#she's still either scrutinizing my every move and decision | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alexia-redacted · 2 years

Text

1am

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: mentions of death

Summary: what happens when R finds herself facing Wanda months after their life together blew apart because of the Darkhold?

Words: 2.0k

A/N: this was my very first request and it was super fun to write, so I hope it shows how much I enjoyed this new experience. Happy reading!

You flick the lights on in your crappy apartment, the best you’ve managed to get after the Avengers broke apart post-Thanos. It’s been a hassle, finding a job when the majority of your résumé is definitely classified, finding the will to get up every day when your friends are either dead or moving on with their own lives.

Maybe it’d be easier if only your life was in shambles, but you’ve got to drag around your broken heart, too.

Most days, you try not to think of red hair and green eyes. Mostly because last time you’ve seen either, it didn’t end well. Hair was disheveled, eyes were cold, and you had to leave them behind after Wanda’s darkened finger had jabbed into your sternum painfully. Her vicious words that keep echoing in your brain even now had pushed you out the door.

One ugly car accident and your life had tipped forever. You had spent months warning your wife against using the Darkhold. You missed your twins just as much as she did, but you were afraid of what it might cost you again down the road if you decided to dabble in dark magic.

And cost you it did.

You had stayed for Wanda, but you had left because of the Scarlet Witch.

You had left almost a year ago right after the witch’s fist had collided with the wall by your front door. Bleeding knuckles, harsh voice and absolutely no regrets in her actions.

You finally take your shoes off after a long shift at the dingy restaurant you wait tables at and flung yourself on your couch. You should head to bed right away because you know you’ll come to regret the decision to lay on these rather uncomfortable cushions when it’s already one in the morning.

You close your eyes, and a sigh escapes your chapped lips. It’s shaky, you feel like the world is crumbling around you but the darkness behind your eyelids is anything but comforting.

Red hair. Green eyes.

Darkened finger. Vicious words.

Bleeding knuckles. Harsh voice.

No regrets.

A soft knock on your door makes you pick up your head. You squint towards the weak sound that you’d still consider offensive if only by the late hour.

It resonates again but it feels almost quieter, the whisper of a finger against wood. You grunt, lifting yourself up and off the couch.

Your door creaks loudly and it makes you wince.

Wince that will probably forever stay on your face when you finally see the person standing in front of you.

Wand— no. Probably the Scarlet Witch. You can’t tell.

But you don’t really have much hope to see your wife ever again.

You stay frozen in your spot, watching her. She is dressed in a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans, both hands shoved in deep in her pockets and shoulders tensed. She has yet to raise her eyes to meet your gaze, preferring to scrutinize the dirty floor of your hallway.

You clear your throat and immediately watch her head jerk up in surprise. You raise a single eyebrow at her.

“Sorry, uhm, hi yeah sorry, I kinda just thought you were gonna slam the door in my face,” she whispers. Her voice is unsure, and she ran through that sentence like she was racing against life’s clock.

“I still can,” you deadpan.

She nods at your words, and you finally notice how her eyes are rimmed red and puffy. You sigh before stepping aside and gesturing with one hand for her to enter.

After closing the door, you lean against it as you watch the girl you once fell in love with take your small apartment in. You want to take that time to observe her but before you can even rake your eyes on her figures, she turns around to face you and her green eyes are the only thing you can see.

You stare at each other for a few very long seconds. You lose yourself in what could’ve been’s and what should’ve been’s and wh—

“I should’ve listened to you.”

You have to reel yourself back in the reality of the situation. In the reality of the person standing right in front of you and not the person you left behind in months of absence heartbreak.

“What?”

“I should’ve listened to you,” Wanda repeats. She casts her eyes anywhere but at your face, but she keeps talking, “You were right about the book. I messed up. I messed everything up.”

You don’t have the words to respond to that, so you make Wanda sit on your couch while you go grab the both of you some water. Siting sideways, you face each other but she tends to avoid your eyes and she proceeds to tell you everything that’s happened with a kid named America Chavez and your old friend Doctor Strange. She has to take deep breaths when telling you the most horrific things she did, and they leave you speechless.

You’d usually run a soothing hand down her arm or her back at seeing the heavy tears that glide down her cheeks, but her story makes you want to flinch. Instead, you stay rooted right where you are on that ugly freaking couch.

God, how much you miss your old life. How much you miss your old house, your calm evenings that were filled with life, your kids, your wife.

Tonight is the opposite while you listen to your ex talking about the lives she took in order to bring your twins back and you’ve never felt more restless and uneasy.

Her story ends with how she had destroyed the Scarlet Witch’s temple and yeeted that damn indestructible book into the nearest goddamn lake at Mount Wundagore.

“I can still hear some voices, but they’ve been fading away.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you here, Wanda?”

She takes one deep breath and two seconds to gather the courage to tell you, “I miss you, Y/N. And I’m sorry I messed us up, too.”

At your lack of answer, she runs a hand in her hair.

She looks almost soft like this, if it wasn’t for the underlaying desperation you could feel coming from her.

Her hair is smoothed down and put into a side braid not unlike how Nat used to wear it. You miss your best friend about as much as you missed your wife, but at least you could make peace with her being gone a hero. But missing the person right in front of you is an all-other kind of hurt you thought you wouldn’t have to face again.

Wanda fidgets with the bottom of her shirt and you notice how her fingers have started to turn back to their normal color but the last remaining traces of black make you want to curl up on yourself and block everything out as best you can.

“Y/N?” Her voice is soft, and it grabs at your insides until all you can feel is the pull towards her.

“I miss you, too, but I can’t go through the pain again, Wanda.” You go to stand up, the wish to be able to pace and get your pent-up energy out one way or another winning over your body. But before you can move away, a soft hand envelops your wrist and pleading eyes stare up at you.

“I won’t do that again, I promise,” she whispers.

You bring your other hand to her face, letting your thumb stroke her cheek. It catches a tear that you wipe away as delicately as you can. “I’m so sorry,” she adds, closing her eyes to keep away the other tears she can feel building up in her eyes. “I’m so so so sorry, Y/N. For everything.”

You sit back down, making sure you keep her hand secured in yours. You squeeze once, wanting her attention on you. You need to see her reaction to your next words, see if this is really your soft and caring and too pure Wanda in front of you. The one you married because you couldn’t not love her with everything you got.

Her eyes meet yours and you hold her in place.

“What about Billy and Tommy?”

Her tears finally cascade down her face, but not once does she break the eye contact. “I miss them, Y/N. I miss them more than anything, but I know I’ve been going about this wrong.” She brings your hands up until your elbows rest on your legs. She leans her forehead against your joined hands.

You give her the time that she needs to re-center herself. A year ago, just the mention of their names would’ve sent her into a manic frenzy, screaming and punching for you both to do anything in your power to bring back your children.

Tonight, she kisses your knuckles in between sobs.

“I didn’t choose to lose my life when they were taken away from us, but I did choose to lose my love when I pushed you away. I’ll never forgive myself for that. I should’ve known better. I should’ve relied on you because you’ve always been the stronger one emotionally.”

“Hey! Don’t. Life’s be—”

“No, it’s okay, Y/N. I did make a mistake, let me own up to it.”

You nod before you shake your head, and she gives you a confused look. “I can’t condone what you’ve done the past few months, Wanda. Everything you’ve just told me? It’s a lot.”

Her gaze drops to the empty space between you. “I know. Apologies will never be enough, I- uh, I shouldn’t have come and put all of that on you.”

It’s her turn to try and escape this couch but you don’t even let her make it to a stand, laying both hands on her thighs to keep her from pushing off the seat.

“The Scarlet Witch, is she- uhm, what happened after you got rid of the Darkhold?”

Wanda grabs your fingers in an attempt to push you away, to let her stand but it’s weak, half-assed, as the pain in her chest drains everything in her. “She is a part of me, I am her and she is me, Y/N, you know that.”

“Yes, but you said the voices were fading away. Does that mean you can be a bit more at peace with yourself again?”

She stops fighting your grasp on her thighs and instead lets herself fall forward and onto you. You gather her up in your arms easily, fighting seemingly the last thing on her mind and you have missed this Wanda.

You whisper every little reassurance you can think of, lips brushing against the top of her head as you gently rock both of your bodies in a way you know Wanda finds soothing. When her sobs subside and she comes back to herself, you feel her squirm. You loosen your arms, expecting her to move away but instead, she brings herself closer to you until her face is inches from you.

“I’m sorry. I’ve missed you so much. Please tell m—”

You bring both hands to cup her face. “You don’t have to ask me. I’ve missed you, too. I never stopped loving the person that you were before this damn book.”

Her next breath is shaky, and you’re scared you might have said the wrong thing somehow. “I’m not that person anymore, not after everything that’s happened and everything I’ve done.”

You bring her face slightly closer to yours, you can feel her breath fan over your lips, and it scares you, it excites you, it pains you, and it brings you back to life. All of this wrapped into one person.

“Do you think we can work together to make this new person understand she is worthy of love?”

“Am I?”

“You? Always. Can we do that? Learn to love again and build something again, even if it looks different?”

She leans forward, giving you her answer in the form of a kiss that may just seal your future.

A future you haven’t dared dream about for a long time.

A future that might actually lay ahead of you once again in the shape of Wanda Maximoff.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff #1am

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Jasonette Protection Program

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Marinette pulled her coat closer around her as she made her way from the bus stop to her apartment. She had made the brilliant decision when she moved here not to get a car because… Gotham. The likelihood that it would get damaged or destroyed in some kind of attack was ridiculously high. The likelihood the bus would get blown up or taken over, while definitely still present, was significantly lower.

But today she was regretting that decision. It meant she couldn’t isolate herself like she wanted to. It meant she was exposed to anybody and everybody at the bus stop and on the bus and on the sidewalk and any one of them could have been the one to drug her. She eyed the people around her as she walked. Okay, maybe not the woman who looked like she was in her 90’s and could barely walk… and dropped her knitting out of her bag.

Marinette rushed over to her and paused right before reaching her. She twirled around and scanned the faces around her. She could feel somebody watching her. She could feel their eyes scrutinizing her every move. She studied the shadows and the windows, but couldn’t find anyone watching her. She frowned slightly and shook her head. She was getting paranoid. She was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there.

She sighed and turned back to the woman, crouching down to help her put her knitting back in her bag. The woman smiled in appreciation, which Marinette returned with a shaky one of her own. She walked the remaining few feet to her apartment building and took a cautious look up and down the dark street before turning into it. She made sure she heard the click of the door latching before continuing up the stairs, not that it would do anything. Logically she knew that, but her anxiety still demanded it.

She kept her eyes on the stairwell as she made her way up to her apartment on the top floor, eyes hyper vigilant for any movement, her ears hyper sensitive to any sounds from the stairs. She got to her floor and paused for a few moments waiting to see if any sounds or movement indicated someone behind her. She let out a relieved sigh when there was no noise and turned to her apartment before letting out a muffled screech.

Jason jumped, dropping his phone he had been scrolling on, in his rush to hold up his hands in a placating motion. “Just me. It’s okay. It’s just me.” He watched her for a few seconds. She was starting to breathe hard, her eyes were boring into him. “Although I just realized you may not remember me. So this was actually an incredibly stupid plan.” He took a few steps away from her door, his hands still held up to let her know he wasn’t a threat.

Marinette continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, forcing her breathing to slow. “You… you’re Tim’s brother, right? You… you were…” she squinted at him, “you were in my bedroom?”

Jason grimaced and looked down to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… that doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

He perked up slightly and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing today. It can hit a day or a few days later sometimes. And I’m a security expert. I consult on it for people and companies. I wanted to offer to check your security for you so you’d feel safe, at least when you’re at home.” He turned to her door and knocked on the doorframe. “I can already tell that you need better locks. I could have broken in easily, but I didn’t think you would appreciate finding me in your apartment.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but let out a quiet chuckle and looked away after a few seconds. “You would be right.” She looked back up at him and tentatively walked over closer to her door. “But, I don’t think I can afford to hire you.”

Jason waved off her concern. “I wouldn’t let you. I’d charge Tim for it. He can afford it and he’s worried enough that I’m actually kind of surprised he hasn’t contacted me already, but I suppose that has something to do with him not wanting you to meet me in the first place.”

Marinette quirked her lips to the side and studied him. The longer she watched and talked to him the more memories came back and the clearer they became. She was slowly starting to get bits and pieces of the night before, not enough to create a coherent picture, just incredibly short scenes, a word here, a smile there. Regardless of what she could remember though, this was Tim’s brother and although Tim didn’t want them to meet, he trusted him, not that she would ever be allowed to say that out loud to either of them.

She finally nodded and pulled out her keys. “Well, I can at least offer you dinner while you’re here. If you’d like.” She gave him a small smile as she passed him into the apartment taking off her coat and dropping her bag on the small dining room table.

Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise. After the way she had reacted when she saw him, he honestly didn’t think she would talk to him let alone let him into her apartment. He was starting to understand how she could have gotten drugged so easily if she was that trusting. But then again, Tim had said they all were being careful. Her even more so than the others. So why was she so trusting now? “I would never turn down free food,” he said slowly.

He closed the door behind him with a quick glance at the inside part of the lock, confirming his original suspicions. Standard issue, not particularly secure. He could have picked it in all of three minutes when he was only eight. He didn’t have to lean down to study the doorknob to know it was in worse condition. One good kick and the door would be wide open. He sighed. If anyone wanted to get into her apartment, it wouldn’t take them very much effort.

He turned back to the apartment, letting his frown morph into a smile. Her apartment was cozy and lived in and very much her. There were touches of her everywhere along with some touches that he wouldn’t have expected. He shook his head at the condition of the apartment. It wasn’t terribly messy but it also wouldn’t count as anything close to clean. He could see why she and Tim got along so well. Neither could clean up after themselves to save their lives.

There were bits of fabric and half completed sewing projects scattered around along with random pages of scientific reports. He raised an eyebrow at that. Odd combination. His eyes caught on men’s shoes by the door. He scrunched his forehead in confusion. If she lived with someone, where were they? Where were they last night? Why hadn’t Tim mentioned him? “You live with someone? A boyfriend?”

Marinette looked up from the refrigerator. “No. Well, yes, but no. I live with my best friend,” she explained quickly, “but he’s visiting friends this week.”

Jason nodded. That was good at least. She wasn’t living alone. There was someone else with her usually. That makes it less likely someone could just break in and attack her. He moved over to the window and sighed again, more deeply this time. It was worse than the door. “No curtains. You should probably get some, preferably lined ones. This lock is ancient too. It wouldn’t take much to jimmy it. We’ll get you new locks for your windows and your door.”

Marinette looked at him wide eyed as she set a bunch of grapes and a jug of filtered water from the refrigerator on the counter. She hadn’t been expecting the locks to be that bad. She knew it wasn’t amazing, but then again, she hadn’t really been too concerned about being specifically targeted here. Nobody really knew who she was, or rather used to be. She was just an average citizen here.

She stared at the window for a few seconds, her head cocking to the side and her eyes unfocusing as her mind wandered through the possibilities of what could have happened and what still could. She was no longer safe, not even in her own home. But then again, she never really had been had she? She had just thought she was. She thought she was safer after they’d defeated Hawkmoth, but she’d just traded one danger for another.

Jason watched as her face morphed from one expression to another, her eyes distant. Her face clearly displaying each and every emotion she was going through, no matter how flitting. Jason could guess where her head went. When her eyes started shimmering, he opened his mouth to bring her out of it when her phone rang. She jerked back violently, knocking over the jug of water.

She cursed as she tried to stop the jug’s descent only to knock it further away, further spreading the water. She gave a defeated groan and grabbed a towel from a nearby drawer to start sopping up the water. Jason jumped to grab a few more towels to help. It took a few minutes, but they were finally able to clean up the water with a minimum of damage to papers left on the counter. Luckily, none of Marinette’s sketches were on the island anymore but Adrien was definitely going to have to reprint some of his papers for research.

Marinette gave Jason an appreciative smile and threw the papers in recycling and the towels in the sink. She let out a deep frustrated sigh as she leaned against the counter. After a few seconds, she ran her hands through her hair and laughed. Jason frowned at the sound. It was short and mirthless and sounded utterly wrong coming from her. He could see her starting to spin but didn’t know her well enough to know how to help. God, he really hadn’t thought this through.

Jason very slowly started reaching for her so she could see his hands coming. Shen she didn’t shy away, he set a hand on her arm to ground her. She looked up into his eyes, panicked eyes meeting concerned eyes. They both jumped when her phone started ringing again. They both chuckled quietly at their reactions.

“Sorry…” she started but was cut off by another ring. She shook her head at herself. She hadn’t even noticed the original call had dropped. She checked the caller id and smiled at the phone. “Hey Tim.” She paused to listen to him. “No, I’m fine. I just… I knocked something over and was cleaning it. Sorry for scaring you.”

She gave Jason an apologetic smile as she listened to Tim. “I’m doing okay, I guess. I think I’m just jumpy… and getting paranoid. I could have sworn someone was watching me walk home, but when I looked nobody was around or rather nobody was paying attention to me.” She missed the slight grimace Jason shot toward the floor. “No, thank you though. Actually, your brother is here already.” She smiled at Jason again and put Tim on speaker.

“…that so. That’s very thoughtful of him,” Tim quipped in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, he’s checking my locks,” Marinette continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in his voice, or attributing it to his concern. “Apparently my door and window locks are pretty bad,” Marinette frowned at the thought.

“Uh huh. Well it’s just so great that he came over then,” Tim gritted out.

Marinette did a double take when Jason’s phone dinged repeatedly with an extended series of text notifications. She blinked at it a few times before looking questioningly at Jason. He rolled his eyes and turned his phone off. He met her eyes with a shrug and a wink as he sat at her island.

“Tell him I say hi and remind him he has plans with Bruce soon,” Tim continued tightly.

Jason huffed. “Tell him to tell B, I'm not going on patrol until Demon Spawn calms down. And tell him I’m sending him the bill for this.” He motioned vaguely around them.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim conceded easily before his voice turned harsh again, “And tell him…”

“You two do realize you can hear each other and you two both know you can hear each other and I know you can hear each other and I’m not an owl!” Marinette admonished them sharply.

The room was silent for a few seconds before Tim started chuckling. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She nodded at the phone even though he couldn’t see her.

“Hey! That makes me Ron? What the fuck?” Jason objected raising up from his seat in offense.

“Oh come on, you’d look good with red hair,” Marinette teased him lightly.

“You better fucking not be Ron,” Tim growled. “You’re more like Draco anyway,” he continued flippantly.

“Fuck you, Pretender,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, this is making me feel better,” Marinette sighed, leaning against the counter.

There was a guilty pause as the men took in her words. “Sorry,” Jason finally spoke up after a while.

“What?” Marinette gave him a curious look until realization set in. “Oh! No, I was serious. You two remind me of my friends. It feels comforting, normal.”

Tim waited a second before speaking up cautiously. “So… you’re okay for tonight? You feel safe?”

Marinette smiled at the phone again. “Yeah, Tim. I’m okay. Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course. Let me know if that changes. I’ll be over in three minutes flat,” he promised.

Marinette grinned mischievously. “Do I get a free pizza if you take longer?”

Tim huffed out a laugh. “Absolutely.”

“Sweet. I might test it just for that,” she teased him. “Night, Tim.”

“Night. And tell Jason to turn his phone back on before I do it for him.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Still not an owl,” she singsonged before she hung up. She looked over to Jason with a concerned smile. “Do you have to go? It sounded like you already had plans?”

Jason waved her off and took the battery out of his phone before leaning against the counter near her. “I have plenty of time. Like I said, if I show up now De… Damian is going to attack me.” Marinette’s eyes widened in concern but Jason waved her off again. “It’s fine. He isn’t as tough as he thinks he is. He wouldn’t be able to hurt me, but Bruce would yell at me for it and Dick would give me his disappointed in you lecture. It’s better for everyone if I stay away for a few days.”

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tim just doesn’t want me stealing his friend away with my superior looks and charm.”

Marinette scowled lightly at him. “Tim is very handsome and charming,” she insisted defensively.

Jason shot her a devilish smile. “But not as much as me, right?”

Marinette scoffed at him and rolled her eyes. “You certainly seem to think so.” She rinsed some grapes and set them in a bowl between the two of them. “But he’s the only reason you’re here right now. If you weren’t Tim’s brother and we hadn’t met last night when you were fairly respectful of me in my… state…”

“Fairly!?” Jason squawked.

“I’d have called, well, not the cops, but Tim, to take care of you,” she continued over him. She grabbed a grape and chewed on it while she watched him appraisingly as she leaned back against the counter opposite him. “Do you make a habit of stealing his friends?”

Jason shrugged and grabbed a few grapes. “No, we generally move in different…” he searched for a nice way to phrase it, “circles.”

She hummed in response. “And yet here you are, willingly entering in a circle with one of his friends.” She eyed him pointedly. She quickly broke their eye contact to look down and cross her arms over her chest protectively. “Thank you for breaking into this particular circle to help me out. Last night spooked me more than I want to admit.”

“Did you want to talk about it? Or pretend like it never happened. I can help with either,” Jason offered.

Marinette stared at the grapes for a while without talking. Jason was certain she was about to start spiraling again when she spoke up quietly. “I was keeping an eye on my drinks. I only took my eyes off of them when I was around people I trusted and we weren’t exactly close to other people for someone to just slip something in.” She frowned and looked at nothing in particular. She poured herself a glass of water and held the rim of the glass against her lips without drinking it as she remembered the night before. “I don’t know which scares me more, that someone was that good to get it in with all of us there or…”

“That one of the people you trust might be responsible,” Jason finished for her after a few seconds of silence. When she looked up to meet her eyes, she looked so shaken and uncertain, he wanted to pull her into a tight, reassuring hug, but after the night before, he wasn’t sure a virtual stranger’s embrace would be the most reassuring. He settled for moving to lean against the counter next to her so their arms were almost touching, but she still had her personal space.

“Yeah,” she said wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her arms.

“You think you were the intended victim?” he asked curiously. He and Tim had already discussed the night and decided that she had to be, but he was curious what her thoughts were. “You don’t think it was just opportunistic. You think whoever was with targeting you.”

She shook her head and looked down, frowning at the floor. She gripped her arms tighter. “I don’t know. I was never alone and I only drank with my friends at our own table away from other people. I mean someone at the bar could have drugged it before it was brought over when the waitress brought drinks but…”

“How would they know who it would go to,” Jason finished again. “Seems unlikely they’d risk the drug like that if they didn’t know who it would go to. If they didn’t have a plan to get the person out.”

Marinette looked up at him anxiously and nodded. She studied him for a few more seconds before she shook herself out of her daze. She looked up at him with a fake smile. “So what are you feeling for dinner? I can make some pasta. I can do stir fry. I can whip up a casserole. What do you want?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you feel like having tonight,” he assured her with a smile.

“I don’t… really… feel like eating,” she mumbled, looking away again. “This is more something for me to focus on instead of last night.”

Jason gave her a gentle smile and lowered himself to her level, trying to gain her attention. “Look, I know you don’t know me but why don’t we order take out and we can watch a movie, or if you want to be alone, I can leave.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she answered quickly, instantly looking over to him with a desperate look in her eyes.

Jason nodded slowly and gave her a gentle smile. He rested his hands lightly on her arms to reassure her he was there and not going anywhere unless she wanted him to. “That’s understandable. I wouldn’t want to be either. Do you want me to call Tim over? I know you probably feel safer with him and when he can’t be here in three minutes, you get a pizza.”

She gave him a wan smile. “No, I trust you. And I’m not really feeling pizza right now.”

Jason smiled back. “I want to joke and say that’s a terrible decision, but now doesn’t seem like the best time.” She gave him a deadpan look that made his grin widen. “I’ll save that for later,” he finished with a wink. His expression quickly turned serious as he watched her. “You should eat though. What kind of food do you want to try? There’s a good Indian restaurant around the corner.”

She looked away. “I don’t want to order out. I don’t want food that I…”

Jason nodded and moved closer again. “Yeah, that’s reasonable. Let’s make something together, yeah? I saw some eggs and milk in your refrigerator and there’s bread on the counter. How do you feel about breakfast for dinner? French toast sound good? I think you call it Lost Bread? And how do you feel about Clueless?”

“The movie?” she asked confused.

“Yeah, adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma.”

“Fan of Alicia Silverstone or Jane Austen?” she teased weakly.

“Both,” Jason answered with a wink.

Marinette snickered and nodded. “That all sounds amazing.” She moved away to start getting the pan and bowls out, watching him while he got the ingredients prepared. “Thank you, Jason. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“No problem. We’ll get things figured out so you can feel safe, or at least as safe as you can feel in Gotham,” he assured her, and himself. They were going to find who drugged her and make her feel safe again. Whoever it was messed with one of Tim’s friends, one of the few he really trusted, that means whoever it was messed with his family and nobody messed with their family.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @demonicbusiness @read-fantasy-to-escape-reality @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - night #Jasonette Protection Program

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fruitydiaz-archived · 3 years

Text

that's what i want for him

post-eddie begins | eddie meets with his attorney to change his will | a little feelings realization | a little pining | a little buckley-diaz family moment

4,097 words

AO3 link

The day that Eddie has his appointment with his attorney to alter his will, he’s sick with nerves.

He thought he had made peace with his own mortality a long time ago, when he enlisted and found himself pinned down, a world away from his family and bleeding out in the middle of a warzone — but something about the official stature of a will has always made him feel nervous.

He’s still young, and he has no plans to die anytime soon, but who really does? Shannon certainly hadn’t planned on it either. Dealing with grief is hard enough as is, especially when it’s the loss of a parent, and if Eddie can make that experience any more bearable for Chris, then that’s what he’s going to do.

Ever since Shannon died, he’s had his parents down as Christopher’s legal guardians should anything happen to him. It wasn’t a decision he ever felt comfortable with — but he didn’t have anyone else, and he didn’t really have a choice. He had to make sure that Christopher had someone in case things went wrong on a call.

But since the well came down — well, before that actually. Ever since the tsunami, ever since the lawsuit, ever since the skateboard accident — Eddie’s known that he needs to adjust his will, because in none of those situations were Eddie’s parents around to make sure Christopher was okay.

Buck was.

It wasn’t that they didn’t care. They certainly called Eddie after they heard the news about the tsunami. They asked if Christopher was okay (not him, Christopher), and made their usual comments about how Texas would be so much safer for him — they hadn’t had both an earthquake and a tsunami over the last year. They made sure they did their best to let Eddie know that he was making a mistake keeping Chris there, that he was making a mistake not relocating him after he lost his mom, that Chris was going to get seriously hurt one of these days and it would be his fault. They said all of the things he knew they would.

But they weren’t there.

The well was a close call — too close — and in that moment when the mud came down on top of him and the water started to fill his lungs — he realized he couldn’t leave Christopher with them. Not when there was someone else right there, someone who loved Christopher the way he did, someone who would do anything for him, someone who understood him.

He’s still reeling from the accident a bit, as he sits in the office, bouncing his leg up and down and trying hard to tamp down his nerves and failing, as you do after near-death experiences. He keeps having to remind himself that he’s not down there anymore, that there isn’t water all around him, that he can breathe perfectly fine, that he’s on solid ground now.

He has to remind himself that when he fell, Buck and Hen were there to grasp his hands and pull him back up. He’s okay.

“Mr. Diaz?” A voice calls to his left. He looks up to see his attorney in the doorway, standing with her hands clasped in front of her. She smiles at him politely.

She’s a tall, fairly nondescript woman, with soft, quiet features, and thick curly black hair that’s always pulled back into a bun. She always comes dressed in suits but leaves her suit jacket draped over the back of her chair, moving about her office and greeting clients in soft cashmere sweaters.

She always seems to be wearing a smile — but not in an unsettling way. When Shannon was still around, when Eddie was warming up to the idea of welcoming her back into his life, Eddie had made some comment about her having middle school teacher energy — the kind of middle school teacher that still enjoyed working with kids but also took them seriously and didn’t allow any room for bullshit — and Shannon had laughed at him for using the word energy. She said something about Buck rubbing off on him and he rolled his eyes.

It’s just that she reminds him of someone, someone from his past — but he just can’t ever place her. He’s always been bad with faces. But there’s something familiar and grounding about her, something that helped Eddie feel calm when he first met her. But today, she doesn’t calm his nerves.

He feels sick.

He hasn’t seen her since Shannon died.

He stands up and wipes his shaking hands against his jeans, following her into her office.

When Eddie imagined an attorney’s office, when he was a little younger and more naive, he imagined it being small, cramped, with overflowing filing cabinets against one wall and bookshelves filled with boxes of legal documents and binders and books filled with rules and statutes that he could never dream of understanding. He imagined it as something that would make him feel small and cramped — and that the lawyer on the other side of the desk would peer over their tiny wireframe glasses at him and scrutinize every decision he made.

But Stacy’s office is different — it’s calmer, more minimalist. Her walls are a cool white that contrasts against all of the black furniture. The boxes on her shelves are a uniform grey with white labels with little script that’s illegible to Eddie. She even has a little bonsai tree on her desk. It reminds him of a therapist’s office — one that Shannon tried to make him see earlier on in their marriage, between deployments. Sometimes he can appreciate the universe’s weird sense of humor. Today he doesn’t.

He hates having to be here, having to deal with all of the weird legal aspects of living and dying, but he’s doing this for Christopher, so he swallows his nerves.

“I understand you’re wanting to change your will?” Stacy begins, pulling Eddie’s file onto her desk and flipping it open. He nods.

“Yes, I just want to make an adjustment to the legal guardianship — for Christopher,” She nods for him to continue. “After last year, I changed it so my parents would be his legal guardians. I’d like to change it again.”

Stacy smiles softly at him again before pulling something up on her computer. She opens a drawer and retrieves some blank paperwork and sets it on her desk.

“And who will you be changing it to?”

“His name is Evan Buckley. He’s...my friend. Coworker, actually, but...he understands Chris better than they do. Or ever could, really.”

Stacy nods, writing Buck’s name down on the paper before setting the pen down, folding her hands together again, and studying Eddie.

“So, last year when we adjusted your will after your wife passed, I remember your parents being here with us,” She says, and it’s not unkind or pointed in any way, but her words still make Eddie shift in his chair, like he’s done something wrong.

“That’s right,” Eddie says, clearing his throat.

“And Mr. Buckley isn’t here with us today.”

“No,” Eddie says, picking at a loose strand in the hem of his jeans. “He’s working a shift today.”

“I see, are you sure you don’t want him to be present for this? It’s a big decision.”

Eddie blinks at her before shifting his eyes around the room.

“Does he need to be here?”

“No, not at all. We normally encourage both parties to be here, but I’m sure you’ve gotten his consent already, it’s just a formality, really,” Stacy smiles and turns back to her file, picking the pen up again, and opening her mouth to ask another question, when Eddie interrupts her.

“Do I need to have, um, written consent or something to do this? I don’t remember my parents having to sign anything.”

Stacy looks back up at Eddie. For a moment neither of them says anything. She slowly sets her pen back down.

“It’s not required, but it is recommended. This is a big decision, as I’m sure you’re aware. Trusting someone as your child’s legal guardian isn’t something to be taken lightly — especially when they’re not family.”

Eddie frowns — he’s not taking this lightly. It’s all he’s been able to think about for weeks. Every morning when he sits down with Christopher to have breakfast it’s a reminder that he almost lost this. Every time he comes home to Christopher after a long day of work there’s a sense of relief that he’s never felt before — he got to come home again. When he sees the drawings of Shannon that Christopher did that Eddie keeps locked in his nightstand — unable to throw them away, but definitely not keeping them anywhere where Chris could find them again — he remembers how close Chris came to losing another parent.

When he thinks about Chris being uprooted, ripped out of this life they built in California just to be dragged back to Texas, with parents like his who always think they know what’s best but never allow room for adjustments, with parents he knows will stifle him — it’s heartbreaking. He knows this is the right decision.

But Stacy doesn’t give him the opportunity to say all of that, and she continues to press, gently.

“You have had a conversation about this with him?” Eddie shrinks in his chair a bit.

“No, we haven’t — we haven’t talked about it. But, look, you don’t know Buck, okay? This isn’t,” He pauses, waving his hand while he tries to figure out what to say. “A couple of weeks ago, I was in an accident. It was pretty bad, and — I could’ve died. I was drowning and all I could think about was how I couldn’t leave Chris alone. And then, if I did die, how miserable he would be with my parents. I mean, you met them.”

Stacy doesn’t respond.

“Well, I was raised by them, so — I know what they’d be like, and I don’t want that for Christopher. Buck would do anything for Christopher. Already has. He’s...it’s him. I want him to be Christopher’s guardian, you know, if anything ever happens.”

Stacy nods and sits back in her chair.

“Eddie,” She starts, breaking formality. “Listen, I understand. This kind of thing happens more often than you’d think. There’s a kind of clarity that comes to people when they have a close encounter with death. I imagine it was especially clarifying for you, so soon after your wife’s death.”

She sits up again and studies Eddie carefully.

“I just want to make sure that you’re aware — if something happens and you haven’t told Mr. Buckley, he could refuse.”

Eddie shakes his head vehemently.

“No,” He says confidently. He looks at Stacy again, dead in the eye so that she knows he’s serious. “He wouldn’t do that. Believe me.”

“And if your family tries to fight it?” Eddie looks away then, and his eyes get a little distant. He smiles a small, private smile, before looking back at Stacy.

“They won’t ever fight as hard as him. Trust me.”

Stacy holds his gaze for a moment.

You learn a lot about people when you’re in her line of work — people come in all of the time and show her their hands, inadvertently pouring their hearts out, and revealing everything that’s most important to them as they sort out their estates. She’s seen plenty of people make weird, terrible, stupid, and callous decisions in the event of their death. She’s seen plenty of people come in after a close call and make hasty, half-baked decisions that she doesn’t have the power to counsel them against.

But, with her admittedly limited understanding of who Eddie Diaz is as a person, he’s not the kind of person who makes hasty, half-baked decisions, especially not when it comes to what he loves most — Christopher. They’ve only seen each other a few times: when Eddie first moved to LA and was altering his will, and when Shannon died. She’s seen him worn, tired, dragged down by grief. From what she sees, he’s a man who’s burdened by the need to do what's right for everyone else around him.

When he came in with his parents the year before, he had seemed small, and it had struck her. She remembered him from their first meeting as an army man with strong shoulders and a jaw set with stubborn determination — but then he just seemed like a child.

The man in front of her now is somewhere in between, softened by the home he’s clearly made for him and his son here. He’s still worn, a little shaken after his incident, still clearly grieving the loss of his wife, but the look in his eyes is strong and sure.

And as much as she would prefer that Mr. Buckley, or Buck, as Eddie keeps calling him, were here, she can clearly tell the difference in how Eddie feels about him versus his parents by the way he talks. He didn’t say much when his parents were in her office, just nodded along to what they said and made quiet, reserved comments to affirm their decisions. At the time, she wasn’t sure if it was the grief or their presence that was making him small — but she gets it now. Buck clearly understands Eddie in a way that few people have before.

She just hopes that Eddie talks to him about it soon — because the man does seem to be a kind of magnet for life-threatening situations, and she would really prefer not to have to break the news to a surprised, grief-stricken Evan Buckley herself. That’s her least favorite part of the job.

But she doesn’t press any further — Eddie’s made his case and Stacy’s certain she won’t be able to convince him to hold off any longer to at least talk to Buck, and they finish sorting out the paperwork.

Stacy sends Eddie off with the promise to get in touch with him when the changes to his will are finalized, and a gentle suggestion to talk with Buck soon.

He’s out the door feeling a dozen pounds lighter.

Eddie considers telling Buck after that, he really does. He understands that it’s probably something he should hear about sooner rather than later. But something holds him back, something makes him want to keep those cards close to his chest, and he’s not sure why.

He doesn’t tell anyone, not for a while. He really should tell his parents — and he will, eventually — but he’s not really looking forward to that particular conversation. He can already hear their arguments in his head, how Buck is in just as dangerous a profession as he is, how Buck is a stranger — not family, how he’s barely known this man for two years when they’ve known him his whole life — that one will make him laugh, he’s sure.

The first person he tells ends up being Carla.

It’s a few weeks later and he’s chatting with her on the phone, chopping up vegetables in the kitchen, helping prep dinner while Chris and Buck are playing games in the living room.

He’s been thinking about broaching the topic all night, now that he’s gotten a chance to be alone with Buck, but he feels a little anxious at the idea — even though he knows Buck won’t refuse. It just feels like a big thing that they probably won’t ever have to deal with — it’s not like he plans on dying.

But the idea is fresh in his mind, so it shouldn’t be that surprising when Carla asks him what’s new and he responds, “I changed my will.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second, and Eddie glances down at his phone to make sure the call didn’t get disconnected on accident.

“Oh?” Carla asks, clearly surprised. “What made you change it?”

“The well,” Eddie says, sliding some chopped carrots off the cutting board and into a bowl. He hears Carla hum in acknowledgment, then smiles as he hears Buck shout from the living room. Chris beat him, again. He’s alive, he’s okay.

“What exactly did you change?”

“Christopher’s legal guardianship...you know, if anything like that happens again and, uh, I don’t make it,” He tries to say this casually, but his throat starts to close up again at the end. He coughs.

“Who’d you change it to?” Carla asks, her voice soft. Eddie pauses, then steps away from the counter, peeking around the corner to check on Buck and Chris. The volume of their game is loud — too loud, really — but they’re engrossed in it, and Eddie’s comfortable with the thought that they can’t overhear his conversation. He walks back to his phone.

“Buck,” He admits quietly.

“Did you talk to him about this?” Carla asks, eventually, and it strikes Eddie how well she knows him. She doesn’t even sound surprised that he made Buck Christopher’s legal guardian.

When he doesn’t respond, he hears Carla sigh.

“Eddie, this is the kind of thing you should talk to him about. If something happens and he suddenly finds out from your lawyer—“

“He’s not gonna refuse,” Eddie says confidently.

“No, and I didn’t say that he would. It would just be fair to him to tell him before, God forbid, something happens to you and he has to hear it from a stranger instead of his best friend.”

“I’m not planning on dying any time soon, Carla,” Eddie says, and he wants to feel confident as he says it, wants it to come off light-hearted and joking, but he’s still terrified and his voice betrays him.

“I know you’re not, honey,” Carla says sympathetically. “But we both know that anything can happen to any one of us, any day. I know I don’t need to remind you of that.”

Eddie nods, even though Carla can’t see him, and continues chopping vegetables.

“It’s just,” Eddie pauses, working out his words. “I don’t — should I tell Christopher? Maybe he should know first.”

“How did you do it when you changed it with your parents last year?” Eddie shrugs.

“Wasn’t really my decision. They were here, they decided it should be them, they told Christopher, we went to my attorney and made it happen. This time...this time it was my choice. And I don’t really know what to do here.”

He lets out a shaky laugh and finds himself, surprisingly, wishing Shannon was here.

It’s one of those things that happens after you lose someone you love — you forget all of the bad parts of your relationship and start to miss the good. He wishes she was here right now, chopping vegetables, teasing him for being useless in the kitchen. He wishes he wasn’t having this conversation right now. He wishes he didn’t feel so old, so marked by death.

He hears Christopher’s victory shout from the living room again, and his heart races to latch onto it. As long as he has his kid, everything’s okay. He wouldn’t take anything back — not for this. Christopher’s happy now.

Then he hears Buck laughing good-naturedly, hears him lowering the volume, and then listens as Chris tries to wheedle another round out of him.

“Come on, buddy, it’s time for me to start dinner. I gotta make sure your dad doesn’t burn any of our dinner in there, or accidentally chop a finger off cutting vegetables. Let’s go get you washed up and then we can help him out, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t hear Christopher’s response, he imagines it was something like a groan and a not-so-subtle eye roll, but he registers the sound of the TV cutting off and Buck’s weight lifting up off the couch. A couple of seconds later and there’s the sound of running water in the bathroom down the hall, and Christopher giggling over the noise.

Everything’s okay.

“Look, Carla, I’m sorry to cut this short but — Buck’s here and he’s about to come help me out in the kitchen, so, I gotta—“

“Just breathe, Eddie. You’ll figure it out, okay? Just make sure you tell him soon.” Eddie hums, noncommittal, and he’s pretty sure he can hear the way Carla shakes her head fondly. “And give that boy a kiss for me, will you?”

“Christopher or Buck?” Eddie jokes before he can stop himself. He freezes, knife hovering mid chop. He hears the water in the bathroom shut off and starts to panic, for some reason he can’t explain. That’s a normal joke to make about your friend, right? Carla would totally kiss him if she was here.

“Whichever one you want,” Carla says after a while, quiet and knowing.

“Hey, is that Carla?” Buck asks as he enters the kitchen.

“Great, thanks Carla, bye,” Eddie rushes, flustered and scrambling to end the call. He turns back around to face Buck, who’s looking at him quizzically.

“I was just gonna say hi?” He says, tilting his head to the side. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Great,” Eddie says, unconvincingly. Buck raises an eyebrow. “Um, fine, just — not sure...how many...potatoes you need me to chop?”

Buck doesn’t take his eyes off Eddie. He studies him, eyes flicking over his face, mentally running through his memory to see if Eddie’s been off lately. And, well, he has — he almost died a couple of weeks ago.

Eddie’s caginess isn’t hard to read — but Buck’s gotten pretty good at knowing when’s the right time to push and when’s the right time to sit back and wait, let Eddie come to him. As much as he doesn’t like it, this is a sit back and wait kind of situation.

He regards Eddie one last time before stepping up to the counter next to him, his hand hovering behind Eddie’s back. Eddie really wants to know why that makes him nervous all of a sudden. They’re close to each other all the time, practically touching each other constantly, but right now proximity to Buck is making it hard to breathe. Buck’s only got a couple of inches on him but it feels like he’s towering over him. It’s making him a little dizzy.

“I’m pretty sure this is enough,” Buck says, sliding away from Eddie and pulling a tray out of the cabinet by the stove, blissfully unaware of the way Eddie’s heart is racing in his chest. “I told Christopher he could help so I figured he could season the vegetables? I’ll measure the spices out for him so we don’t end up eating pure salt like we did last time.”

He sends Eddie a wink as he says that and then turns around, pulling spices out of Eddie’s cabinets and grabbing these tiny bowls that Eddie didn’t even know he had. He’s stunned, watching Buck move around the kitchen with ease, like this isn’t the hundredth time Buck has been over to cook them dinner.

It feels a little like he stepped into some alternate reality, like everything is exactly as it should be but something’s just slightly off. Something’s shifted, but he’s not sure what.

When Christopher comes in moments later, Buck gets him set up at the table easily, letting him sit himself and setting his crutches to the side, placing the tray down in front of him with all of the spices in reach, and pointing out what each of them are and explaining how they flavor the food.

He drizzles the oil over the vegetables and then lets Chris go for it, dumping the bowls over the tray and then getting in there with him, using their hands to coat them all evenly. And that, of course, is Christopher’s favorite part. While Eddie’s still processing, the kitchen’s filled with the sounds of Christopher laughing and Buck laughing along with him, encouraging the way he tosses each vegetable around to cover it in spices.

Eddie stands at the counter, still stunned, but warm all over. This is the kind of thing that keeps him going, the kind of thing that keeps him fighting when things get hard. It’s the kind of thing that Eddie will tuck inside his heart as a precious memory that will come back to him in the future whenever things inevitably get dark again.

He doesn’t want to tell Buck about the guardianship yet. He’ll tell Christopher first, and then his parents, and then, whenever the moment’s right, then he’ll tell Buck.

He’s not in any kind of rush. Things are perfect right now, and he just wants to enjoy that for a little bit longer.

#al talks #buddie #911 fox #okay maybe i’ll slow down now that i got this out of my head fjskfj #my fic

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 14 | S.R.)

Summary: Separated and terrified, Spencer and Reader rely on their unique skills to survive. The team, minus Penelope and Derek, don’t know who the strange girl in the bank is, but they find out very interesting things about her history.

A/N: I don’t know how banks work. Idk how heists work. I know nothing. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader   Category: ANGST. Just. All of it. All of the angst. Every bit.   Content Warning: Gun violence, discussions of death and dying Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST

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“Hello, my name is (y/n)(y/l/n) and I’m calling from the Bank of America on K St. Northwest to report shots fired. The shots sounded like burst-fire from multiple semiautomatics.”

When adrenaline kicks in, there are a lot of things that don’t feel real. Time seems to warp into some ominous presence weighing down on you, but your body has never felt lighter.

“Ma’am, where are you?” Her voice sounded so far away. My own just felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

“I’m inside the bathroom. Listen, I might not have a lot of time. There’s a federal agent inside the bank. His name is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Call...”

My mouth blanked on the names of the two men Spencer talked about the most. I’d met them both, why couldn’t I remember?

Several more shots rang through the building as an answer. It was enough to shake loose the names, which flowed from me before I could even comprehend where they came from.

“Call SSA Aaron Hotchner and… Derek Morgan.”

“Can you remain on the line?” She sounded insistent — which is against their protocol by the way. My eyes were glued to the bathroom door’s hinges.

“Only until the door opens.”

The sentence conveyed my thoughts without actually forming the words. Once that door opens, I’m probably going to die. It wasn’t a completely irrational fear.

“Okay. I need you to remain calm. Did you see any of the gunmen?”

Jesus, it was like everything I’d just told her had gone completely over her head. “No, I’m in the bathroom.”

“Does the agent have his service weapon?”

“No.”

If she didn’t ask me a question I could say yes to soon, I was going to lose my fucking mind.

I tried not to think about Spencer outside, but I couldn’t help it. All of my thoughts were on him, even before the commotion.

Was he even still alive?

“Help is on the way, Ms. (Y/l/n).”

“Please hurry.”

My entire body shook from the hormones, my instincts telling me to do anything besides sit crouched on a toilet in a bathroom stall. I don’t even know why I bothered hiding. They would definitely kick them in, or just shoot straight through the doors.

“We’ve contacted Agent Hotchner and he’s also on his way.”

Finally, some good fucking news. I released my breath as quietly as I could, closing my eyes for just a moment to compensate for the fact I hadn’t blinked in several minutes.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching the phone like it could actually do something for me past this point. But it couldn’t. No amount of breathing exercises would help me through this one.

Suddenly, there was movement outside the door. A crowd of people were shuffling past the door, and I heard the distinct sound of a toddler wailing.

“I have to go.”

“Wait, don’t hang up—“

I couldn’t wait, though. With trembling hands, I erased the evidence that I’d ever called them in the first place. And then I resumed my position as a sitting duck; quietly and as ready as I ever could be.

I listened for his voice, but I never heard it.

—————————————————

Three seconds.

Did you know that a semiautomatic weapon can fire up to three rounds per second, depending on how fast the user can pull the trigger?

After the first shot is fired, no one moves. Puzzled and alert, people are paralyzed. Your first reaction is to look for the source of the sound. It’d been a second before I turned to see the three armed people and two dead security guards behind me.

It takes the average person one and a half seconds to cognitively process that they're in a potentially life-threatening situation. It takes another .7 seconds for a physical response to kick in.

Three seconds.That was long enough for a maximum of nine shots per person to be fired- twenty-seven shots in total; it was long enough for the air to be filled with the sudden outburst of helpless screams the patrons of the bank, and it was long enough for me to realize that I didn’t have my gun and that my girlfriend wasn’t by my side.

“Everybody get down on the ground!”

Amid the chaos, I felt that all too familiar twisting sensation in my gut that begged time to reverse just enough for this to be a dream. Enough time to reverse the decisions that led us here.

But time was a cruel mistress, and she did not plan to bend to the whims of mankind, no matter how desperate.

Another deafening burst of sound rang through the air, shots fired into the ceiling now as myself and the others fell to the ground.

My gaze was fixed on the bathroom entrance. I couldn’t breathe. Please, I begged, stay hidden.

“Listen up! If everyone does what we say, you can all go back to your boring fucking lives.”

Injuries occur in less than two percent of bank robberies. Deaths occur in less than one. Saturdays are the second to least likely day for a robbery to take place. In the past 5 years, less than 10 people have been killed in bank robberies, and most of them were the perpetrators. Statistics usually calmed me down and helped me focus.

But these people didn’t care about statistics. They were defying the odds I had just recited to myself. They had already killed two people. Our luck was already stacked against us.

“Take everything out of your pockets and put it in front of you.”

As soon as the order was given, I was running through an inventory of everything in my pockets. It didn’t take me long to realize that with a cursory inspection of the items, they would figure out who I was.

But what were the odds that they would actually scrutinize them? I figured they were fairly low; you don’t rob a bank to get cheap jewelry and petty cash, even in a bank. What were the odds they would notice if I left something in my pocket — especially if my wallet was in front of me. If it wasn’t large enough to be a weapon, and I put out my objects of value, why wouldn’t I put out the rest of the contents?

So I decided to take the risk, removing my wallet while retaining my separate identification.

Luckily, the attention seemed pretty far removed from me. If I wasn’t too busy being extremely grateful, I might have been offended that they didn’t consider me a threat in the building.

“Alright ladies, all of you get up and follow my lovely friend here. You’re going on a little trip. Fellas, you stay right where you are.”

The sound of my heart pounding drowned out the instructions that weren’t intended for me. It was fine, I hadn’t planned on moving, anyway. As long as I could see the door to the bathroom, I was perfectly fine right where I was.

But I still felt for the terrified women that were shakily rising to their feet. To my right, I saw a woman struggling to hold a small infant. My heart was fracturing at the struggle, wishing I could help her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk doing anything that might draw attention to myself.

I felt like a traitor. I felt useless. I was quite literally trained to handle this exact situation, but now that I was here, I couldn’t move. I wasn’t thinking about strategy or how to maximize efficiency; all I was thinking about was her.

“Jake!” A woman’s voice screamed from the other side of the room. When I turned, I heard the sound of a rifle cracking against bone before the man hit the ground.

“Jake, huh?” The man above him laughed, using the business end of the rifle to turn the disoriented man on his side. “Well, Jake, how would you feel about your girlfriend watching you die?”

“Please don’t hurt him!” The woman sobbed, scrambling up off the floor that she’d resisted leaving. I wondered if (y/n) would have refused to leave me, too.

The man prodded the woman with the gun, urging her to follow the rest while simultaneously providing easy enough instructions. The man apparently named Jake made a few noises of desperate protest as he watched her leave.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I’m sorry,” Jake pleaded, “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt her. I’ll be quiet.”

Smart man. I understood his hesitancy, though. His girlfriend kept her neck craned back until she was no longer in sight, gazing back at him for as long as she physically could. I closed my eyes just for a moment, to try and combat their current strain.

Unfortunately, just like it always seems to happen, that’s when they spoke the words I had been dreading.

“Hey, you check the bathrooms yet?”

“Nah, I got it.”

I closed my eyes tighter now, scared that if I opened them, I’d give myself away. There was no possible way that I could hide the terror I currently felt. To be fair, I think it was only natural to be scared — but not like this.

There was a loud crashing noise of doors slamming, and the voice I knew better than I knew my own reached my ears, making sounds I’d never heard from her before.

Don’t fight them. I pleaded again, Please, don’t fight them.

“Let go of me!” She screamed as the door to the bathroom swung open. Unable to keep my eyes shut any longer, I opened them to see her clawing at the ground as she was dragged out by her ankle. “I can walk by myself! Let go of me!”

I wasn’t sure if she didn’t see me in the commotion, or if she’d just made the decision to act like she hadn’t. Either way, I was grateful. Still, my worries were justified as one of the three unsubs walked over to me.

“Why are you looking at her like that? You know her?”

Craning my head up, I shook my head no. It must not have been very convincing; the rage in my heart at them for thrusting her into this situation evident in my eyes.

“You wanna play hero, kid?”

“Sorry. No.” I muttered, taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to regulate my heart rate or my voice, “She’s… very loud. I get headaches.”

“Yeah well, deal with it.”

That might have been the end of it, if I’d played my hand better. But it turned out that the risk I had previously elected to take was woefully miscalculated. I didn’t meet their eyes anymore, knowing that doing so might threaten whatever frail illusion of masculinity they possessed.

It still didn’t stop them from holding the gun to my head.

“Empty your pockets.”

“Okay. I can do that, but I have to put my hand in my pocket.” I explained, moving my shaking hand to my back pocket, “It’s not a weapon.”

For once, I was grateful that I was the resident wimp when it came to stressful situations. Sure, I could handle myself, but I definitely didn’t look like I wanted to be there. Had I been any more of a visible threat, I was certain they would have figured out my identity long before this point. They might even have killed me right away.

“Hurry up.”

Swallowing hard, I pulled the identification from my pocket, flipping it open and holding it up for him to see, my gaze aimed fully forward. He snatched the badge away, a cheeky chuckle and a smile in his words.

“FBI, huh? Well, aren’t we lucky. You just became our most valuable player.”

—————————————————

Morgan arrived on the scene relatively unhurried and mostly just curious. The information Garcia had sent over text message was vague, likely due to the crime being a local one. Nothing about this seemed to be the BAU’s usual fare.

It took him almost no time to find Hotch, dressed in casual clothing, surrounded by the massive response team swarming around the bank. But Hotch hadn’t spotted him yet, fully involved with SWAT.

“What’s going on?”

Finally turning to notice his arrival, Hotch gave his normal matter-of-fact report in his simple, succinct manner. “Three people stormed the bank approximately 20 minutes ago and killed two security guards. There are 19 confirmed hostages inside the bank.”

But there was one significant detail that seemed to be missing, and Morgan started to scan the crowd for familiar faces as he spoke. “Hotch, this doesn’t sound like anything we’ve been working on. Why are we responding?”

“The caller alerted us that Reid is inside.”

The words were so unexpected that Morgan actually did a double take, his eyebrows furrowed and bowed as he replayed them in his head. “Wait, how did the caller know that?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch said with an equally perplexed look, gripping tighter to the communicator in his hand, “but she referred to us and him by name.”

‘She?’ Morgan thought, his heart stopping for a second as he excused himself from Hotch’s side, pulling out his phone and frantically calling Garcia, who had already made her way to the BAU.

“Hey there handsome.” It was a mild nickname for the famed Penelope Garcia, but Derek knew that she was probably already in a tough spot. After all, it’s not every day that one of their own is in these situations. At least, not unexpectedly.

“Hey Garcia, do you have eyes on the people in the bank?”

He could hear the feverish click-clacking of keys on the other end, followed closely by her equally frantic voice. “I’m working on it but so far I can only see the main lobby. They separated the women and the men for some reason. Why would they do that?”

“Just focus,” he calmly reminded, “Can you see the women?”

“No. All the women and children were moved to the back.”

Rubbing his face to try and relieve the tension that had quickly made its home over his jaw, Morgan glanced over at the entrance to the bank. It was strange to think that so much had happened so quickly.

Garcia had mentioned twice now that the women had been moved to the back, and he was trying to figure out why they would do that beyond the usual control mechanisms.

“I’m trying to see in the back now, but apparently banks take their video surveillance far more seriously than everything else. Last I checked, a camera never stole money or fired a gun!”

“Focus, babygirl.” It was an instruction for himself just as much as it was for her.

“Sorry, I’m nervous, and you know how I get when I’m nervous!” She squeaked, “I don’t like seeing you guys on my screens. I’d much rather see you in person, safe and sound and preferably smiling.”

Trying not to lose his patience, Morgan just sighed. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault, except that of the bastards who just had to go and ruin a perfectly nice weekend.

“Can you at least tell me who the caller was? Did they call from inside?”

“They were inside and, one second, let me check, it was... oh.” Her voice cut off abruptly, dropping into a high pitched, desperate whisper. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s... the girl from the movies,” Garcia’s voice got faster and more panicked, “Derek, it’s (y/n). It’s Reid’s girlfriend. Reid’s girlfriend is inside the bank.”

Now that his suspicions had been confirmed, he wasn’t really sure what to do with the information. Because now that he knew Reid wasn’t alone, he felt the need to tell Hotch.

A profiler with a loved one involved was in dangerous territory. It wasn’t just Reid, but Morgan had personally seen just how unhinged Reid could get when it came to (y/n).

“Can you see her?” He asked, his voice lower than it was before.

“Oh, god, yes! I can!” It was not the kind of excited exclamation Morgan had hoped to hear, but at least he had confirmation she was alive. “She was in the bathroom but… They’re dragging her away…”

Morgan had tried not to pry too far in his best friend’s life before, and he took a moment to consider whether his next request was honestly necessary, or if he was just trying to find a reason to snoop.

But he wasn’t. There was something off about that girl. It wasn’t that she was bad or wrong, but she was far too comfortable in situations that didn’t call for it. The way she carried herself told him that she had held her own hand too often.

“Garcia, I know I’ve already done this to you once but... I need you to tell me everything you can find on her.”

—————————————————

My entire body ached; the sensation of an unfamiliar hand clenched tightly around my ankle burned long after I was released. It was definitely sprained, at the very least. I didn’t dare try to touch it, though. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble, and the bristling discomfort kept me where I was.

Which, for now was on my knees in the backroom of a bank lobby. Beside us was a large, heavily reinforced steel door with way too many different contraptions. I decided then that this whole arms race between burglars and corporate America had gotten a little fucking ridiculous.

But however annoyed I was by that, I was far more irritated by the hushed bickering between the man and woman holding rifles on the other side of the room. I could only hear every couple of words, but I got the gist of what they were arguing about.

Apparently, they’d never heard of an alarm system that’s connected to locks, which seemed extremely stupid for people who had gotten this far. In hindsight, that should have been my first clue that something was off about this entire situation.

Still, I couldn’t deal with them making the same fucking arguments over and over, so eventually I blurted out what I’m certain any millennial in the room would know. “The keycard won’t work if they’ve sounded the alarm.”

The statement earned me a gun to my face, and after a brief second of confusion, I flinched away from the cold metal of the barrel.

“What was that, sweetheart?” She was clearly looking to gauge my reaction rather than actually ask me to repeat the information. That was fine. I wasn’t exactly a talented actress, and I didn’t see the point in pretending to be meek.

If she was going to kill me, she was going to do it. Although I was certain Spencer would disagree, I chose to believe that our fate is dictated long before it happens. I was not a profiler; if I survived, it would be because I had been taught to survive through brute force and spite rather than calm negotiation.

“The keycard system is linked to the alarms,” I said, slower now, “Someone hit the alarm, so the cards aren’t going to work. You’ll need to use the old school keys.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a much lower register as she crouched down to my height. “How would you know? You work here?”

“No, my dad worked security.” It wasn’t a lie as much as it was an understatement, but she didn’t need to know that. I guess that’s one of those good things growing up with the dad I did; I got very comfortable speaking in vague generalities. Spencer hated it.

“Well, your daddy isn’t here to help you now.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth. But that didn’t mean I was alone, I reminded myself. Despite being dragged and my vision turned literally upside down, I had caught a glimpse of him in the lobby. He was alive. That thought alone was keeping me sane right now.

“The different keys you need for an override are probably kept on separate people so one person can’t do it alone. Probably the different managers.” I muttered, nodding to the side where one of the employees flinched at my words. Anything to get away from the fucking gun in my face.

“Is she right?” The woman sneered to the manager, turning her full attention to someone else. I felt a little guilty, since the poor manager seemed a lot less put together than I was. But hey, they needed her, too.

“Yes, I already gave you my keys,” she squeaked, holding her trembling hands up, “Th-There’s another set behind the desk I think.”

“Would you look at that...” It was the first time the man in the room addressed me since he had pulled me out of the stall, and I had to admit I wasn’t exactly a fan of his. But at the same time, I knew that he was going to be remarkably more receptive to me than the woman. She seemed to be the one who was actually in charge.

“Little miss problem was actually helpful,” he cheered, raising his weapon to point to the ceiling as he approached me. I chewed nervously on my cheeks, trying to meet his eyes but finding them uncomfortably bare.

“You should turn off the camera too, I’m just saying.” This time I didn’t nod, using one cautious finger to point to the small device that was currently staring right at me. I understood that it was probably helpful to Spencer’s team to be able to see, but I wasn’t really keen on my death being videotaped... as well as anything else I might end up doing.

‘Never leave a trace.’ That’s what I’d always heard.

‘Keep’em guessing. Even if you think it’s gonna kill you, because you don’t want to live with that over your head.’

“Fine. Do that and go get the keys.” He sounded intrigued, and I felt his searing gaze against my face.

“I think you should do it.”

The tension from before, when the two were arguing, had quickly resurfaced. She clearly didn’t trust him to be alone in the room, which solidified my belief that she was calling the shots, and he was just being dragged along for the ride.

In another life, I might have respected her ability to order stupid men around.

“Why the fuck is that?” He snapped, earning a bored roll of her eyes. The next thing out of her mouth was expected, but unfortunately the last thing I wanted to hear.

“I want to talk to her alone.”

Great. And naturally, her idea of ‘talking’ to me included weaponry. Using the end of the gun to tilt my head up to her, she gave a suspicious smile.

“Why are you helping us?”

“I want to go home.” It was my immediate and instinctual answer. It was the truth. I was helping them because I wanted to get the fuck out of here.

But you know, people expect everyone to have a squeaky-clean moral compass, so I decided to give a few more reasons.

“And I don’t give a shit about a massive corporate bank. I was just here to go to the bathroom– I don’t even have an account here.”

Maybe that was too many reasons, because just as her hesitance waned, it was back in full force. Shoving the barrel against my throat, she sneered, “I don’t believe you. You’re too comfortable with a gun in your face. You a cop, too?”

Cop?

I tilted my head to the side, baring more of my throat to her as I drawled, “Who’s a cop?”

For once, I was glad that Spencer had made such a point of reassuring me that he was not ‘a cop,’ because otherwise I’m certain the terror would have been obvious in my eyes. But for now, I could trust the numb apathy that was washing over me.

Please don’t be talking about Spencer. Please don’t know that. Good things never happened to law enforcement in situations like this. Hell, the two security guards had been dead in seconds.

“I think you know.” She was smiling, and I realized that this fucking psychopath was sharper than she wanted me to think.

“I don’t.” The words were said through clenched teeth, and I prayed that she would see them as insistent anger over the fear that lie beneath them, “And why would you kill me if I was helping you?”

She smiled, drawing the weapon up and down my throat until it landed lower at my chest. The movements were slow and light, a playful glint in her eyes when they met mine again.

“For fun.”

I didn’t move a muscle, my body remaining tense under her ministrations as I forced myself to hold my gaze steady. If she wanted fear, she wouldn’t get it from me.

“Then do it.”

The look she gave me told me she had seriously considered it, probably a little annoyed with my presence. But there was something else there, too, that same soft recognition that in another reality we might have been friends. I’m sure she saw herself in me a little bit; or at least somebody useful.

This confirmed my suspicion that I’d never really be able to read a psychopath. I didn’t understand how Spencer could do it every day. It’d only been a few minutes alone with her and I could feel myself losing the happy memories of the day.

Luckily, the man returned at the same time I saw a plan developing in her mind.

“Hey, come help me,” he called to her. Her response was surprisingly swift, the metal that was tracing over my collar bones disappearing without another word. He was holding a small bag of money, which seemed to seriously irritate the woman.

“Did you get that money from behind the counter?” I asked it before she had a chance. I wanted him to trust me. Or at least look at me more. It wasn’t that I wanted his attention as much as I knew I could distract him fairly easily.

He looked over at me, a dumbfounded look on his face. Men are so fucking stupid, I thought. The pissed off expression on his partner’s face told me that she agreed.

“It’s going to explode if you mess with it or it leaves the area. Probably with tear gas. If you’re escaping in a car, you’re not gonna want it.”

“Yeah, we know about dye packs, bitch.” She snapped, grabbing the bag of money and tossing it to the side of the door they intended to use.

I stared at the locks they hadn’t even bothered trying to touch. The same locks they apparently didn’t look up or know anything about when they came. Suddenly it hit me why this all felt so very off.

It was strange enough that no one was wearing a mask, and as far as I’d heard, no one was really trying to get out of this situation. I was certain that by this point there was a large crowd of armored men outside.

“Just trying to help,” I muttered as I started to scan the room, looking for telltale signs of tampering. The anxious whispering of the man distracted me just long enough to get more information.

“Won’t that set off some shit? Chain reaction shit?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the woman responded with a swift elbow to his gut as she started to walk away, “you are an absolute moron.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, I heard the faint curses that fell from his lips. As he picked up the bag just to toss it away again, I noticed the presence of odd packages in the corner of the room. He really did not want exploding dye packs near those boxes, which seemed remarkably out of place.

“Why does she think she’s in charge?” I asked, finally ripping my eyes away from the objects that now seemed glaringly obvious. “You two guys outnumber her.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

Relaxing my body as much as I could, I shifted back and forth on my knees, rubbing the tired muscles of my thighs. “I may have been told that once or twice.”

He actually chuckled; his eyes drawn to my legs like the absolute moron he so obviously was. She definitely had gotten that one right. The other women in the room were watching me, but I tried not to pay them any mind.

I didn’t know when or why they decided to let me do whatever I wanted, but I appreciated their apparent comfort in letting me try to kill myself. He made his way over to the boxes, each a specific size and shape. He carried them so carefully.

“I figure there’s no point in being scared if I’m going to die anyway.” I finally said. Shocked gasps and whispers filled the room, but I didn’t divert my attention to them– No matter how much I wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up.

They would distract me from the way his mouth curled into a smile when he closed the gap between us, his hand sliding down my head and over my shoulder to follow the braid Spencer had meticulously woven an hour before.

“How about you just shut up and sit pretty for me, sweetheart.” I tried not to let the disgust show as his hand slid behind my neck, holding my head so that I had to look up at him. “You seem like you’d be real good at that.”

Ha! If only Spencer could hear him say that. But I could play the good girl for just long enough.

“Do you need help?” I asked with a tiny shrug, “I might be little but I’m pretty strong.” Strong enough to break your fucking hand if you don’t get it off of me.

“Nah.” He ordered, his hand on my neck getting tighter. “But I don’t doubt that you could be useful. You look real good on your knees.”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might be visible through my ribs. I just needed an excuse to move. If he could give me an excuse to move, I could do so many things.

“Please let me help,” I begged, raising my hand to his forearm against my shoulder. His eyes began to shift, moving just enough to tell me that he wanted to look to the hallway. He could hear her footsteps, too. She was coming back, and I only had a few seconds left.

Once both of my hands were on his arm, I got the feeling he knew something even worse was coming for him.

“I’d love a chance to get to show you how helpful I really am.”

—————————————————

Hotch had spent the past five minutes on the phone with the male unsub in the lobby, and the conversation was going absolutely nowhere. For whatever reason, they just seemed to deflect any opportunity provided to them.

They didn’t seem to give a shit about anything beyond pushing the buttons of each person they interacted with. Which, they did quite successfully.

“Didn’t realize one pig would bring the whole flock of you here,” he laughed, clearly motioning to Spencer on the video, “How bad do you want him back?”

“What do you want?” He responded without hesitation or a surprise. It was such an expected question to ask that he’d barely even thought about his words before they came out.

“Easy. A chopper, and for you to fuck off.”

That was the equally stereotypical response, meaning it was entirely unhelpful to them. From what they could deduce, they were equally confused as to why this heist seemed to follow all the rules, but match none of the motivations. It was like it was a show, a game, rather than an actual attempt to maximize profits.

“We can do the helicopter, but we can’t give you a pilot.”

“That’s fine,” he responded with a shrug, “Don’t need one.”

It was the first piece of useful information he’d gotten so far on the call. Because if they didn’t need a pilot, it meant one of two things: either one of them possessed the skill themselves, or they weren’t ever intending to use the helicopter.

Briefly pulling the phone away, Hotch turned to Morgan. “Tell Garcia to check our list with people with pilot’s licenses or any other connection that might provide them the skills to fly a helicopter.”

He returned to the call, continuing the usual script for these situations, trying not to act like he’d learned anything new.

“Can you release the women and children?”

“Nah,” the guy said with a chuckle, “I’ll wait.”

Hotch listened to the sound of the receiver for a moment, staring at the entrance to the bank like it would provide him the answers he still needed. He had his suspicions of what might be happening, but with no eyes in the back anymore and the trigger-happy group that had formed around him, he wouldn’t have the resources to convince them not to go in guns blazing.

“We’re ready to move in.” Which is exactly what they had requested.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stated before finally moving to look at the man next to him, “Something isn’t right here.”

“Yeah, a lot isn’t right here. There’s 19 innocent people in there.”

It didn’t really matter how many times he went through this situation; the results always seemed to be the same. No one listened, even when it wasn’t one of their men inside.

“Storming the building isn’t going to help them. There are three armed perpetrators inside, and they’re each in a different area. It would be impossible for us to take out all three at once. Especially now that we can’t see in the back. There could be explosives in there for all we know.”

The man was unpersuaded.

“If we can’t save them all, minimizing casualties is the name of the game.”

“Wait a few more minutes. I’m waiting to hear back from our analyst. If they have the capability of flying a plane, its highly likely they also have the knowledge and skills to create weapons that we aren’t currently prepared to handle.”

Although still unconvinced, the man grudgingly gave in to the request. Hotch closed his eyes, trying to be grateful for the extremely small victory; they’d gained a few more minutes. But the relief was short lived, with Morgan putting his phone aside for a second to mutter the same thing Hotch was thinking.

“Hotch, these people are way too confident. It’s like they know there’s a way out.”

As soon as he said the words, the two just looked at each other.

“Garcia, can you also check for any other way out of the bank?” He asked, walking back over to the table laid out under the nearby tent. This would have been a great time for Reid to be here, he thought as he stared at the ridiculously complicated schematics.

He understood they didn’t want people to be able to figure them out (so they couldn’t rob the bank), but this was just ridiculous. It looked ancient.

“Sure thing, but… Morgan, I think there’s something else you should see.” The nerves dancing in her voice told him that they were about to switch subjects. “You know how the guy disabled the camera feed in the back room. I was reviewing the footage we do have and it looks like… (y/n) told him to.”

“Why would she do that?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he glanced over to the ornate bank doors. Part of him wanted to joke that things would’ve been a lot simpler if he didn’t have to worry about Reid’s weird girlfriend, but it didn’t feel as funny when they were both in danger.

Maybe later, he thought hopefully, when they were all together again.

“I… don’t know why. But I did what you asked, and I went through her record and found a ton of sealed files on her and also her dad…”

Morgan’s attention was definitely piqued at that point, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. In the stunned silence, Penelope spoke again.

“Should… Should I unseal them?”

It was the same question he was debating in his head, and he honestly didn’t know. Although a long shot, he hoped that she could provide at least the bare minimum of context before they made that kind of decision.

“What kind of files are we talking about?”

“I can’t be sure until I unseal them b-but, I mean, they’re sealed for a reason and I’m talking scary sealed. Like, it might take me a minute sealed. Giving me the heebie-jeebies sealed.” She grew more frantic as she continued. Morgan knew they were running out of time.

“I get it.”

“Is Reid okay?” She switched gears, recognizing that Morgan’s hesitance meant it was probably a bad idea. She wasn’t going to push it unless he did. They didn’t even know if she could help even if they unsealed the files. Especially without a visual.

“They know he’s with us,” Morgan sadly admitted, “I don’t know what’s going on. Did you find another way out of the bank?”

“Right.” The conversation was going to give everyone involved whiplash at this point. “Yes! There is an access way through tunnels underneath the bank but it would take a massive distraction for all three of them to be able to get out of there without us meeting them on the other side. I’m talking earth shatterin–.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, her tongue halting the second her mind caught up with her voice. Morgan was equally concerned, recognizing the kind of distraction that this might require and the perfect way to escape with maximum damage.

But that wasn’t what got his attention. There was no fiery explosion or shouted epiphany, because at that same time there were the muffled sounds of gunshots coming from inside.

“Oh my god, what was that?!” Garcia yelled, accompanied by frantic clicking as she filtered through each individual camera to try and locate the source of the noise.

“Garcia, do you have eyes on the main room?”

“Yes! But it wasn’t in the main room, Derek, it was in the back!”

It was a difficult and necessary job, to consider what those sounds might mean for the young girl they’d met only a few weeks earlier. Morgan’s thoughts went even further, not only worried about her safety, but his best friend’s sanity. Lord knows Reid didn’t need another thing weighing on his conscience. Especially not about her; it just might destroy him.

“What does the unsub in the main area look like? Does he look confused? Surprised?” The words were coming, but he didn’t know where from. His body was on autopilot, desperately seeking any validation that they could still save everyone.

“I-I don’t know! He looks grainy! The image is like an inch wide!” She was clearly growing frustrated, which was a feeling they all shared at this point. “This camera is from before I was even born!”

“Try, Penelope,” Morgan pleaded, “Give me something.”

But the other men weren’t willing to wait.

“That’s it. We’re moving in.”

Morgan turned to them, his hand clutching tighter to the phone just in time for her to speak.

“He’s calling for them but they’re not coming out. He looks… Oh no. He’s yelling at Reid now. And... And it looks like someone is coming down the hallway? But he’s not looking–”

It was impossible to focus on everything that was happening, heavy boots and massive commotion as people began to take their positions. But if someone was coming down the hallway, and the unsub didn’t know, that could only mean a few things. Either he was about to be proven disposable, or someone else had fired those shots.

Either way, one thing was clear.

“Wait! We can’t go in there yet!”

—————————————————

There was a point in time where I might have questioned whether I would ever get used to a gun in my face. There was also a point where I actually had gotten used to it. But nothing could have prepared me for this moment, this terrifying realization while staring down the barrel of an assault rifle that I didn’t want to die yet.

I used to think that my life was somewhat disposable. Sure, I was helpful and useful for my job, but ultimately, I considered myself replaceable. The next person to come might not have the same credentials, but they probably wouldn’t also have half the flaws I do.

But now I wasn’t thinking of work. I wasn’t thinking about how replaceable I was, because it wasn’t my life that mattered.

I didn’t want to die yet, because I wanted to see her again.

So I just stared at the weapon, trying to remember that it was still a great possibility that I could. I tried not to think about what was in front of me, choosing to use most of my brainpower to picture what it would feel like when I had her in my arms again.

The vision inside my head ended swiftly, with the sound of rapidly fired weaponry coming from down the hall. Through the commotion of screaming, I surmised that at least two guns had been fired.

Silence followed. It was a stifling, exhausting, painful silence.

What broke it was even worse, with the gun in my face smacking into the side of my head as the man holding it lost his grip at the sound.

“What the fuck was that?!”

He looked at me like he expected me to have the answers, but I didn’t.

“I don’t know. I-I don’t—“ Not only did I not understand why two guns would fire, I didn’t know who had shot them or for what reason. There was one thing I did know. “It sounded like your weapons.”

“Hey, what’s going on back there?!” He shouted, twisting his body just enough to see around the corner.

There was no reply.

“Did your people get in here somehow?” The panic was obvious, and I didn’t know how to calm him down without arousing suspicion. He was continuing to devolve, stepping closer to me as he stuck with his original thought, “How the fuck could they have done that, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything you do know?”

It was a question I’d been asking myself. The longer the silence continued in the back, the more rapidly my anxiety rose. There are only a few reasons why we wouldn’t hear more screaming.

Either someone had managed to get remarkable control over the situation, or all of the hostages were dead. Including (y/n). I forced myself to consider the far less likely, but still possible third option: She was dying, and I could still help her.

“I know that there is still a way for you to get out of this.” I barely recognized my own voice as I rambled, “Is it possible your partners… Is it possible they were planning on leaving together?”

“What?” He sounded disgusted and exhausted, but simultaneously insecure. It didn’t take much effort to realize that he was the weakest of the crew. I’d already had my suspicions that whatever the next step in this journey was, he wasn’t going to be making it with them regardless.

“It was their decision to leave you out here, right? In the place with the most windows and the first access to the door? They put you with all the people most likely to fight back. And now it sounds like…”

I paused, my lips unable to make the next words without a deep breath. “It sounds like they killed the people in the back as a diversion to send in SWAT. Does that sound like something they would do?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That was enough confirmation for me. It was definitely something they would do, and he knew it. He probably suspected it himself. Thankfully, it gave me enough courage to push back for the first time in this encounter. “Then go back there and see if they’re still there.”

“And just let you be hero and save all these guys? No chance.”

I wanted to laugh; if only he knew the real reason I wanted him to go back there. As terrible as it was, I didn’t care at all about the rest of these men right now. As far as I knew, they were relatively safe. In fact, they were in a better position if what I’d deduced was true. This man, while violent, wasn’t the kind to murder everyone in sight, even when cornered. He’d more likely be shot by SWAT.

“I’ll come with you.” It was a plea, a desperate attempt to get more information that I both wanted and feared. He watched me carefully, trying to read the terror on my face to determine where exactly it was coming from. He knew the hostages were useless to him if he had me, so I wasn’t particularly scared for my life.

At least, not just yet.

“Fine. Get up.”

I willed my legs to stop shaking; to just carry me far enough that I could see her face. I just needed to know that she was okay.

But then I felt a fine mist over my skin— it almost felt like the noise happened after, but I knew logically that couldn’t be true.

A gun fires before the bullets hit their target.

Time seemed to move slower as his body fell to the ground in front of me. My eyes followed him to the floor, but only until I saw the person holding the gun through my peripherals.

“...(y/n)?”

And there she was, clutching tightly onto a rifle, her body barely upright as she staggered forward. There was something remarkably off-putting about the sight of her holding on for dear life to something so morbid. A jarring contrast I would not soon be able to forget, if I ever could.

There was something even more unsettling about the ease with which she carried the weapon, and the fact that she had managed to fire something that powerful without a single stray bullet.

“They’re dead!” She boomed across the room, dropping the weapon onto the floor before she yelled again, “Everyone get out! Hurry!”

No one moved. All of the men, myself included, stared at the tiny girl who’d just saved all of our lives.

“Get out now! There’s a bomb in the back!”

Those were the magic words to stir a panicked crowd into action, people stampeding to the single double door at the entrance, but my eyes were fixed on her. She staggered forward, her arm around her waist and her eyes beginning to roll back.

Perhaps I was just clueless, my one-track mind too slow to navigate the scene in front of me, but it took me that long to see it. My brain rioted against the visuals it took in, the dark crimson dripping down her body. It looked like it would swallow her whole.

I tried to will my body to move, to run to her and do something, anything to help her. But I couldn’t, frozen in place as her small steps got weaker. It wasn’t until I saw her begin to sway that I lunged forward just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Wait!” I screamed to anyone who would listen, my eyes frantically trying to meet someone in the crowd, “Someone get a medic!”

The woman with a child was the last one to pass. She stopped among the commotion, looking down at the carnage in my lap before bolting towards the door.

I had to trust that she would care enough to do something, because from that point on my attention wouldn’t be leaving (y/n). Her eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance and wandering aimlessly despite my face being in view.

“Hey, hey little girl.” My voice crackled as I held her cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

She was finally able to meet my gaze, her eyes filling with love with a small, delirious smile gracing her lips.

“Hey old man.”

The grin didn’t last long, the sounds of her choking and coughing replacing it as blood filled her mouth. I tried to turn her enough that she could spit it out, but it was obvious she was struggling to get any air at all.

“We’re gonna get you some help, okay?” I said with a false confidence, the twisted curve of my lips not even barely resembling a smile.

“It hurts,” she sobbed, her hands slipping in the blood on her stomach.

“I know.”

There wasn’t anything I could do; all I could do was sit there and stare, trying to decide where my hands should be. She was applying pressure to her wound on the front, but I could see the wreckage that was once her back. My hands wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sleepy.”

“I know.” I was trembling, tears dripping from my face and mixing with the bloody mess; they still couldn’t dilute it, somehow make it vanish. “I know you’re tired. But you’ve gotta stay awake, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

At first, I wanted to say the innocence in her voice was surprising, but it wasn’t. She was innocent. She was just a young girl, trying to live a happy, normal life before she met me.

“You’re doing great.” I tried to convince myself this wasn’t my fault, but it didn’t work. She had said it herself — she wouldn’t have ever come to a bank on her own. The statistics of the rarity of this situation kept playing on a loop in the back of my head, but it was just a low hum beneath the sound of her pained whimpers.

“Spencer, I need to tell you something.” The newfound insistence in her voice twisted in my gut, and my hands held tighter to her arm.

“No, don’t,” I begged, already anticipating what was going to happen. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I have to tell you right now.” And then her voice was calm, a smile on her face as her blood-soaked hand left her stomach, trying to raise to touch me. It didn’t make it.

“No, you can tell me later.”

The words were so slurred and pathetic, I’m surprised she understood them. But she did, taking a deep, whistling breath. It was clear it hurt her to speak, and I wanted to tell her to be quiet, but the masochist in me needed to hear the words all the same.

“Spencer, please. Just listen to me.”

This sounded too much like a goodbye.

“I love you.”

Our bodies rocked as I realized I hadn’t taken a breath of my own in too long, the pain in my oxygen deprived lungs not nearly enough to distract me from the genuine softness of her voice.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, “Do you know that?”

I don’t know how she wasn’t crying, her eyes barely open but too tired to blink. That rosy complexion had faded, her skin blanching the longer she lay in my arms.

“Yes, I know.”

“I love you with my whole heart.”

My mind was flashing images from only a couple hours prior, her warm laugh as she laid on my lap, the way her hair slipped between my fingers while I wove it together.

‘You think you’ll still be around?’

‘If you’ll have me.’

The memories were blurring together, creating a symphony of promises that were about to be shattered in front of my eyes.

‘Forever,’ she’d said. ‘Forever.’

‘A white picket fence. Two little bratty genius babies. Just a normal, domestic life with Dr. and Mrs. Reid.’

Rejecting the thought, I shook my head, “You’re going to be fine.”

“I understand what you meant when…” Her voice was too quiet, too distant, to be this warm. “When you said it was nice to be able to say it.”

The heavy footfalls and sound of a transport bed wheeling across the floor alerted me that I would have to let her go soon. Whether this would be the last time I ever held her, I couldn’t be sure.

“They’re gonna come take you now, but I’ll be right behind them. I promise.” I barely got the words out before their hands were all over her, those tired eyes shooting wide open as unfamiliar hands replaced mine.

“Wait, Spencer!” She cried out, her body too limp to make a meaningful attempt to stop them, “Don’t leave me!”

Her screams and sobs were ringing louder than the gunshots had, my body slowly making its way upright as I watched them place her on the bed.

“I’m not leaving you, I promise.” I tried not to let the panic bleed through, raising the volume as she started to be taken away from me, “Stay awake as long as you can.”

I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her attempts to scream. If she was calling my name, it wasn’t recognizable. I’m not sure which hurt worse— the sound of her tired lips butchering my name, or the silence that followed.

She wasn’t able to scream anymore.

When I emerged from the bank, the sun burned my eyes just as much as the sight of my team shocked to see me covered in blood. But I couldn’t focus on them at all, immediately bolting after the paramedics without another thought.

The extra time it took them to carefully load her allowed me to jump into the back of the vehicle before the doors shut. There were no words to describe this situation, nor make it any better.

So I just stared in horrified fascination, trying to gauge her odds as they rapidly changed in front of me. Of 107,141 firearm injuries last year, 31% died. How many of the 69% had assault rifle wounds? I couldn’t remember any other statistics. My brain had turned itself off, focusing only on the frantic beeping and scrambled voices.

“Where is he?” Her tiny voice cut through both the internal and external noise.

“I’m right here.” I nearly shouted from my precarious position standing in the back of the rattling ambulance. I wanted to move closer, but I was too scared. There were so many hands on her, and I didn’t want to get in the way.

“I’m scared.” She said, mirroring my exact thoughts.

“I’m right here.” I repeated, closing my eyes to hide from the carnage long enough to put words together that might make her feel any ounce of comfort, “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Taking an experimental step forward once the paramedics seemed settled in their places, I came to stand behind her. My hands were tinted red and trembled as they reached out to touch her cheeks.

She took a sharp inhale at the sensation, just barely holding her head up straight. I couldn’t tell if she was leaning into my touch or just couldn’t control her neck any longer. Her skin felt like ice, and although she was still beautiful, the blue tint creeping over her face struck fear in my heart.

“How much longer until we get to the hospital? Her body temperature is dropping.”

If she heard me, she didn’t respond. I stared at the paramedic who was obviously more concerned with other things at the moment. They were kind enough to give me a response, even if it wasn’t a satisfying one.

“Just a few more minutes. We can’t do anything until we stop the bleeding, sir.”

“Spencer…” Each time she spoke was simultaneously terrifying and comforting. It was confirmation she was alive, but also troublesome, because I knew that she should be reserving her efforts for staying alive.

“Hang in there, little girl. We’re almost there.”

She opened her eyes, staring up at me with clouded vision. I could see the pain so clearly it might as well have been me on the table.

“Please help me,” she sobbed, “help me.”

“I-I can’t.” They were the two hardest words I’d ever had to say. Frustration mounted in me, but none of it was directed at her. She didn’t do anything wrong. Myself, on the other hand, I hated myself in that moment.

She was begging for me to help her, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but stand here and watch as she bled out in the back of an ambulance, a stranger’s hands practically inside of her stomach.

“I don’t want to die.”

The way her voice cracked took whatever was left of my sanity with it, and I felt my fingertips slip in the blood as I pressed against her face.

“You won’t,” I tried to assure her, “You’re going to be fine. Just stay awake.”

“I can’t.” The usual spunk in her voice had faded, leaving behind the sound of a twenty year old girl with no fight left in her. “I’m so sorry, Spencer…”

‘Sorry?’ I thought below the horror, ‘for what?’

When her eyes shut, they couldn’t even make it all the way. It was an expression I’d seen before on the field. I wasn’t meant to see it on her.

“No. No, no, wake up.” I urged, patting her cheeks softly before closing my hands around them more tightly, “Wake up, little girl, please.”

I was talking to no one, because I don’t think she could hear me anymore. Absolutely nothing in her body changed, even as the paramedics became more rushed.

“I’ve located the bleed!” The woman beside me yelled as the ambulance began to rapidly slow down. “I’m sorry sir, but we need you to move.”

“Whatever you need. Please, just help her.” I’d said the words, but my actions didn’t follow. She stared down at my hands that were still tethered to (y/n)’s face, trying to provide the warmth that she desperately needed.

Somehow, I was able to wrench them away, only then realizing the bloody handprints I’d left behind. Her face still wasn’t moving.

“Please, I—“

Before I could say another word, they were already out of the ambulance. I followed as closely as I could behind them, trying to focus enough to ensure that every word said could be played again in my mind. Because the second she crossed the threshold into the surgery suite, I wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore.

I would have to wait. I would have to wait for her to be better, or wait for a declaration. And in that vast silence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop from torturing myself with every single word uttered in this building before the doors closed.

The doors were ahead of us now, and I wished time could slow down enough that I could give her one more kiss and tell her to be strong one more time before she went into the Schrodinger’s Box that was the emergency room operating table.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, and when the thought crossed my mind, I realized that I’d never said it back. She’d said it three times, but in my adamant denial I’d failed to return it.

It was so much like us, I’d almost laughed. She’d made such a point of worrying about me leaving her, neither of us had ever stopped to think about how I’d live without her.

How would I live without her? The only person I trusted to have an answer was wheeled into the room, the door shutting abruptly in front of me.

In the reflection of the metal door I saw myself, drenched in the dark liquid. I tried to clean my face with my hand only to realize that they, too, were dirty with her blood.

The world had fallen silent, and I let myself be crushed by the overwhelming loneliness of an existence without her.

‘Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.’

It was too late.

—————————————————

| Part 15 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #dr spencer reid #h2m #spence reid #spencer reid request #reid request

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yongiefilms · 3 years

Text

FILM | Together Alone

BASED ON | The NCT secret santa collaboration feature done by bumblebeenct and lucaswithnoshirt studios over @neoculturechristmas headquarters

DEDICATED TO | My own precious secret santa, @sly-merlin! This one is for you my love. I hope I did you justice for the type of fic you requested and I hope you like it! By the way I apologize for getting your present to you late.

STARRING | Huang Renjun and Female Reader

FEATURING | Lee Donghyuck

GENRE | Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Business centred, and Holiday centred

RATING | PG-13

WARNINGS | Thematic elements, suggestive references and implications, crude humor, language, mentions of death, a deceased parent, drinking, alcohol, and other adult themes

PLOT | Everyone knew him. The heir to the multimillion dollar company. Next in line to inherit the top pharmaceutical business in all of China and South Korea. For being only 20 years old he was the most accomplished person of his age. Set to become the CEO at age 21 on his birthday, nearly a few months away, there was nothing that could deter him down the road for further success. They say he’s envied by most, yet loved all the same. If only people knew who Huang Renjun really was without his family’s name plastered against the walls of society that gave him fame and fortune. Only one would have the chance to find out the truth of his reality and sometimes when that comes near the end of a year shutting close, not everything can end pleasant like one hoped. OR Happy endings might not exist in this messed up world.

RUNNING TIME | 6.4k

DIRECTOR’S NOTE | Happy Holidays, my loves! This work is in honor of you all and the amazing year you all gave me with your immense love as well as support. I appreciate every single one of you more than you will ever know so I wish happy days among you this season and new year. I love you and please enjoy! Also, shout out to my lovely proofreader, @dvrlingrenjun, you’re the best.

1, 2, 3 Now Rolling...

“Fuck them all!” Huang Renjun yells out in frustration, leaning back abruptly in his black cushioned chair, his hands clutching tightly at his dark strands of hair.

The younger boy smirks at him, leaning against the pillar by his office. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

A glare was sent in his direction in retaliation. “Shut up, Donghyuck.”

“Sure, big guy,” he dismisses, the jab made at the older visible with the way his words cut through the air. “Still doesn’t render the fact that you have to go to this event like you always do.”

Renjun groans, his right hand going around his left wrist to play with the gold Cartier bracelet that rested there. A gift given to him when he turned the legal age of eighteen a few years ago. A gift given to him by his father, on behalf of his mother or so it was said. One that was a promise of luxury and achievement if he continued down the path they set out for him. His decision then when he was an adult to decide his fate, but that was only a lie. The bracelet was only a bribe for a materialistic life where he could be well off and if he stepped away then he would be stripped of everything that made him who he was.

“I know, okay? We do it every year but that still doesn't take away from the fact that I hate it. I hate all of it.”

Perhaps his father was a part of that.

“Well,” Donghyuck drawls, shrugging his shoulders when he lifts his body off the pillar to take long strides in order to reach the other boy. “At least it’s out of town this year so I’m down...I mean free vacation.” He gives a toothy grin, his eyes sparkling of juvenescence and a thrill for adventure, mystery, excitement. At least one of them still had a childlike soul and a more or less normal life while the other was forced to grow up too fast in the spotlight where eyes were scrutinizing his every move before he could even walk.

They called it maturity, but Renjun calls it loss of youth.

“You’re such a freeloader,” Renjun mutters, his hands stopping from playing with the bracelet to glance up in exasperation.

“Says the boy inheriting an almost billion dollar company without batting an eye,” Donghyuck snorts with an eye roll, picking at his nails that now gained all of his attentiveness.

It was true after all.

Renjun laughs in mockery. “You’re just jealous, so I wouldn’t be talking if I were you.”

Donghyuck sighs loudly for effect. “Cous, I wouldn’t want your life even if I tried. Some horrifying shit.” He shakes his head, obviously disturbed by the notion.

Renjun’s voice becomes small, yet firm. “It isn’t that bad...”

Donghyuck finally stops twiddling with his fingers to give the other the time of day with a look of obvious reluctance. “Uncle is scary, can you blame me?”

“Guess not, that man is my father.”

“Exactly and as much as I would love to continue this conversation,” Donghyuck glances at his crisp navy steel Bulgari watch, seeing the time half past noon. “I got to run, meeting with the boys soon and I just needed to deliver the message before that. Little pit stop if you will.” His hands flair out in a theatrical motion as if he were giving a bow.

“Oh?” Renjun raises an eyebrow, hands reaching out to get started on the stack of papers placed at the edge of his desk by his receptionist before Donghyuck’s surprised arrival. “Say hi to them for me.” He pauses in afterthought, knowing the younger’s antics. “Or not.”

Donghyuck’s boisterous laugh rings. He knew him so well. “Very funny, but oh, wait!”

The increase in his tone attracts the older’s regard who was beginning to read through the proposal. “Yes?”

“Here,” Donghyuck states, reaching into the back pocket of his chinos to pull out a small black velvet box with gold edging. “An early present of sorts. I assumed you might like it.” He slides the box over on the desk where it is caught in the grasp of delicate hands.

“Proposing are we? You know we are related right?” Renjun smiles snidely, running his fingers over the soft velvet in wonder. It was rare to get a gift from Lee Donghyuck himself and with the right intentions at that.

“It would be an honor and privilege to marry me, thank you, but no it’s just...open it when I leave. I’m not into that sappy shit as you know. I have a matching one too, but yeah merry early Christmas and New Years.” His easy grin widens as he winks to take backward steps to the exit of the office. Always one for a dramatic flare.

“Matching...we can’t be a couple either, Hyuck,” Renjun says, shaking his head while he puts the box down on his desk in wait.

Donghyuck flips him off and grits out a reply. “Shut up and be grateful for once.”

Turning his head back to his papers, he mutters, “Oh, I am.”

“Anyways, bye you fucker. Don’t drown in work,” Donghyuck lets out once he turns his back.

“Thank you for caring, delivery boy,” Renjun shouts as his cousin finally opens the door to exit after his much longer than anticipated stay.

Donghyuck’s hands still on the silver knob before he can fully push the door. “When don’t I? If you’re gone then that means I would have to inherit the company and as much as I would love the money, the fame, the attention, maybe even the girls...I don’t want that responsibility. You get me?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, spinning the black ballpoint pen between his index and ring finger. “Just say you’re lazy and go.”

“I am going!” Donghyuck exclaims while he turns his head over his shoulder, shooting the boy sitting at the desk that didn’t quite fit him well, another wink. “Bye for real, Junnie!”

The door at last closes and he is gone in a blur of colors.

Renjun mumbles under his breath. “I told you not to call me that.”

His mother used to call him that and she didn’t have the chance to stay long in this world. Taken too soon is what they say, but maybe she was blessed before everything turned to stone.

With Donghyuck’s departure, Renjun looks over at the lone box that was gifted to him, perhaps not a gift like the others that held no meaning, for this one was an outlier in the equation. Donghyuck never gave without meaning or gain so it had to be special.

He places his pen down and picks up the box, undoing the clasp that held it close. The box opens to a sight he has gotten used to, yet there was a disparity. In between the cushion of the velvet laid a beautiful silver Chopard ring. The band was simple in design, yet intricate with the signature ice cubes filled with small sparkling diamonds across the entire width. Renjun handles the ring with care once it is taken out of the box to inspect every detail. Not only was the brand engraved in stunning cursive on the inside, but Donghyuck had gotten the ring customized with the word family in the same writing on the opposite side of the inner circle.

Renjun runs his fingers over the engraving, the words rough under his calloused hands. He hums in thought as he slips the ring on his middle finger, the radiance seeping in from the windows catching the precious metal. “Family...family...I haven’t had one in a long time.”

The truth is he had, has, but he was too blind to see.

Family is not just those that are immediate, composing of a father and mother or even siblings. Family can also entail the greater extent from cousins to aunts to grandparents. Family can even be those that are not blood related like the friends a person surrounds themselves by.

Renjun has family. If only he could acknowledge them before they too left him utterly alone.

Alone was something Renjun was not for the days to come.

A week later after his cousin delivered the news about the annual holiday vacation and company sponsored events that his family has been hosting since his late teen years, he was flown in a private plane against his will to a remote town near Busan, far off from the heart of Seoul. He would rather spend the holidays in the city where he grew up like all those past seasons ago, but his father decided there was a need for change, a mirror of one forthcoming in virtually three months. Usually those that made the trip came for the designated three days they were given which still involved work communications with scant room for relaxation depending on the schedules of selected individuals. However, if one was a Huang, which Renjun was the only one left along with his father that were at least part of the business, then departure and stay differed. Intermingled was the Huang winter vacation with that of business affairs, a factor that was born when the tradition started. His father always said to kill two birds with one stone when given the chance and this very situation was one he took hold of to morph into a personal gain.

Nothing was ever as it seemed with his father, nor himself. One characteristic they shared among a hundred to a thousand polarities.

Albeit this time around, Renjun had fought against his father’s wants, which was not the first instance, but was one that ended in surprising success. Success he tasted on the daily, even if all was bitter with no room for happiness. However, this success was sweet with contentment, ending with an awfully horrid aftertaste. Convincing his father to fly him out along with the others on the 23rd of December instead of the 20th was a victory no less. At least he didn’t have to spend unwanted days in the presence of his old man longer than necessary.

He arrives in wealth and social standing like he always did for once his black A.Testoni dress shoes hit the white tiled floor of the airport’s general aviation ramp building, everyone within his general vicinity, even those afar, are taking heed to his every need, that as of now are limited.

A slightly older woman who he deems as his assistant, comes into view, her black Prada heels clicking loudly against the tile as she advances with a clipboard and her trusty cell in her hands to the boy. She cheerful speaks into the empty building, her smile unwavering. “Mr. Huang, I am glad you had a safe flight. I printed your itinerary for the next couple of days that I will hand to you once we are in the limo. Considering it is…” She glances at her Apple Watch Series 6 to check the time. “Two forty three as of now, we can drop off your luggage at the Lodge and get you settled into your room before your three fifteen lunch with Mr. Kim and his wife at the Yongsusan Café. You will be with them for an hour before the rest of the afternoon is yours to spend productively. Then at six o’clock the maids and stylists will come by to get you ready for the business meeting at seven thirty, following with a small dinner party with those same individuals, including their wives and children. Sounds good?”

Renjun does not even have time to reply before his assistant speaks again.

“Yes, okay! Let’s get going then.” She turns on her heel abruptly, yet with expertise without room for error and begins taking steps away from the plane to the left. “The limo should be this way, follow me while your luggage gets loaded. The drive should not take more than ten minutes.”

He has no choice but to accompany her as he would not be able to make a run for it, he will be caught within seconds. He tried once and that was only one failure amongst little to none in his book.

His strides are slow and lousy as if he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased, when he in fact did not, far from it in actuality. Even so before he knows it he reaches the limo and is lurched forward in motion towards his destination for the next few days. The place his dad selected oozes with sumptuous intent, being a gorgeous mid-century modern wooden lodge that nearly looked like a manor upon inspection. As the limo pulls up to the front, Renjun is able to see the beauty up close that he is entranced by even if he seems unfazed. New places and people excite him more than he lets on for his life is dull, lacking fulfillment of an unknown tomorrow.

The porter, who is situated in patience by the front doors, strides forward to open the door of the limo, permitting Renjun to step out with the authority and grace bestowed upon him.

When he crosses the threshold into the Lodge he is met with an even better interior that rivaled that on the outside, but he is not allowed to ponder too much on the design before the head manager greets him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Huang, it is certainly a pleasure for you to stay with us at the Lodge this fine holiday season. I am Gwan Jang-Mi and I will be showing you to your room today along with giving you a small tour of this place in order to familiarize yourself with the setting. If you look here to your left…”

Her speech is drowned out into obscurity as Renjun’s awareness shifts to another woman, one so stunning that he is surprised he did not take notice sooner. When sauntering through the entryway into the resting room that will be cleared out in the next couple of hours, a bar is situated to the left where you stand, arranging countless bottles of liquor to wine on the counter, no doubt for the little party later or for the meeting. Those men were heavy drinkers and needed alcohol to make it through the rest of the evening. Renjun did drink to drown his sorrows, worry, and anxiousness away, but he was not one to throw himself down a spiraling hole of darkness nor chaos that he could not get out of, for those consequences were ones he did not want to reap.

The soft sunlight peaks through the high guarded windows, shining down on your face that enunciates your features. For simply being in a black polo and khaki pants, you made it work and drew all attention to yourself without even knowing the power you held.

The moment of admiration comes to a close when Renjun is ushered away from the ground floor to make way to his room in the upper levels, leaving you behind.

Yet that would not be the last time.

Time goes by slowly when there is no purpose, no meaning to the daily workings of one person in the masses of others. Renjun has experience in that regard, time always goes by slowly for him and exhausts him a great deal like a rotary clock that seeks no end.

He was worn out by the time he got back to the Lodge in the early evening due to the stay with the Kims went longer than necessary and he was called elsewhere upon emergency to discuss future matters. He did not have time for himself like his assistant had plainly made known so there he was, collapsed head first into his silk covers, ten minutes to six.

Instead of taking a long awaited nap he is ushered up and into more formal wear after a cleanse from the bustle of bodies that barge into his room.

No privacy. No sense of normality.

That is the normal.

The next few hours go by in blur from him sitting in front of a mirror to have his hair styled to sitting in front of burly old men that were associates and inventors of the company in a grad meeting room with locked doors and the finest assortment of liquor that money can buy.

He is out of the confines in no time, not even bothering to say one final hurrah before he lurches himself out the door and into the now cleared out resting room. One of the servers comes by then dressed in all black attire that was nothing of the typical black and white uniform, edging towards a usual guest. Renjun snatches a glass of sparkling champagne and gulps it down in one go off their silver platter, discreetly of course, for he has to look composed—sober throughout the entire affair. He always could hold his alcohol without a problem and he felt blessed to have that advantage. One thing he is proud of.

He is whisked away not even moments after by one of the older investors, Mr. Han, to moreover chew over the end of the year budget and his stance on future decisions to be made in the new year. From the corner of his eye while listening to the man talk in a flamboyant manner, he sees his father standing with a glass of white wine happily talking to another investor, a more influential one, the most influential one of them all and his wife along with their daughter who was not even carefully surveying the room in search of someone.

Renjun’s eyes widen in shock, mumbling under his breath, “Shit.”

Mr. Han stops the flow of words out his mouth, his eyebrows rumpling together. He did not hear the swear word the boy uttered, yet he heard something in passing. “Pardon?”

Renjun shakes his head vaguely, bringing his third glass of champagne in the air as a sign of departure. “Ah excuse me, Mr. Han, but it seems I have been beckoned elsewhere.” His eyes shift over to his father who was not making direct eye contact with him, but Mr. Han did not need to know that little detail as he observes Renjun’s line of sight.

Mr. Han chuckles brightly. “I see, well I must not keep you from your father.”

Renjun smiles. “No, you must not, but we shall continue this conversation later, Mr. Han. I am sure you have much more to say and I will happily discuss further with you.”

Mr. Han waves his hand in the air nonchalantly. “We shall. Now off you go.”

Renjun nods his head, his lips still quirked up in a smile, this one more genuine than the last, as he makes a beeline towards his father to make everything seem more believable. Though once he no longer feels the eyes of Mr. Han on his retreating back he switches routes, going to the left rather than straight ahead. He circles around the opposite side, catching a stark mop of washed out red hair amongst the crowd in the process—Donghyuck. His cousin is not alone, however, talking rather freely with a girl he could not quite see in his peripheral vision. The grin on Donghyuck’s face is undeniable even with his back turned and the way Renjun hears the tiny giggles you are emitting, all is too familiar, which is the perfect cause for a disruption.

Renjun does not acknowledge his cousin when he arrives at the bar, the younger boy too immersed in conversation so he signals for the other worker that comes becking to his call.

“A Negroni, on the rocks.”

The girl nods in understanding and turns to prepare the drink while Donghyuck still has not noticed his presence. The younger boy always did focus on what was in front of him rather than on his surroundings, contrary to his cousin that saw the whole picture. Two contrasting people surely with unlike futures ahead of them.

The frosted glass with the reddish-orange liquid and topped with orange shavings is served to him a minute later, placed in front of him on a matching glass coaster.

He clears his throat loudly in an attempt to catch Donghyuck’s attention. “Thank you.”

A method that proves effective since the younger boy finally turns his head to the right to see Renjun sitting on the barstool next to him, sipping casually on his high class Negroni.

His eyes are wide, but he masks his shock with a subtle smirk. “Jun! Well, well, if it isn’t the mini man himself. How long have you been sitting there?”

Renjun snorts into his glass, shaking his head at the dig Donghyuck made at his height, always one out for blood. “Far too long to have noticed your flirting from across the room, Hyuck.” It is now his turn to smirk, but Donghyuck’s own is still unfaltering.

“I take pride in my skills, glad you gave your time of day to notice.” He elevates his glass up then, filled most likely with a Nicolashka, his favorite holiday drink to date, and takes a sip himself, a move Renjun mimics.

Then your voice interrupts. “Sorry to cut in, but I have to get back to work. You’ve been distracting me for the last ten minutes, mister.” Your stern gaze is directed at Donghyuck from the latter statement. Although once your words are uttered, Renjun focuses his eyes on you, scrutinizing your appearance. The very girl he saw earlier today, the girl Donghyuck so happened to have a chance with before him—you.

Donghyuck laughs, the smirk morphing into a shiteating grin. “I told you, call me Hyuck.”

“Well, Hyuck, I have to get back to work...plus I am sure you want to talk to your friend.” Your gaze flickers to Renjun in that instance and lingers there longer than necessary that has him laughing to himself.

Donghyuck’s charm only goes so far.

The younger boy peers at Renjun when you utter out friend, and he smiles small in remorse. “Sadly, but do not let me keep you from your work.”

You turn your back on him, your eyes catching Renjun’s in the process before you look away from the intensity of the dark orbs. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

You leave the bar area then most likely to put on an apron that Renjun noticed you had not worn throughout the entire duration. Donghyuck simply distracted you before the start of your shift and after, not a good trait to inherit.

Donghyuck hums, but let’s the remark go as he fully turns to Renjun to start up that conversation.

He raises an eyebrow. “Must you always keep me from having fun?”

Renjun shrugs his shoulders, swishing the liquid in his glass. “Not always, but I was saving that girl from misery. You should be thankful that I care enough.”

Donghyuck taunts. “Oh wow I feel so special.”

Renjun sternly eyes him, his voice lowering. “You should.”

Donghyuck’s lips open to retort a response, but no words are spoken on his end for his eyes look over the older boy’s shoulders and he catches sight of someone none of them truly like or have liked after the incident. He sees her.

“Well fuck, here comes the devil,” is all he makes out and the phrase enough has Renjun turning his own head hastily to see who he was watching. Such is when he sees his ex-girlfriend, Cha Yeona, prowling straight towards their way.

“I’m going to go...so good luck, mate. You’ll need it.” Donghyuck pats Renjun’s shoulder in departure and his gesture of sympathy, leaving him in the wake of a girl he really did not wish to see or converse with.

Once he leaves the bar in quick speed, you come in at that exact moment, your eyes zoning in on the way Yeona’s dainty hand latches onto Renjun’s forearm in greeting. You turn away from the image, busying yourself with wiping down the glasses.

“Oh! What a lovely surprise,” Yeona voices, letting her hand maneuver down to place on top of Renjun’s hand in which she gives him a faint squeeze thereof. He flinches from the contact, retracting his hand to slip into the pocket of his Burberry blazer while the other rims his glass.

He peers at her intently, a potency that has her giggling nervously. His looks could kill whenever he was serious with a blank face and austere hollows of eyes. “Hello, Yeona.”

She sits down gracefully on the stool next to him, crossing her long unblemished legs over each other, her hands placed in her lap. Her smile is bright and makes him want to pull out his hair. She was always two-faced. “Hi Jun Jun! How have you been?”

He lets the pet name go, but does not glance at her again, looking over her head at the white lights strung outside. “Good.”

Silence engulfs them that has her fidgeting out of discomfort. He evidently did not want to talk. She reaches her hand out to touch him once more that has him leaning away. She sighs in defeat, retreating from the gesture. She would have to reach him some other way. “Well...I—”

He cuts her off from continuing, drowning the last contents of his drink before he pushes the glass away towards the server at the end of the counter. He puts a hand up. “Save it. I have no reason to talk to you again. Leave.”

He arches his eyebrow when he sees she makes no move to leave and he chuckles darkly. “Do I have to tell you again? Or should I have security escort you out?”

She flinches from the tone of his voice and gulps, her throat becoming exceptionally dry. She hurriedly stands up, almost ripping over her heels and departs without a goodbye, not that he wished to get one from her. Her slim body covered in a blood red dress slips into the crowd and Renjun finally releases the breath he was holding.

He tugs at the strands of his gelled back hair. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters, lifting a finger in the air to signal for another drink that the server speedily moves to make.

“A little harsh, don’t you think?”

Renjun lifts his eyes to see you gaping at him, an eyebrow uplifted in fascination as you finally were in your uniform, a white cloth draped over your shoulders. Renjun runs his hand through his hair and scoffs from the remark thereafter. He was sure the stylists would be upset to see him dishevel their mighty work, but he could care less.

He shakes his head, the strands of hair rustling. “No, I think not. She deserves it.”

“Wow. Again, harsh.” You laugh mockingly and grab his drink that was slid over by your coworker to clean the glass again. You place the beverage down on the coaster which he takes with pleasure, muttering a small thank you that you can barely hear amidst the classical music playing in the background. Your hands make contact for a split second that has tingles erupting on your end, in a rather cliche response, yet he made no move of the feeling.

There is quietness again that makes you flustered since you were never one to enjoy the muted scenery, always wanting a sound ringing in your ears. While Renjun enjoyed the still, always wanting a sound that faded in the wind and never made a comeback appearance.

In a desperate attempt to keep conversation while making yourself busy by fixing up the bottles of alcohol, you propose a question that invades his privacy, whilst he never had privacy to begin with, a factor you were left in the dark about.

“So...um...your girlfriend?” You ask, in regards to Yeona that left some minutes ago.

Renjun snorts, placing down his glass and interlocks his hand to rest his chin on, a move to focus solely on you. “Right. She’s my ex-girlfriend actually so you’re not entirely wrong.”

You mumble out a quiet, “Oh.” It was not your business to know his affairs after all, yet there was a voice nagging within that made you curious to find out every part of him.

The tranquility hugs the both of you once more, until he questions you out of the blue.

“You want to get out of here?”

To say you are shocked is an understatement, since you are in fact bamboozled beyond belief. He says the declaration with so much firmness and certainty, it has your heart twisting on the inside.

You lightly laugh to mask the shock and turn around to really look at him, a look that he reciprocates. “I don’t even know you.”

A keen smile is visible on his lips. “Exactly the point. You have nothing to lose.”

You shake your head, leaning against the counter of the bar to stare into his eyes that look so lifeless, yet beautiful. “Maybe, but this is my job. I can’t just bail.”

He leans his head closer to you, an act that allows you to a whiff of the Christian Dior Ambre Nuit cologne he wears and his minty fresh breath. “Of course you can.” His soothing voice turns teasing as he smirks. “Don’t worry I won’t tell.”

You scoff to yourself, surprised by his mannerisms of outforwardness. You look around then to see if anyone is watching the two of you, but all eyes are elsewhere and you let out a sigh of relief. Another girl comes into the bar when you glance to the side, most likely to cover the next shift that was not yours quite yet, be that as it may you did have a break coming up.

Renjun outstretches his hand in patience, his smirk slowly growing, even if it was borderlining a smile that you could see right through. He hums in anticipation and you give in.

“Okay fine, but not for too long,” you say as you rest your hand in his. The cold of your fingers meet his warm ones and you latch on for dear life, afraid to let go.

He grins at you and squeezes your hand. “No promises.”

Then he proceeds to drag you out of the bar, tugging you to who knows where. The tingle of a secret keeps you on your toes and you become giddy, laughing along the halls as he steers you left, right, straight, left, right, up...a never ending cycle of adventure.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” You ask after gaining the courage. He is intimidating in some regards, the thought of how he acted towards his ex-girlfriend as visible as day in your mind.

He shrugs, finally slowing down. “Who knows. Could be outside in the cold or near a fireplace in the warm. You will just have to see.”

“That certainly gives me no direction at all.”

He turns his head to look at you and stops suddenly, having you nearly crash into his back before he tugs you to the other side. He chuckles when he sees your horrified face from almost busting your nose. “That was the point, darling.”

You huff in annoyance when he continues walking, the pressure of his fingers around your own feels heavier as time drags on and your heart has no sense of calm, constricting with the name of endearment that slipped past his slim lips.

“Okay, we are here!” He announces and lets go of your hand, the bareness of his heat leaving you shivering. You take a step back from planting your feet firmly on the floor and glance around the room in which he stopped. It was one of the upper level rooms with strict access only to the most wealthy of the associates and investors. His family must be one of those highly regarded, if only you knew how highly regarded his family is, being the ones with the most status, the most affluent lifestyle. However, you would remain clueless.

“Oh, wow. The view up here is amazing.”

Renjun laughs, placing his hands in the front pocket of his slacks as he strolls around the room, glancing at the glowing fire that was left on and the books that were sealed shut. “Trust me, I am well aware. Why do you think I brought you up here?” He gives you an exasperated stare, peering past at the giant window you stood in front of that showcased the whole town, now covered in sleek white snow. It must have snowed while he was conversing with others at the party for when he arrived at the meeting hours ago, the land was void.

The white flakes are still falling outside, delicately covering everything in one uniform color that leaves you in awe and he is left admiring you, how at peace you are. How free you look, an emotion he never held onto in his entire life.

“So besides admiring this view, what are we doing up here?” You ask, your fingertips grazing the cool frosted glass of the window, seeing beyond to the endless landscape and twinkling stars along with lights of the houses nearby.

Renjun answers bluntly. “Admiring the view.”

You can’t stop the titters from escaping you and you roll your eyes, an action he sees through the reflection.

He steps forward, coming up besides your figure to look more clearly at the breathtaking scenery of a winter wonderland. “No, I’m joking...at least partially.”

You giggle some more, interlocking your hands in front of you. “I didn’t know you had it in you to joke.”

It is now his turn to laugh. “Darling, I have a lot in me that you don’t know.”

You sigh solemnly, taking a step back to turn around, examining the other objects around the room. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He is an enigma waiting to be unraveled, but you would not be the one to solve his case and that alone is an idea that scares you.

Before you can get farther away, his hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from escape. You peer down at his hand then up to his eyes, your eyebrows scrunching together in perplexity.

He does not speak, only drags you into him to where you are now chest to chest, only an inch of distance between your bodies. The closeness between the two of you leaves you breathless and gasping for air. His thumb carrasses your arm and runs down to the palm of your hand, enveloping his fingers around your skin. Your eyes are trailing the movements and you take a sharp intake of breath, curious as to what can happen next. He hooks his other free index finger under your chin to lift your face up so he can see you in distinct luminosity.

You have gazed at his eyes practically all evening, but nothing has prepared you for seeing him up close. He is even more handsome in full definition from the lines on his soft pink lips to his perfectly tousled hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb running along your cupid’s bow. “Absolutely and breathtakingly beautiful.”

You gulp, the words drying up in your throat for what could you say to his compliment?

Then everything happens at once.

His hand moves to wrap around the back of your head and he tugs you closer by the other until you are pressed up against each other. He lightly pushes your head forward and contact is made.

Lips against lips. Moving and moving against each other, taking all your breath away for the second time within a span of a few seconds.

He lets go of holding your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, to pull you closer if such is even possible. To make the contact more tender and desirable.

You suppose desire is that which allows the moment to escalate further. From a mere innocent kiss to a fiery passion of craving for more.

When your lips separate, he does not think twice before grabbing your hand once more and dragging you down the long corridor to arrive at his secluded room around the corner.

He opens the door with haste as you come tumbling in after him, grabbing, pulling, tugging until all that is left is just you and him.

The frantic beats of two hearts.

The heat of skin pressed against skin.

Simply two bodies that became one all due to the desire floating around the room and pushing you to the limit.

You lost yourself in him that night and he in you.

Lost to the pure ecstasy of pleasure during the season of joy and love.

Yet the season could also be one for giving and taking.

You wake to a cold bed the next morning.

Gone is the warmth of a boy who made you feel like you were on top of the world, someone special enough to demand notice and have anything that is asked for.

Gone is the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear, the words of assurance, comfort, and false love that made you feel worth it and simply protected.

Gone is the long lingering touches of his fingers pressing into you and dancing along the lines of your body to explore and learn.

Gone is the feeling of his lips on your skin that was enough to ignite you ablaze and leave you seeing all the colors of the rainbow.

Gone is he—Huang Renjun.

All that remains of the remembrance from the night is the note he left by the oak bedside table, one that crushed the dream of longing and hope within. One that slapped you with the crude reality of who he truly was, is, in a place that you did not belong to and never would.

Thanks for last night, but it’s a one time thing. You can see yourself out. Happy holidays.

He signed the note with his initials, H.R. and his family’s embroidered seal.

Then you realize in that moment, your bare body covered in his silk covers in the large suite he had all to himself, that the holidays are not for everyone.

You can either be together with someone else or alone by yourself.

Never the two.

Always one or the other.

You had hoped to be together yet alone with him in privacy to make your own memories away from prying eyes, but at the end of the day you were by yourself and he was too.

That is how life works in this sick, twisted world.

Men against men. Women against women. Everyone against everyone.

Alone.

Never together.

Like he and you.

146 notes · View notes

internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

Better Die Than Doubt

Summary: You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

A/n: To no one’s shock, this entire fic was unplanned. I was possessed by the urge to make it (translation: I got the urge to write this and one of my enablers said do it). This story should be treated more or less as a horror story. Nothing is being glorified here except how dorky Jason is. That being said, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. This fic contains quite a few triggering things and I really don’t want you to be blindsided. Also thanks to @knightfall05x for helping me write this whole thing. Thanks to @batarella (HOE) for action writing tips.

Warnings: graphic violence, stalking, emotional manipulation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drugging, nongraphic description of rape, and rape aftermath

masterlist

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You could practically feel the oncoming headache the way you could sense someone coming down the hall. This is what happens when you’re running on just 5 hours of restless sleep for the last few days. This headache was also not helped by the fact that this was your fifth coffee in the past 30 minutes. You probably should not be drinking this much caffeine this late but intelligent decisions weren’t exactly your strong suit this week. You rub the sides of your forehead feeling another wave of nausea.

You check the time again and groan. It’s been one-and-a-half hours since your agreed upon time had lapsed and yet one Jason Peter Todd was nowhere to be seen. You curse, nerves edging, and mind fraying. To be perfectly fair to him, he is a busy guy, vigilante, and all. You understood that fairly well- and this was sudden to say the least. You can’t really fault him for being a bit late but the long wait was ratcheting up your anxiety. Again, the coffee didn’t help but considering it was the only thing you could keep down since last night, you didn’t have much choice.

Last night.

Your stomach tumbled. You cup your hand over your mouth feeling your coffee traveling back up your esophagus. You let out a long exasperated breath, letting yourself sink into the booth. You look out the window, eyes flickering wildly searching for Jason. Your hands tighten around your mug. The feeling of being watched made you bristle.

Jason, well, Jason wasn’t hard to spot. The man was 6 feet 4 inches of pure muscle and leather. Having a handsome face and a ‘fuck you’ look in his eyes also helped. In short, the man was hard to ignore. You wave weakly to him as he dismounts his bike, a gesture far too small for your usual bombastic self. Jason’s smarmy smile greets you as he returns the gesture with his gloved hand. The motion is slow and cautious, rickety in a way. You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

“Jesus, y/n, you look like Timbo” Jason chuckles sliding into the booth his green eyes shining with scrutiny. You look at him flatly not having enough energy to properly respond to his jab. He winces seeing your lack of reaction. “Rough night, huh?” He asks flagging down a waitress, who looked quite pleased to get away from her previous table.

You nod weakly, slowly as if the fact that it had been a rough couple of days had just sunk in. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice small and a little threadbare. You drum your fingers against your increasingly cold mug. The waitress sets a couple of warm mugs in front of you. Her soft smile makes you uneasy. You and Jason mutter a thanks as she tells you to wave her over if you need anything else. Her warm brown eyes boring into the stark purple bruise on your face. You shrink and smile sheepishly at her.

“I’m fi-”

“I am going to throw these sugar packets at you if you say you’re fine.”

“Damn, ok, Mr.Kettle,” You laugh. His concern startles a genuine laugh out of you. You’re sincerely surprised how lively the sound that comes out of you is. “You know if you keep sounding like that, Jay, you’re gonna wreck the whole stone-cold badass thing you got going,”

“Y/n..”

You huff running your hand through your disheveled hair, trying in vain, to soothe your mind. What was the best way to put it? You swallowed, gathering your lapsing thoughts. “Sooo uh-” The collar of your shirt suddenly felt tight around your neck. “-I-” You breathe. “-I found around 4 or 5 of Blackmask’s boys and Deathstroke-No, I’m not shitting you- in my- my apartment for- well- the third time in the last two months, can I crash at your place? Just ‘til I find a new place. Oh and also how do I get rid of them?”

He blinks as his brain takes its sweet fucking time digesting what you had just said. He leans back groaning and running his hands over his face. He looks like he’d like to deck you if he wasn’t too busy being concerned for your welfare. You shrink again, feeling bad for springing it on him. The decision to leave out the gory details of your hectic week suddenly felt like the wisest choice but you had no doubt he’ll get it out of you at some point.

“I’ll skip the obvious ‘why did you wait three times before moving’ question because I feel like I’m probably going to get an aneurysm from your answer,” Your reasoning wasn’t quite that stupid. You were mucking about Sionis’s operation. The fucker decided to branch out his little enterprise into your city and like hell, you were gonna leave well enough alone. After you had set fire to one of his warehouses, you thought that would explain the False Facers. But Deathstroke? Deathstroke was a mystery. You’ve also been mucking about his business but you two have always been civil if not friendly. Frenemies of sorts, you guessed. You’ve been encountering him a lot in the last few days. You had figured that Blackmask had hired him but considering he threw two men out of your apartment window last night, you’re not entirely sure. You make an affronted noise that Jason elects to ignore.

“What did they do?”

“Aside from necessitating a visit to IKEA? Nothing.”

“Did they take anything? Leave a message?”

“Nope, nothing-” You furrow your brow trying to recall. You shake your head. “-They just made sure I knew they broke in.” You add, shrugging your shoulder. You wince at the movement. Your shoulder still aches from being hit with a bat. Jason’s shoulders shift, moving as if to reach out to you but stops himself. Instead, he continues with his line of questioning. “Sweetheart, there’s gotta be something missing.”

You frown, biting your cheek. Jason rests his chin on his hand, green eyes watching you and urging you to think back. It was either the weight of his gaze or the lack of sleep that was making it hard to recall. You close your eyes and catalog your belongings, analyzing the mental picture you have like a crime scene like how he taught you months ago, breaking it down into the smallest pieces of information and bringing it back into a bigger picture. Still, nothing. Nothing of note was missing. You shake your head and shrug your uninjured shoulder. Jason glares at the immobile one. You shake your head silently telling him it wasn’t from last night which just made him clench his jaw.

“Evidence?”

You shake your head. He frowns baffled.

“Tech?”

You shake your head again.

“Anything personal?” He asks jokingly.

“I-” A cold horror washes over you trailed by embarrassment. Your vibrator had been missing and so were a couple of your lingerie sets. You feel your stomach drop to the floor. “Oh god, Jay- I- Please, let me stay with you.”

“And have them steal my stuff?” He chuckles.

“Please, Jay, like you have anything worth stealing.” Jason frowns at you scrutinizing your face. You level him a glare but it was more in an effort to fight down a blush than anything venomous. Jason’s jaw unclenches and his face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “What color was it?”

“Wha-”

“Bzzzzzzzt ”

If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. Heat climbs up your spine. Your mouth felt dry.

“Well, what color was it, sweetheart?” Jason drawls, his voice dropping an octave. You shiver but bristle just as quickly. You bite your cheek and glare at him. “HA. HA. HA. Funny, Todd.”

“Was it Red Hood Red?” Jason teases, winking and raising his cup of coffee to his lips.

“Nightwing blue” You deadpan. Jason coughed into his drink. You preen with satisfaction.

“Does it make stupid puns while you go at it? ”

“Yup,” You say, the ‘p’ popping. “That’s part of the appeal.” You joke smiling into your mug. Jason snorts. “How is that supposed to be sexy?”

You shrug, a sharper less tired smile cutting across your features. “Dunno man. Nightwing is pretty sexy if you ask me.” You wink.

Jason makes a fake gagging noise. Well, it seems fake with how theatrical the gesture is but with bats? You never could tell. You roll your eyes and giggle. Jason’s shoulders loosen at your bubble of laughter, his face slipping into one of his sheepish smiles. “In all seriousness, y/n, you can stay at my place.”

You smile at him, your usual fluorescent smile.

Click

A man from across the street watches you intently through the lens of a camera.

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Slade throws the photos across Roman’s desk, each glossy piece of paper containing a candid photo of you looking increasingly frayed and anxious.

Roman marvels at how your usually larger than life figure shrank into your puffy coat, how small and malleable and inexperienced you looked. He notes the panicked look in your eyes in every one of the photos and savors it. He couldn't wait to see it for himself.

In one photo, you're looking over your shoulder as you enter your office building.

In one, you’re tracing circles on a child’s hand with your thumb, beaming brightly as you told some wild tale to distract the child.

In another, you're slumped in your desk chair as you think over a case looking absolutely exasperated but determined.

In yet another one, you're locking lips with a man, his hand trailing up your shirt. Roman made sure to give the man some swimming lessons a few weeks prior.

In the photo in Roman’s hand, you're at the emergency room looking like you haven't slept in 2 days. Your face was bruised and your clothes were torn in several places where Slade had managed to land a blow. Your delicate skin marred with cuts and trickling blood. Absolutely gorgeous.

He examines it closely. The photo was taken just a few hours ago. You look like you're going to cry but your shoulders and jaw are squared more frustrated than scared. There's a fire in your eyes that threatens to level the city. A thrill rides up his spine at the prospect of extinguishing it.

“This is why you wanted to throw my men out the window?”

Slade hums. He shrugs and the edge of his lips curl into a smile. “It was the only way to convince the kid that we’re both after her-” His eye drifts to your face. Appraising but impassive. “The kid’s scared out of her mind and exhausted at this point.”

Slade had a point. Roman had to give him that. It wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer but it would be plain as day to anyone like Roman who had been studying you for a while. You weren’t quite as meticulous with your appearance as Roman thought you should be (He would work on that later) but the dishevelment in your appearance was obvious. The slight dip in your shoulders in place of the prim posture that you usually employed was a blatant indication of your weariness. And the falter in your smile, the flickering in your eyes, and the number of times you let yourself bite your cheek showed the cracks in your fearless image.

Who knew weeks upon weeks of chaos could weather Minos City’s own budding hero?

In the photo next to Roman’s hand, your laughing face is stark and lively against the drab atmosphere of the diner, bubbling laughter carving life into your exhausted features making you look more like the shining paragon your city has come to rely on. The man sitting in front of you is laughing too. The sharp edges of his grin softened by the fondness in his eyes. It was hard not to recognize him even with such a foreign expression plastered onto his face. Roman crushes the photo in his hand.

“BUT NOW SHE’S WITH THAT SCUMBAG RED HOOD”

“And she’s now with the Red Hood. In his secluded safe house. Weakened and far from help. Most likely thinking that she’s safe under his protection and blissfully unaware of the tracker I put in her arm.”

“I see… It seems like you are worth the pay.”

Slade made no effort in hiding his smug grin.

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“Jay, I really am sorry about this.” You mumble for what seemed like the fifth time in the past half hour.

“I sincerely hope you’re apologizing for the fact that you neglected to tell me you had bruised ribs before getting on my bike and not the fact that you’re staying with me because two crazy assholes decided your place needed remodeling.” Jason exasperates, pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel kind of annoyed by the gesture but he did have a point especially with your city’s less than smooth roads. You were also pretty banged up. As it turns out, facing off against a bunch of goons plus a master assassin is not good for your health. You swore viciously under your breath. Now, you weren’t expecting Deathstroke to go easy on you despite your rapport but the guy really didn’t have to throw you around like a rag doll. Even with your power to adjust the odds, it was a miracle that you escaped intact.

“Well, Mr.Pot, you ride your bike all the time even with broken ribs.” You bite back. Jason rolls his eyes unaffected by the distilled venom in your voice.

“Well, one of us is a stone-cold badass- ”

“And the other is a sasquatch with a stick up his ass.” You sneer snatching the beer bottle from Jason. Your tone was far too fond and playful to have any actual bite. Jason chuckles at you and ruffles your hair before snatching it back and handing you a bottle of water.

You huff taking the bottle from him and following him to the couch. He sits down on the couch patting the seat beside him. You plopped on to the couch, placing your sock feet on his lap. He grabs your ankles and throws your feet back at you. You just as quickly throw them back on and this time you do it with an absolutely delighted smirk on your face. “Rude,” He mumbles but doesn’t attempt to extricate you again.

“So Deathstroke, huh?” Jason starts, side-eyeing you over his beer. You adjust yourself to sit up a little straighter.

“You mean the asshat who broke my favorite lamp last night?”

“Who the hell has a favorite lamp?”

“Me! And get to your point.”

“Have you two- yanno?” Jason jokes, his eyebrows wiggling and hands gesturing vaguely. Your eyes grow wide and heat creeps up your neck and face. You scowl at Jason throwing a pillow at his face for good measure. He catches it with ease much to your frustration giving you his trademark triumphant grin. You kick at him with no real force.

“NO! What kind of soap opera shit is that?” You giggle into your drink. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. The guy was skilled and pretty witty. You also had eyes and the man was handsome but something always felt strange about taking it further. You were civil but you kept your distance.

You pout at Jason again causing him to chuckle. “What? I’m just saying it’ll air out some tension~” He suggests winking.

“Oh my actual god, I hate you. I sincerely, truly hate you.” You laugh, kicking at his thigh. Jason makes an obviously fake hurt noise which draws out even more giggles out of you. Some tension in Jason’s shoulders releasing upon hearing the bubbly sounds.

“You speaking from experience, Jay?”

Jason shakes his head and coughs. “Catwoman-” Cough. “Talia Al Ghul-” Cough. “Sorry, sweetheart, seems like I have a really bad cough this week.”

And that is how you spend the rest of the night questioning Bruce’s love life.

“Food is in the fridge,” Jason says pointing to the said fridge which was sorely lacking magnets, sounding like a somewhat tired single parent.

“Do I look like I can keep anything down?”

Jason snatches the water bottle you had abandoned on the side table next to the recliner. “With that big mouth of yours? Sure.” Jason teases lightly booping you on the nose with your water bottle. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, mother” You sighed, burying yourself into the thick comforter he’d given you, crumpled water bottle in hand. He ruffles your hair.

“You know you’re safe here, right? ” The question startles you. You shift uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tightly around your shoulders. You shrug at him, not entirely certain how to answer. You know Jason’s safe house is, well, safe but you also thought your apartment was too. Your stomach twisted.

Jason squeezed your shoulder probably sensing the spiral of your thoughts. He smiles down at you, probably. It was hard to tell with the helmet.

“If you want, I can-”

“No, Jay, I’ll be fine here. You can go on patrol. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The thing with Jason was that even when he was so big and bulky and hella intimidating, his empathy towards others had a bad habit of always shining through despite the layers of armor and sarcasm. You squeeze his hand, pressing little circles into his palm, and smile up at him. It was forced but it was the best you could do. Jason ruffles your hair again before letting go and making his way to the window.

“Get some sleep.”

“Aye aye cap’n” You yawn settling into a slump on the couch. Jason can’t help but smile fondly at you. You wave him a sleepy goodby before he sets off.

You passed out on the couch, an old habit you never grew out of. You always slept on the couch when you felt uneasy. It may have been some sort of way to separate stress from your bedroom. It sure as shit wasn’t for safety reasons. Your equipment was dispersed throughout your apartment but your weapons were usually stowed away in your room.

You feel a hand running gently through your hair, smoothing away all your apprehension.

“Jay” You grouse, your hand halfheartedly swatting at the hand stroking your hair. You bury yourself further into the warmth of the comforter feeling the need to shrink away from the touch. You feel a soft prick on your neck.

Your eyes fly open.

Shit.

The hand tangles in your hair. It throws you to the wall. The air is knocked out of your lungs. Your ribs scream. You scrabble to your feet. Your limbs fail you. They flail uselessly. Your breaths pick up. Your chest feels like it's caving.

"JAY" You shriek. “HELP.” A large hand grasps your throat. A rush of adrenaline kicks in. You thrash. You kick. Your hit lands. Another grasps your ankles. You scream. You swear viciously. Another grabs at your wrists. Something rough winds around your wrists and ankles.

The world tilts into an odd angle. Your head feels heavy so do your arms and your legs and everything.

"Jaaay" You slur, the air in your lungs becoming sluggish like everything else. "Jay" you sob again, knowing he wouldn't come. Not when he was so far away.

"Shut up you ….. bitch" You feel a swift kick to your stomach. It barely registers above the haze.

"Hey man-"

"What? The …. man said we …… rough her up."

"We can?"

"Yeah, ……, said so"

Your eyes blink, stupid, and uncomprehending. Distantly, you hear yourself grunting and whimpering. You can feel their blows but your body is too far away, too inaccessible. It was strange to physically feel yourself drift away.

Roman traces the sun shaped scar radiating on your shoulder with a leather-clad hand. The one shot he’d managed to land on you the first time you’d stormed one of his warehouses. You were all cocksure and quick wit and boisterous laughter. You really had the devil’s own luck but it seems to have run out. Not that Roman’s got any complaints. Not when he’s got you laying at his feet, tied up and vulnerable.

He crouches down, hand on his chin. His eyes roam appreciatively over your sleeping form, appraising you like a premium cut of meat. You look pretty against the black silk sheets he’d chosen. He sighs content with his prize. He traces the tip of his knife over your cheek, a dark purple bruise maring your features stark against the stainless surface of the blade. Slade really was quite careless when handling you. Not that Roman has any plans on being any gentler.

He lets his blade drift down, trailing down your neck down to the flimsy protection of your oversized shirt. Your steady breaths falter. You keep your eyes shut trying to gather more information but it’s hard not to focus off the tip of the blade cold against your warm skin even as the blade cuts through the thin fabric of your shirt. A large hand grasps your face roughly.

“I know you're awake, baby-” You blanch still not opening your eyes. The grip on your jaw tightens. You grin like a madman. “It's rude to keep daddy waiting.”

“Sorry, Sionis, I was really hoping not to have to wake up you’re ugly mug.” You sneer, voice thick and raspy with sleep but still full with your trademark confidence. Roman looks more amused than irritated. Your body and mind are still at the cusp of sleep. You wriggle and almost cry out with joy when you feel them move. You mind the hand on your jaw and its tight grip.

“Baby, I won’t tell you a-” You spit in his face, cracking an eye open to see his reaction. A bloody grin spreads across your face like wildfire when you see the annoyance on his face.

“You’re going to regret that” He growls, wiping his face with a torn piece of your shirt.

“Oh please-” Something cracks across your jaw.

“The next time it’ll be the other end,” It takes a moment for your mind to catch on. You stare at the hilt of the blade for a moment before letting loose another smarmy grin. His violent reaction spurs you on. Yeah, you can definitely see why Jason thinks you’re going to age him twenty years. “Oh please, You like my face too much for that.”

“You really wanna test that?”

“Nope,” You say, spitting into his eye and landing a punch square in his face. You cackle like a madwoman when he goes down. You don’t bother hiding the delighted chirps that escape your chest.

Being petty, you give him a swift kick to the face before dashing towards the door. You launch yourself, feeling like you can fly. The copper taste in your tongue almost feels sweet.

Your hand grasps the door when a hand tangles itself in your hair.

Roman throws you back onto the mattress, the springs digging into your back. You scratch and claw and thrash against the large hand wrapped around your throat. You snarl as Roman leans closer, his body pinning yours against the mattress, his weight immobilizing your fatigued limbs. A sweet-smelling cloth covers your mouth and nose, you gasp in surprise, inhaling the scent. Your mind is already sluggish by the time it catches on.

Your vision dims.

You feel hollowed out.

Your limbs fall away, arms drooping and pliant against the silk-covered mattress. The cloth feels too much against your skin. Vaguely, you feel horror prickling up your spine or maybe it was just the springs again.

Roman pulls away. You think you breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of him lifted. He straddles your body, grinning down at you. Your mouth falls open to say something. You want to say that you curse him out or that you threaten him. The sound you make is small. Your tongue feels too heavy. No, something is pressing it down, you think.

Above you, Roman is a towering colossus. You’re vaguely aware of the shifting of his hips. He removes his gloved hand from your mouth and caresses the side of your face with mock gentleness. His movements are sluggish and syrupy. You make another noise when you realize to some degree of horror that isn’t. Your mind felt heavy and useless.

He snaps his fingers. The sound is dull like it's contending with water. A muffled set of steps approaches you. A man, you realize. You don't think you’ve noticed him before. His dark shape is messy and incomprehensible. A red dot flashes stark against his form. The mechanical sounds of a shutter drift in and out of your mind. You turn your head back to Roman at the sound of shifting fabric.

Above you, Roman, already without his suit jacket, loosens his tie, eyes staring hungrily at you. The pit of your stomach feels painfully cold. You blink at him stupidly. He chuckles, grasping your chin to make sure you’re looking at him. You protest against his touch.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be the star of our little show like the filthy attention whore you really are. ” He laughs. It rumbles like thunder in your ears.

The world falls away.

Click

One

Two

One

You feel a prick on your neck.

Hot breaths fan against your face.

Your body is too warm.

You don’t want to know why.

Twenty-five, you continue counting.

You feel fabric shift against you.

Something sharp digs itself into your flesh.

One

Two

Three

Three?

Something’s crushing your windpipe.

Your body is aching. You’re not entirely sure whether it’s from use or disuse and by who.

“Good girl”

Thirty

Twelve

There’s something scraping against your flesh.

Is it a knife?

Hot pants fan against your skin.

Teeth

Four

Fifty-six

“Boss, I-.... going a …. bit too far?”

Smack!

“Do …. You…. to think?”

Two sixty-eight

A hand strikes you. You think your jaw is broken. It hurts but then again everything hurts. All you can do is take it and whimper.

Tears sting against your face.

“That’s right. Just like that. Like that, you little whore.”

Your body is warm again.

You still don’t want to know.

Two

Two?

You’ve counted two before.

You blink.

The haze of your mind lifts.

The coldness of the room seeps in your bones. You’re bare. You take stock of yourself, running your hands over your skin. Everything is still there.

Everything and a few other things. You let disgust and shame roll over you. A sob tears its way out of your chest. Your breath picks up. You feel your mind slipping. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, calling your mind back and steadying yourself.

You take stock again. This time moving your limbs and jangling your joints. They were weak but workable. You’re surprised to find yourself unbound aside from the collar around your neck. You suppose Roman’s confident in his drugs. How long have you been here? You press lightly against your neck, feeling the higher than normal pulsing of your artery. You shift yourself waking your legs up.

You stiffen, gooseflesh spreading over your skin as light filters into the room through the door. Your eyes snap shut, stinging from the sudden intrusion of light. The pulse beneath your fingers jackrabbits. You think you’ll keel over.

“Shhhhhh”

All the strength in your veins floods out, leaving a feeling of cold horror in its place. You scream or you try. Your body feels impossibly rigid. Roman stalks towards you, his footfalls slow and deliberate and too loud. Your heart jumps up to your throat with each step. You inch yourself away from him, drawing yourself up to make yourself feel bigger. He coos at how adorable you are, trying to look defiant. The mattress dips under his weight. Your mind begins to slip away from you again. The world falls away from you. You anchor it, digging your nails into your palms. He cups your face, thumb caressing your bottom lip. You glower at him and bite out something witty. He laughs amusement lighting up his features, the sound grates against your ears.

“Not gonna fight back?” He taunts, pressing his thumb down on your bottom lip. Your body recoils but then goes slack as he runs his hand up and down your side. Shame blankets you but the fear etched into you keeps you still.

Roman loosens his tie.

Your mind falls out of your reach.

“Such a good little slut.” He murmurs against your lips.

You wanted to say.

Instead, your mind starts counting again even as you hear the rustle of fabric.

BANG

A gunshot rings through the thick atmosphere of the room.

Roman curses.

His men stampede.

Another round of shots fire.

Something- No, no. Someone tears Roman off of you.

“Deathstroke?” You croak, your voice sounding foreign and absurdly brittle.

“Do you know anyone else walking around looking like this, kid?”

“Ravager” You snark, lips twitching into a smile. He rolls his eyes underneath his mask. The familiarity of the exchange breathes life into your body. Roman’s hand grips your wrist with bruising intensity. Your breath catches.

No. No. No.

The word loops in your head like a constant rat-tat.

Slade’s foot makes contact with Roman’s head, the force of it unnecessary but satisfactory. The sounds of bone-cracking fill the air. The man falls uselessly to the grimey floor. He shoots him with a couple of rounds for good measure, each shot instilling a pang of finality in the back of your mind.

You scrabble towards Slade, wide-eyed and shallow breathed. You cling to Slade as he bundles your body in silken sheets. He hoists you easily into his arms. You bury your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder, closing your eyes, the image of Roman’s bloody body on the floor pressed into your mind. You sob in relief. Your hands clasping onto Slade, white-knuckled and shaking.

"I've got you, sweetheart," He rumbles, running his hand through your hair soothingly. The tight knots in your body, loosen. You whimper a quiet thank you. “I’ve got you.”

You lift your head only to see Roman twitch.

Your breathing falters.

Fear pricks your spine.

Your mind falls away from you again.

Distantly, you feel Slade’s grip on you tightens.

Distantly, you hear him murmur something.

Everything is too far away.

Your eyes blink sluggishly. The world becomes dimmer with each blink.

A warm spray of water drizzles down over your aching skin. Your open wounds sting but the warm water pooling around you soothes the aches of your bruised flesh. Your eyes focus on the soft off-white of the tile on the wall opposite you. You don’t let yourself about the thin, rusty red film swirling in the water. The air in the room is thick with steam and the scent of lavender.

The absence of grime on your skin makes you feel lighter and gauzy and immaterial. You felt naked and obscene like you had been taken apart and now someone was examining pieces of you. You almost miss it.

“Lean back” Slade grumbles as he lathers your hair with some lavender concoction the hotel provided. Your body follows automatically, eagerly, obediently. You tell yourself you’re just tired. You tell yourself nothing’s wrong with your response. You tell yourself you’re ok. You wince. The warm water around you shifts. You hear it splash against the tile. You flinch at how loud it sounds. You take a deep breath and lean into his touch. He’s handling you delicately as though you would fall apart any second. You might.

Blinking away tears, you watch his face, aware that by leaning back, you’d be giving him a good view of the hickies, bite marks, and knife wounds Roman ‘gifted’ you. There’s a slight twitch in the corners of his lips. He must be disgusted with you too. You want to sink into the hot water and let it burn you anew, but you don’t trust yourself not to drown.

You close your eyes as another spray of warm water pours over you. You melt into it hoping it’s enough to wash the last few days- weeks?- away.

Your hands grasp his face, pulling him towards you. His hands brace against the tub, keeping him from falling in with you. Your arms loop around his neck, your hot breath fanning against his lips. You press your lips against him, searching and wanting. For what exactly? Comfort? Safety? Stimulation? His lips press lightly against yours, not quite a kiss. Slade actually looks taken aback.

The rest of the world floods back in. You peel away, your eyes wide with terror. “Shit- I’m- Fuck! Fuck! Shit, Slade, I- I’m sorry. I- Shit! I didn’t-” Your breathing ratchets up, becoming shallower as the pulsating in your ears grow louder. There’s a tightness growing in your chest that makes you think your ribcage is about to implode. You cover your face with your hands not caring how it didn’t help your shallowing breaths. You can’t look at him. You just can’t. You know you’re disgusting.

Your body wants to come apart, dissolve, and if it can, evaporate. You can’t breathe. You curl into yourself, into the water. A hand grabs at your wrist. You flinch. The hand carefully pries your hand away, forcing you to uncurl. Slade’s other hand cups your face gently, guiding you to look him in the eye. The lack of disgust in his face rattles you.

His thumb brushes against your lips making your stomach twist and your spine curl. He dips his head closer to yours. You kiss him eagerly. He lets out a pleased hum and smiles against your lips. Something cold licks at the bottom of your stomach but it’s overtaken by the need for connection, to fill in what had been hollowed out.

You press closer to him than strictly necessary as you watch the news, chewing on your cheek. He pulls you close, shifting you on to his lap. You don’t protest, eyes glued to the TV.

“Businessman, Roman Sionis, was found with several gunshot wounds to the stomach in one of his warehouses here in Minos City. He is now in stable condition. Authorities say...”

Your jaw falls slack in mute horror. Your stomach tumbles to the floor. You’re hyperventilating. Your teeth are digging into your cheek, you taste copper. Your mind spirals back into the room, back to the dirty mattress, back to Roman.

Strong arms wrap around you, stilling your trembling body against a broad chest. Your body relaxes a fraction. You curl into him, the buzz of nervous energy settling into a quieter panic.

“You’re safe with me, you know that don’t you, sweetheart?” Slade says tracing circles into your palm. You lean your head into his shoulder. You nod easing against him. “I’ll never let that monster anywhere near you.” He promises, pressing a kiss into your hair. A little sob wrenches free of your imploding chest.

Slade keeps his face buried in your hair even as you fall into a lull. It was the only way to hide the triumphant grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you.”

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

A/n: Thanks for reading. There’s a follow up to this because I can’t cope with bad endings. I had to promise myself a good second part to make the ending horrifying.

The writing process for this fic was basically:

Me: I have this horrifying idea!

My brain: Yes but what if we put a little dork Jason in it.

Me: I guess that wouldn’t hurt.

Me: Ok I have written nearly 2k of dorky Jason where’s the other parts?

Brain: Uh what other parts?

Me: *sighs and spends the next few days spamming @knightfall05x*

taglist:

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell

#yandere dc #yandere blackmask #yandere roman sionis #yandere deathstroke #yandere slade wilson #Black Mask #Deathstroke #slade wilson x reader #Roman Sionis #roman sionis x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #Jason Todd #red hood x reader

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kiirokero · 3 years

Text

Inure (KSJ)

Inure: To accept and grow accustomed to something undesirable

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot series.

Masterlist

Pairing: Banker!Seokjin x FinancialAdvisor!Reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, misunderstandings, a bit of suggestive content (?) idiots to lovers (kinda)

Note: This was supposed to be out yesterday, but my dumbass fell asleep before I got to finish and polish it. I drank dumb bitch juice, apparently.

Summary: Having strict, overbearing parents meant expectations, and those expectations pushed you to be a financial advisor for the sake of making them proud. Worst idea ever. Well... Maybe not. Besides, you got to meet Kim Seokjin.

Word Count: 6k

“Taehyung... I’ve told you that eating half of your cookies every time you make a new batch isn’t good for business. You’re lucky Jimin and Jeongguk like your treats so much or you would be here filing for bankruptcy.” I scolded the younger boy in front of me. Taehyung gave me a sheepish smile as he scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, Noona,” I sighed, shaking my head to relieve the small headache I had going on.

Taehyung was a good kid. Well... He was in his twenties, but he still had that childlike glow to him. But with the childlike glow came the less than logical decisions. “Tae, you still have loans to pay back and they’re coming up soon. I don’t want to be the pessimist, but it’s better to sell those cookies.”

Taehyung nodded, “Don’t worry! I got this!” He exclaimed, a determined grin on his face. “I’m sure you do, now you’re free to go do more fun things,” I chuckled, gathering all the paperwork that laid on my desk that detailed Taehyung’s finances. Boring stuff, really. “Thanks, Noona! Come by sometime, okay?” We waved goodbye, silence now encompassing my small plain office.

It wasn’t even lunch yet, and everything has already drained my will to stay awake. It’s not that I absolutely loathed my job. I enjoyed seeing Yoongi or Taehyung light up in joy when I told them they reached their business goal or answered their questions about the best way to save. It was satisfying.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t boring as hell sometimes.

Sometimes I wished I gave my parents a big middle finger and majored in art conservation. I’d rather be looking at 200-year-old paintings of dead people and bringing a portrait back to life rather than staring at paperwork with endless numbers printed on them. But, alas, I didn’t. Now here in Bangtan Village, I help the businesses (and occasional person) here thrive.

“Tired already?” My coworker, Hyejin, asked as she walked into my office. “An accurate observation,” I sighed, resting my forehead on my mahogany desk. “I assume Taehyung’s business is doing well then?” She chuckled, handing me some files that I’d have to look over later. “Now you know I can’t disclose client information, but let’s just say he’s lucky to have gluttons as friends.” I chuckled.

Hyejin snorted and shook her head. “That boy... Besides that I came in here to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner after work, but you really do look exhausted,” Hyejin’s face contorted into worry. She grabbed my face with both hands and moved it in different ways, looking at the consequences work related stress gave me. An acne breakout on my right temple, dark circles under my eyes, pale face. I’ll admit I didn’t look my best, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

I had to work.

“It’s fine, really. I’m fine. I just need more coffee,” I shrugged, gently moving away from her grasp. “Y/n, running on just coffee isn’t good for you either,” Hyejin pouted, gesturing to the 2 empty mug already sat on my desk. “It’s not ideal, but I can’t just not work,” I pointed out, “You haven’t taken any days off since you came down with the flu, in January, two years ago.” Hyejin deadpanned, “You need a break. I’m sure Yoongi and Taehyung won’t go bankrupt in a matter of three days,”

I groaned and slouched in my old leather desk chair. “But what if they do...?” I whined. “You’re being irrational.” Hyejin sarcastically whined back, mimicking my slouched shoulders and pouty lip. “Why don’t you just ask Mr. Kim to give you a couple days off?” She suggested. I laughed, “Mr. Kim? Overly handsome Mr. Kim that I can barely speak a word too without blubbering? Me? Talk to him?”

I chuckled some more and Hyejin gave me an unimpressed face. “It’s not that hard! What’s so bad about it?” She scrutinized. “What so hard? His handsome face! The way he says my name! His eyes! They make me loose all brain function like I’m not a college graduate,” I pointed out, because it was obvious.

Kim Seokjin. Manager of Bangtan Village’s bank. 28 years old, tall, the embodiment of professionalism. He looked as if god sculpted him. A modern rendition of Galatea. He had a demeanor that called for authority without question. When he walked by, you had to pay attention.

Some may say that this only affected me so badly because of my tiny crush on him. But I beg to differ. How could you look at that beautiful face and not stutter? How could you hear that voice and not swoon? How could your heart not skip a beat whenever he smiled or laughed? Even if he always played the boss role, I couldn’t help but fall.

“You’re overreacting, it’s just-” Hyejin was cut off by a knock at the door. “Come in!” I called, sitting back up in my seat and dusting off my blouse. The door opened and the one and only Kim Seokjin walked in. Speak of the devil. “Good afternoon ladies,” He said with an unwavering smile. We replied with a ‘good afternoon’ back.

“What brings you here?” I asked, fiddling with my hands.

“I just wanted to ask your opinion on something,” Seokjin explained.

He walked further into the room, rounding my desk to stand beside my sitting form. He placed a folder in front of me, three sheets of paper spilling from the manilla cardstock. Seokjin leaned down next to me, one hand on my desk, one hand on the back of my chair. I could faintly smell his earthy cologne.

I cleared my throat, erasing the invasive thoughts of Seokjin from my mind. This was work, business, he needed your help with something. Calming my shaky hands, I grabbed the first sheet of paper, examining the printed black numbers and letters. The closer I looked, I spotted the bank’s name printed on the top and different amounts of money though a certain number of months below it.

“M-Mr. Kim, are these the statements for our bank?” I asked, flipping through the three pages that contained more information on money and spending. “It is,” He answered back, turning his head to look at me. I looked at him in return, suppressing the gasp in my throat when I realized just how close he was. His honey eyes roamed my face for a moment before he spoke again, “What do you think?”

Confused, I looked back at the papers briefly. “Are you asking me to make a business plan for the bank...?” I questioned, looking back at my boss. He shrugged nonchalantly, “No, do you think we need one?” Answering my question with more questions. “N-No, the bank’s doing well.” I said, “We’re not drastically losing money or anything, not losing money at all actually...” I mumbled to myself, but loud enough that the man beside me heard.

Seokjin let out a nonchalant hum, sitting back up in his pitch perfect posture. “If you say so. I trust your opinion.” He said, gathering the papers from my desk and making his way to the door. “Wait! Mr. Kim!” Hyejin spoke up. Seokjin stopped, turning his attention on Hyejin, who had a knowing smile on her face. “Ms. L/n actually has a request for you,” She said in a sweet voice, gesturing her hand towards me.

Seokjin’s attention spun towards me and I stopped like a deer in headlights. “Yes, Ms. L/n?” He asked, raising one of his eyebrows. That shouldn’t be attractive... But it was. “I- uh... I’m...” I stuttered, not being able to tear my eyes away from the alluring man in front of me. “Ms. L/n wants to know if she can have a couple days off,” Hyejin spoke for me.

“I do?” “She does?” Seokjin and I asked at the same time. “Yep!” Hyejin said, giving me a “If you say otherwise I’ll put itching powder in your skirts” look. So for the sake of my comfort, I shut up and went along with it. A couple days couldn’t hurt, right? If there's a financial emergency, then I’ll get a call or something.

Seokjin cleared his throat and turned back to me with a worried look on his face. “Are you okay Ms. L/n? You’re not sick or anything?” He asked. “N-No just... I just need a break, ya know?” I nervously chuckled, fiddling with the end of my blouse to keep my racing thought to a minimum. “Ah, okay. You’re welcome to have a few days off, you deserve time off,” Seokjin smiled.

After we exchanged our goodbyes and Seokjin left, I whipped around towards Hyejin and glared at her harder than a teenage boy glaring at his mom after she took away his vape. “What was that?” I hissed, crossing both of my arms. Hyejin, unphased by my threatening demeanor, chuckled and sighed. “That, my friend, was you getting a well-deserved break”

I never realized how bland my apartment was until now. I mean, yes, it looks kinda lived in and yes, there are kink-knacks lounging about. It just looks, barely used. Which wouldn’t be an understatement considering falling asleep on my desk at work is a common occurance.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t spent a lot of time here. I’m always cooped up in my office, whether it be my home one or the one at work. My home office looks like I’ve used it well, if all the coffee stains are anything to go off of. But the rest of my apartment looks like a set from a sitcom, purposefully messy, not “I’ve been here for 10 years” messy.

It was slightly unsettling how much I got used to something I dreaded. How I threw myself into a routine- an unhealthy one at that- and got used to it. I always told myself that no matter what, I’d still paint. I’d still go to art galleries and watch those calming art restoration videos on YouTube, living vicariously through the screen.

But I didn’t.

I suppressed the hurt I felt for not being able to follow my dream by forcing myself to like what cards my parents dealt to me, what cards I played. That fact scared me. It scared me cause even if this was my apartment, even if I had trinkets that reminded me of my favorite shows and books, even if I was away from the pressures of my overbearing parents. I wasn’t living in a home. This was my apartment, but it wasn’t my apartment.

Not a single thing around reminded me of my passion. Not a painting, not a paint tube, not a paintbrush. Not even an art catalog. I love art catalogs. Maybe I really needed this break, maybe I needed it to show myself that I wasn’t thrilled with the life I had now.

However, there was nothing I could do, could I?

It was too late. The diplomas on my wall told me that. It was too late to turn back. I’m 27. I already laid my life out for myself. I would be a financial advisor until I retired or died. That fact didn’t leave a pleasant feeling in my heart. But what could I really do about it?

The sound of the doorbell ringing jostled me awake from my nap. I gave myself a second to get my bearings. I was in my living room, on the couch. Grey blanket draped over my form while the T.V played some trash show. Groaning, I got up from my makeshift bed, stretching out my stiff muscles as I made my way to the front door.

Opening the door, I saw Jimin, the town's delivery boy, standing on my doorstep with flowers in his hands. “Hello Jimin,” I said, giving the boy a smile. “Hey Y/n! Long time no see,” He chuckled, “I have a delivery for you,” He said, extending the vase of flowers in his hands towards me. “Oh, thank you Jimin, but I didn’t order any flowers,” I said.

“Not you, someone ordered flowers for you!” He said, turning the vase around to show me a little card that was hanging off of it. “You have a secret admirer,” He chuckled. Confused, I took the vase from him, smelling the saccharine aroma of the peonies and daisies that laid perfectly together. “Oh, wow, thank you again Jimin. Have a good day!” I said, Jimin gave me his award-winning smile as he bid me farewell.

I stepped back inside my apartment, shutting the door behind me. I walked to my kitchen and placed the heavy vase down on the counter, grabbing the attached card. “Min’s Flowers” was printed on the front in a style resembling calligraphy. Opening the card, I saw a neat handwritten note.

‘Dear Y/n, I hope you are feeling better after getting some rest. You should know that you can always ask for a break when you need one, you’re an amazing advisor, but I know that staring at paper work can get a bit boring. I hope you like the flowers, I remember you mentioning that your favorite art piece had beautifully painted peonies. Get some rest, okay?

P.S. Why was the office of cantaloupes so glum? Because they were melon-colleagues!”

“Melon-colleagues... Oh!” I chuckled to myself, only understanding the play on words once I said it aloud. “This was sweet of you, Mr. Kim,” I said to myself, smelling the peonies once again. It was stupid how easily the man made me swoon, a simple smile here, a compliment there. Anything he did made my heart skip a beat, and this was no different.

I carried the vase to my bedroom, placing it on my bedside table next to my alarm clock. Deciding that I should thank him, I grabbed my phone and opened it to my messenger. Was it unprofessional to text your boss? I mean, I am thanking him for a gift so I suppose it’s fine. I texted out a simple ‘thank you’ message and sending it.

‘I got the flowers Mr. Kim, thank you. They’re beautiful :)’

But what I didn’t expect was an immediate answer back.

‘You’re welcome and please call me Jin :)’

‘Alright, Jin’

“I’m telling you Y/n, I think Mr. Kim has a thing for you!” Hyejin squealed over the phone to me. “No, he doesn’t, he’s just a nice man,” I said, placing the new vase of flowers that were just delivered to me on my coffee table. “He sends you flowers every day! That’s not nothing!” She argued. I rolled my eyes, picking up the new card and flipping it open to read.

‘Dear Y/n, I got you mini sunflowers this time, they remind me of you. Also, why was the broom late for work? It overswept!’

I chuckled, turning my attention back to Hyejin. “I’m sure he’ll stop soon,” I counter argued. “Besides, what would Mr. God’s bragging right want from me?” “God, you are so dense it hurts. Did you know he asks about you? Checks your office to see if you came in today? Every single day.” Hyejin revealed. I stopped fiddling with the flowers for just a moment. “He does?”

I heard Hyejin groan and sigh, “Yes! Mr. Kim totally has a thing for you!” She stressed, “Jin’s just-” “See! He even lets you call him by a nickname!” Hyejin cut me off. “Hyejin, you’ve been watching too many Hallmark movies,” I giggled, “Friends are nice to each other. No matter how badly I want Mr. Hottie to smack me in the face with his lips, it’s just unrealistic.”

“Okay, how about I prove to you he’s crushing on you? Get you undeniable evidence?” She bargained, and I could only imagine the mischievous face she was most likely sporting. “What are you going to do? Follow him around with a camera?” I chuckled sarcastically. “No! But what if you tell him about something you like? But really discreetly. You mentioned he remembered your favorite painting, say something in passing that nobody would care about unless they wanna impress you!” Hyejin answered.

“That’s a horrible idea.” I deadpanned, “But if it’ll get you to leave me alone about this, I’ll do it.” I heard Hyejin cheer, sounding way too excited about what will end up being nothing. “You’ll see!” Hyejin teased. I was about to refute her statement when my phone chimed. I took it away from my ear to see a message from Jin. “Speak of the devil, he just texted me,” I said aloud. “Well, don’t leave him hanging, go on! I’ll talk to you later!” Hyejin said as she hung up.

Shaking my head at her antics, I opened my messages.

‘Hey! How are you feeling?’ The text said,

‘I’m feeling better, thank you. How are you doing?’ I asked.

That was the start of a very long conversation. One where we talked about mostly anything. Jin mentioned that he was bored in his office doing nothing and decided to check up on me, to which I joked about telling the boss about his slacking.

The conversation flowed without hesitation. There was no long pause between messages, no awkward one-worded responses. Just the two of us talking freely. I completed Hyejin’s challenge when Jin was telling me about all the pretty colored flowers that Yoongi had in his shop. I agreed with him, saying that it would be nice to paint it, preserving the colors in art form.

But what I hadn’t expected was for Jin to drop a bomb on me.

We were talking about Jin’s printer that seems haunted because it beeps at the weirdest times. He was making a joke about talking to it and having it as a friend, and to bring that joke to a close he took a selfie with the printer. Admittedly, he looked very handsome posing next to a hunk of metal, but it wasn’t his face that caught me off guard, it was his collarbone.

Normally, looking at someone's collarbone on purpose just seems... Pervy... But when there’s an irritated bruise on it, it draws one's attention. Right there, peaking out from under his slightly unbuttoned white button up, was a bruise on his collarbone. Now, I’m not naïve. Why else would you have a bruise there unless someone left it on you in a steamy way?

Maybe I was denying the possibility of Jin having a crush on me to Hyejin, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t hoping for her words to be true. Deep down I wanted her to be right. I wanted my feelings for the stunning man I was texting and talking to for the past couple days to be reciprocated. How dumb was I?

Of course he had a lover. Just look at him. Not only is he handsome, but he’s kind, funny, hard-working. We were in our late 20s, this was the time where most of the people our age were settling down, having kids, getting ready for the future. There’s probably going to be a ring on his perfectly imperfect finger soon.

That fact shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does...

‘Dear Y/n, You mentioned you’d like to paint the flowers in Yoongi’s shop, so I got really colorful flowers for you. Maybe now you can paint them? I’d love to see if you did. I’m sure your just as good as an artist as you are an advisor. Hyejin mentioned you plan on coming back to work tomorrow, I’m happy you’re feeling better. :)

P.S What’s red and smells like blue paint? Red paint!’

I felt as if my body was betraying my thoughts as a slight smile graced my lips at Jin's terrible dad joke. My heart still beating for him even if my brain was against it, flashing the image of a passionately bruised Jin into my mind every time my heart rate picks up at his words.

What betrayed me more was my body moving on autopilot towards my storage closet, wrestling my way to the back, pulling out tubes of old paint, sets of old paintbrushes, and an old easel. What betrayed me more was my body going to an empty corner in my room, setting up a workspace for my suppressed passion to flow, setting the colorful flora delicately on a spare table. What betrayed me more was the way I didn’t hesitate to squeeze colors out of their tubes, meticulously pick paintbrushes, lift my hand up to start the first stroke. Then the second, then the third.

Soon I got lost in the motion of forgetting everything. Enclosing myself in my own world, nothing but me and the canvas. Focusing on the details of flowers that nobody cared to look at. Stem, sepal, stigma. All pieces of a puzzle that made up a delicate lily. Those lilies making up the picture of the vase, that bouquet having much more meaning than anybody could interpret.

A bouquet that represented longing, hurt, disappointment. All conveyed with every stroke of the brush, every color mixed, every dot placed. Anyone looking in on my life from a fogged window wouldn’t understand why tears fell from my eyes as I continued painting. People would tilt their heads in confusion at the way I stared, longingly, at the seemingly simple flowers. People would whisper words of confusion as I unconsciously desaturated my colors to match the feeling that plagued me.

A once bright image turned into a foggy photo of melancholy.

I painted those flowers and cried, dreaming about the man I couldn’t have, the man I longed to hold, to kiss, to cherish. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe I was overreacting. A simple bruise. A simple reddish bruise is all it took to break my spirit? Silly when you think about it hard enough, but feelings and rationality are a funny concoction. Never quiet going together in how they should, many opting to unconsciously separate the two. Many like me.

I should’ve suppressed the wayward feelings when I recognized them years ago. Lock them in a box and throw them away, never to be seen again. Have my heart swallow the key, then forget about its existence. But I didn’t. The nights spent thinking about him; the days spent watching him from afar; they passed like a flash of lighting. My feelings growing quicker than I expected, right under my nose.

When I finished, I didn’t move. I just looked at the painting that was a product of my suppressed sorrow. Realizing that not only did Jin steal my heart, he reawakened my passion for painting as well.

“Hey, are you okay? You don’t look so well,” Hyejin asked, taking a sip from her mug that aptly said “Cupid’s Sleuth” that I got her for her birthday one year after she set up two of our mutual friends together. “I guess,” I mumbled, focusing my attention on my own cup of liquid energy.

Hyejin put her hand on my shoulder to gain back my attention, but after a restless night my reaction speed wasn’t the best, so I didn’t notice it. “Y/n,” She called, and I looked up from my mug. “You’re even worse than you were before you took a mini-vacation, what happened?”

I sighed, placing my mug down on the gray counter of the employee break room. “You were right. He remembered.” I said in a gravelly voice. “That’s great! Right?” She cautioned. I said nothing, opting to fish my phone out of my pocket and opening my messages with Seokjin, turning the phone to her to show her the picture.

“I don’t- Oh...” She coughed. “That um...” She stammered. “Yep, looks like a hickey.” I said, putting my phone back in my pocket. “But that doesn’t make sense, he’s obviously likes you!” She argued, “Well, obviously he doesn’t!” I snapped, startling Hyejin. “Sorry, but the proof is right there, Hyejin, he already has a lover,” I sighed.

Hyejin didn’t say anything. Her face showed she was thinking about something, and she was thinking hard. “There has to be an explanation,” She mumbled. “There’s something we don’t know. If he had a lover, why has he never talked about them? Mentioned them in passing? Or even have a picture of them on his desk?” She pointed out. “Maybe they’re a private couple,” I reasoned.

Hyejin shook her head, mumbling out, “No... that’s not it,” Her eyebrows creased as we stood there in silence. “He’d at least have a picture... Why don’t you just talk to him?” She suggested. I choked on the coffee I was sipping, hacking up the liquid that made it down the wrong pipe. “Talk to him? And what? Admit that I’ve fallen in love with him so he can laugh about me to his significant other when he gets home? Not happening.” I said.

Hyejin rolled her eyes, “Come on, talking is the only way to sort this out. You’re an adult Y/n!” She gestured to my matured, adult body as if I didn’t already know this fact. “Sometimes, things are best left to the unknown, for the sake of my heart.” I finished the rest of my coffee and left the cup in the sink. “I appreciate your effort, but this time you can’t be cupid's sleuth.” I lamented, leaving the break room to go back to my office.

I avoided Jin like the plague for the next few weeks. Running away from him in the halls before he saw me, leaving for lunch before him, not leaving my office unless absolutely necessary. Others were starting to notice my sudden aversion for my boss, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t look at him.

Every glance at his face, rumble of his voice, whiff of his earthy cologne whenever I rushed by him in the halls, it was torture. I hated the way my heart skipped a beat at everything he did. How my breath picked up and palms turned sweaty. I hated the way he still held my heart captive in his hands, even if he didn’t know it.

So, if it hurt to be around him, I’ll avoid him. No matter how long it takes for my feelings to dissipate, I’m willing to dance this dance around him. They have to go away eventually, right? I wouldn’t be a hopeless romantic forever...

I drowned my thoughts in paint. Left my sorrows in swirling blues and purples. Expressed my frustrations in striking reds and yellows. Wrote my whimsical wishes in hues of greens and pinks. I got lost in the empty canvas set up in front of me, giving color to the void of white.

I never knew how to start or where to finish, but I just let myself flow. Orange here, maroon there, wherever it felt right is where it went. Soon pictures of flowers and sunsets would emerge from the cacophony of colors that I splattered on the canvas. The worlds that I painted ones of idealization. Worlds where there was no hurt, no pain, no disappointment.

That’s where I was now, currently getting lost in saturations of green. Sitting in front of a canvas, I painted a world of my own. This one was turning into an open field at dawn. Maybe if I give it to a psychiatrist, they’ll understand the unconscious emotions I laid bare in the paint. Point out why such a picture gave off feelings of longing, melancholy. But for now this was my solitude, my abditory.

A knock on my front door threw me out of that daydream, however. Confused, I turned to look outside at the weeping sky. It was pouring. Who in their right mind was at my door? I quickly got up and hurried over to my door, not caring that I was in my paint stained apron or that I had paint on my face. But maybe I should’ve when I opened the door and was greeted by a soaking wet Seokjin.

Gasping, I took in his sopping form. He was dripping from head to toe, still dressed in his work attire. “Jin? What are you doing out in the rain? Come on, come in,” I said, ushering him inside. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than his comfort and the fact he was most likely freezing.

I quickly hurried to my hallway linen closet, grabbing one of my fluffy towels and rushing back to give it to Jin. “Let’s get you warm,” I led him to the couch, sitting him down. After Jin dried off a bit, I prepared some tea and handed him a cup. “Thank you,” He said, giving me that same adorable smile. “What were you doing out in the rain?” I asked, keeping my mind off of his charm.

“I wanted to come see you...” He admitted, nervously looking down at his cup. “M-Me? You see me at work, Jin,” I pointed out, taking a sip of tea from my own cup. “No... I don’t, you’ve been avoiding me Y/n,” He whinged, emphasizing the “avoiding” part. “I haven’t been avoiding you...” I fibbed, looking anywhere but at him.

“Yes, you have! It’s like I’ve got the plague-Which I don’t- Did I do something wrong?” He fretted, a look of hurt on his handsome face. I didn’t know what to say, I wanted to say no, tell him it was all me and my stupid feelings for him, but admitting that to him was terrifying. After I didn’t answer for a minute, Jin sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.

“I don’t- I really don’t understand...” He whimpered, sounding like a kicked puppy. It tug at my heart string more. “I’m sorry...” I mumbled, guilt bubbling up in my throat and stinging at my eyes.

“I don’t want a sorry! I want an explanation! What did I do?” Jin glowered.

“It wasn’t you! Alright? It was never you... It was me! I can’t be around you!” I yelled.

“Why not?”

“Because I love you, asshole! And it hurts to know that you already have someone who loves you the way I wish I could.” I wept, tears of frustration spilling out of my eyes. I furiously wiped away the stray evidence of my inner turmoil, turning away from the man in front of me. “Alright...? Is that what you wanted to hear...?” I sniffled.

Jin stayed silent. Not making a sound. The only noise that could be heard was the beating of rain against the windows and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. “I’ll call you a cab...” I choked out, stepping towards my bedroom where I left my phone laying on my bed.

As I went to go grab it, Jin stopped me, grabbing my wrist, pulling me back. I whipped around, bumping into Jin’s wet chest, his large hand still wrapped around my dainty wrist. “Jin, what are you-” “Where’d you get that idea?” Jin asked, cutting me off.

“What?” I whispered. “Where’d you get the idea that I have a lover?” He asked, staring directly into my eyes. His face was so close to mine that I could faintly feel the breaths he took. I could see the little imperfections on his face, a freckle here, a scar there. He never failed to take my breath away.

I peeled my eyes away from his amber ones, focusing on the- now faint- bruise that rested on his collarbone that was semi visible through his damp shirt. I reached up and lightly touched it, my hand shaking a bit. “I’m not seven, I know what a bruise on the collarbone means,” I whispered.

“Y/n, that’s not a hickey,”

“Then what is it, Jin?”

“It’s the result of Jeongguk’s carelessness. He was swinging around his baton, hit me square in the collarbone. Hurt like a bitch,” He grimaced. Jin guided my hand away from the bruise, lifting it to his lips and giving it a chaste kiss. “The only bruise on my collarbone that I want is one that you give me,” He whispered, bringing my hand to cup his cheek.

I rose my other hand to rest on chest. I could hear my heart in my ears, beating in a rhythm rivaling the gallop of a horse. “Jin... What are you saying?” I asked. “When you started avoiding me, ignoring my texts and dancing around me at work. It hurt. I realized that without you, I felt like I was missing something important. I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself that even if it wasn’t what I wanted, I’d get used to it. But earlier today, when all I could see at every street corner was a happy couple... I knew I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Jin wrapped an arm around my waist, bringing one of his soft, slightly calloused hand to gently cup my cheek. Even if he was cold, the touch was so undeniably warm. “I really like you Y/n. More than I probably should.” He admitted, “So please, let me kiss you.”

Jin lent down, capturing my lips in his soft, plush ones as my knees threatened to buckle. His lips lingered in place, basking in the warmth mine offered. We moved together in an unspoken rhythm, a waltz we created in our own heads as our lips danced together.

Jin kissed me like the second he pulled away, the world we had created together behind our closed eyes would melt away, and he would be back shivering in the rain. “I love you too,” He whispered against my lips, kissing me with more fervor after every second. He held me tighter, his wide hands enveloping my waist in a comforting hold.

It felt so hot. Whether that was the heat from Jin or the flush from myself, I wouldn’t know. Our bodies melded in a way where you couldn’t tell who was who. Arms wrapped around one another, legs brushing together, lips clashing in a fight to get impossibly closer.

After we calmed down and our lungs started to burn, we pulled away. We still held each other close, not willing to part just yet. “I never want to part from you again,” I admitted, resting my head on Jin’s broad chest. “Me neither,” Jin whispered back to me, pressing a kiss on the top of my head.

We stood there in silence, holding each other in an embrace that said so much. So many unspoken words of “I’ve wanted this for so long” and “I never want to let go,” communicated through delicate touches and lingering kisses.

The man who stole my heart and refused to let it go. The man who reawakened my lost passion for art. The man who taught me that maybe talking is better than letting things wallow in an abyss of self pity, was mine. He was in my arms, kissing my lips, hugging my body.

And I couldn’t be happier.

“Let me see,” Jin said, looking over my should at the painting I’ve been working on for the past 2 hours. “Wow, you never cease to amaze me,” He said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. I was painting the recent bouquet of flowers Jin got me this morning, this one filled with different color peonies. “You’re so sweet,” I chuckled, giving him a kiss back.

Jin gave me a smile, his eyes full of admiration and love. “I love you, flower,” He whispered to me. “I love you too,” I whispered back, stealing a chaste kiss from his lips. “Are you going into work tomorrow?” Jin asked. “No, none of my clients need me so I’ll just stay home and paint,” I shrugged, turning my attention back to the canvas.

Jin watched me paint for a little longer, stealing kisses here and there. It was relaxing to have him so close. “From workaholic to laid back painter,” Jin chuckled, his squeaky laugh pulling a giggle from my throat. “Well, I had someone to show me that it’s okay to have passions,” I said, giving Jin a loving look. “I’m glad,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to my waiting lips.

#bts #bts fic #seokjin #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #jin #jin x reader

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in-slytherin-we-trust · 4 years

Text

Afterglow (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

: a pleasant effect or feeling that lingers after something is done, experienced, or achieved

Hey please may I have a draco x pureblood!slytherin reader fluff request, where they are just out of the war and can finally be together after years of trying to keep the other safe from Voldy by not being together ( Requested by: @hollsangels )

The Second Wizarding War has finally come to an end. The Boy Who Lived emerged as the victor. Peace is once again restored in the magical world.

Although she wasn’t exactly on Potter’s side with her being in Slytherin and what not, she is actually relieved that the light side is the winning force. She never really held on to the blood supremacy even though she had to pretend that she did, but even her parents are not followers of the Dark Lord. Since her family name is not that old nor noble, it has kept them safe and under the radar throughout Voldemort’s reign. They’re not as important to him as the other pureblood family like the Malfoy, Lestrange, Carrow, etc.

But she has her own secrets to keep of course. Y/N is the Slytherin Prince’s secret lover and have been ever since he confessed that he fancies her on the third year. At first it was her that asked to keep things under wrap since she doesn’t want the attention that will come with being Draco Malfoy’s girlfriend. Plus her parents are not exactly on the best terms with Lucius, him seeing them as less because of their decision on not to join the Death Eaters, a blood traitor if you will.

Draco didn’t seem to care about what his father would think when it comes to her, she’s the one genuine thing in his life that makes him truly happy. Yes he is loaded and he can get anything that he wants just with the snap of his fingers, but affection is not something that is thrown around easily in the Malfoy Manor. His mother is ever the doting woman but his father has always been standoffish. Viewing showing affection and love is a sign of weakness that a Malfoy couldn’t afford.

Y/N barged in one day and showed him that he’s not entitled to a life of loneliness. She loves him as he is, he has bared himself naked body and soul to her yet she takes him without hesitation, all of him. And he is grateful without a doubt that whatever divine being is in control, it decided to sent her his way.

They were happy. Truly happy. But then sixth year is when all hell break loose, his father was in Azkaban, his family lost its standing, and he was marked as a Death Eater. Given the impossible task of killing Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of all time. Him, a mere 16 years old boy, how in Salazar’s name was he supposed to accomplished that?

Draco knew that his every move is being monitored and he can’t afford any lose end. Voldemort has enough ammunition to use against him should he failed. That’s why he decided to end his relationship with Y/N. To keep her safe. Although their relationship is still pretty much a secret by then, it’s better safe than sorry, he doesn’t know the extend of Voldemort’s reach.

Although heartbroken, Y/N understood why it must be done. And so she waited for him, wait until they can finally be together when the time is right. And the time is now...

After Voldemort was defeated, every survivor was left picking up the pieces. The lost was immense, but something different is in the air nowadays, hope. The knowledge that now the noseless villain is gone for good.

The Malfoys undergo several trials for their association with the Dark Lord. Y/N was in the audience every single time, quietly praying that he would be okay. That Draco would be okay.

Narcissa Malfoy was the first one to stand trial, but Harry Potter was there to provide testimony for her, and that leaves her unscathed because if it wasn’t for her, Harry wouldn’t have the element of surprise.

Lucius’s trial comes next. Y/N was certain that this man would get locked up for life. But Lucius Malfoy, devious as always, managed to get a lighter punishment because he revealed the names of his fellow conspirators.

Last, was Draco’s. Y/N was almost taken over by how high strung her nerves were even though she was not the one being scrutinized under trial. Several of her classmates from Hogwarts were there that day, for what reason? she doesn’t even know herself. Turns out they were asked for testimonies, either for or against him. But surprisingly none of them was against her lover, all agreed that Draco Malfoy is a victim of his parents mistake and so he was free to go.

After the trial has adjourned, their eyes met, and she gave him a bright smile. Trying her best to make him feel better from afar. And she waited for him, right outside of the chamber.

He flung himself straight to her, desperate for her assurance. Clinging to her for dear life, he didn’t care who would see, he has waited long enough. And Draco Malfoy lost all his pretense, as he sob into her shoulder that day, all the pain he has bottled up comes to surface.

———————————————————————

The night after that, he suddenly appeared in her flat in London. It was just past 10 PM when she heard the ‘pop’ signalling that someone has apparated there.

“Can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to be in the manor” He said quietly, looking at her with desperation shining in his eyes, looking as broken as he feels on the inside.

Y/N smiled at him and open the both of her arms wide, beckoning him to come closer. And they embraced one another once again.

“Don’t even bother asking, you can stay here forever if you want to” She said in good humor, trying to light up the situation.

Y/N took delight in Draco’s short chuckles, it felt nice to be able to ease some of his worries and tensions away.

“Your old shirt and pajama pants are still here in my cupboard, go on and change” Y/N said as she got back under the cover of the warm blanket, laying on her side while propping her body up with her elbow.

She watched him change, as he tugged his suit and black shirt open, it shows several faint pink lines that scarred his otherwise adonis like body, a leftover of his fight with Potter. Then her eye sight dropped to his left arm, where the dark mark resided. She knows how badly he wants it gone but dark magic always left a stain, one that cannot be washed away.

“How’s your mother doing? is she all right by herself in that massive manor of yours?”

“Mother is.... hanging on, that’s the best that we can do for now with father gone” He replied quietly, tossing his dirty clothes into her laundry basket as he made his way towards the bed.

Y/N welcomed him into her arms, letting him be the little spoon. Draco deserves all the comfort that he can get tonight. “I hope it gets better for all of us soon”

“Yeah, I bloody hope so” He turned around so that they are laying facing each other, bringing one finger to trace her nose, then her mouth. “Thank you for staying by my side, Merlin, you deserve soo much better than me”

Y/N gave Draco a pointed look, “Hush now... I never want anybody else, just you and there’s nothing you could do that would change my mind”

Draco gave his first earnest smile after hearing her words, the underlying promise brought him comfort and reassurance.

“Stay with me?” He murmured.

“Always” She whispered back, kissing the crown of his head.

And the both of them then drifted off to sleep in each other’s embraces, basking in the afterglow of a well deserved peace.

———————————————————————

A/N : I’m sorry that this one is a bit short but I hope it’s still enjoyable ☺️

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gagmebucky · 4 years

Text

[steve. breeding kink. baby.]

“Wanna know what makes it worse?” Steve leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent with your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

in which you’re playing with a baby and steve can’t resist himself. (includes steve’s pov, avenger!steve rogers x girlfriend!reader, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, mild daddy kink, unprotected sex.)

do not repost.

—

Procedure requires debriefing at the end of every mission. In this hours-long process, an agent must recap the objectives and the means used to achieve them; deviations to the original plan and why; as well as whether success was gained, and any other pertinent intel possibly acquired.

This routine is mandatory for all those working for and with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.; not even the Avengers are exempt from this. Except in this particular case where the titular first of the super-powered team has forgone the professional necessity, and instead, is in search of you.

Normally, America’s golden boy can handle the dangers that occur in such a violent but imperative field. He understands the risks and pressures inherent to his line of duty, and he’s always accepted it, dealt with it because the overall outcome dwarfs the bad.

On this particular assignment, however, the stakes were higher than usual and although the quick snap-quick decisions he made ultimately paid off, it didn’t soften the blow of the sacrifices made. Times like this, he has to wonder if it’s worth it.

The tension weighs on his shoulders and crackles underneath his skin; his synapses are frayed with the memory of each fallen agent, the orders he doled out preambling every one, and the electricity curls his fists and locks his jaw. It’s corrupting that logical part of his brain, and that craving for vengeance can’t be sated with his knuckles breaking a few punching bags.

In rare moments like these, when the serum is pumping through his veins like rabies, there’s one thing to straighten the edges and bring him back from the trenches. That solace is you; your alluring smile and twinkling eyes, the musical carry of your laugh, your seemingly innate ability to figure out what’s wrong and quell the turmoil cycloning inside of him.

So he doesn’t report to Fury like he’s supposed to, doesn’t go over the myriad of errors that only worsened as the mission progressed—no one stops him either.

When employees spot him marching down the corridors, stealth suit still on and rippling across his hulking mass, his strides colliding deafeningly with the floor, handsome and affable features tightened intensely, their only recourse is moved out of the way. Thankfully, they get the hint because if someone hadn’t, he knows he’d snap and do something he might regret.

His senses, formerly haywire in his manic state, have lasered into tunnel focus; his eardrums hone in on the specific sound wave of your crooning voice, and the olfactory nerves in his nostrils guide him in a trail to the source of your intoxicating essence.

Steve slams the door open and storms into the upper, restricted level of the headquarters. His hastened pace slows upon your increased dose, lulling his awareness and distance waning significantly. As his search nears its end, he recognizes where he’s at: the luxurious space designed by and created for Tony Stark.

The doors are open so he doesn’t waste time knocking (not that he possesses the patience to abide by his hundred year old manners). Upon entry, he’s taken the tranquility occupying the atmosphere and the sight of you bathed in the sun’s glow; bright rays beam through the impenetrable windowed wall of the tower while you gently rock the three month old baby perched on your shoulder, probably basking in the dual warmth of you and the star.

From afar, behind you, the brown-eyed girl’s mother stands. With her head tilted and soft gratefulness slanted into her lips, the strawberry blonde’s hip rests against the office’s wet bar and watches fondly as you effortlessly soothe her child’s fussiness into a thumb-sucking slumber.

“Aren’t they cute?” Pepper Potts remarks as he steps beside her. Her gaze maintains on his girlfriend and her daughter. “Morgan would not stop crying for the past few hours, and I did everything to calm her down. I was frazzled and at my wit’s end then I handed her off to her aunt, and now she’s as quiet as a mouse.” She pauses and spares a glance over to his adoration-fixed stare, a slyness twisting into her smile. “I don't know what stage you two are at but she’d make a great mom.”

Steve knows you occasionally babysit for the Starks, but he’s never seen you like this. You’re in your element, swaying back and forth while you hum inaudibly into the infamous delicate baby’s ear. Her small hands are curled around your neck and her face nuzzled into the crease of your shoulder, with the opposing thumb slid between her lips as her big chocolate eyes flutter into a peaceful rest.

Suddenly breathless—but it’s not from the exertion—he has to agree, nodding his head. “Y - yeah,” he answers to both statements because it’s fucking adorable, and while there’s never been a doubt about your caring nature, this cements the fact that you would be an amazing mother. The sensation boils in his gut, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Has she always been this good with her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper tells him matter-of-factly. “With her, other kids, too. She came with us to the park, and this one kid was screaming his head off and she just went over and poof! He was happy.” Her eyes are back on your slow pacing silhouette. “I would swear she was made for this. I bet she was a nanny in another life.”

His knuckles clench as her words ignite the simmering inferno of his being. Made for this, made for this, echoes in his head and he has to remind himself that he’s in public. But the primal image of you, radiating like an angel with a little piece of him growing inside you, has already carved itself in the forefront of his psyche.

Steve has never been into traditional gender roles, not even when he was in his time and it was the norm (he’s always been a very progressive thinker). But, God, he can’t deny the appeal now that he has you. There’s something so primally satisfying about having you at home, free of any worries that aren’t about your family, potentially—preferably—knocked up.

The carnal urge grips him more intensely than before. Usually, he can suppress that visceral desire to bury himself bare inside you and spill his virility until he further claims you as his. However, receiving a glimpse of you in this maternal state, it has every instinct screaming that you’re irrefutably perfect and primed.

As if on cue, you turn around with the effectively lullabied infant clinging around your neck. After a flicker of surprise, pleasant then concerned, you pad on over to carefully hand over Morgan to her thankful mother. Your attention rivets back to him with a knitted brow gaze.

“Babe, hey,” you greet in a gentle voice. Worry ebbs into your gaze amongst the usual stare of attraction upon dragging across the navy blue material that still clings to his muscular torso. You offer your hand, which he immediately takes, and you guide him out of the office into the hallway. The door shuts behind you, and the sectioned off level is empty, but your voice is still quiet when asking, “What happened?”

You stand barely a breath away, and the proximity pacifies his senses. His stance loosens while a smile upturns a corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he answers then clarifies, “Nothing that matters anymore, anyway.”

The amendment dwindles your concerned curiosity because it’s honest—he doesn’t need to dwell when you’re standing here—and you can hear it; another lovingly scrutinizing up-and-down glance confirms that his earlier disquietude has settled significantly.

“D’you have fun back there?” he goes onto wonder, eyes flickering over to the closed door. Your earlier titillatingly visage snaps into his brain, and he subconsciously bites down on his bottom lip. “You looked like you were.”

You accept his subject-change with a nonchalant shrug. “Babies like me, and I like them,” you tell him, smiling at the admission. “What can I say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you want me to knock you up.” The words fumble out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and while he hadn’t intended on letting it slip, if he did, it would’ve been without the serious fluctuation he blurted it out with.

In a lame attempt to correct his slip of the tongue regarding a topic you both rarely discussed, he quickly adds, “I’m joking.” A surprised expression had crossed your features upon processing his former response, transitioning into something he can’t yet pinpoint if he likes. As if to test the waters—or dig himself into a deeper hole—he says, matter-of-factly, borderline suggestive, “But you know, back in my day, you’d probably already have a few popped out by now.”

“Mr. Rogers!” you gasp in an almost-shocked tone, but your cheeks split with a devious grin. “Are you telling me you want to be a daddy?”

Disheveled by his mission, then upended by your placating presence, he’s more awkward than the day he met you. “Fuck. Look, I’d never pressure you, okay?” For the millionth time, the previous scene plays mentally; he exhales heavily. “It’s just you with her, and I. . . never mind.” He shakes his head, deciding he’s still on the edge from both events today, and dismisses his animalistic inkling. “Act like I didn’t say anything.”

You fold your arms and nod.

“Uh-huh, daddy,” you drawl, scintillating in mischievousness that simultaneously has his heart skipping a beat and his cock jumping. Your smirk widens before disappearing beneath a cascade of feigned innocence. “We can just act like you don’t want me to have your kid.”

His lips part at your teasing twist of his words. “That’s - that’s not what I said.”

“Isn’t it?” You lift a brow. “It is. So, maybe I should find a guy who does. I think any other man would take immense pleasure in going condomless inside of me.” One hand wiggles into your jacket pocket while you peddle away from his orbit; a rectangular plastic ruffles as his reflexes instinctively catch it. “You know, I think Bucky would really appreciate me. I bet he’d have the manners to really wife me up and make me—“

He knows you’re poking fun of him; playfulness alight within your gaze that he usually enjoys. In actuality, he understands there’s zero truth in your jesting and he’d be more amused than jealous. However, currently, the circumstances have corrupted his sensibilities.

“That’s not funny.”

Your laugh echoes musically. “It’s not ‘cause it isn’t a joke,” you say between your giggles, your amusement pardoning your spacial awareness. “I mean—Steve!” Your yelp is louder and even more musical when he surges forth and reigns you in.

Air expels from your chest as his body cages yours against the wall. Using one hand to brace himself above you, his opposing appendage tilts your dazed blinking up. “Now do you really think I don’t want you to carry my kid?” he rumbles. “Because if it were up to me, I would’ve taken claim to your womb the second I saw you.”

Your breathing hitches, and you try to remain unaffected but he’s too keen on your reactions to be fooled. “O - oh?”

“Yeah.” His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Wanna know what makes it worse?” He leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent to your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

A sound, hybrid between a moan and a gasp, escapes your throat; humor eviscerated, desire exudes from you and submerges his senses in a provoking intoxication. The rush sinks into his brain and triggers that visceral frenzy within him but he has no interest in suppressing it anymore.

He releases a guttural groan and grabs your hips. His big hands splay on either side, thumb slightly kneading back and forth, and he draws you in closer. “I can smell you right now, too. Not only how wet you’re gettin’ but that it’s that time for you, isn’t it?” he purrs and nips at your lobe. “You’re mine for the taking.” His teeth catch your pulse, sucking a mark onto the vulnerable skin. “Hm, baby?”

“Y - yes!” you moan wantonly loud as your weight sags into his embrace. “Always.”

“Good—” His hands cinch on your flanks and abruptly hoist you up: prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to encircle around his neck. “—cause holding back with you is gonna be impossible.”

With your body clutched around his abdomen, he heads for the closest empty room, scoped out via his enhanced hearing. Unceremoniously, he turns a handle and breaks the lock of the unused office space; two doors down from the main room, it’s smaller but it has a sturdy-looking desk in the center.

He kicks the door shut and sets you down as your lips find his. Although you’re sat down, legs dangling over the wooden edge, you keep your elbows hooked around the nape of his neck and coax a ragged groan out of his chest with the deft stroke of your tongue.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes and parts from you in order to yank your jacket down your shoulders. Tossing it off the side, he reveals a braless tank top and your nipples he can see have pebbled underneath. His imagination takes off once more, envisioning what the already perfect twins will look like in the wake of his seed taking root inside you.

His blood pumps viciously, flowing downward and flooding his cock to strain beneath the oppressive stealth-suit fabric. Like you’re reading his mind, you unhook the utility belt and similarly shove it off somewhere on the side.

Something rustles, and it’s the condom you’d thrown at him. Absentmindedly tucked under the cinch of the belt previously, it falls into your undressing hands. Your eyes rivet up to him, lashes fluttering big, as you hold it between two fingers: halfway offering. “What are you gonna do, daddy?”

At that particular moment, it occurs to him that you’re doubting his seriousness. While abundantly clear you want this, you’re dubious on whether he’s going through it. Which is preposterous, but he figures that the look on your face when he spills inside you bareback will only further his orgasm, consequently heightening the odds of his end-goal.

He plucks the packaging from of your grip, holds it up as your gazes clash and makes a show out of discarding it out of reach. Then he seizes your knees and slides your ass to the edge so your center is flushed against him, rocking into his hardened imprint.

“You,” he answers your query, tone a growl, as he peels your jeans off. He continues on just to shred your panties. “I’m doing you. With nothing to separate me from you, nothing to keep you from your rightful destiny: knocked up with our baby.”

“Please,” is all you utter, but the room’s thick with sensory evidence of your essence.

Spreading your thighs as far as possible, he glances down to spit lewdly on your glistening mound; a long dribble of saliva coating your eager button and slit. He uses his thumb to smear it all over, mixing with the puddle you’re creating, dipping into your sticky folds with his middle finger.

The whole time, you’re choking with these hungry and appreciative little noises. Likewise, you’re watching as he prepares you thoroughly and roughly to wring the cum out of him. “S - Steve,” you mewl coherently and buck into his messy caress. Your fingers are tugging pleading on the lower half of his uniform. “I need you. Please!”

It is about damn time.

His control has been witting away since the first time you called him daddy. He swiftly wrenches the suit down and exposes his leaking, throbbing cock to your tunnel of relief. His size always dwarfs your kempt triangle; an initial observation one might come to is the improbability he won’t fit. But he does, every single time, and in this special instance, he’s going to ensure all of his formidable length is buried in your fertile heat.

He rasps his tip over your clit, plastering his translucent white pre-cum over the engorged nub, then traces down the crease of your slit. As he prods in, his hands span your thighs and help open up your elastic entrance for his ravenous cock. He stretches your tightness slow but unyieldingly while you both watch with labored breathing, transfixed by the sight of your dripping core enveloping his veined and tanned angry stalk until he’s nudging your cervix.

“Good girl,” he grits out, strangled by the electricity prickling his nerves. He slips support underneath your ass, intertwining from the inner to the outer so when he hauls you up, your knees are bent over his elbows. “You ready to make me a daddy, baby?”

“Yes!” You nod quickly with a moan. “Shit, you’re big—and deep. Really fucking deep.”

He chuckles huskily because if you think that now, he can’t wait to see you once he’s truly plundered new depths. “Now, you just hold on tight and let me do all the work. I only want you to focus on givin’ me a baby, okay?”

In the middle of an abandoned office room—possibly a storage area—he heaves you up and drops you back down. Your arms curl around his neck, hands twisting into his suit, while he alters between gravity and his hips jutting forth to drill inside you.

Without any mind to those around you—just you and him—he fucks you with every ounce of strength coiled into his super-charged build. Ignoring the fact that door is unlocked, broken more specifically, and the possibility that there’s likely high quality surveillance cameras watching, your shared sounds of carnality fills the room in between the harsh collision of skin.

Each propelling thrust seems to jostle further than further, carving himself into your inner walls. Like he said before, he handles all the work, effortlessly bouncing your sporadically clenching channel with his inhuman strength and stamina; leaving you to accept and bask in the stimulation his cock is providing and the gift he’ll be depositing inside of you any time now.

Your lips are breathless in his ear, gasping, “Daddy, please,” that has him climbing the rope faster. The beg pours gasoline on an already roaring fire, igniting wildly to burn up his legs then his stomach and on its way to take him under.

“Y’gonna make me a daddy, baby? You’re gonna be a pretty lil’ mommy and take care of us? Is that what you want?” he croons, identifying the way you tighten as your steadily approaching orgasm. “Y’gonna have your pretty pussy squeeze me until I’m shooting my load and knocking you up?”

He’s pretty sure your nails have punctured the suit’s resilient material. “S - Steve, fuck! Please. Yes! Cum inside me—cum inside me—“ you cry out with genuine desperation that his limbs tingling numbly. “I want it. I want you. Please. I wanna feel you!”

His jaw locks and works you somehow even harder. The room is completely engulfed with you, your arousal, the potency of your ovulation, and your future with him; once he releases, it’ll only seal the fact that you’re his and belong to him (as well as vice versa).

“Who’s gonna be a daddy, baby? Who are you making a daddy, baby?” His words are practically slurred while fever coalesces across his entirety. “Who owns your pretty little pussy and your womb?”

“You—Steve—daddy,” you sob as your orgasm seizes up around his cock, giving him no other choice other than to: “Cum inside me, daddy—!”

Something beastly rips out of his chest, and without protest, he gifts you exactly what you want. He burrows into the absolute hilt and fires inside you for what feels like forever. Spurts of ooze finally wane, nudging your fruitful cervix, but even then, he doesn’t dare retreat from your heavenly depths.

The aftershocks force him to set you back down on the desk, still buried and keeping you stuffed. His face nuzzles the junction between your neck and shoulder languorously, and you lazily run your fingers through his hair, walls periodically pulsating.

When he regains the energy, he straightens and pulls out of you until his bulbous head is blocking your entrance; he stops there because he realizes something. “It’s gonna leak, and as hot as that is, I need to keep you full, baby.” Abruptly, he hauls you up and shuffles the position so that he’s sitting on the desk, and you’re sitting on his cock.

Your sensitivity flares around him, and you squeal. “F - fuck!” But you adjust to comfortability, blinking at him. “For how long?”

A smile curls into his lips, and he strokes your cheek while his other hand lays on your belly. “For as long as it takes.”

[masterlist / feedback]

#steve rogers x you smut #steve rogers imagines #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers smut #marvel reader insert #marvel smut imagines #my writing #marvel imagines #my fics #mANY ERRORS

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

Nothing More ⍋Routledge!Reader⍋

request - Omg do a Routledge reader fic where John B is so focused on telling off JJ and warning him not to da*te his sister and he never worries about Pope and then Pope ends up dating her and John B is like 👁️👄👁️

warnings - none really, just a bunch of fluff I guess pairings - pope x reader, jj x reader, kie x reader (it’s a surprise 🥰) synopsis - You’re secretly dating one of the Pogues and your brother is starting to become suspicious. The only problem; he’s fixated on the wrong friend. a/n - So, I went a little bit off the rails with this one. I had an idea and I ran with it, I really hope you don’t mind haha. I’m sorry it’s a little short.

*** John B watched you carefully out of the corner of his eye. Your head rested in JJ’s lap and he fiddled with your hair. You weren’t paying enough attention to your brother to notice, listening intently instead to Kie as she rambled about astrology.

“Okay, so, I don’t know if I should be insulted when you call me a cancer or not,” JJ said, his chewed off nails grazing gently over your scalp. The movement made your eyes flutter shut.

“I didn’t call you a cancer, I said you are a Cancer.”

“I’m not hearing the difference.”

Kie rolled her eyes.

“It’s your star sign, dipshit,” you told him with your eyes closed. “The constellation you were born under.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Do you ever listen to a word I say?” Kie asked, half amused and half insulted.

“Not generally, no.” JJ said. u8hPope, who was sitting with his nose in a book, started to laugh quietly to himself. “If I’m a Cancer, what’s y/n’s sign?”

You looked over at Kie and raised your eyebrows.

“Taurus,” Kie said with a knowing smile. You tapped your foot against her knee and rolled your eyes. “Pope is a Capricorn and John B, you’re an Aries.”

John B didn’t seem to be paying attention at all. He kept his gaze fixed solely on you.

Being John B’s half sister (younger only by four months) meant almost every single move you made was heavily scrutinized. Especially when it came to boys. More often than not, John B was far more concerned with whatever you were doing than the conversation at hand. Today wasn’t an exception.

“J, can I talk to you real quick?” John B said, pushing himself out of the dirt. JJ looked up at him and then down at you. With a huff and a roll of your eyes, you sat up, letting JJ stand after your brother. You turned and leaned your head against Kie’s leg.

“Hi,” she said, smiling down at you.

“Hi,” you said back.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Pope asked, looking up at John B and JJ a few yards away behind a tree.

“I bet he’s telling him off again,” you said, moving your eyes to look at the boys in the distance.

“Really?” Pope sighed. “Again?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“JB just takes the no pogue-on-pogue macking rule way too seriously,” Kie said with a laugh.

“He’s the only one who hasn’t broken it, so of course he’s serious about it,” Pope said, looking back at his book.

“’She’s my baby sister, JJ’,” you grumbled in a gruff voice in imitation of your brother.

“’She’s not a kid anymore. She can make her own decisions’,” Kie whined, lamely mocking JJ.

The two of you continued your dialogue, pretending like you knew exactly what was going on between the two of them. It dissolved into silly quips back and forth and then just senseless laughter. By the time JJ and John B returned, you and Kie were in hysterics. John B looked like he had been sucking on a lemon, but JJ was just smiling like normal.

When he sat down, you lifted your legs and dropped them over his lap. JJ leaned back, raising his eyebrows at John B, almost like a direct challenge. You looked over at Pope and the two of you smiled. You even sent him a wink, knowing full well that John B was paying far more attention to JJ than to you or Pope or Kie.

All any of you could do was laugh.

***

The party was in full swing. Kie and Pope were sitting, sipping on beers and laughing about something or another. John B was with Sarah Cameron, his girlfriend, by the keg, still passing out beers to whoever wanted one.

You and JJ were on the dance floor. His hands were on your waist, his body pressed up against you from behind. You could feel the heat from his body pulsing off of him and you could smell his sweat and Old Spice. The music thrummed through your system as you lifted your hands to wrap around his neck. With you eyes closed, you let the rest of the world pass away, relishing in JJ’s touch.

By the time the heat of dancing got to be too much and you and JJ were stumbling away from the dancers, John B was no longer at his station. Instead, he was standing angrily off to the side. You and JJ glanced at each other, rolling your eyes in sync, electing to head toward Pope and Kie instead of risking your brother’s anger.

JJ sat next to Pope, flinging an arm around your shoulders as you sat between him and Kie. The four of you spent the rest of the night laughing it up, drinking, playing whatever games anyone offered them to play, and generally having a good time.

It was around 2 am when the five of you made it back to the Chateau. John B was still looking sour, especially after Sarah left early to make it home before curfew. You knew that you couldn’t keep lying to your brother forever and he had just about reached his breaking point.

When you all walked in to the Chateau, John B was pressed up against the wall, his arms crossed, and his eyes narrowed.

“I’m calling a meeting,” he said. You had all expected it, so it wasn’t really a surprise. Still, it was crack ass early and you all wanted nothing more than to pass out. You walked over to the counter and lifted yourself up onto the counter. JJ moved to settle between your legs, but with a sharp look from John B, he elected to go elsewhere. Kie leaned up against the counter next to you.

“I think you know why we’re here,” John B said.

“This isn’t an AA meeting, JB. Just get on with it,” JJ snapped, clearly too tired to deal with this any longer.

“Fine. JJ, y/n, I know you two have been fooling around the past couple months despite the clear line that I drew and I want to know what the fuck is up with that.”

You heaved out a heavy sigh, tapping your heel against the creaky cupboard below.

“You really don’t know much of anything,” JJ told him, getting more and more irritated by the minute.

“You think I’m blind?”

“No, I think you’re stupid.”

“Okay, enough!” You shouted, lifting your head with a scowl before John B could cross the room. “John B, there’s something that I got to tell you that might make things a little less complicated.”

Kie tensed next to you, but you almost felt yourself start to laugh.

“What is it then?”

“I, uh-” You pressed your lips into a fine line to keep yourself from laughing. “I’m gay.”

John B’s eyes widened and he dropped his arms to his side.

“I- what?”

You nodded your head slowly.

“Yeah. JJ is my best friend, nothing more.” You glanced down at Kie, who was looking up at you with tears in her eyes and a proud smile on her lips. She had come out to the pogues months ago and had been waiting eagerly for the day when you felt comfortable to as well.

“y/n,” John B said, his voice breaking. He looked at the other three, who didn’t look surprised at all, and he realized that he was the last one to know. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable telling me. But I’m proud of you and I love you.”

You smiled at him.

“Thanks, bub. But there’s something else that I should tell you. I have been seeing someone,” you told him. John B stayed silent, clearly not wanting to say anything before you had finished, but he looked tense. “Yeah, uh, Kie and I have been dating for almost a year now.”

“What?”

You felt yourself smile. It was good to finally be able to say it. Kie put her hand on your knee, smiling up at you, and gave a little squeeze.

“Did...you guys know about this?” John B asked, looking over at Pope and JJ who seemed to have no reaction to your deceleration whatsoever. They both nodded slowly. When John B looked at you with a face full of hurt, you thought you might as well explain.

“A few months ago, back when you were hanging out with Sarah for every second of the day, we went to a party on the boneyard,” you told him. “It was just after Kie and I started dating and we were dancing together, chatting, whatnot, not really hiding it, but these guys kept saying gross things, people giving us looks, you know.

“We were getting super uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but JJ and Pope figured it out before we even told them. They’ve been...covering for us, I guess. And we’ve been-” You looked over at JJ and Pope. JJ looked at the ground and Pope looked straight at you, a small, proud smile on his face. “I guess, we’ve been covering for each other.”

“Since we’re being honest all of the sudden for some reason,” JJ said with a sigh, lifting his head. “Pope and I have been going out, too.”

He turned his head to look at John B, who looked like his head was seconds away from exploding.

“I flirted and hung around your sister so that no one would say that disgusting “threesome” shit to her and Kie and so that Pope and I could keep things under the radar for a little bit longer.” JJ uncrossed his arms and reached out, lacing his fingers through Pope’s.

Now, you couldn’t help but smile either. It had been a heavy weight on your chest, keeping such a big secret from your brother. But he told Sarah everything and, although you loved Sarah to death, you weren’t sure she would be able to keep something like this to herself. It was best if all of it just stayed between the four of you until you were all comfortable with it.

“Are you mad?” You asked John B as he covered his face with his hands. He let out a deep, thoughtful sigh, before lowering his hands and looking up at the four of you with a beaming smile on his face.

“How could I be mad?” He looked at you directly, tears swimming in your eyes. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

You placed your hand over Kie’s, tracing your finger over her knuckles.

“The happiest I’ve been in a long time.” Which was easily translated to “The happiest I’ve been since Dad died”.

“I was so fixed on keeping you away from JJ, I thought....” John B stopped to laugh at himself.

“You weren’t thinking straight,” you finished with a sympathetic nod.

“Or you were thinking too straight,” Pope said, laughing at his joke. Kie and JJ looked at him with raised eyebrows, but you thought it was funny.

“Shit, man,” John B said, pushing himself off the wall. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

He walked over to you, pulling both you and Kie into a bear hug. He squeezed tightly, making you wheeze out laughter.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” you said, pushing him away from you.

“We could go on triple dates!” He had the look of a kid in a candy shop, eyes wide as he glanced between you and Kie and JJ and Pope.

“Ooh, slow down there,” JJ said, putting up the hand that wasn’t holding Pope’s.

“We’ll do a double date someday,” Kie piped in. She pushed herself onto the counter next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

John B smiled at the two of you. He moved forward to give you guys another hug, but you put a hand against his shoulder and pushed him back.

“No more brotherly affection today,” you said. “I think I’ve had enough.”

John B sighed and took a step back.

“Are you going to yell at us any more or can we crash now?” JJ asked. “I’m beat.”

“Oh, no, we’re all good,” John B said. “Kie, can I talk to you real quick?”

You and Kie glanced at each other while JJ and Pope made their way toward the spare bedroom. You could hear the both of them snoring within seconds.

“I, uh, sure,” Kie said.

“Don’t try and steal my girlfriend from me now,” you said to your brother, only half smiling.

“Just gonna lay some ground rules,” John B said. You scowled for just a moment, opening your mouth to say something. “Hey, if it was JJ you were dating, I’d have the same rules.”

“What about no rules?” You suggested, tilting your head to the side. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re still not my dad.”

“I know. But I’m your brother and I’ll be damned before I let anyone hurt you...ever.”

“I understand that, but Kie has been nothing but good to me since we started dating. She doesn’t need your rules. She-”

“y/n, relax.” Kie said, putting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a loving smile. Then she turned to look at John B, that soft, kind smile never falling. “Let’s go talk somewhere.”

You watched as she followed after your brother onto the front porch. You felt like maybe you should go to your room, sit up and wait for Kie. But you couldn’t look away. John B donned his serious face, talking with his hands as he always did. Kie stood there in front of him, hands in her back pockets as goosebumps scattered up and down her arms. There was a smile on her face, hidden beneath a serious look.

Every once in a while, she glanced in through the Chateau window toward you. Once she even gave a wink. The conversation seemed to be going well enough. Still, you were almost surprised when John B opened his arms, inviting Kie in for a tight hug. You couldn’t help but smile.

John B walked back inside, a little strut in his walk.

“Night, sis,” he said, shooting you a thumbs up.

“Night, John.”

John B whistled all the way to his room. You laughed quietly, hanging your head and kicking your feet ever so slightly.

Kie walked back in and let out a content sigh. You lifted your head to look at her. She walked toward you, settling herself between your knees and resting her arms on your shoulders. You hooked your fingers through the belt loops of her denim shorts.

“Does it feel good?” She asked you quietly. “Knowing that he knows?”

You nodded your head, rolling your lower lip between your teeth.

“Yeah, it feels good. I wasn’t as scared as I thought I would be,” you told her. Kie put a hand on your cheek, brushing her thumb across your lips.

“I’m proud of you,” she said, her voice husky and quiet. You leaned forward and kissed her lips, gently, softly.

“So, what are our rules?” You asked her once you had pulled away, only keeping a breath between you and her.

“Oh, you know John B. No macking in front of him, no sex in the shared bathroom. Watch out for each other at parties, the same old, same old,” she said with an amused smile.

“That’s not so bad then,” you said, tugging on her belt loops to pull her closer. Kie let out one of her signature laughs that was almost near a giggle. It always made your heart pound in your chest.

You had been in love with this girl for as long as you knew her. Being able to hold her at night was one of the only things keeping you sane these days. Knowing that your brother was aware of your relationship made it all the better.

“Should we go to bed?” Kie asked and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Yes please,” you whined. She took your hand with a smile and helped you down from the counter. You wrapped your arms around her waist and let her lead you back to your bedroom. You flopped onto your bed once safely inside and she laid down in front of you. Curling your arms around her waist, you smiled as you tucked face into the crook of her neck. You placed butterfly kisses against her shoulder and neck, humming softly to yourself.

“y/n,” she mumbled. “I can’t sleep when you’re doing that.”

You sighed and placed one more kiss against her shoulder before letting your eyes close finally.

“You smell good,” she whispered. You popped your eyes open.

“I thought we were sleeping.”

“I know, but I wanted you to know you smell good.”

“I smell like sweat.”

“The good kind.”

“I love you, Kie,” you told her quietly, letting your eyes shut once again.

“I love you, too.”

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omgjasminesimone · 4 years

Text

Too Little Too Late

Ethan x MC (one sided), Bryce x MC

Word Count: 1300

A/N: woke up with the urge to torture Ethan for some reason 🤷‍♀️

Now with follow up short

....

When Ethan disappeared to the Amazon the first time, he’d foolishly believed one summer would be long enough for him to forget how Casey tasted. For him to not be able to feel her fingers threading through his hair. To not vividly recall the way she gasped when he pushed her up against his window. To not have the image of her gloriously naked body contrasting with his white sheets firmly engrained in his brain.

He’d thought it would be long enough to forget the pained look in her eyes when he told her they had to be just attending and resident.

He finds the summer wasn’t sufficiently long to erase all of that.

When he returns to Edenbrook, he’s still helplessly in love with Dr. Casey Valentine. He’s still throwing lingering glances, itching to touch her, finding excuses to get her alone outside of the hospital.

But when he invites her over to his home after the baseball game, determined to tell her to hell with the professional ramifications, he wants her, he loves her, she turns down his invitation. In his car as he drives towards home, he sees her walking to the T station, hand in hand with Bryce Lahela.

It’s not like he didn’t know there was anything going on between them. He’d seen them dancing and making out at Donahue’s on occasion. He’d watched the surgical resident flirt with his rookie at the nurses’ station. And, Bryce had once mentioned he missed the prior Tuesday at the gym because he’d been fixing a leak in Casey’s sink. So it wasn’t like Ethan was blind sighted to find them together. He was just blind sighted by Casey consciously choosing Bryce over him.

He’d assumed Bryce and Casey were casual, her filing the void left by his absence with the handsome surgeon. It seems he was wrong.

Ethan heads back to the Amazon. This time determined to stay until the thought of Casey Valentine doesn’t make his heart flutter.

Three long years pass, and he never reaches the point where the thought of her doesn’t bring a warm, yet painful, feeling throughout his chest.

He finally decides to hell with it. He has no idea what’s happened over the three years he’s been gone, but he’s going back to fight for her. He’ll tell her how he feels, let her make her own decision. Maybe, just maybe, she really missed him. Maybe she realized she still has feelings for him.

His breath catches a week later when he sees her at Edenbrook for the first time in three long years. She’s seated behind the nurses’ station, filling out paperwork.

He approaches, clearing his throat when she remains focused on her task. “Rookie.” He greets.

Casey glances up, a smile slowly growing across her face. God, she’s even more beautiful than he remembered. She laughs softly, shaking her head. “No one has called me that in a really long time.” She replies.

“Well, have to keep you humble. I’ve been told you’re basically running the diagnostics team now.” Ethan replies, returning her smile.

Casey shrugs. “I was just trying to make you proud.”

Ethan’s smile grows, and his heart skips a beat. “You have no idea how proud of you I am Dr. Valentine.”

“Hmm...Dr. Valentine. No one’s called me that for a while either.” She quips, standing up to give him a hug.

His smile wavers as he’s confronted with her very pregnant stomach. He notes her wedding ring as her arms loop around his neck. He hugs her back weakly. He’s too late.

“Congratulations.” He says, gesturing to her belly and hoping he sounds sincere.

“Thanks. We just thought, man, we’re so settled and happy. Let’s upheave everything.” Casey jokes.

He’s about to ask who ‘we’ is, when an intern rushes up. “Sorry to interrupt Dr. Lahela, but I have the labs you wanted.”

As Casey scrutinizes the labs, Ethan squeezes his eye shut, fighting back tears. He’s too late. He should have come back sooner. He should have never left at all.

“Okay, observe her and let me know when she wakes up.” Casey orders. The intern nods and walks away. “I’m really glad you’re back Ethan.” Casey returns her attention to him.

“Good to be back. Seems like a lot has changed here.” He forces out, hoping his voice isn’t wavering. “Must be confusing having two Dr. Lahelas around Edenbrook.” He adds.

“Bryce is at Mass General now.” Casey informs him. “Although he is here today. An old patient requested him. Mass General doesn’t take her insurance, and Bryce is already out of pro bono surgeries for the year.”

“Is that Ethan Ramsey?!” Bryce exclaims, coming down the hall pushing his patient in a hospital bed towards the OR.

“Speak of the Devil.” Ethan mutters under his breath. He can’t help but notice how Casey’s whole face lights up with Bryce’s arrival. She’s clearly madly in love with him. Ethan’s shoulders slump. He has no chance.

Bryce claps Ethan heartily on the back, reaching his other hand out for a handshake Ethan halfheartedly returns. “Welcome back Dr. Ramsey! Man, you look great. Where were you again, Brazil? Looks like you got an amazing tan.”

“Dr. Lahela, good to see you again.” Ethan returns. He kind of means it. Bryce has always been friendly to him, and it’s not Bryce’s fault Ethan’s dream girl is in love with him.

“How’s it been coming back to freezing Boston after all that Brazilian sunshine? I tried to talk Casey into moving to California after my residency, but she loves it here for some reason.” Bryce quips, wrapping an arm around Casey’s waist and pulling her to his side.

Ethan glances at Casey before answering. “Boston might not have the best weather, but there are things here I can’t live without.” He admits.

Bryce doesn’t seem to get what he’s alluding to, but Casey’s eyes widen a little. “Well, glad you’re back.” Bryce concludes with a friendly smile. He turns to Casey, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Ethan turns away.

Bryce raises a hand to her belly and rubs. “For good luck.” He explains to Ethan with a wink. “I was just telling Hillary here” he gestures to his patient, who’s been patiently watching this whole exchange “that ever since we found out about our baby girl, I rub Casey’s stomach every morning and I haven’t lost a patient since. And with this recharge up on the luck, you’re definitely going to be fine Hill.” He takes his hands off Casey, squeezing Hillary’s shoulders comfortingly.

“You ready?” Bryce asks the patient.

She looks up at Casey from the bed. “Do you mind if I rub too? For luck?” Hillary asks weakly.

Casey smiles comfortingly, stepping closer as she places Hillary’s hands on her belly. “You’re in good hands Hillary.” She assures.

“The best hands!” Bryce interjects, giving Casey one more kiss and waving to Ethan as he leaves.

Casey turns her attention back to him. “Ethan....” she starts before trailing off. “Why now?” She finally adds, tears welling in her eyes. “Why would you tell me you can’t live without me now?!”

Ethan looks at her guiltily. “I tried to get over you for 3 years Casey. And I didn’t. I can’t.”

Casey wipes at her eyes furiously. “Well, you have to. I’m happily married. We’re having a baby. There’s... there’s nothing left here Ethan.” She gestures between the two of them miserably.

“.....that’s not true. You might not be willing to act on it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Ethan counters.

Casey glares at him. “No, four years ago it was there. And then you told me that you couldn’t. That nothing could ever happen between us. You hurt me time and time again. There’s nothing there Ethan.” She insists.

She storms off down the hallway, not giving him a second glance.

Ethan leans against the wall miserably. Too little, too late.

Ethan x MC tags: @queencarb @octobereighth

#ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #bryce x mc #bryce lahela #open heart #choices fanfiction

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capri-ramblings · 4 years

Text

Yikes,I know there's bound to be questions but trust me, chapter 3 will answer most of them. Aha,I'm sorry if this chapter is kinda confusing at first,I'm not good at planning out thoughts or stories systemically,it kinda makes it harder for me to write whenever I try to. But here,the second chapter of Raptured! Thank you for reading! ( ꈍᴗꈍ) ♥️

[ R a p t u r e d ]

Chapter 2: Banter

In the moment Riddle had finished telling his brothers what conspired with their human captive, the first to speak up was Azul.

"They offered what?" His words were a mix of shock and amusement, gaze fixated on Riddle who seemed almost flustered from how red his cheeks were.

The red haired sighed, sending him a narrow eyed glare before crossing his arms.

"The head of their own brother"

"By their own hands?" Kalim asked aloud, his features scrunched up worryingly. "Isn't that bad? Why would anyone want to kill their own brother so suddenly?"

From the chaise across the room,Leona let out a scoff, lips upturned into a smirk.

"What are you? A five year old? If you give a herbivore the chance of freedom,they'd leave their entire fleet open to make sure they survive. Humans aren't so different."

"Indeed" Vil joined in with a smile of his own. "Humans are very fickle things, they live out their life struggling and as a result they stink of repulsion."

"They can barely even stand on their own.." Idia added thoughtfully and as the gazes of his brothers turned to him, the flames on his hair flickered and he looked away.

"Maybe the isolation's got to their head?"

Riddle let out a scoff, his lips upturned in a sneer almost too vicious to be formed on such a delicate looking face.

"The cottage they were in was secluded from the rest of the village,they were already a reclusive. Why should it bother them now?"

"Maybe Idia has a point" Kalim interjected then "Before they were on their own by choice...and they weren't exactly trapped in a tower either"

"It's all the same" Leona snapped " Damn herbivores will always be too fragile."

"Though, our soft-shelled brothers have a sound reason" Vil's lips curled in an effortless smile,his ever sharp gaze glinting like jewels.

"At this rate our small hare is going to die before the homage from her brother, and that makes all of this pointless."

The room went silent then. Each males having their own thoughts wrapped around the situation.

When they came to a decision to face the hunter who killed their family beast, he was nowhere to be seen and left tending to his cottage was none other than their captive human, a young sibling unaware of what their fool brother had committed. They opted it was easier to simply kidnap them and have their brother come looking since neither one of them wanted to wait around. There was also the fact that the death of the beast had affected their Mother's health greatly, and all seven brothers fumed with rage.

"Our methods doesn't matter anymore" Riddle spoke up, "What's done is done. We can't exactly just put them back where we found them."

"I agree" Azul said "Though if the human dies in our care now, when we're fully able to change their situation, I fear the price of that loss would be great."

"What? Are the humans going to chase us around with pitchforks?" Leona sneered,his sharp fangs visible as he leaned back into the chaste. "You saw how further in their cottage was, chances are the herbivore doesn't even go down to the village often enough for people to notice them missing."

"They can't die." Idia drawled the words out this time,his gaze sharp and harsh as he stared down Leona who all but grinned at his brother.

"Why? Because you like them?" The laugh that barked out from Leona was cruel and Idia flinched.

"Go ahead and save the poor herbivore then,Prince Idia of the lands of burrowed moles. You think they'd ever look at you fondly?"

"Enough." Riddle came between the fight with his own ire and before he sent a glare towards Leona, he let Idia catch the solace in his.

The situation was getting worst. They needed a decision quick.

"You're not a five year old as well,Leona, so keep that tongue of yours tamed"

"What are you? Suddenly playing the role of the Eldest when you can't even reach his height?" Leona scrutinized Riddle with an aggression that seemed ready to claw him in the face, but Riddle kept his own spite and promptly choose to ignore his brother.

Instead,he turned to Azul.

"The hunter should've came back and see his sibling gone, you even sent those eels of yours to make sure he got the hints. Why hasn't he made a single move? It's been two months."

"Maybe he's forgetful?" Kalim chipped in, eyes glowing. Riddle wanted to tap the side of his face and gently tell him to shut up but Vil patted his head instead.

"A forgetful hunter managing to kill a wild beast is unlikely, mein bruder"

Azul crossed his arms,gaze narrowing.

"They've sent word that they have information regarding our human and the whereabouts of their brother"

"And?" Vil prompted.

"I told them to come meet us as soon as they can, which shouldn't be long."

The moment those words were uttered, a dull thud came from the would-be-entrance of the tower, and a familiar voice calling out.

"My Princes! Open the door please!" The urgency of the voice had all the present Princes turning their head, though the one who seemed genuinely surprised and concerned was Kalim.

"That voice..." He said, turning to Azul "Is that who I think it is?"

Azul's lips curled into a knowing smile and with a flick of his fingers, the sound of a door being swung opened then slammed shut could be heard within the tower itself,followed by light rapid footsteps approaching them.

Out of breath and desperately panting, a young girl made a hasty bow as she came before the Princes, though the way her legs slightly trembled suggested that she was near collapsing.

"It is her!" Kalim's eyes grew wide with familiarity, the worry in his voice replaced with joy as he came up to place his hand on the girl's shoulder.

"The last time I saw you, you were still learning how to walk!" Kalim's loud voice seemed to make her flinch but the girl met his gaze with warmth before she bowed her head again.

"Pleasure to meet you again,Prince Kalim." She's heard stories of him, the Prince Fae known to give out bits of his treasures to those who come wishing at his well. It seemed odd to act as if she's known him, but she knew better than to put logic before courtesy. He was one of the seven Princes after all. Acting too smart with them was a fool's mistake.

Before Kalim could say anything else, Azul stepped forward and the girl promptly met his side with a suddenly serious demeanor.

"I'd ask you for the information I had you fetch but I wonder why you were running in the first place?"

The girl laughed dryly if not nervously.

"Floyd wanted to see who could win in a race in getting here,your Highness."

Azul frowned, internally sighing.

"Why on Earth did you agree to that?"

Again, the girl laughed. "He terrifies me,my Prince."

Riddle couldn't place where he's met her, but hearing her words had him internally sympathising her. Azul's leeches were a pair he'd gladly avoid for eternity as well.

"So,you got a changeling to be at your beck and call as well,Azul?" Vil sounded amused as he turned to Azul, but the degrading glance he gave the girl bellied the smile coyly sitting on his lips then.

"She's indebted to us anyway" Azul stated simply "Why not put her to work?"

His gaze returned to the girl.

"What do you have about our human then?"

It took a full ten minutes for the young changeling to inform them of what she's managed to compile on their human and hunter. Turns out they aren't related by blood but by marriage. Apparently most of the villagers knew of the hunter but rarely saw the younger sibling as they took more liking in staying indoors. There was also talk that their relationship with one another was never close and answered Riddle's question as to why he hadn't showed up yet.

"So, he's just going to leave his sibling at our mercy?" Kalim asked,he had his expression scrunched up with worry and pity again but Leona shared none of it and only growled with distaste.

"There won't be mercy if they're left with us a second longer"

Riddle caught the flicker of Idia's flames and instantly reacted.

"Threaten to murder our captive one more time and I'll have your head,Leona."

"Hah, you're trying to scare me,Riddle?" Leona sneered,fangs glistening with malice. He's been irritated by the whole situation since the beginning. Taking in a human in hopes that another would appear to save them, it was all a damn fairytale. Leona knew humans were selfish, his brothers should've had that piece of common sense drilled into their heads as well. No one was going to play hero for their captive.

Riddle gritted his teeth and again instead of lashing out senselessly, he swirled around to face the changeling. Every bit of his anger flaring in his grey gaze.

"Where's the hunter now?" He asked,though it sounded painfully like a death threat.

The changeling bowed her head.

"He's at the human King's palace,Prince Riddle. King Aothor ...of Nostorne"

The words sent the entire room tilting, and Riddle would've gripped her by her neck if Azul hadn't stepped forward.

"King? Since when did the humans have a King?" The last time they came to the world,their mother's shrine was built almost everywhere to acknowledge her ruling. Had times changed so drastically since their absence?

"Yes. It's been this way for years now. A dukedom raised after Her Most Divine's departure from the human realm and ever since then a lineage of human nobles have taken the throne as the Human ruler."

"My, how futuristic, and here we were in the guise that we still sat on the top of their world" Vil was laughing but his words cut into the tension of the room like a blade coated in venom and the changeling girl shifted uncomfortably.

"It seems like the order of the slaughtering was made by him and ultimately fulfilled by the hunter. His name is Cyril and he's being celebrated by the King for his bravery."

Leona heaved a heavy sigh,leaning once more into his chaise. He looked ready to fall into a deep slumber already but his irritation kept him awake.

"So,we have information. Now what's the plan?"

***

Jade and Floyd,two of Azul's trusted companions came into the situation while the Princes were sorting out their thoughts and opinions (Which all greatly contradict one another) and brought word that their hunter had refused to save their sibling in a conversation Jade overheard him had with another hunter right before he was called on by the King.

"He said he knew of the Fae's trick and that by taking something of theirs as his own, he'd gladly give anything they took from him as compensation." Jade explained in his usual matter-of-fact tone,his mismatched gaze still and knowing.

Riddle clicked his tongue, brows furrowing. Idia's was the most sympathetic along with Kalim while Leona and Vil seemed ready to send a fleet of their army to storm into the human villages.

"I'm not really surprised though" Floyd spoke up lazily "He seems like a guy who'd do that kind of thing anyways"

"But now the Princes are stuck with keeping a human captive in their care", Boe,the young changeling from earlier, pointed out grimly.

"What if we sent you to negotiate with him in our stead?" Idia suggested which earned a rather hasty look from the girl.

"Human royals don't take too kindly to my kind,Prince Idia. I doubt he'd even let me enter"

Leona let out a menacing growl. One that reverberated through the tower walls.

"This is going nowhere. Riddle, go up to that damn herbivore and have them beg their brother come and pay his homage so we can give them back."

Riddle frowned.

"You heard the changeling,Leona. If their relationship with their brother is as bad as we've heard, do you really think they'd beg for him to come save them?"

"Couldn't you talk some sense in them?" Azul had eyes turning once more to the young changeling who all but reluctantly slumped her shoulders.

"I don't see how me being the one talking will get them to cooperate..."

"Clamshell,you should at least try,right?" Floyd's smile was sickly sweet and when he attempted to sling his arm over her shoulders, she avoided the outcome by shifting close to Jade.

"What would you want me to say to them?"

"The offer they gave" Riddle said "Have them elaborate more on that. I'm not going into a deal without knowing why it was proposed in the first place."

There was hesitation in her eyes but it was swiftly changed to a silent resolve as she nodded her head.

"I'll see what I can do."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst mc #twst wonderland yandere #twst riddle #twst azul #twst idia #twst kalim #twst vil #twst Leona #twst jade #twst floyd #twst fanfic

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

Text

Lamb Ch 7 - Ten Words

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: At the mouth of his keep, the gaping maw carved into the side of a mountain, you stopped short of crossing the threshold. You folded your arms about your middle and chewed your upper lip, even taking a step back from it. He had reacted so violently to your original request that you, smartly, found this to be a dubious decision. It would surprise no part of you that he brought you here to test you, to see just how much of an idiot you still could be. Unsettled, you glued your eyes to the ground.

His voice, subtler than before and less agitated, broke through your anxious diatribe, and he tucked his hand beneath your upper arm and squeezed.“You wanted to go outside.”

Word Count: 4.5k

Dear Nona

I miss you more than I can say. I’ve done something stupid, and I desperately need your guidance. It all started in Chandrila…

Sharing your troubles with Nona had always been your way of untangling the web, of shining a light on your confusion and turning it to the known. But she wasn’t here. All you had was stolen paper and ink that smelled like ash. For pages and pages, you poured out the details of your predicament until, finally, clarity sprung up from the dirty cobwebs of chaos. Leaf by leaf, it blossomed, sweeping away your doubt. Surprised by yourself, and this newfound understanding, you stared at the empty door frame in complete silence.

You couldn’t say how much time passed in your fugue, only that this world matched your quiet, lending weight to what you felt was a profound knowing, an awareness you previously lacked.

It wasn’t until the King of this sleepy hollow appeared in the doorway that you blinked. Silent as the grave himself, he saturated you with his assessing stare. Tainted by the cool calculation, the omnipresent dislike he seemed to have for your human frailty, your blood thickened, sending a thrum to even the furthest reaches of your body.

It took him only a single stride to cross to the foot of the bed; and once made, it took only the span of his arm to reach you at the bed’s top. Wrapping exacting fingers around your ankle, he dragged you through paper, ink, and bedsheets until you sat at the foot, legs parted on either side of his wide body, back arched, and face tipped up by a knuckle at your chin.

“Clothes. Paper.” He rubbed at your mouth with his thumb, chiding you in a way you didn’t think should be so arousing. “What will you steal next, hm?”

You rolled your lips together because he wasn’t wrong. Everything you’d collected in your time here belonged to him; all of it snuck in his absences. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, your mother always said, but you weren’t so certain of that tactic here. Permission wasn’t something The Ren gave easily. Nor forgiveness.

“It was a test, wasn’t it?”

You hadn’t planned to answer his question that way, and your jaw snapped shut so hard you winced. Even knowing how much he disliked it when you answered a question with a question, your brain still fired a mile a minute, tumbling over itself.

His shifting gaze darkened, but an amused smirk played at his plump lips, accompanied by the lift of one eyebrow. He was humoring you; you knew the signs now. You lifted your chin away from his fingers and looked at the mass of his chest, brow furrowed.

“You thought taking me to that hilltop would kill me,” you nodded as though you still puzzled your way through it all, “Because I’m not like you. That’s why you said I could have died.”

You chewed your cheek for a moment and carried on, absently toying with his shirttail as though he was your partner, your lover, rather than your gatekeeper, your captor. Your eyes trailed to the trickle at your forearm, to the spell he put upon you to keep you suspended in this new dimension of being and not.

“That’s why everything here is dangerous to me.”

Dissatisfied with the absence of your gaze, he tangled long fingers into your hair and, with a harsh grip, bowed you back so you were forced to look at him, so your chest grazed at his belly. Undaunted, you clung to him and rushed on. You weren’t sure if he would tell you, but the only way to know was to ask.

“And whatever you’ve been feeding me,” you licked your lips at the memory of that seductively sweet taste you’d had just yesterday, “Made it so I didn’t. Right? But you weren’t sure it would work.”

You knew he could see the last bit clawing at the inside of your brain, knew it painted your features. Holding your head hostage, he traced the obsidian collar around your neck slowly, pointedly, as though to mark the arc death would take in slicing open your neck.

“Go on.” He shook your head slightly, as though to rattle your mind into functioning. “Say it.”

You gulped hard when his finger rested against your pulse. It hammered furiously, and you could feel it in your temples, chinking away at your ability to think. When the words came, they rode a whisper laden with uncertainty, upheaval.

“And you wouldn’t fuck me until you knew I wouldn’t die.”

His eyes flitted from you to the mess of parchment and blotchy words strewn across his bed. “Figured out the cosmos, have we, lamb?”

“No.” Foolishly, you interrupted whatever he may have said next, but you shook your head in his grip anyway, keeping your eyes upon his contemplative features. “Just my place in it.” You gripped the black fabric at his hips, leaning into him for support. “For now.”

Wisely, you stayed still, watching him as he evaluated you. His eyes darted from your wrinkled brow to your mouth. Then, lower to the dip of your throat. You wanted him to kiss you, as though he could taste your truthfulness on your tongue. You were far from knowing his capabilities, and your brow furrowed more when an additional question took root.

His entertained smirk turned mocking, judging as he watched it play across your face. For a second, you thought he’d answered your question with his features alone, that he truly could read your thoughts. If that were true, though, he’d surely have killed you before now for any of the unpleasantness you’d thought about him in your time here.

Casting off those thoughts, you winced and tried to back away from how his menacingly large body leaned at you. You reached up to wrap both hands around his wrist, needing the leverage as you tried to twist out of his grasp, but it was useless. He planted his knee on your groin, leaned his weight onto you, and pinned you like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.

It was both exhilarating and horrifying. His nearness, the perfection of his physique made your mouth water, your guts boil. But his very existence, his purpose, laced your every breath with fear. You never forgot that he could do away with you at any time, at any whim. Displease him enough and you would no longer be in the middle. You would lose your family to the ravages of time, with no one to remember them at all.

“There’s no hiding from me here.” His voice was gravel, all hard edges and ire. “Speak.”

His command, no different from what you’d give a pet, earned an annoyed snort on your part. Instantly, regret hit you like a freighter. You clapped both hands over your mouth and wildly shook your head as though to convince him the act hadn’t been real. His narrow eyes and gritted teeth telegraphed enough for you to whimper, just like that frightened pet, and vault into begging.

“Nono!” You pressed at his chest urgently, pounding your fists against living granite. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! PleaseIdidn’tmeanitI’llbegood!”

“How many more times will you say it for it to be true?”

The corners of your mouth turned down; you could feel it. You couldn’t disagree. How many times had Nona chastised you for heeding your mother’s words? Forgiveness; not permission. Your lips wobbled. Your chin quivered. Dread weighted your voice.

“I’m sorry.” You splayed both hands across his pectorals, trying to not get caught up because, in fact, you felt a very muted, very slow pulse. “I’m trying to be good. You…” Mashing your lips together, you sniffled and stole a minute to figure out what to say next. “You’re not supposed to be real.”

But you are, you thought. You are, and you think I’m an idiot, and nothing I do will be right.

You hoped that it conveyed enough, that you wouldn’t have to say ‘I’m trying not to die every second I am here.’ You hoped that your face showed him you stayed here with him despite your fear, that the caress of your open hands told him your fight-or-flight response was dampened into delay.

Perhaps it was the pitiful look in your eye; or perhaps it was the tremble of your mouth that gave him pause. That ever-scrutinizing gaze bored into you for the longest of moments; and then, he stood up so abruptly you fell back against the mattress with a surprised huff.

Onto the bed next to you fell the cloak you wore at the battlefield and a pair of heavy, black boots. You didn’t dare make a move and waited for him to say something, to give you any sign or instruction. But he sucked all the air out of the room with his preternatural calmness, and you realized he was waiting for you to obey the unspoken command and dress.

Taking a deep breath, and then another, you plucked one boot up into unsteady fingers and bent forward to shove your foot into it. A wholly unladylike grunt popped free as you tugged on the sides to get your heel in. Blowing hair away from your face, you worked for what felt like an eternity to lace the damn thing up your calf. By the time you finished with the second, you were lightheaded, sweaty, and irritated.

“The last time you ventured out,” he admonished, “You inserted yourself into a thorny bush.”

His rebuke caused your nose to wrinkle. The last time you were out, you didn’t venture. He threw you out, but arguing with a deity for a second time in an hour struck you as too much of a bad idea. You hoped he didn’t see the flash of anger in your eye as you turned, shucked the sweater, and shook out the cloak.

Before you could wrap the thing around your shoulders, you felt his fingers dance up the column of your spine. Clad in nothing but the clunky black boots, you swallowed hard as he turned you and tilted your face again. He hooked a finger into your collar and hefted you up so far you pranced on your toes, toppling into him with no balance. Naked save for his ownership and boots, your body warmed, rising to even this simple demand.

“So angry.” His voice slid like velvet, and you breathed gratitude that his annoyance had abated at least this bit. As your features eased and lips parted, he dipped his thumb into your mouth briefly, toying with the end of your tongue. “Better.”

It took every ounce of your willpower to not pout like a child. You even bit down on your lip to keep it from subconsciously poking out. Instead, you swept your lashes down to cover the tempest of feeling swirling there and waited for whatever came next. Setting you back on flat feet, he tugged the cloak around you with deft hands and buttoned it — much the way he did the first time, as though he were wrapping you up for his own delight.

Which may very well be true.

Unlike before, he didn’t throw you through the rooms or jostle you down the corridors. Rather, he walked on ahead and expected that you would follow. You ran to keep up with him, discomfited by the echo of your boots in the hallways whereas his made no sound at all. It was always off putting because a man so large should not be so stealthy.

At the mouth of his keep, the gaping maw carved into the side of a mountain, you stopped short of crossing the threshold. You folded your arms about your middle and chewed your upper lip, even taking a step back from it. He had reacted so violently to your original request that you, smartly, found this to be a dubious decision. It would surprise no part of you that he brought you here to test you, to see just how much of an idiot you still could be. Unsettled, you glued your eyes to the ground.

His voice, subtler than before and less agitated, broke through your anxious diatribe, and he tucked his hand beneath your upper arm and squeezed.

“You wanted to go outside.”

He tugged you through the opening and out into the ever-present twilight. At his side, you realized you held your breath. Releasing it, you stared up at him, stupefied. You thought you should say something, but he pulled you further down the path, and you forgot what it might have been.

Rather than take you back the way you’d come, back towards the spot of your enslavement, The Ren led you onto a new path, one carpeted with forest green moss and decorated by trees overrun with climbing ivy, oak, sumac, and something else you couldn’t name, though it tingled at the edge of your brain.

You hadn’t yet burst into flames, which was such a pleasing development that you allowed yourself to enjoy the scenery unfolding before you, albeit with trepidation.

Booted as you were, it wasn’t long before you ventured off of the path he leisurely strolled to investigate something hidden beneath a fallen branch or to find out what color that pretty flower was up close. He schooled you repeatedly to not touch that, be careful that one has thorns, or no you can’t taste that fruit.

It was pleasant, almost amiable; and soon, softened by the surrounding nature, you babbled at him, not sure if he was listening. You told him about the time you fell into nettles because you were curious and didn’t know what they were. And then you told him about the time you nearly poisoned your entire family when you mistook white dandelions for hogweed and made tea.

Poised atop a rock, you looked upwards at winking stars and mused out loud that he must be right. Nona called you a curious child, but your mother spent many nights exasperated by your pursuits, though it was her lesson that molded you.

You grew so accustomed to the sound of your voice bouncing off of the trees that when he answered one of your queries, you froze. At some point, your wonder-filled monologue became laced with questions — most of which he ignored. He answered this one, though, and the honeyed timbre vibrated in your bones.

“It’s a neurotoxin.”

An entire minute passed wherein you could only blink because you’d forgotten what you asked. Your stare swiveled from him to the tree and back again; but finally, it registered. You asked him what was the sticky stuff you could see weeping from the bark. Canting your head, you nodded at the tree as though it had given you the answer itself when, in truth, you counted your blessings you hadn’t popped a finger through what you’d thought was molasses.

On you walked, and on you babbled. Once he answered the first question, though, the trip morphed into nothing but. Some he scoffed at; some he answered. He told you there were no animals here because it required his brother to breathe in life. From the tone of his voice, you inferred that having Solo here was not a joyous occasion. He created this place, he said, to pass the time between reapings, but also because Solo’s universe was too bright, too loud. He wanted something calm, something apart.

He cultivated fatal things, he said, because they were always the most beautiful, the most interesting.

Plucking something deep purple from a bush, he held out what looked to be a small blueberry. You blanched. Everything here was deadly; he’d spent this entire walk telling you not to touch or taste anything. And though you hadn’t entirely listened to what he told you, this screamed danger. Surely, it was another test.

His bass chuckle licked at your eardrums, melting your resolve. If he told you to drink hemlock, you knew you would.

Gingerly, you opened your mouth for him to deposit the thing and, ever so slowly, chewed it, waiting for it to kill you. Instead, the berry burst, an explosion of flavor. It was sweet with just the right amount of tart. The juice lingered on your tongue, and you hopped from one foot to the other with outright glee at how damn good it tasted.

He gave you a second one, if only to prevent you from diving headfirst into the lot, and turned you around with a swat to your ass, sending you forward on the path before you could ask him why you never felt hungry here. Around the next bend lay a thicket of reeds, whistling gently in the breeze that never died away. Straying from the road yet again, you brushed your hands through the inky stalks and rubbed at the cream-colored knuckles, appreciating how something so rigid, so fixed, could bend and sway with the wind.

Humming softly, you closed your eyes and listened to their tune, losing track of even yourself in the angelic melody.

“Pick one.”

Your nose tugged up again at the idea that you’d have to taste it, but you didn’t argue. Looking around, you settled on a middling reed, neither too fat nor too thin. You could see now that they weren't black but rather a purple deeper than you'd ever seen. The hue of bruise, your subconscious offered.

Twisting the thing free from its base, you carried it back to him and offered it up. When your hand raised, he wrapped a long bit of vine around your wrist; and before you could register what happened, he lashed both arms together.

In less time than it took you to lace your boots, he had you bound face-first to a thick tree.

You wanted to stomp and cry, to demand that he tell you what this was for because you tried so hard to be good. You hadn’t even touched anything until he said you could! Except you couldn’t say that for sure. So eager were you to explore and find new things, you didn’t remember if you waited for his clearance.

Forgiveness; not permission. Except in this case, punishment.

Finally making a better choice, you kept your mouth shut and turned away. Nothing mattered here except for his will, his desires.

“How many words did you disobey, little lamb? On that hilltop.”

Your head whipped around, and any color left in your face drained away. Realization dawned, and your eyes suddenly ached with disappointment. This was all a ruse, a ploy, a beautiful lie. He used your desire to be outside, to learn and discover against you so he could bring you here to discipline you.

Worse, he made you fetch your own fucking switch for it.

Air stuck in your throat, clinging to your windpipe like glue. You understood what the reed was for now, and your furtive glance saw him testing its resilience.

You knew that if you answered wrong, or if you guessed, he would likely beat you until you couldn’t stand. But if you got it right, if your answer pleased him, maybe you escaped only abused rather than obliterated. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, willing your addled brain to remember. As best you could, you replayed the events of that day, that battle, that hilltop.

Stay here, he said. Touch nothing; speak to no one. Eight words.

You lifted your gaze to his and opened your mouth to speak, the rushed answer on the tip of your tongue. But a bell chimed in your head, and you licked at your front teeth, replaying everything again. His hand came to the back of your neck, his patience running out.

“Ten,” you said, breathless and anxious.

Ten words. Stay here. Touch nothing. Speak to no one. Stay here.

He said it twice.

Satisfied, he leaned in to nudge his nose at your temple. “Good girl.”

His wide hands roamed your body, shifting the cloak out of the way so your lower half was on lewd display. The cool wind whipped at your bare ass and slithered between your legs, eliciting a whimper. Caught somewhere between aroused anticipation and outright dread, you forced yourself to be still, to not twist in the bonds and beg him for a favor he surely did not possess.

The first hit came on a startling whistle. You hardly heard it before pain set fire to your backside, a sizzling stripe that radiated from the surface of your skin inwards. You yelped but kept yourself upright, though surged onto your toes.

Chastising yourself for thinking he might allow you to prepare, you settled your weight back down gingerly. There was no tenderness here, no warm up, no waiting for your readiness. This was pure sanction, penance for your nonsense.

“The first. What was it?”

You cringed, shaking your head between your arms. You’d rather he asked you to count; but no, he wanted you to castigate yourself, to punctuate just how disobedient you’d been. Your eyes glossed over, slammed shut to keep the tide at bay. You swallowed sawdust, defeated.

“Stay.”

The word barely left your mouth before the second strike fell, just as shocking as the first. Clenching your teeth, you gouged craters into your palms with how hard you tried to not tremble.

“Here.”

Contented that you at least understood the point, that you worked out what you should say, he reached out to scratch at your fiery skin. He cupped one ass cheek, squeezing and lifting, but you only ground your jaw, rubbing your nose to stem the sniffling. His murmuring was lost to your dizziness as the next hit fell so hard your guts, your cunt, your thighs clenched.

“T-touch,” your voice was only a warble now, barely complying around a sob. The reed crashed down again, pulling a loud wail from the center of your chest. “Nothing.”

You dissolved into sobs, unable to even apologize through tears and hiccups. Your backside blazed from sacrum to kneecaps. Your ass swelled and throbbed and stung. You clawed away bark and debris until your fingertips and nails were raw and ruddy, but you didn’t care. All you could think was you were only halfway through this torment, and you would not make it to the end.

Your body screamed that you should beg, supplicate, and seek forgiveness; but once today already, you fumbled through an apology. Whatever mercy there may be in The Ren, it was not for this. Not for you.

Lost to your internal war, he took advantage of how little you paid attention and delivered a blow to your ass with the palm of his mighty hand. It landed with such force you screamed, knees buckling. He didn’t give you time to do your part, to speak the word, instead choosing to wind his free hand into your hair so tightly you heard some of it pull free. He drug you back onto your feet only to knock the wind out of you with another punch to the opposite cheek. You howled for him to stop, pleaded on broken sobs, but he walloped you another two times — one to each side — before letting you fall against the tree.

You shook so hard your teeth clattered. Damp from head to toes, you decided you must have lost control of your bladder because your thighs were wet, and your pussy felt loose and pliant. Although you were certain he didn’t hit you anywhere close to what he could have, you gripped your bond until your fingers bled. Thrown directly into the center of shock, any tears you had for him fled, chased away by the rush of thunder that was your erratic heartbeat.

Demanding, he snatched up your face, gouging at your jaws with his stony digits. Astonishingly, you produced what he waited for in a hoarse croak.

“Speak to no one.”

He spun you, shoved your back into the tree trunk, and ripped your lovely cloak to shreds. It hung in tatters, revealing your sweaty, shivering skin to his gaze, a gaze that roved each individual inch of you, taking in just how pitifully you swayed in the face of his lesson. He cupped your face and leaned in, drawing a deep breath to enjoy the scent of your fear.

“What’s left, lamb?”

Your eyes hurt; your lip bled. Your nose felt two sizes two big, and your voice was broken and labored. But his hand at your cheek soothed you. It was cool against your feverish flesh, steady against the tornado raging inside. He stroked your hips, fondled your breasts, pinched the welts he raised.

“S-stay h-here.”

Crowding into you, he licked at your dry, cracked mouth and ran his fingers along your belly, down to graze at your sticky thighs. You burned with humiliation as he tutted to find dampness there, thinking you sealed your fate as his forever childling with how you managed to wet yourself when he beat you. But when he brushed his thumb along your lower lip, it wasn’t urine you tasted. It was the tang of your cunt, the tart lubrication you certainly didn’t remember producing.

He basked in your confusion, your fear and pain. He reveled in the way your thighs squeezed together, the way your tongue darted out to taste where his had been. You saw it in his face, the nearly human way he devoured you with those chameleon eyes.

When he kissed you, your head spun at the delirious taste of his mouth. You stood onto your toes to get closer to him, to kiss him again, but he buried his face into the crook of your neck, bit hard at your thumping vein, and whispered in your ear.

“Try to be good this time.”

And then he was gone.

You blinked hard, set atremble by the implication of his words. If you knew better, you would have wrapped your legs around his broad hips, clung to him with every ounce of your strength to beg that he not do this. If your brain worked faster, you’d have pleaded, promised him a hundred babies, a thousand years in captivity.

But none of it mattered.

He left you lashed to a tree, terrified and alone in a land of poison.

You did the only thing you could think of, the only thing that would provide even a hint of comfort.

You prayed.

May I be shelter for those who need shelter, A guide for those who seek Balance, A bridge for those who wish to cross the unknown.

May I be a beacon in the dark, A shoulder for the weary, A balm for those who are ill.

May I be a well of plenty, a river run deep, A sturdy plain, an unbroken path, a calm in the storm.

May I endure heartache and sorrow, Love and devotion, Want and need, That I may know our Fathers in heaven And join them in the middle way.

#kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #lamb

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bookandcranny · 3 years

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Beatrice - Chapter Two

“We parted on difficult terms. He had some ideas that… challenged my sense of professional integrity. I told him I was out and, well, men like that don't tend to handle rejection too gracefully.

All I know of him after that point is that he ran into some health problems and was forced to step down from his position. It may seem cruel but I think the world is better off for it. Rappaccini is no more qualified to treat the human body than I am to teach a dance class.”

Students filed into the corridor, too busy rushing to their next destination to take note of the visitor as she slipped into the lecture hall. Branching off from the main room itself was a small office, and inside, a lone professor plugging attendance data and homework grades into a blocky desktop computer. Gianna waited until the last lingering students dispersed before announcing herself with a knock on the doorframe.

The professor looked up. “Well look who it is.” She adjusted her glasses and squinted at the figure before her, taking all of her in from the spots of dribbled varnish on her shoes upward. “And who is it who stands before me? Not Virgil’s little girl.”

“I actually go by Gianna these days. Or Ms Alexander if you’re feeling formal,” she said wryly, though not without affection.

Her face broke out in a grin that deepened the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She unhooked her cane from the arm of her chair and stood. “The last time I saw you, Gianna, you were half-- no, a quarter of your height and missing your front teeth. Time is a funny thing, isn’t it.”

“You’re telling me, Dr Bagnol.”

“Call me Petra. Or Professor if you’re feeling formal.” She winked and patted her arm. “We are colleagues of a kind now, aren’t we? I think you’ve earned the privilege.”

“I don’t know about that. You’re a biochemistry teacher and I fuss around with cotton swabs.”

“Technicalities! Don’t sell yourself short. You know, your father called just recently and when he told me you were going to be working here, I thought he was going to burst a lung the way he wouldn’t stop singing your praises.”

Gianna blushed at that.

“Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t set your sights higher than our humble university. I heard you were studying in Naples for a while.”

“I guess I was feeling homesick. Then I moved back in with my parents for a while and soon it was the opposite feeling.”

“Sick of home,” she supplied. “I know the feeling. I remember being your age, never wanting to be still for a moment. I was only surprised to hear you weren’t seduced away by foreign shores.”

She shrugged. “It was never about distance, I just needed to find a place where I felt like my life could really begin. And for right now I think that’s here.” Wanting to move the subject away from herself she added, “Dad says hi, by the way. He also says you need to start answering your email more than once a year.”

“Email. A man of literature like your father should give more respect to the written word. You tell him I won’t settle for less than a hand-scribed letter, like they did in the old days. I want to smell that clean valley air he goes on about etched into the paper.”

Gianna laughed. It was reassuring to find some things never changed. Although the silver in her hair had grown more prominent, Dr Bagnol was in many ways just the same as she remembered her. She never knew exactly how she and her father had met, only that it was while they were both still students, and that Petra had been a firecracker from the start, determined to surpass the role that had been imposed on her as a disabled woman in a field that was often unwelcoming to her. Though Gianna couldn’t say she knew her very well personally, the mythos that had been handed down to her had definitely played a part in her decision to become more independent.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Petra said. “Virgil dropped some hints that I should track you down once you started working here but I told him I wouldn’t have that kind of attitude. You’re a grown woman and you don’t need nannying. However,” She picked up a tote from her desk and slung it around her shoulder. “Since you came to me, I’m free to invite you to lunch.”

“Dad wanted you to check up on me?”

“Don’t take it for a lack of faith in you. Parents worry. It’s what they do. I’m sure he just wanted you to have a familiar face to turn to, should you need it. Come to lunch with me, Gianna. We’ll catch up.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to--”

“I’m just going to keep asking until you give in. You know that, right?”

She felt herself soften under her insistence. It wasn’t as if she had other plans anyway. “Yeah, alright. That sounds nice.”

Petra led the way to a little sandwich shop not far off campus and, despite Gianna’s protests, insisted on treating her. The weather was kind to them that day so they took their lunch on the patio watching the cars crawl by to the rhythm of the neverending traffic. They sat and ate and spoke of nothing in particular until, without warning, Dr Bagnol’s gaze caught on something in the distance that put a troubled frown on her face.

“What is it?” She started to turn in her seat.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice had taken on a sharp quality that startled the young woman, but she caught herself and when she spoke again her voice was even and deliberate. “I thought I saw someone I knew. That’s all.”

Not satisfied with her answer, Gianna glanced over her shoulder. Across the street, standing motionless in front of the crosswalk, was the withered old man she had seen in the garden that first day: Beatrice’s father.

Ever since she had met her that one evening on the fire escape, Gianna had come into the habit of chatting with her almost every day. She couldn’t always guarantee she’d be home from work when Beatrice went out to tend the garden, but on the days she spied her from her window she never hesitated to climb down and visit.

Their chats together weren’t anything especially profound; she got the impression Beatrice really just wanted a friend to keep her company while she worked and Gianna was happy to provide. Often they kept the conversation light and simple. One would ask about the other’s day, or an interesting book they read, or something they heard in the news. Then Beatrice would eventually be summoned by her father or the memory of some other chore she had to attend to inside, and they would part ways.

On the occasions Beatrice wasn’t in such a pleasant mood however, no matter the initial topic the conversation would eventually find its way back to her father. Apparently he was, as Gianna had predicted, in a bad state and sick more often than not, and while Beatrice wasn’t his sole caretaker he trusted her more than the average nurse. The old man had been a doctor before being reduced to the role of patient, and a somewhat renowned one at that. He had homeschooled his daughter and taught her everything he knew. Now she was expected to apply that knowledge by taking on the bulk of responsibility for his care.

He was frail, she said, and the state of his health could be unpredictable, so she was on constant vigil. The only time she really had to herself was when he was asleep or on a rare errand, and she spent that time for the most part in the garden, the place that gave her the greatest sense of peace. It must have been hard on her, Gianna often thought, to be in the prime of her life and chained to his bedside. She understood though. If it had been either of her parents she was sure she would have done the same.

Knowing this also gave her some more sympathy for the old man. It painted him in a more human light, and she berated herself for ever being afraid of him in the first place. But seeing him here now, staring at her again with those scrutinous sunken eyes, resurfaced some of that initial dread. Dr Bagnol seemed to sense it too.

At the moment Beatrice’s father was wearing an unseasonal gray overcoat and carrying an old-fashioned black carpet bag. He lifted his free hand and slowly waved at Gianna, his stony features cracking with the barest attempt at a smile, which did nothing to soften his appearance. In fact, the more she looked at him the more leering the grin appeared to be.

“Don’t acknowledge him, Gianna,” said Dr Bagnol coldly.

“No, no, it’s fine. That’s just my neighbor.” She forced herself to give a friendly wave in return.

Petra reached across the table and grabbed her hand back. “What do you mean he’s your neighbor?”

“His building is next to mine. Why?”

She sighed shakily and gave another glance across the street. The man was beginning to shuffle away now, the retreating shape of him becoming swallowed up by the crowd of fellow pedestrians. Petra released her hand and drew in a tense breath. She steepled her fingers together over the table.

“His name is Giacoma Rappaccini. He was… I knew him, for a time. Not well. He came to me for some insight on a project of his years ago.”

“I heard he was a doctor,” Gianna offered. “You worked together?”

The professor chose her next words carefully. “Officially, he was a 'doctor of holistic and alternative medicines', before he retired that is. But he liked to dabble. Botany, chemistry, anthropology, philosophy. I knew when I met him that he was the sort of man who could spend a hundred years studying and still feel he hadn't learned enough.” She smiled ruefully. “It was a quality we shared, so I agreed to assist him.”

“Doesn't seem like you like the guy much.”

“We parted on difficult terms. He had some ideas that… challenged my sense of professional integrity. I told him I was out and, well, men like that don't tend to handle rejection too gracefully. All I know of him after that point is that he ran into some health problems and was forced to step down from his position. It may seem cruel but I think the world is better off for it. Rappaccini is no more qualified to treat the human body than I am to teach a dance class.

"He's a brilliant intellectual, sure, but he lacks any compassion, any consideration for the value of human life outside of points of data on a chart. He never cared about helping people with his medicine; he only ever cared about pushing his own limits. I think, in the end, he must have pushed himself too far."

Gianna sat and processed that. The man did give her the creeps but in the scant few times she’d witnessed him he’d never come across as malevolent, and Beatrice clearly loved him. Even on the bad days, she only ever spoke well of him, and it was hard to believe a girl like Beatrice could exist without having had a loving upbringing. Whoever her mother was or had been surely was loved by him as well. That was enough evidence for Gianna that he couldn’t be everything Petra claimed him to be.

“You said he’s your neighbor. Has he ever spoken to you? Invited you over?”

She shook her head. “Rumor has it he’s a pretty private person, and I’m not exactly going over to borrow a cup of sugar or anything.”

Gianna opted not to mention her afternoons with his daughter.

She relaxed at that reassurance. “Good. Take my advice and stay far away from Rappaccini. Nothing good ever came from getting too chummy with that man. Now, where were we?”

They changed topics and the conversation gradually returned to safer, more pleasant territory, but Gianna couldn't stop thinking about what she had said, about the old man and about the sweet but melancholy girl who was left alone with him.

-----

Against the professor’s advice, Gianna did continue meeting with Beatrice. It hadn’t even been a question in her mind whether she would. If anything, knowing about Petra’s history with Dr Rappaccini made her all the more curious about the young woman.

She reasoned that she was still technically acting in line with Dr Bagnol’s wishes; she hadn’t so much as glimpsed the shadow of the man since their lunch outing, and the more she spoke with Beatrice the more certain she felt that the daughter was nothing like the boogieman father Petra had described to her, however much of her telling was even accurate.

Beatrice was a sweetheart, bookish and reserved. She smothered laughs behind her hand and averted her eyes when she found herself caught in Gianna’s warm gaze. She was smart, happily listing off the latin genuses of her favorite plants and reciting lessons on phytochemicals she suddenly remembered (she might as well have been speaking latin here too, for as much as Gianna understood her) but at the same time strangely naive.

She had a boundless love for the world, yet Gianna got the impression she’d seen very little of it. Her eyes always went wide with interest when Gianna spoke of the traveling she’d done. Gianna never thought it was all that impressive but she would gladly talk about it, would say just about anything in fact, if it would get her to pay more attention to her than her flowers for a moment.

One time, Gianna playfully inserted a flirtatious Italian phrase into their conversation and was flustered to find Beatrice spoke it near fluently, as well as Spanish, Portuguese, Romanian…

“How many languages do you know?” she asked, stunned.

“Six,” she replied. “Not counting English. I’m thinking about trying Mandarin next, and I can read Arabic but can’t speak it. Honestly, I’m not great with the conversational stuff. I’m just good at memorizing new vocabulary and being able to understand multiple languages gives me a much wider variety of reading material.”

She spoke about her talent with words like it was a card trick she’d picked up in her spare time.

“What do you like to read about?”

That got her excited. When Beatrice got excited she found it harder to play coy or smother her emotions under a layer of cool composure, so of course Gianna tried to get her excited as often as possible.

“Everything. Anything. Father’s library is huge but it’s mostly textbooks and old scientific journals and stuff like that. Which is fine,” she added hurriedly. “I like to read those too, but what I really like to read is… romance novels.”

She confessed it like it was some deep dark secret, grinning and turning berry red beneath the brown of her skin. It occurred to Gianna quite suddenly that she was falling in love with her.

The panic set in right away. She had been happy to have Beatrice as a friend, tamping down her attraction in order to keep spending time with her, but now it was becoming clear that the dam wouldn’t hold forever. She needed to say something, if only to keep from leading her on, if only to keep her from getting the wrong idea or, heaven forbid, the right one.

What if she was straight? Did gay girls read romance too? Did gay girls wear their dresses long and their hair short like her? Gianna had crushed on butches, on femmes, on lipstick, chapstick, snapback, every kind of sapphic on the vast spectrum of preference and presentation, and she still couldn’t get a read on her. Beatrice seemed to be from another world, another time, somehow out of step with the rest of humanity. If she started dropping hints, she couldn’t predict if she would follow her lead or recoil in disgust and never speak to her again.

That night, Gianna had a strange dream. She might have expected she would, given how wound up she’d felt since their last discussion. The ghost of her had followed her up, back through the window of her apartment, and as she tossed and turned in bed that night she was dizzy with it.

In her dream, she found herself walking in a cathedral. As was the way with dreams, her sight was blurry and visions danced and flickered in front of her eyes before vanishing in the same instant. However even as the edges of her surroundings blurred like a bad photograph, she heard the echoing of her footsteps clearly, and felt the largeness of the air around her. There wasn’t another way to describe it, she thought, just a strange sensation of vast emptiness surrounding her, rendering her infinitely smaller by comparison.

She was a child now, and she was at a wedding. Or could it have been a funeral? There were flowers everywhere, but dark ones with big thorns and a smell that clung to the back of her throat and watered her eyes. She reached out to touch one and.

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#writeblr #chapter story #horror romance #gothic #lgbt #rappaccini's daughter #my writing

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