Barba make his way through the drawbridge when she had thought it was up?
#everyone deserves love#edl#edl ch 5#everyone deserves love chapter 5#law and order svu#law and order svu fanfic#rafael barba x oc#fanfic#my writing#amaro and rollins totes gossip#all the time#about everyone
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Unmasked ~ Twenty-Three
Written by: ~ M ~
Prompt #88
Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations; minor character death.
My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery.
Dear readers, we continue with our game. I thank you for allowing me to write and share with you from behind a mask, for embracing this story wholeheartedly despite not knowing my identity. Remember, learn my name, you must use the clues in each chapter starting with 21 until the end to hunt for a word in the text of each chapter itself. Gather the words, hold onto them, for they will provide the final clue to the puzzle.
Please enjoy the twenty-third chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,
~ M ~
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~~ Chapter 23 ~~
The night becomes a tapestry of talking, catching up where letters fall short, of kisses in every shade of need from gentle to desperate, of holding one another, teasing one another, languishing in the comfort of knowing we are loved by the other. Scattered laughter and satisfied moans dance with the slow parade of the stars outside our cracked open window. And in between…sleep. Such deep, dreamless sleep as I’ve not had in some time.
Although perhaps I do dream and my sleep is far too restful to recall the dreams come waking. If I do dream, they must be happy, for when I wake in the morning, it is to the melody of honking geese and a warm shaft of sunlight across my face, a smile upon my lips and a delicious feeling of contentment that I know is due to the man beside me. The undeniable heat of my husband holding me close to his naked body is a blanket of contentment, and his warm breath on my neck is a kiss of delight. I smile and trace errant patterns over Peeta’s hand where it rests over our child he remains unaware of. I connect the several small scars that cross his skin, caress over the gold wedding band that still gleams but now shows some wear on it as well. Small knicks in the soft surface evidence of time and life lived.
We will be fine, Peeta and I. We will make our obligatory visit to de Vale and face down his dragon of a father. I will not be intimidated with Peeta by my side. Then we shall journey to Capitol to collect his sister, to enfold her into our family. When we return home, I think I will be ready to announce my own happy secret to the world, although I do not think I will be able to keep it from Peeta past this morning.
We have slept late, yet the house remains quiet. It is likely that most are still abed after their late night at the festival. I wriggle enough out of his embrace to retrieve the sketch book from its drawer, then back again deeper into the covers for warmth. I turn to face Peeta, smiling when I find him watching me with only one eye opened.
“You are awake.”
“Am I? I was certain I must be dreaming,” he says, his voice deep, luxuriously rich and rough with sleep. It rouses memories of the texture and pace of his tongue lapping at my intimate skin, loving me at his leisure. I shiver at the wanton thought and Peeta’s arms encircle me, pulling me closer to his warmth as his lips brush over mine. “For certainly such a restful night beside such an exquisite woman can only be a dream. I’m but a bastard, a medically discharged foot soldier, yet here I am laying with a goddess.”
I bring the sketchbook between us and cover his mouth with it to prevent any more distracting, wonderful kisses. “You should know that every goddess extracts a price. You owe me a fortnight worth of drawings, husband. Or suffer my wrath.”
“More tribute? Were my efforts at pleasing you last night not satisfactory? How about earlier this morning?” He chuckles and moves aside the sketchbook, kisses me as I blush, but I cannot regret nor be ashamed of how we spent our night. I am heady with his kisses and almost forget the sketchbook. But if I am denied one promise fulfilled, then I will greedily demand another.
“The sketches or a dance, husband, your choice, but you are not done courting me yet,” I say when he pulls away completely. He only smiles, rolling over and retrieving something from his bags. I sit up and attempt to conceal my curiosity as he returns with an oilskin wrapped package, opens it, and presents me with a sheaf of parchment. I’m only given a chance to glance at the first few drawings – a flock of birds taking flight from a pond, several workers in a field, one of me.
“Am I paid in full now, wife?”
“On second thought, I still want my dance as well, since you seem so eager to pay my tribute demands,” I declare with a lift of my nose, but laugh as he pulls on my leg to bring me beneath him.
“What have we been doing all night then but dancing between these sheets?” Warmth flows through me as he returns something I said to him last night in an odd fit of sentimentality.
“You are obscene, husband.”
“And you enjoy it,” he growls. I forget the sketches as he kisses me out of my wits, the paper fluttering from my hands to the floor so that I may hold tight to him and return his kisses with equal desire.
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As much as I would like to remain in bed all day with Peeta, eventually we must rise and dress for the day. We have tasks to see to, family for Peeta to be reunited with. I am not the only one who will wish to see him today.
Our movements through the room as we prepare for the day follow an easy, now familiar pattern. He kisses along my neck and shoulders as he assists with my stays. My knees quake with need and it requires all of my focus to not throw him back on the bed and have him again before breakfast. As I turn to adjust his cravat, he smiles at me, his hands resting on my hips, thumbs brushing back and forth in a shockingly simple yet utterly arousing touch.
I am struck with it as he thanks me for my help and I answer with a kiss. Once, soft and brief, and all for me because I am simply so happy to have him back. I am no longer sure how on earth we managed to doubt one another.
“Are you certain?” I whisper. “About adding Miranda to our family? I know that I have quite thrust this upon you without warning, even made a decision without consulting you.”
“I am certain,” he says and seems to sense that I need more reassurance. “We’ve spoken of children before, and while this was not how I expected to bring our first into our family, I cannot turn my back on her. We will have time before our own blood children, if we are so blessed with them, arrive. Time to give to Miranda.”
I nod and bite the inside of my cheek, suddenly wondering if he would refuse Miranda should he know that I am even now with child. He kisses me then and I keep my silence, in turmoil, wondering how to tell him now. The decision is made for me with his next words.
“We should take a long ride today. I missed that while I was away, riding with you. I imagine the turn in weather has much changed Everdeen, and I would love to see her in her transition from autumn to winter,” Peeta says, a sort of happiness in his voice that comes only from being secure and content in one’s home. I hate to disappoint him, but I must. I have not had time to prepare my words, but no excuse I give save the truth will be sufficient.
“I am afraid I cannot,” I say. “I will not be riding for some time to come.”
“Is something amiss with Sagittaria?” he asks, his brow wrinkling as I retrieve his coat and focus on helping him into it, smoothing the fabric over his broad shoulders so that it lays correct. I keep running my hands over his shoulders, needing to feel some part of him, some part of his strength as I deliver this last bit of news. “She seemed perfectly fine in the stables last night.”
“Sagittaria is fine. As am I,” I say as he turns to face me. I take his hand in mine, placing it flat over my belly and struggling to find the words. “I meant to tell you last night, but I am afraid you distracted me. I have another reason to refrain from riding…for now, and we may not have quite as much time for Miranda alone as we could hope for.”
His glance leaps between my face and our hands for a moment before settling on our hands. “Katniss…are we expecting?”
“It is still early, but I believe so,” I whisper, holding tight to the hope that he will be pleased. “We can manage both… can we not? It will still be several months before the babe arrives. Time for Miranda to adjust to her new home…”
I trail off, unable to continue. He surges towards me, making me gasp as his arms surround me, his lips descend to mine and I squeak into his mouth. When he finally stops kissing me, the room is still spinning about me and I cling to him to steady myself. But I do not need to ask if he is pleased with the news. I can see the answer in his eyes, in his smile that rivals the sun for brightness, and his murmured words about how much he loves me and how lucky he is before kissing me once again.
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By the time we make our way to the breakfast room, my arm linked with his, the entire household is awake and at table. The room is quite crowded and yet, several of its occupants note our entrance and voice greetings. A girlish squeal rises above the din, causing Aunt Effie to cover her ears.
“Miss’er Pee’ah!” Maysilee shouts and leaps from her chair to run full tilt at him, not hearing Aunt Effie’s disgruntled complaint about her unladylike behavior. “Miss’er Pee’ah! You are home!”
“Maysee Daisy!” he says joyfully, laughing as he bends over to scoop her into his arms. “Did you get my letter?”
“I did! I have missed you!”
“And I you,” Peeta says, holding her against his chest with one arm and wrapping the other around my waist, holding me tight to his side in a sort of half embrace. I rest one hand on his abdomen and one on his back. Maysilee grabs hold of his face and turns it to examine the left side. I bite back a laugh as he gives me a delighted yet befuddled look.
“Aha! Mother was right! He can steal your face but not your courage kisses!”
“My what?” Peeta asks with a soft chuckle. Maysilee points to his scars and seems quite proud of herself.
“Your courage kisses. Mister Joe says you got them one time when you were very brave and saved his life.”
“Did he?”
“Yes,” Maysilee says, completely unaware of the effect of her words as she spills them into the crowded room. “And Mother says Miss Katniss has some too, from when she saved Mother and Miss Prim!”
I catch Sir Robert’s surprised look from the corner of my eye, the way his gaze sweeps over me as though he might see through my dress to my scars. It distracts me for a moment before I return my focus to Peeta and Maysilee.
“Maysilee, darling that is perhaps not appropriate talk for breakfast,” Madge says, standing partially to retrieve her daughter, but Peeta waves her off and turns to Maysilee.
“We can talk of that later, on our adventure. For now, what I most want is some blackberry jam.” Maysilee gasps and he smiles at her. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find some, would you, Maysee Daisy?”
“I do! We saved it for you!” Maysilee says and squirms down from his hold, only to take his hand in hers and lead him to table. He sits, as Maysilee has given him no choice to do otherwise. She promptly serves him a plate and messily smears his jam on his toast for him, all while chattering away.
Peeta gives me a hapless and yet happy look as I move to the sideboard alone and fix my own plate. I half listen to their conversation as I pile my plate high with food, including a few things I know Peeta to be fond of since Maysilee will not let him rise and fix his own plate.
I set one hand on his shoulder as I join the table, my rather cumbersome plate tilting slightly as I set it on the pristine white cloth. Peeta reaches over, slides my chair out for me, before a footman can accomplish the task, even as he speaks to Maysilee. I sit and Peeta pushes it back in beneath me.
Happily, I tuck into my meal, for I am famished, likely a result of our activities last night into this morning. At one point, I feel eyes on me and glance up to find Sir Robert’s eyes darting between Peeta and I, and my hands…which are half suspended moving some of the eggs and ham from my plate onto Peeta’s. I shrug and finish the task, since I did serve myself extra so that he might have some. When I have finished with the transfer, Peeta turns and clasps my hand in his before I can retreat, bringing it to his lips.
“Thank you, my pearl,” he whispers and my entire body enflames at the look in his eyes, at the promises I see in their depths. Maysilee giggles, drawing his attention back to her. When my eyes once more find Sir Robert’s watching me, with a look that I cannot decipher, I choose to ignore it and turn to listen to the discussion between Madge and Aunt Effie as I eat.
“I am merely stating that it is strange for a child to spend so much time in the presence of adults. She needs more interactions with those closer to her own age,” Effie states and gives Madge a supercilious glance. “A sister perhaps.”
“Please, Aunt Effie. She has already asked me several times. I am only recently out of my half mourning and not interested in marriage.”
“A cat, perhaps,” Aunt Effie suggests. “Something for her to share these childish daydreams with and make her feel secure.”
Prim glances at me before she looks away, guilt written all over her face. It’s been years and I wonder at her reaction. We never talked about what happened that night. I never wanted to, until I told Peeta.
“Oh but she does have friends!” Delly interjects. “I’ve seen her with other children. They were playing a marvelous game in the vegetable garden the day Robert and I arrived!”
“The servants’ children,” Effies says with a slight sniff. Delly purses her lips and glances down at her plate, her cheeks turning pink. Sir Robert seems either oblivious to his wife’s distress, or uninterested in defending her. I rather like Delly, despite her questionable taste in men, and not wanting to see her uncomfortable, I turn to Aunt Effie.
“Do you suggest she cannot be free and childish in her adventures with Peeta?” I say and Effie glances at him.
“Well, I did have my doubts about your husband at first, my dear, but that is slightly different. Your husband was raised in a different class entirely – as the son of a Marquis no less – but he is still an adult, not a child.”
“An adult who was raised initially by a ladies’ maid and a baker,” I state and fill my mouth with food to await Effie’s reaction. She gapes for a moment and Uncle Haymitch sighs. We’ve somehow drawn the attention of everyone at this point.
“My dear…you will need to loosen your corset a touch in this crowd. Or have you forgotten all of our own humble beginnings?”
“Oh Haymitch, must we bring that up over breakfast?” My mother asks and he nods.
“Yes, we must.”
“Darling, I don’t think–” Effie tries to argue.
“Shall we lay our scandals on the table?” Haymitch asks and points towards me. “You first, sweetheart. What humble origins do you bring to the table?”
Now my father protests, but I am thinking of what Peeta once did in a ballroom with a glass of wine a few well placed sentences. I lift one shoulder and give my Uncle a sly smile. “I still run about in breeches sometimes, a shameless hoyden, and I spent my one and only season in society as a fortune hunter. I was shockingly aggressive about the whole thing, and like most hunts, it was rather messy. Thankfully, I wound up married to and madly in love with…” I turn towards him so he knows I do not mean it as an insult. “A bastard.”
Peeta smiles at me and my heart flutters. Will his effect on me ever fade, I wonder? I hope not.
“That gives us a nice transition to your turn, Mrs. Robert Mellark,” Haymitch says and Delly looks about, for support perhaps. I give her a nod of encouragement and she sits taller.
“I…I eloped with another woman’s fiancé,” she whispers, glancing with trepidation at me.
“And happy she is that you did,” I say and Robert laughs. “So is almost everyone at this table, Delly. You will have to try harder than that to shock us.”
Prim, the only one who does not know the full story, looks between us all, her brow furrowed. I haven’t time to explain, however, she is intelligent enough to piece it all together. Delly smiles a little and thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “I am the daughter of a cook and a coachman. Myself a cobbler. A shoemaker,” she whispers and l lift my glass of juice delicately.
“Who makes astonishingly comfortable footwear. Really, Aunt Effie perhaps a fine pair of Delly’s boots will put you in a better mood.”
Effie huffs and several chuckles lift from the table as Haymitch clears his throat. “I am the son of a gambler–”
“Haymitch!” Effie protests and he waves her off.
“Who left my family in dire straights, extreme debt, when he died. So bad, in fact that our family was stripped of our title and I was never able to earn trust among the peerage, and my mother almost immediately remarried in a desperate attempt to pay off some of his debts. It was quite the scandal, Mother marrying her late husband’s closest friend while she was still in full mourning. Especially when my sister…” At this, he turns to my mother. She sits straighter in her seat and nods.
“Was born a fat, healthy, and undeniably full term baby a mere six months after the nuptials… ten months plus a few days after Mr. Abernathy had been buried.” She smiles at the murmured reactions and then turns to Delly. “Her second marriage solved some of the debts and bought her some time with the collectors, but still, it was not enough. The debts hounded our mother for years. My father and brother could scarcely find employment to support us, let alone attempt to pay off the remaining debts, until I was old enough to seek a husband. I found a suitor wealthy enough to lay the debts to rest once and for all, and sufficiently charmed by me to overlook my humble origins and the scandal of those debts. My parents were thrilled with the match, and at first, I was as well. But as I came to know him better, I grew to dread my choices. And then…”
“And then some poor farmer swept onto the scene, romanced her and stole her away from her titled, wealthy suitor,” my father states and my mother smiles at him. “We disappeared into the country to lead our quiet, happy life, away from the scandal we had caused, from the damage her jilted suitor attempted to cause to both our families… And now I find myself in the very awkward position of entertaining two of that jilted suitor’s sons at my table, one of them married to my daughter. Quite ironic.”
Peeta and Sir Robert take a moment to absorb that and share a glance before Robert groans and bends his head forward. “Good Lord, of course. That explains so much!”
“Did you know?” Peeta whispers to me and I shake my head.
“Not all of it,” I whisper. He frowns a little, and I know I shall have to tell him everything later, but for now, I mouth an apology as Robert picks up the game.
“Well then, since we’re confessing our scandals…I’m the cad who, not knowing of our families’ connections, proposed to the farmer’s daughter in the morning then ran off with the cobbler that evening,” Robert says and everyone merely blinks at him except for Prim, who gasps, her fork striking the plate. “Oh good, at least there’s one of you shocked by my story. I feel much less like a pariah now!”
“And since my sister failed to deal with my father’s debts through marriage,” Uncle Haymitch continues, “I finally gathered the gumption to do it myself, by marrying the daughter of a man who claimed to be a merchant with a fleet of shipping vessels but who in reality made his considerable fortunes not through legal trade but through–”
“Really, Haymitch! Enough!” Effie protests, her face red.
“Piracy.”
Haymitch finishes with the single word and Effie cries out while the rest of the table remains in shocked silence. Even Maysilee seems to respect the gravity of this reveal.
“Damn,” Peeta finally says with a rueful shake of his head. “Here I thought myself the most scandalous member of this table. I didn’t even have a chance to share!”
“I pretend to be a pirate sometimes!” Maysilee pipes up.
Effie laughs, once, the sound crazed before she stifles it behind one hand. Her shoulders begin to shake then and Haymitch lifts her other hand to his lips.
“My pirate princess, ladies and gentleman. So, Countess. My wife is quite right. You want to be careful what sort of company your daughter keeps.”
The conversation shifts then, Robert finding what appears to be a decent transition out of the awkward aura hanging over us all. “I say…I spotted this quaint ruin just up the road a bit. Looked like a lovely old manor house, all crumbling and covered in vines and neglected for some time. Likely abandoned. Excellent atmosphere, a bit creepy but intriguing. It seemed a good place for an adventure, Miss Maysilee. Perhaps with pirates!”
Now Madge is the one laughing hysterically and Robert looks about the table for an answer.
“Unless someone owns the place still? I would not want to trespass.”
“That would be me,” Madge says, still lost in laughter. We must laugh, about all of it, for it is far too ridiculous to do anything else. “Would you care for a ghost story over breakfast, Sir Robert?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We are granted a calm, perfect afternoon after the riot of that first breakfast. The sky above an idyllic blue with racing white clouds. The river subsides enough that about a dozen of the men of Everdeen to include Peeta, my father, Haymitch, and even Sir Robert are able to begin work rebuilding the washed out bridge. We make a picnic of it on the banks, a chore turned into an almost fair like atmosphere before the weather prohibits such a thing.
Sir Robert loses his balance at one point, and slides down the muddy bank. He is only just able to jam a booted foot against a post before he plunges into the river. His near embarrassment provides much fodder for Haymitch, and rough laughter at Robert’s expense fills the air.
“Which of us has the wooden leg again?” Peeta calls out, and my father laughs before joining in.
“I would lend you a hand, but I seem to be short one already!”
When Sir Robert regains his footing and examines his now muddied clothes with great distaste, I cannot help but wonder if he has ever gotten dirty in his entire life. Certainly he has not performed a great deal of manual labor. He struggles with the timbers and curses at splinters. At one point, I carry refreshment to the men as they work, keeping a safe distance from the slippery sections of riverbank.
“Will you not pitch in today, Katniss?” Haymitch asks. “Show Robert here how it is done?” Robert’s face burns further and I smile smugly but shake my head.
“Not today. I am enjoying the show you gentlemen put on far too much,” I say. Peeta wraps an arm around me protectively. His scent reaches me, rougher and deeper with his physical exertions. It is like the twang of a stringed instrument being tuned in my gut. I vibrate with the need to drag him away and…and oh lord I am having such impure thoughts of him with practically my entire family right here.
My eyes flit over to my father and I watch as a question fills his eyes, a question that I answer with a silent nod. He will know that there are few things that could dissuade me from donning breeches and pitching in on such a task as this. He will suspect anyways, and I cannot seem to keep it a secret. I am too happy to do so. Light fills his eyes and he turns from me with a grin, saying something to Haymitch that gets my uncle to leave me be.
Ours is not the only silent interaction in that moment of respite, though. Robert keeps stealing glances at his wife. She sits on the blanket with Madge, working a heavy needle through leather…a pair of shoes. Her industrious activity seems to only feed his embarrassment and I pretend not to hear it when Peeta whispers to his brother, two words.
“Earn it.”
I have a fair guess at what that means, confirmed when Robert rolls up his sleeves and returns to the task at hand as though his life depends on it. And perhaps it does in a way. Robert has lived since birth with everything handed to him. Has he ever needed to work for a thing in his life? I cannot be sure, but I doubt it, and now he will need to, in order to have a happy life with his Delly, cut off from the financial support of his wealthy father.
The work continues. Madge is not allowed much time to sit and fair wears herself out keeping Maysilee from the water. When he takes his turn at rest, Peeta sets her on one on his shoulders and holds her secure and still, if only for a few moments. Madge sighs in exasperation at her daughter and relief at Peeta’s attentiveness.
“Shall we catch a fish for our adventure today?” Maysilee asks brightly, pointing out the flashes of silver scales in the rushing waters.
“The water is far too swift for fishing,” I tell her. “We would have better luck on a calm day.”
“Miss Katniss knows what she speaks of. Fish tremble in fear at her line. Stag quiver and hide from her bow. Suitors fall at her feet! She is a fierce huntress, you know,” Peeta tells her. Maysilee turns and whispers in his ear and he laughs. Setting her on the ground, they turn to me and curl their fingers into claws, slowly stalking towards me where I sit on a picnic blanket.
“What are you doing?” I ask with suppressed laughter when they are but a few steps away from me.
“Sh!” Maysilee instructs and they halt, frozen in their comical pose. “Do you think she sees us?”
“I cannot be sure. It is difficult hunting a huntress, for she must have keen sight.”
“We should pounce!”
Squeals and laughter fill the air as they charge. I find myself somehow holding Maysilee, both of us squashed in Peeta’s embrace as he roars like a bear and lifts us off the ground. Maysilee wraps her arms about my neck and laughs.
“We were hunting for hugs!” She says and I kiss her cheek before whispering to her.
“I think your mother has a hug hidden somewhere.” Maysilee quiets, her eyes wide with delight. I set her down and she proceeds to stalk first Madge and then half of our party, pouncing and bestowing hugs, receiving them and laughter in exchange.
I slide my fingers together with Peeta’s and guide him away from the group, into a copse of trees. “Where are you taking me, huntress? Somewhere you might finish me off?”
I place my finger over my lips to quiet him and pull him into the shadows, out of view of the world before bringing him to me and kissing him. We are reckless and wild in that moment, a pagan huntress and her captured lover. I lose all sense of time and place, aware only of his hands on my back, his arms holding me upright, his lips sending me reeling, his scent as it fills my head. I am once again struck with the most salacious desires. Things I wish to do to him that would shock even a well traveled, experienced opera singer. I shall certainly need a confessional this week.
When he finally manages to extricate himself from my grasp, we are both flushed and breathing heavily. His pupils are wide pools and his lips swollen with my kiss.
“Is it the working on the bride or the hunting with Maysilee that has you so aroused?” He whispers, his voice a rasp of autumn wind that serves only to ruffle my hair and my desire further.
“Both. All of it. It is you. I cannot stop picturing you as a father, how you will be with our own children, and it…fills me with an insatiable need for you to take me, now,” I confess, my chest heaving with the effort to breathe. Peeta curses and cups my cheek in his hand, checking that we have not been discovered before bending his head to whisper to me.
“I thought we had already seen to that.”
“It cannot hurt to be certain,” I whine and he laughs, dark and rich, and feeding my desire for him.
“Have you any idea how much discipline it is taking me to refrain from pulling up your skirts and having you against this tree?” A pained whimper escapes my throat at his words and his fingers clench on me. “You wouldn’t stop me, would you?”
“I do not know if I would be able to. I certainly would not want to,” I gasp and he growls before kissing me again. This one is short but oh so rough and primal, revealing to me just how tenuous is his grasp on control right now. In seconds though, he manages to shackle his need and separate our mouths.
“Tonight, my pearl. I will give you all that you desire tonight.” He sets me away from him, the full length of his arms and then sees to both our appearances before we return to the group.
Maysilee still hunts, bestowing hugs. Peeta picks her up from behind and she squeals. He seamlessly returns to their game and it is only my mother’s knowing eyes that note our return. I blush and duck my head, but the smile on her lips tells me that she does not censure me at all, and I wonder, not for the first time, but now with great curiosity, what her and my father’s courtship and early days of marriage were like.
The day is too long, the night not nearly long enough. Darkness arrives, not soon enough, and I am anxious for all these guests and family to go to sleep already. I suffer through dinner, and through evening amusements in the drawing room after. I silently curse my father and Haymitch for keeping my husband at the chess board for far too long. Then his brother for engaging him in some sort of serious conversation. Primrose and Aunt Effie for demanding my attention as we discuss dressmakers and seasons and how to proceed. My sister informs Effie that she already has a contender for her hand and this season is a mere formality, but Effie insists that is no excuse not to make the most of it.
Finally, the clock chimes an hour that is acceptable for me to make excuses and depart company. It takes Peeta a moment or two longer to make his own excuses and I wait for him in the shadows at the top of the stairs, pouncing on him the moment his feet are planted firmly on the hallway floor.
As always, Peeta shows that I can rely on him to keep his promises. Our bedroom door is shut and locked behind us, and he becomes mine and mine alone, focused solely on me, giving me everything that I desire.
After, we lay on the floor before our fire, wrapped in blankets and a fur that caresses my skin, sinuous and soft as Peeta’s caresses. He kisses my temple and I sigh, content to lay here in his arms all night. The fire warms the front of my body and Peeta warms the rest of me. I lazily rub my feet over his leg, the coarse hair tickling my toes. My thoughts drift through hazy, violet clouds of content fulfillment.
“I have been giving serious consideration to Dr. Aurelius’ advice,” Peeta whispers, bringing my mind from its hazy wanderings.
“What advice?” I ask and Peeta becomes absorbed in the lock of my hair he twists around his fingers.
“Attending medical school, becoming a doctor.”
“Oh?”
“Wherever you and I and our family must go in future… there will always be a need for a good doctor, and we will need some form of steady income.”
“You inherited a fortune from the Marquis,” I argue.
“Hm. I knew it. You only married me for my dowry. Admit it, fortune hunter,” he teases and nuzzles behind my ear.
“Of course I married you for your dowry, bastard. It was a very tempting purse,” I tease in return, shifting so that I face him. I caress over his hip, down to his buttocks to grip him and pull him flush to my hips. “Quite irresistible. But I keep you about for your excellent qualities as a stud…” I cannot finish as his kisses on my neck have grown heated and insistent.
“At least I can be confident then that I have performed my husbandly duties admirably. Fortune, banked…child, conceived.” He nips at my neck with each task and I gasp, my hands roaming his body, absorbing the heat building in his skin and shifting my legs to feel his growing arousal, to share mine with him. “Since you are already with child, there’s no need for me to mate with you again for some time, now is there?”
“There is plenty need right here,” I moan and revel in the feel of him against me. “And perhaps I keep you about for me to love,” I say and he slowly lifts his head.
I mourn the loss of his lips on me, but in their temporary loss, I gain the sight of a loving look so deep and profound that I feel tears of joy burning my eyes. A few escape down my cheek as his lips find mine and my eyes close to enjoy the sensations. His hand caressing through my hair, holding my head steady as he kisses me, makes me dizzy with passion. Eventually he lifts his head again and this time, I see worry in his eyes. He traces the tracks the tears on my cheeks with with thumbs
“But it is not a guarantee that my inheritance will last,” he says. “We are about to adopt one child and bring another into the world. I wish for them to have a solid home, as much as we can manage to provide for them.”
I curl in on myself a little. He is right, of course. When my father passes, be it soon or years from now, Peeta and I will have no place to call home. If Father’s accident and coma earlier this year revealed anything to me, it is that I do not wish to be caught unprepared, homeless. Peeta would dread the same occurrence, given his background. He would detest forcing such an awful experience on our children. We need to prepare for the eventuality now, while we are financially secure.
“You would leave me for medical school while I am to give birth?”
“No,” he reassures me. “I’ve been speaking with Dr. Aurelius about options. He believes my experience as a field medic gives me an advantage, practical knowledge that will make the bookish knowledge easier to absorb. He has been in contact with several of his colleagues at the medical school in Capitol, and they agree that if I were to act as his apprentice here at home, that would suffice for practical laboratory studies. I could study the texts and lectures primarily at home and by correspondence, traveling to Capitol for a handful of weeks each term to sit examinations. Henry and Angelica have already provided recommendations for my admittance and for the exceptions that would be made for me.”
“So you would only be gone a few weeks, every so often?”
“Yes,” he murmurs. “And not right away. We would have time with Miranda before I leave at all. When I do, you will still have your family here, but I wish to begin this soon, before things become uncertain for us. I want you to know… I do not wish to leave you or our family unless absolutely necessary. If it is too much, I can find another path.”
I bite my lip and consider it for a moment, finally nodding. “You would make a fine doctor, husband. I would place my life in your hands with no qualms.”
“Such faith in me,” he says with a smile and I kiss it from his lips.
“You will write to me and our children while you are gone?”
“Of course,” he vows between kisses.
“I will expect fervent love, drawings, and salacious poetry in your letters to me, Peeta.”
“Anything for you, Katniss,” he promises, and I give up on talking then. We’ve said all we need to for now, at least with words.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The days that follow are a flurry of activity. The post arrives, a mountain of letters delayed by the washed out bridge and the weather. There are several from Peeta that he wrote to me before he began his journey home. I devour them and use them as examples, like a school teacher instructing a student on proper letter writing.
“Much improvement, husband. This is more the sort of letter your wife would wish to receive,” I say with a superior voice and a lift of my nose.
Among the letters is also word from Mr. Burbank, Haymitch’s solicitor, and after I set Peeta’s concerns about me traveling while I am with child to rest, preparations begin in earnest for our journey to de Vale and then Capitol. Peeta and I announce our intentions to travel, and in regards to his sister. My father asks only if we are certain, and when I assert that we are, he makes a few, quiet suggestions. At first, I balk, but my father shakes his head.
“Your mother and I are done adding to this family. You and Peeta, if I can still arrange things the way we have discussed, will eventually be in charge of Everdeen. With a growing family as well…you will need the space and the privacy.”
My mother then leaps from her seat and begins ordering the alterations to rooms and the house that will be needed for the new addition. Maysilee hears only that there will soon be another young girl in the house and asks me if Miranda will be her sister.
“Not exactly, but you may welcome her as you would your sister,” I attempt to explain.
“Will she steal my face?” Maysilee asks before burying her face in Madge’s neck and Madge smiles but consoles her daughter.
“No darling, she will be a sister with her own face. Just as you wanted.”
In all the furious preparations, I swing violently between strange moods. One moment, I will be overcome with nausea and spurn the touch of anyone and everyone. My temper foul and my body a churning vat of ill.
Then the next, I will recover and insatiable desire will replace the nausea. Peeta grows exasperated with the rapid, unprompted swings with my moods, but takes it all with a smile, teasing me instead of losing his temper with me. The morning before we are to depart, I wake at an obscenely early hour, burning with fever. Not the kind that can be cured with my mother’s medicines and herbs but only with my husband’s body, and I wake him up rather rudely, demanding that he cure me.
He obliges me, loves me again and again with every inch of his being until we are two gasping, sweat covered, satisfied lumps of flesh laying limp in our bed. At least, I think myself to be satisfied until he groans at the late hour and heaves himself towards the edge of our bed. My body plucks awake again, insisting that I must get my fill now, for I’ve no idea what we will be facing in the coming weeks, no idea how often we will be able to indulge ourselves in one another.
“Get back in bed, husband. I am not finished with you yet,” I growl.
Peeta turns to me, an exasperated look on his face as he retrieves his shirt from the foot of the bed where I threw it earlier. “We will need to eat and see to our guests at some point today.”
“So many guests!” I whine. “When do they leave? When do we leave?”
“They leave today. We leave tomorrow.”
“They can see themselves to the door. I’ve no idea why they all stayed so long.”
“Must be your charming hospitality,” he says and I snort, rising up to kneel behind him and kissing over his shoulders. He stops dressing himself, his arms in his sleeves and his head turned slightly towards me. I lick up the side of his neck, enjoying the way this makes him shiver, the taste of his perspiration and his post coital scent an irresistible aphrodisiac to me now. I throb and yearn for him again, even though we’ve spent the entire morning abed. He moans and I know I will not need to convince him much to give me what I want.
“I never want so many people here again,” I whisper and bite his earlobe. “Too many interruptions from what I truly wish to be doing.”
“And yet, you are the one insisting on all these new additions to our family. I should think you fond of a full to bursting house.”
“Such lies, husband!” I accuse. “You want our children as well!”
He laughs, turning fully and tackling me to the bed, our guests forgotten for a few minutes more as he holds my thighs open and I must cover my face with a pillow to stifle the sounds I make as his mouth and tongue and fingers love me once more. He whispers such filthy words about my taste as he loves me, how he craves it on his tongue more than air. How he wants to fill our home with at least a dozen children and eagerly looks forward to planting his seed in me for each of our future children over the years to come. The need in me ebbs and flows like the tides, inexorably higher and higher to a devastating release.
And as I ride it out, I know. I know that nothing could now make me cease loving him. Nothing could make him cease loving me, no matter the changes and challenges the future brings. We will go into it as one.
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To Be Continued….
Your clue for Chapter 23: They lurk all over this chapter, whispered in ears, shared with nervous laughter, declared over breakfast. They might be hidden to some, known to others, but eventually they can no longer be kept. A single word that describes at some point in this chapter a baby, a pirate, a romance or two, and more.
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Shoot Out Part I
Work Count~3.4k. Warnings- None for now!
Hey this is my first fic I hope y’all like it! 😁
It was the darkest of times, but it was in the dark that you found your light.
Juyeon (The Boyz) x Reader
Hyunjin (Stray Kids) x Reader [Next chapter!]
Mafia! AU; Werewolf! AU
The year is 2030, and America has reverted back to a monarchical rule. But the ruler is not a king, a figurehead to represent the glory of the country. No, the tyrant of the times is something much more dangerous, hooded figures that descended upon the people like a plague, and only left when their prey was lying on the concrete, their life pouring out of the slice on their throat, or bullet holes in their chest. It is the mafia, the criminals, the demons who hold the country’s fate in their hands. My name is (Y/N) (L/N), and I know the mafia very well, too well, and this is my story.
It all began on an auspicious day, but not the kind you would think of. The sky was not overcast, there were not raindrops falling from the sky, as if the heavens were mourning. It was my 18th birthday. The sun was peering over the clouds, as if to timidly wish me well, and all flowers in the city seemed to be blooming fuller than the day before. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I woke up for class with energy, which had never happened before without the aid of copious amounts of caffeine. I primped as one normally does on their birthday, with the feeling that of any day of the year, I should at least look presentable on the day dedicated to my existence.
Instead of taking a motor-scooter as I often would, I decided to take a stroll to class. I attend University of Chicago, which compared to the rest of the city, feels like a haven for intellectuals and pacifists. With Chicago being one of the largest cities in the country, its connections to the underground world of the mafia ran deep. Even a step off of campus would make my shoulders tremble with fear, and my eyes constantly dart over my surroundings. But here on campus, my heart was light as I practically floated to class.
As soon as I took a step into the classroom, my classmates immediately started the obligatory birthday greetings. Calls of “Happy Birthday (Y/N)!”, “Wow I can’t believe you’re 18!”, “Have any special plans for today?” all rang through the room. I smiled widely in return, and then scurried to my seat to see my best friends. “Hey guys!” I cheerfully came up behind my two best friends, and slung my arms over their shoulders.
“Hey girl!” Amanda said as she spun around to give me a hug, “Happy Birthday!”
“Thanks! But the more important subject… Are you ready to party tonight?” I was practically bouncing with excitement. Ever since the mafia had started their rule, the drinking age was lowered to 18, so they could try to increase the sales on the alcohol industry that they owned. My friends were older than me, so they had already scouted most of the clubs and town, and had decided which one would be suitable for my introduction to the clubbing world.
“I’ve never been so ready in my life,” my other friend Jessica called out, “I am so ready to see this one wasted.”
“Jessica!” I scolded exasperatedly, “I’m not looking to wake up tomorrow with my head over the toilet, so don’t expect too much.”
“The mood killer as always, (Y/N),” she shoots back.
I flash a bright smile, and pinch her cheeks while I respond in a sing-songy voice, “You know it! That's why you love me.”
“You wish,” she sent a playful glare my way as she batted my hands away from her face.
I just giggled and response, and at that moment the professor walked in.
“Good morning class!” our professor called out, which was met with muttered responses from some students. “Today we are going to discuss….” and it was at this moment that I began to zone out, excitement for tonight cluttering my mind. It went on this way until I saw a hand snapping in my face. I shook my head, being awakened from my thoughts.
“(Y/N), girl, you were out for like the entire class. Did you even hear anything the professor said?” Jessica said, baffled.
“Honestly though Jessica,does it even matter? She’s going to get the best grade out of all of us on the test anyway” Amanda shot back.
“Okay, fair enough.” Jessica responded.
“Well now that class is over, do you guys want to go get some celebratory lunch?“
“Sorry girl I’ve got a test in like an hour, and I totally don’t know what I’m doing.” Amanda said sheepishly.
“Sorry same goes for me, but I’ll definitely see you tonight I’m super excited!”
“I totally get that, don’t worry about it. Since it’s still light outside I think I’m going to head into the city for some lunch!”
Then with some hurried goodbyes and excited chatter about the night ahead of us, we were all off to our separate plans.
I decided to go to my favorite restaurant in town, local Korean joint run by some lovely Korean natives. It was not too far from campus, so I decided to walk there. Even though it was the middle the day, there were still people on the streets that normally would belong in the dark shadows of the night. So, I kept my head down and my mace in my hand.
I finally arrived at the restaurant, and cheerfully walked in to greet the owners who felt almost like family at this point. “Oh (Y/N) we’re so excited that you decided to come! Please come have a seat, do you want the usual?” The old woman who own the restaurant with her husband began to lead me back to the table that I almost always sat at.
“How could I ever get anything else? Spicy rice cakes are just too good to pass up! Although maybe I’ll have some bulgogi too?”
“Dear, what’s the occasion? Did you get paid today?”
“No, but it is a very special day!”
“Don’t tell me it’s your birthday?“ I nodded excitedly. “Well then of course it’s on the house today! Oh my are you really 18 already?”
“Yeah isn’t that crazy? It feels like only yesterday I was still starting high school, and now I’m already a freshman in college!”
“I’m so excited for you dear! Let me go get your food started so you can have a lovely birthday lunch!”
Just says she turned to leave, I heard the jingle of the bells hanging on the door. Then, a large group of boys who looked to be around my age walked in.
“Hello grandmother!“ One of them said. The woman looked back to them and I can almost see a twinge of fear in her eyes. She gave him a slight bow and replied, “Hello, young sirs,” In a fearful but respectful manner. She then looked back at me and I could see her hands shaking. “Be wary of those boys, young lady, they are not the kind of people you should become involved with.” She quickly hurried to the kitchen as if she was afraid of these teenage boys. With her words my curiosity awoke, and that’s where the problem began.
As soon as I not so subtly glanced over, My eyes met those of one of the supposedly dangerous boys. Immediately, I felt a flush burn across my cheeks. His eyes were dark, and filled with unanswered questions and rampant emotions, burning like a wildfire. Time stopped, and my vision was filled with nothing but his fiery stare. And then I saw his lips twitch into a smirk as if he knew the power that his eyes held over me. Then, I saw him breathe in deeply through his nose, as if he could smell my scent from across the room. His beautiful burning eyes fluttered closed almost as if in ecstasy.
After my momentary lapse in sanity, I gulped in a breath, as if I had forgotten how to breathe, and I tilted my head down, to let my hair act as a curtain from his brazen stare. I could hear a faint chuckle from across the room, as if he found my sudden shyness amusing. I bristled at the thought of being a source for his amusement, but my desperation for a good birthday lunch overpowered my need to speak up. Soon after I heard the owner come out of the kitchen, bringing me some potstickers for an appetizer.
“Here you are dear. Just a little something to take care of your hunger before the meal comes out. I should’ve known that it was your birthday with how lovely you look today!”
Just then the table of boys called her over, ready to order. They went around the table all ordering copious amounts of different food, I didn’t even recognize some of them. When she got to fire eyes, he simply looked over to me, I could feel his eyes burning into me, and said “I’ll have whatever princess is having.”
The moment those words came out of his mouth, my head shot up, and I audibly gasped. This boy, very attractive boy, who I had never spoken to, and made brief but very intimate eye contact with, had called me princess? He smiled over at me, a full beautiful smile that lit up his entire face as well as the space surrounding him. It was just then that I took in his other features, all equally as attractive as his eyes. His sharp nose, high cheekbones, and full lips all drew me in like a magnet.
The only issue at the moment was the fact that he thought it was acceptable to call me princess. We had not spoken a single word to each other, but he felt entitled enough to give me a pet name like that. I resented the fact that guys thought that calling a woman “babygirl” or “princess” would make them instantaneously fall into bed. I scoffed at the thought and furiously got up to go to the bathroom, and pray that when I came back out, this man who made my heart flutter and pound would be a part of my imagination.
As I stomped off, I could hear his friends begin to laugh at him, and his failed attempt to hit on me, in all honesty, though, I probably would run straight into his arms if he smiled again. He made me feel strangely alive as if all my feelings were more potent and all my senses more powerful. I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. There was a flush on my face that not even my makeup could hide. I found my face and took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm my frazzled nerves and fluttering heart.
After a few minutes of trying to even out my breaths, I finally decided to face the embarrassing situation that was awaiting me. With one final deep breath, I made my way out to my table and sat down in a different seat from before, facing away from the mysterious boy. When I sat down, I could hear murmurs coming from the boisterous group of boys.
Soon after, the owner brought out my food, and I could tell she had brought out far more than just the dishes I ordered. “Oh, you shouldn’t have, there’s no way that I’ll be able to eat all this delicious food!”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, dear, we will just pack up the extras for you so you have some good food for later!”
“You are too kind to me!”
“I don’t get to see your sunshine smile very often, and it always cheers me up when I do!”
“Thank you so much!”
“You are very welcome, and dear? And I meant what I said about those boys earlier,” she said in a whispered voice. “They are dangerous.”
“I believe you, and I don’t plan on letting that one get anywhere near me,” I replied, nodding my head towards fire eyes. However much he made my heart flutter, I would not so easily get caught in the trap of a playboy like that, he would surely break my heart.
After making that comment, I heard something from across the room that almost resembled the growl of a wild animal. I shot straight out of my seat, scanning the room frantically, looking for the source of the sound. However, I was shocked when no one else in the room seemed alarmed.
I looked over the owner, ”Did you hear that? What was that noise? It sounded like a puppy.” As soon as those words came out of my mouth the entire table of boys began to laugh hysterically, all but fire eyes.
“I think it was just the heater or something, dear, you know, this building is quite old. Even after she said this, I was still skeptical, the sound was something far less mechanical and more primal than some old appliance.
Still, I sat back down, and began to taste all the foods the owner had set out before me. She very obviously knew my tastes, as all the dishes were relatively spicy and very delicious. Soon after, I saw the owner come out bringing a tray full of dishes and then going back to get another two, for the table of boys.
While I was eating, I could feel a weight on my back, as if someone was staring at me intently. I had a feeling it was “princess” boy who was doing the staring, however, I did not want to glance back, with the chance our eyes would meet again. I hurriedly ate my meal, to escape the uncomfortable tension in the restaurant.
“Oh ma’am would you mind giving me some to go boxes and the check as well?“ I glanced down at my watch, “I have a class coming up soon I’m so sorry.” In reality, my class wasn’t really for another two hours, but I still felt the stares of the boys across the room, and made my spine tingle uncomfortably.
“Of course dear!” She then grabbed my plates and took them back to be packed. I felt so vulnerable with the feeling of many eyes on me, so I curled my body in on itself for protection. I tapped my feet on the ground, every second feeling like hours. I had always been a relatively introverted person, so the feeling of so many pairs of eyes on me made my skin crawl.
Just then, I heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, somehow I could sense someone approaching me from behind. When they slid into the seat across from me, I was surprised to see that the boy sitting across from me was not fire eyes, but one of his friends. He had red hair and a cute little smile that made him appear good-natured. “Hi there! I’m Kevin.”
I looked at him for a moment, wondering if he was going to continue, perhaps with the reason that he came to talk to me, but after a few moments of silence, I responded with “Hi! I’m (Y/N). How are you?”
“I’m good.” He winked at me, then proceeded to lean across the table and put his lips close to my ear. I immediately flinched back, but when I heard him begin to whisper, I was too curious to pull away. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but my friend over there is pretty interested in you, but he’s too much of a scaredy-cat to act on it, so I thought I’d give him motivation.”
I let out a giggle, amused by the thoughts, ideas, and maturity level of teenage boys. I never could quite understand how their brains work. I then leaned in closer to him and with my lips close to his ear, I said, “And why should I help you with that?” He leaned back and let out a full bodied laugh, that made his eyes scrunch up with happiness. He then leaned in closer, his eyes peering into mine as he said, “You’re too cute.”
Right after the words left his mouth I could see his eyes flicker up to the space over my shoulder as his mouth curled into a smirk. I felt a hand wrap around the wrist of my hand that was propping up my chin. All of a sudden my body felt warm, the warmth beginning at my wrist and then moving through my whole body. I looked up and was staring into the burning eyes of the boy who had me so flustered. Before I could utter a word to him, I was being yanked out of my seat and onto my feet.
He pulled me through the restaurant and out the door, and over into a little alley next to the restaurant. As soon as he let go of my wrist to take his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner, I took off back towards the restaurant, hoping that if I could make it back, he would have to leave me alone. I didn’t make it but a couple feet before I felt his hand on my wrist pulling my back.
“Please, just…” he let out a strangled breath, “please, just wait a minute so I can calm down, please.” His deep voice washed over me in waves, and subconsciously I felt the need to relieve him of the distress he was in. Without thinking, I brought my hand up to his face and placed my palm on his cheek. When he slightly nuzzled his face into my hand, I caressed my thumb over his cheekbone. I could hear his breathing begin to calm, and as he became less distraught, my head came down from the clouds.
I began to panic. I wondered if this guy I had just met would think I was easy, but even if he did, why should I care? I quickly retracted my hand from his face and in an uneasy voice, said, “Oh my lord, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to… well I mean I did but I don’t know why I did. You must think I’m so creepy, but wait, you’re the one who dragged me out here, so doesn’t that make you the creepy one? Maybe we’re just both weird. That’s probably it. Anyway, I’m going to get going on my merry way, it was nice… well nice being dragged by you. Bye!” I send him a little wave and briskly begin to walk away. Just then an arm reaches across the space in front of me and lands on the wall beside me, trapping me in.
I spun around, facing the mystery man with a puzzled look on my face.
“I’m sorry, do you need something?” I ask in a quizzical voice.
“Yeah,” he breathed out, and the beautiful raspy timbre of his voice finally hit me, full force, “I need you.”
I let out an awkward and forced laugh “Well, I’m sorry but I’ve been in awful high demand lately so I guess you’ll have to get on the waiting list,” I said in an overly sarcastic tone of voice.
“I mean it,” he said leaning in close to my face, “You can’t even begin to understand the depth of what I feel for you.”
“Yeah, I really couldn’t, due to the fact that I just met you!” I said, the volume of my voice increasing as I spoke. I was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, uncomfortable because I didn’t know this boy who supposedly needed me, and uncomfortable because I somehow felt that I needed him too.
I raised my eyes and they immediately locked on his. I felt the walls around my heart weakening and that flood of vulnerability brought with it the pain of emotions. I knew from that moment, the course of my life had changed forever.
“I’m Juyeon.”
“(Y/N).”
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Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: Supernatural, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Anathema Device, Crowley (Supernatural), Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bobby Singer, Mentioned: Agnes Nutter, Apocalypseverse Bobby Singer, Mentioned: Michael, Mentioned: Adam Young, Mentioned: Gabriel, Lucifer (Supernatural), Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Hastur (Good Omens)
Additional Tags: Lawyers gone wild, Resurrection, It's not meant to be a good fic, Canonical Character Death, Post-Season/Series 12, Prophecy, Jacksonville (Florida), Monster Hunters, Books, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical idiocy, Don’t copy to another site, Kidnapping, Character Death
Summary: Crowley is too busy being dead and has left Dean and Sam a bookshop in his last will.Then Bobby starts to be on the radio instead of in Heaven, the Winchesters learn of an angel whom a lot of people wanted dead and things go to Hell. Literally.
Obligatory excerpt:
“Well, the next time you see him, kick him in the balls for me, boys.”
“Afraid can't do that,” Sam says with a lot of cheer.
“How comes?”
“The King of Hell kicked the bucket.”
Bobby snorts: “Bucket of holy water or what?”
#supernatural#good omens#sam winchester#dean winchester#castiel#bobby singer#aziraphale#crowley#the night in gale
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