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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor.

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you.

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall.

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud.

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though.

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself.

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for.

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts.

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch.

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours.

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast.

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing.

So, yeah.

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin.

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting.

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week.

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role.

You almost burst out laughing.

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure.

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking.

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop.

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table.

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?"

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud.

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table.

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t.

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression.

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back.

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh.

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty.

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness.

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises.

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never.

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response.

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually.

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it.

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it.

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck.

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you.

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going.

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue.

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's.

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss.

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away.

It started out with a kiss.

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss.

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it.

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face."

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over.

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace.

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his.

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name."

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip.

"I doubt it," he purred.

Yeah.

Jungkook was right.

Ah, well.

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms.

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips.

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm.

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand.

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm.

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name.

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed.

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him.

Oh, fuck.

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his.

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered.

Yours.

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk.

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin.

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd.

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick.

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far.

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl.

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin.

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat.

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do.

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled.

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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lokis-army-77 · 3 years

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If you please

Chapter Seventeen

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2800

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Bucky being sad

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Masterlist

Early one morning I woke up and got ready for the day. Bucky wasn’t awake yet so I walked to the kitchen table, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, then wrote him a note that said I was going out for a while and that I would be back later. After picking up some of the money we had stored in a giant jar on the floor, I headed to the door and down the stairs, out into the busy Romanian morning.

Cars and people bustled down the streets every which way. I walked a few blocks away before arriving at an old book store. I had been thinking for a while that maybe if Bucky read something that he used to love, then maybe that would help some memories resurface.

Stepping through the threshold, I was hit with the comforting smell of old books and what seemed to be a vanilla candle. In the corner, right next to the door, is the cashier, a small, hunched old woman who, every time I come in here, is sleeping. She jostles a bit at the sound of the bell when the door shuts but doesn't wake.

I continue on into the shelves of books, looking for anything Bucky might like. Even though it was a Romanian book store, there were many English selections of classic books. I scoured the shelves for a while before coming to a stop at one of his favorites, ‘The Hobbit’. I gently took it off the top shelf and fingered through the old, yellowing pages. Dust from the top of the book fell to the floor as I did so. Closing it, I started to scan for something else for me to read, this time making sure it was one of the very long ones, considering I had read the short four hundred page one about three times already. There was a small paperback copy of Victor Hugo’s ‘Les Miserables’ sitting on the second shelf from the floor. I grabbed it and sat it on top of the other book in my arms and headed for the front.

The old woman was still napping away when I placed my small stack onto the counter. I forwent ringing the service bell and just reached over to give a strong tap on her shoulder. Having been here before, I knew she wouldn’t wake up to the sound of it. She swatted my hand away and I tapped her a second time a little more harshly, she woke up that time, muttering in Romanian that she was awake. I greeted her with a soft hello before placing the coins for the books into her boney, outstretched hand. She thanked me then I was on my way back to the apartment.

I took a small detour through the open market stalls a block or two away from the apartment. I take my time looking through the small amount of fresh fruit that was offered so early in the year. I move along, not finding anything of interest. I make my way through the crowd of people to continue my original journey back home.

It was close to eleven by now and when I opened the door and stepped into the apartment, my nose was filled with the smell of something burning. Quickly I shut the door and run down the tiny hallway and into the main room. Bucky was standing over a smoking pan on the stove, while right next to it was a pot, almost boiling over.

“Buck what in the world are you doing?” I ask as I move towards him to turn the eyes off.

“I was trying to make breakfast for lunch. It was supposed to be an ‘I’m sorry I scared you and brought back bad memories’ meal since I never told you I was sorry, but I burnt the eggs and bacon.” He tells me before he leans over to the trash can and dumps the charred food in.

I moved around to stand next to him and placed my right hand on his firm metal bicep. “Thank you, I really appreciate the sentiment.” I smiled up at him then looked down at what was in the now slowly bubbling pot with chopped potatoes. “Look,” I pointed out, “the potatoes are fine.” Bucky followed my outstretched finger and gave a small nod.

“Go sit down, I'll make something with these.” He directed. I looked at him skeptically as I slowly backed away.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

“Yes, sit.”

And so I did. I went directly to my bed where I had thrown the books, took up mine, and then started to read. It was hard to concentrate though since I looked up from the pages every two seconds to make sure Bucky wasn’t going to burn the whole building down again, but he seemed to be doing fine. He had ended up frying the chopped potatoes in butter with a bunch of random seasonings.

Several minutes later he had finished and was scooping the food onto two separate plates. He picked the plates up and made his way around the island and to the loveseat in front of it. Sitting down he placed his plate on the arm of the furniture and then called me over. I picked myself up off the mattress and plopped myself down beside him and took my plate from his hands.

“Thank you,” I mumbled as I took the fork into my hand and started eating. Surprisingly the food was actually good. I turned my eyes to him, he was staring at me, probably waiting for my thoughts on the food. I nodded my head as I chewed as a sign that it was good. He smiled softly and proceeded to eat his.

“That was really good, Buck. Next time when you cook though, stick to one thing at a time, don’t try to cook it all at once.” I said once I had finished.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Um,” he paused a second. “Where did you go this morning?”

“Oh, I actually went to get you something that might help with your memory.” I stood up after placing the dirty plate on the counter behind me and shuffled over to the bag that held Bucky’s book. I gently took it out and held it close. Making my way back to where he was sitting, I held the book out to him. “Here you go.”

He reached out and took it from me, a small smile ghosted his lips. “The Hobbit, I love this book, thank you.”

“See you’re already remembering.”

“Yeah, I think I remember wanting you to read it and you made me read something else.” He shut his eyes tight, trying to remember. “It was Pride and Prejudice wasn’t it?”

I gave him a giant toothy grin at that. “It was,” I almost shouted. I leaned down to give him a hug, excited he remembered something that was so long ago. “We started reading them the week we got engaged.” I backed away a bit.

“Oh yeah-” He looked to his hands and then to my hand. “Do you- do you still have the ring?”

“Of course I do.” I lifted my hands to the chain that always stayed hidden beneath my shirt. There was a small delicate clank as the ring and locket tapped against each other. I brought the chain over my head and then grabbed one of Bucky’s hands, placing the necklace down gently. I watched as he brought the small treasures closer to his face. He studied them quietly.

“Why don’t you ever wear the ring around your finger?” he asked, I heard a little bit of concern come through.

“I didn’t want to lose it. I kept it hidden for a long time, then when everything happened in January I had a feeling that I should keep it on at all times. With all the fighting that took place, I thought it best to wear it around my neck so I wouldn't fall off.” I explained. I eyed him as he fiddled with the clasp, he was taking the ring off.

He rose to his feet silently before grabbing my left hand to place the ring securely where it was meant to be. “Can you wear it like this from now on?” I looked into his eyes, they were soft. I nodded in response as he stepped a little closer to me.

I could feel my heart start to quicken when he started to lean down, coming to eye level with me. I could feel his cool hand snake up to the back of my neck and pull me forward slightly. I closed my eyes, I could feel the warmth of his breath, we were so close. I leaned myself in more and before I knew it I felt his rough but soft lips graze the corner of my mouth. They were warm and just like I remembered, familiar. I moved my hands to the sides of his face to keep him from moving away. His hands came softly atop mine and pulled them away and down between, but he never let go of them. I felt him move back a tiny bit before I opened my eyes with a small huff. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him, how much I missed the feeling of him. I wanted to feel him kiss me, really kiss me.

He whispered my name softly as one of his hands came up to move a strand of my hair away from my face and then brought the hand back to cradle mine. “I want to take this slow.”

“But-” I started but he cut me off.

“Let me find myself before I come back to you,” The broken sound of his voice hit my ears so softly I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it if my hearing were normal.

“Okay, Bucky I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.” He pulled me into a tight hug at that.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

It is now mid-July and Bucky has been steadily remembering more and more. The process has gone faster than I thought it would, but that’s probably because he isn’t alone and trying to figure things out. I’ve noticed that the longer we are here in Romania, the less paranoid he is about being found, although it still eats at the back of both our minds constantly.

Bucky has started to smile more, he’s started to get closer to me, mentality and physically. Something changed after that afternoon he slipped the ring back onto my finger. Sometimes, while we are sitting at home he will slip his hand into mine and leave it there for a while, or he’ll somehow just gravitate to my side like a magnet. I never push him further than he is comfortable with, knowing he is still trying to find his missing pieces.

He works hard, exhaustingly so, to be able to remember. To be the Bucky he once was. Sometimes when he gets frustrated, I have to remind him that he will never be one hundred percent how he was in 1943, but I love him all the same, I’ll stay beside him.

And that's how we came to this precise moment. Bucky was laid out on the floor staring at the ceiling when I walked out of the bathroom from taking my nightly shower.

“What’s the matter?” I questioned as I rang my hair out with the towel. He didn’t say anything, just turned his head to face away from me. “Hey, come on, you can tell me.” I encouraged as I sat down on the edge of my mattress.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Oh it isn’t nothing, I can see it all over your face. Something is bothering you so tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t know. I’m just so tired. My head is hurting from all the things I’m trying to remember.” He huffed out gruffly. I gave him a sympathetic look before poking him in the side. He turned his body to the side to look at me.

“You do know it’s okay to take a break? You shouldn’t expect yourself to remember every little thing.”

“I know, it's just. There are these glimpses from the past but I can never place them. It’s frustrating.” He says as his hand comes up to softly play with my fingers near his head.

“Well, you can’t try to remember things clearly if you are exhausted. Get some rest and relax, let the memories clear themselves up instead of trying to force them.” I stilled his hand and rubbed the back of it with the one he wasn’t currently grasping. “How about I make us some tea and then we can get some rest?”

“I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay then.” I stood up and his hand slowly let go of mine.

In the kitchen, I grabbed the kettle and filled it with water, and placed it on the eye of the stove. While waiting for the water to boil I washed the dirty mugs in the sink so that way we could use them. The box of teabags was sitting off to the side of the sink, I slipped two from the box and placed them in the now clean, empty mugs. When the water was done I poured it into our cups along with a few scoops of sugar and a tiny bit of milk and then walked back over to where I was sitting earlier.

“Here you go. Be careful, it’s hot and still needs to steep for a bit.” I warned as he sat up to take the mug from my hand. I sat back down and after a minute, started to take small sips of my tea.

“Thank you. Not just for the tea, but for everything you do. I don’t know how I’d get through this if you weren't with me.” He confessed as he took a long sip.

“You don’t have to thank me, Buck-” I started but he cut me off.

“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t have gotten near as far as I have if it weren't for your help. You’re always so loving and patient with me. I don’t deserve it, especially with the things I’ve done.” His head hung low as he drew his knees up closer to him.

I frowned as I sat my mug on the floor and crawled my way across the floor to sit directly in front of him. Carefully I placed both my hands on his. “Nothing you did is your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I did awful things. They are the only thing I can remember vividly. Can’t you see that I'm a bad guy now?”

“Sweetheart you are not a bad guy, you are a victim.” I moved my hand to his face so I could have him look at me. “And yes, you did those things but none of that was under your control. Nothing you did with HYDRA was in your control.” He looked at me with tears welled up in his eyes, he grabbed my hand and pulled it down away from his face but he never let it go. “I want to help you get through this but I can’t do that if you push me away because you think you are a danger to me. I told you before that you could never hurt me, I’m tougher than I look.”

“I don’t doubt that,” He chuckled. “It’s just hard when at any second I could turn back into that thing. It scares me, it scares me so much that I could be the reason I lose you just after I got you back.” His voice sounded like he was trying hard to hold back tears.

I moved from in front of him to his left side. I wrapped my arms around him, making him lean into me. I squeezed him tight. “It’s okay to cry, don’t hold it back,” I whispered into his ear. I felt him shudder and then all of a sudden it was like the flood gates had been opened.

We sat there on the floor for what felt like hours. We had changed into a more comfortable position, where Bucky had his arms wrapped around my middle and he just wept into my shirt. I softly played with his long hair and scratched his scalp. It seemed to calm him, but he still cried. He cried until no more tears would come until all he could do was jolt with hiccups.

We fell asleep like that, huddled together on the hard floor, next to the couch.

Authors note: Hi everybody, I know this chapter is a little shorter than I have been writing but I started my third year at college and I have like three 15 page essays and a crap tone of homework. So please be patient with me with writing for a while.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila @andy-is-gay

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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vidalinav · 3 years

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The House as an apartment building:

Sectioned off per apartment ft. Pictures

I’m telling you I want the House of Wind to start functioning more as an apartment building. Like the House deliberately being like “you took my baby’s apartment. Well I’m making her a new one. Improved too with nice amenities and free clean up service and an on sight cook. Suck it.”

Azriel’s Apartment:

Like Azriel’s got his own sequestered off place that’s not easily accessible to everyone. His own door. It does have a kitchen, because honestly the House doesn’t know much about him and it tries not to peek into his space too much. If the House is being honest, it’s a little bit afraid of what it might find. So it has a kitchen and a bedroom and a tiny personal library stacked with books of all kinds, and a space to play chess (The one Nesta gifts him that plays by itself-see other post). It’s pretty dark. Has a lot of black and black out curtains, Azriel prefers that. Very muted, but tasteful and mostly clean. IF he’s in a good mood. I don’t know I picture his room half-intellectual/half-angsty rocker type. Think metal work vs bookshelves vs. minimalist.

Emerie and Gwyn’s Apartment:

Emerie and Gwyn end up living together in their own sequestered apartment in the House. Before, they stayed in separate rooms when they stayed for long periods away from their respective homes--Gwyn just wanting to venture out but not far, and Emerie just not wanting to deal with the transportation issue. After, the house changed its layout, they each get their own apartment. BUT they just couldn’t deal with being alone. The apartment was lonely and it was too quiet and they literally lived right across the hall and they would just keep knocking at each other’s doors and leaving the door open or just not wanting to leave. It was just too large for one person. So, the House makes them a two bedroom and no one can tell if it’s small or if they have just filled with it so much that it just looks small. It’s eclectic and eccentric. Colorful. Plants. Posters and pictures on the wall. Think cottage core mixed with heavy bold fabrics. Messy but not messy. Cluttered but not cluttered.

A kitchen that’s painted in different colors (Emerie likes to cook and the house respects this) and it juts out to hang over the mountain that overlooks the other side not facing the city, so it’s more mountains and wildflowers and snow in the winter, think picturesque. Very nature. Emerie and Gwyn (and Nesta) will drink hot coco and peer out all the time. This is their happy space. It’s very cozy.

Nesta and Cassian’s Apartment:

Nesta and Cassian’s apartment is two floors. It’s more like a townhouse I suppose. I was going to have the family library connected, but I think the family library stays a common space for everyone. But it is closer to Nesta’s place. The apartment though does have so many books everywhere. The staircase has books running up the side.

There’s a patio/sunroom now, that overlooks the city and the windows open. There’s bookshelves there too, this is Nesta’s reading area. It has a hanging chair and if Cassian can’t find her in the morning, she is always there with a hot beverage.

This apartment has many rooms like seven and they’re like how are we going to fill this..... it’s my headcanon that the House knows they want a big family and is like whenever y’all are ready, but what really happens is that they end up adopting so many kids over the years that these rooms gets filled up easily. A twelve year old is the first from the continent, Lyra (when they get pregnant years past), then the twins who are from Hybern, then an Illyrian, etc (That’s a post for another time). Their apartment is just really cute and home-y and fun. It’s definitely kid friendly. But it also helps that the two of them are like two big kids themselves so... But it accommodates to suit the amount of people that start living there, who all just have such big, individual personalities and interests and they are all different ages so it’s tough, but it works. And Nesta and Cassian also have space for themselves, especially Nesta who sometimes just needs silence from the noise. Anyways that’s years later, back to regular scheduled programs.

Nesta and Cassian’s home just feels light and airy, and a mixture between hygge, springtime, and rainy days on the beach. Very bright and airy, and Nesta loves this place. Touches of blue of course everywhere, and mostly tans and creams. So, so many windows overlooking the city that have plant boxes on all of them, that are filled with dainty white and blue flowers (The House looks after these--it’s a great gardener too).

Shared/Common Spaces:

The greenhouse/terrarium place that Nesta ends up practicing magic in most days, is technically located in her apartment, but it also has a door in the private library and then also has a door in the library library. It doesn’t open unless Nesta gives permission to those who enter. So, Nesta ends up giving permission to the priestesses to work up there. Because just like they didn’t mind Bryaxis they really have no concerns with Nesta practicing magic. They’re like this might as well happen.

But again this place, as I said in my other post, has carnivorous and poisonous plants, and there’s a snake eventually running through this large garden space, and there’s a giant pond in the middle of this place. It should be more concerning but nope. Priestesses really like it up there. They start practicing alchemy too, for those priestesses who dabble in chemistry and the dark arts. Think dark academia.

I initially thought Elain would like it here, but now that I’m thinking about it Elain would probably be iffy about this place. The plants have a mind of their own here and though she supports her sister in her arts and her magic, she is not keen on being in the center of it all, herself. There’s a certain level of control to gardening and these plants are just... uncontrollable. Elain rather likes adventuring to mean new countries and meeting new people, but not this sort of adventure where you might die if a plant decides it’s a little hungry or someone changed the temperature of the water. Magic is Nesta’s thing. She’ll leave this wild terrarium to Nesta.

The Kitchen is also a shared space, but only for the residents of the House of Wind. Most people don’t go down there, but Elain does when she visits Nesta and wants to spend some quality time with her (also in my other post). It is alive and it sings. Like there’s something about the kitchen that is always humming as if there’s a old cook’s soul down there or something. Really large. Steam everywhere. The smell of spices wafting. Nesta “accidentally” charms the plates and silverware (think fantasia) but that’s a story for another time. This is another place that juts out in certain areas to have a lot of windows. Not the whole place but quite a bit of it. Think a kitchen that’s alive.

The library stays the same, because Nesta loves that library and it’s perfect the way it is. <3.

That’s it for now. I have literally so many Pinterest boards for each individual place but I clearly cannot post them all here so bye!

#nessian #the house of wind #nesta archeron #cassian #elain archeron #azriel #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara #emerie #acosf #post acosf

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 3 years

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Sweet Pea//my greatest adventure is you

Request: Can you do a dad (newborn-ish) sweet pea imagine

hey! title is kind of stolen from a quote i saw on pinterest and part from my own brain so its okay! how are you all? i hope you’re good! i also hope you like this! its cute and sweet and just very nice! byeeee

Two weeks ago your life changed completely.

And for two weeks you and Sweet Pea have been living in a post baby, sleep deprived, bliss.

Days of the week have long been forgotten, neither of you know the time. It’s either light or dark and that’s good enough for you. Both of you have only been outside a handful of times and they’re only for two hours at the most.

You’ve worn nothing but pyjama’s, washed your hair enough times to count on just one hand and smell like baby puke and milk.

But it’s perfect.

Everything and everyone revolves around the perfect bundle of joy that you’ve brought into the world, and that is how it was supposed to be. You’ve had visitors from just about everybody you know.

Family, friends, neighbours, as well as their family and friend. You’ve had everyone wanting to come and see your daughter, all of which bring toys, clothes, keepsakes, balloons, flowers and everything in-between.

Which is of course lovely and very helpful. Especially when you’re dealing with the fullest nappy and think you’ve run out of wipes but Sweet Pea finds three packs of them under a pile of clothes that are yet to be worn.

Plus, they also bring you presents to which you definitely aren’t complaining about. You’ve got so many pairs of pajama’s you’re not gonna need any for years.

But it also brings problems.

Because you and Sweet Pea may have read every baby/parenting book, blog and magazine known to man. But what they don’t prepare you for is how you’re supposed to fit everything into a tiny two bedroom house.

“How does a tiny baby need all of this equipment?” You ask, staring at the black hole of boxes that is your living room. Even sat on the couch there’s boxes and bags stacked around you and the two of you honestly have no idea where to start. “I mean, what the hell even is this?” You add, picking up some sort of weird looking piece of plastic.

Sweet Pea looks at it, a frown on his face before it lights up and he searches through some papers on the small table beside him. He holds a booklet up, a triumphant smile stretching across his lips before he starts reading.

The smile slowly starts to fade the more he reads to himself and you sit in silence, an eyebrow raised while you wait for him to tell you.

“Oo, erm. Apparently it tells you why the baby is crying.” He says, looking between you and the what you now realize is the instructions.

The only way you can describe his expression is puzzled, as he takes the baby crying machine from you, placing it beside the instructions and just staring at the two.

“Who the hell bought this?” He asks, resting his chin in his hands. You run your fingers through his hair, trying to calm the curls down a little and he lets out a content sigh, giving you a tired smile as he does so.

You mirror it and nudge his leg with your own. You lean your head on his shoulder, and he places his head on top. The two of you look over the paper and plastic again, reading and re-reading the instructions as it takes a while to actually understand what they are trying to say. Its seems both you and Sweet Pea have ended up developing baby-brain.

“I think it was your Auntie Agnes.”

“Of course it was.” He chuckles and kisses the top of your head.

“What are the options?” You ask.

“Hungry, tired, changing, attention, stressed.” He says and you send him a look.

“Stressed? What an earth could a baby be stressed about? They don’t pay taxes, they don’t have to work.” You reply grumpily making him laugh and kiss you again.

“Technically we don’t have to pay taxes.”

“Technically we do if we don’t want to go to jail.” You reply.

“Who says I’d get caught.” He replies proudly.

“Me.” You reply bluntly and he stares at you offended.

“Rude.”

“True though.” You tease and grab the strange device from him, looking it over a few times before looking back at him. “So, where’s this going?”

“Back of the cupboard normally. Proudly on display when Auntie Agnes actually comes to visit?”

“Deal.” You agree. “I’ll find a place for it and you start on that box there.”

“Which one?”

“The huge red one right in front of your face.” You huff and he flips you off.

You send him a sarcastic smile in return before disappearing into the kitchen to find a space for the stupid bit of plastic.

“Why this one specifically?” He calls after you.

“Its from Toni and Cheryl and I’m excited to see what ridiculous things Cheryl has spent a fuck-ton of money on.” You reply, your voice giddy but muffled by the cupboard you’ve currently got your head in.

Sweet Pea shakes his head, a small giggle escaping his lips as he listens to you excitedly ramble about what it could be.

He pulls on the end of the bow and it falls off the wooden box and onto the carpeted floor. A bemused smile takes over his appearance as he carefully picks the lid up and places it beside him.

“Holy shit.” His eyes widen. “Y/n? Y/n get in here!”

“Wha-ow! Shit.”

“Did you hit your head?” He asks, sending you a sympathetic smile when he notices you standing in the doorway, rubbing your head.

“Yeah.” You nod and flop down beside him again. “So, what is it?” You ask excitedly.

“You’re not going to believe it.” He replies and moves further towards the box. You follow him until your sat on the edge of the sofa and your eyes widen when you look at what it is.

“Is that?” You ask, looking at him and then back at the present.

“Yep.”

Staring back at the two of you is a giant rocking horse. Like it’s massive, like Toni could definitely fit on it and it would look normal, massive even. Hanging around its neck is what looks like a diamond encrusted dummy and you and Sweet Pea just stare at each other in disbelief.

A red, handwritten card sits on top of it and you grab it, turning it around and reading aloud.

‘Y/n and Sweet Pea,

Congratulations on your new arrival! We can’t wait to meet her properly. You’re going to be amazing parents, and we’re always here if you need us. Hopefully we’ll be able to organize a play date between her and JJ soon, but until then enjoy new parenthood.

Love Cheryl, Toni and JJ.

ps: I told Cheryl you didn’t need a giant horse or diamond encrusted dummy or the other 5, very expensive gifts that are currently being shipped from Italy, but she didn’t listen, so sorry in advance. And again, congratulations!! We’re so proud of both of you!!’

“Another 5 gifts from Italy?” Sweet Pea repeats.

“Another 5, expensive gifts from Italy.” You correct.

“They have far too much money for their own good.”

“God knows where this is going to go.” You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips as you tuck the card back into the box and place the lid back on top. “Which one should we do ne-” Your interrupted by a small cry and the two of you stop what you’re doing to listen, waiting to see if she’ll settle back down. The crying only grows louder and you and Pea share a look.

“I’ll get her.” He says and you expression softens.

“You sure?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He replies, fighting his way through the boxes and bags trapping the two of you. “I just googled how much that rocking horse is so I’m gonna go cry with her.” He says making you laugh. “You keep going down here.”

“Wait, how did that happen? You get to cuddle a cute baby and I have to figure out where to put bottles and diapers and...horses?”

“Unlucky.” He shrugs and gives you a sarcastic smile before running up the stairs.

Two minutes later and she’s stopped crying. A relieved smile takes over your face as you fold what seems like the millionth baby grow. But twenty minutes after that, Sweet Pea hasn’t come back down yet, and that makes you suspicious.

Because he’s either fallen asleep, or he’s just pretending to still be busy so he doesn’t have to help with this. If he’s asleep, you’re joining him, whether he’s on the bed or under it, you don’t care. But if not, you bet his ass you are dragging him back down the stairs.

You slowly make your way up the stairs, balancing a few pieces of clothing in your hands to put away. The door to your bedroom is cracked open slightly and instead of going straight into the nursery, you hold back and watch as Sweet Pea rocks her gently.

His back is to you so he hasn’t noticed your presence, and he’s pulling the funniest faces at her, the sight making your heart melt. Your entire universe in one room, within two people, one tall and the other tiny.

It makes all the chaos worth it.

“There once was a shoe, who’s best friend was a lace.” Sweet Pea starts, balancing a baby book in his hands as he keeps tight hold of your daughter. “They went everywhere together. But one day, the shoe stepped in a puddle and the lace got dirty so-what kind of story is this?” He complains, shaking his head as he puts it down.

“Okay, Daisy. I’ve got a much better story to tell you anyway.” He whispers into the dark room and carefully sits down in the rocking chair. “So, me and your mom have known each other for so long. Longer than you can even comprehend, not that you can comprehend much at the minute. But one day when your bigger you’ll understand. We’ve known each other since we were younger than you, thats right, we were best friends before we were born. And there hasn’t been a day that she hasn’t been around. And they’ll never be a day where she isn’t here for you either. Both of us are always going to be here.” He says, his voice gentle.

His tone is full of so much love that it makes you tear up...stupid hormones. You can’t wait to spend the rest of your life loving your little family, and you’re so happy that its Sweet Pea that you’re doing it with. You can’t imagine a life without him, you never want to.

“You have your entire life ahead of you and we’re going to make sure you live the best one you can. Because you can do anything. There’s a whole world of possibilities out there. Sometimes it feels like there isn’t, but you’ve only been here two weeks and you’ve brought so much wonder and magic to mine and your mom’s world, so who knows what you’re going to do to the rest of it.” He continues and you hug the clothes your holding tighter to your chest, despite the fact that you’re crying all over them.

“We’re going to love you no matter what. No matter who you are or who you love or what you do. As long as you’re safe and happy, thats good enough for us.” He says, a sweet smile on his lips as he stares down at her in awe. “Now, go to sleep and have the sweetest dreams you can think of and when you wake up, your mom and me will both be here for you. Thats a promise.” He whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her head before placing her gently back in her crib.

You take that as you cue to walk in, avoiding the creaky floorboard that you and Sweet Pea have already memorized the position of. He hears the door open and his smile grows when he notices you. You return it, your eyes tired and your hair messy and your clothes the same as they were two days ago. But to him you look the most beautiful you ever have.

He has never loved anyone more, well, apart from Daisy. But you’re the reason she’s here and he’s never ever going to be able to thank you enough for that.

You quietly place the pile of clothes on top of the drawers, vowing to put them away tomorrow. Them, the presents downstairs and the the rest of the world can wait, you want to enjoy this for as long as you can.

Sweet Pea grabs your hand and pulls you gently towards him. The two of you lean over the crib, watching Daisy sleep peacefully. His hands rest gently on your shoulders and you give them a squeeze, your fingers intertwining.

“Do you think babies can dream?” You wonder, looking up at Pea.

“I really do hope so.”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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icefire149 · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Dean Winchester!!!

I wanted to write a little something and this ended up spiraling into something longer than I planned. (2,231 words) (Also please forgive me for any spelling errors. It’s after 3am) Enjoy!~

/////

For Dean, the weeks and months following Chuck’s defeat went by in a dizzying, unrecognizable blur. Despite Sam and Eileen’s best efforts to take care of Dean, he spent the majority of his time buried deep in the bunker’s archive. A lot of the time Jack is with him.

There was an ache in his chest that feared what stupid things he might have done by now if the kid wasn’t right there. Helping him. Talking to him. Actually getting to bond with him without Chuck’s interference. It was the one good thing in this fucked up situation right now.

So far their search for anything about the Empty was a disaster. There was virtually nothing. More and more often Jack would apologize. With his new position as God, yes, he could make a doorway into the Empty. That much they did know for a fact. But could he put them to sleep? Could he kill them? What would be the consequences of that?

The only other thing that they knew for certain was that the Empty could claw their way into Heaven and tear it all down. That was the only thing that was keeping Jack from snapping his fingers and restoring Cas right then and there.

It was tearing them both apart, but regardless, they continued their search.

Today, Dean opened his eyes and rolled onto his back. It was his birthday. Most years he spent it like any other normal day, but this one….after the Mrs. Butters incident…Sam and him had decided they should be throwing real celebrations. It was one thing when they were living out of motel rooms and the impala. It was completely understandable. But now they have a permanent home. So why not?

He knew now why not…..there was no point in celebrating a man that’s only half here.

Dean closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep the day away. He didn’t realize that he had fallen back asleep until he was startled awake by a pounding on his bedroom door. He shot up to a sitting position in bed, chest pounding and eyes wide with fear. It was a moment before he realized that he was in his room and not….

“Hey Dean? You up yet?”

His heart rate was still slowing, but he recognized the voice. Sam.

“I’m awake now. What’d you want?”

“Lunch is ready. I figured you’d wanna eat by now.”

“Fine. Be up soon.”

When Dean was dressed and ready as he would ever be, he opened his bedroom door. He stood there blinking in confusion for several moments. There were balloons tied to the doors of every room down the hallway.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he followed the balloons into the kitchen where the party decorations looked like they threw up. There was a happy birthday banner over the kitchen doorway and balloons….so many goddamn balloons everywhere.

“Surprise!” Jack popped up out of his chair and crossed the kitchen to hug him. “Sam let me decorate for your birthday. He told me I had to contain it to one room though.”

Jack took a step back with a look of concern. “Is that okay?”

“What about the hallway?”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. “A hallway by definition isn’t a room.”

That set Dean off in a fit of belly deep laughter. He slapped a reassuring hand onto Jack’s shoulder. “You did awesome kid.”

Jack’s mouth pulled into a beaming smile. He went back to where he was sitting, and Sam came into the kitchen.

“Good. I didn’t think you were ever getting up.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Good to see your face too, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes and started pulling plates out. Dean went and sat by Jack.

“So what’s for lunch? I’m not seeing anything.”

Sam brought the plates over. “Well, you slept through the pancakes Jack helped me make this morning. Eileen should be here any minute with lunch.”

Dean shot Jack a look. “Sorry kid.”

“It’s okay. They were really good.”

“What’s Eileen bringing?” Dean turned his attention to Sam, but before he could answer Eileen came walking through the door.

“I hope everyone’s hungry.” She placed a stack of three white boxes on the table.

The familiar bakery smell hit him instantly. He pointed at the boxes. “Is that?”

Eileen grinned and crossed her arms. “Sam told me you liked pie.”

“Thank you, you majestic, wonderful being.” He turned his gaze to Sam. “You better marry her.”

That got Eileen laughing while Sam ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed.

Dean grinned and made eye contact with Eileen. “I’m so sorry, I know you can do so much better than Sam too.”

She laughed again, and then her mouth curled into a teasing smile. “I know, Dean. I know.”

“OKAY.” Sam clapped his hands together. “Can we move on from the embarrassing Sam portion of today?”

They eventually did. For a long time the three of them sat in the kitchen laughing, telling stories, and eating way too much pie. At one point Sam handed a big gift bag to Dean.

“It’s…from Jack and I.” Sam sounded unsure.

“I hope you like it,” Jack added.

Dean opened it to find several wrapped in tissue paper objects. Soon enough he found out that they were all various framed pictures. Silently, he spread them all out over the table so he could stare at them all.

There were pictures going back a decade. Easily. There were so many smiles and glares and candid shots. Fuck they were all so young looking.

Charlie in her Queen of Moondoor costume. Mom with a bowl of popcorn. Kevin and Sam asleep surrounded by piles of books. Claire on her 18th birthday with the ugly stuffed cat doll. Rowena moments before she hexed the camera. Jack looking amazed at the giant multi-scoop ice cream cone Dean bought him against Sam’s wishes. Kevin and Linda at Garth’s safe-houseboat. Dean, Sam, and Bobby at one of the cabins fishing. The hectic attempt at a family photo from Jody’s. Garth and his family. And Cas…..there were so many just of Cas or ones with him present or ones of just the two of them.

Sam coughed awkwardly. “I know you’ve been saying for a couple years now that you wanted to start printing some of the pictures we’ve been dumping onto one of the old laptops. So I thought….”

“Thank you, Sammy.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pictures. Especially the candid he’d never seen before. It was of him and Cas leaning against the side of the impala, completely lost in their own bubble of conversation. Dean felt like there was a cinder block dropped into his stomach. “You did good.”

And he meant it. Still, it hurt to remember everyone he lost.

“Oh, I think you missed one,” Jack said poking at the bag.

He was right, Dean realized when he reached a hand in and pulled out a smaller wrapped frame.

Sam laughed. “I forgot about that one.”

Dean opened it and burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was a picture from his mark of cain days of him and Crowley in matching cowboy hats. As much as he didn’t want to remember those days, he still couldn’t bring himself to delete the picture. “I miss that dumb son of a bitch.”

“Hey!” Sam chimed in. “That’s insulting to Rowena.”

That had Dean laughing again. “Well, she can take a number kicking my ass. You know the moment Cas sees this he’s gonna use it and me as his personal dartboard.”

The words slipped out before he could even process it. Sam’s smile faded. Dean’s laughter turned into crying. No one said anything while Dean fought to compose himself. He was grateful for that.

When Dean’s face was dry and he dared lift his head up, Jack asked him about the people in the photos. And that’s how they spent the rest of the afternoon. It was hard to imagine his life without Jack being present somewhere so he was happy to indulge the technically toddler in what the people in the pictures were like. All the stories Dean could pull from his memory. It hurt initially, but after a while he felt lighter.

Later that day Dean was taking a break in his room when Sam peeked in the ajar door. “What’d you need, Sam?”

“I-uh…” He stepped into the room. A neatly wrapped in green box with a card on top was in his hands. “I have one last thing to give you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but isn’t another present going overboard? What gives?”

“It’s not from me.”

“Oh. Hand it here then.” Excited, Dean sat on the edge of his bed and held his hands out.

Sam stepped forward, but he didn’t hand the box over. “It’s from Cas.”

Dean’s hands fell down, and Sam was happy he waited. “What’s in the box?”

Sam placed it on the bed next to Dean. He shrugged. “I don’t know. He asked me quite a while ago to hang onto it.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I figure he thought you’d be least likely to find it if it was in my room.”

Dean cracked a small smile at that. His chest felt like it split open just to ache again. He knew why Cas asked Sam to hold onto it. “Thanks Sammy.”

Sam left the room, closing the door behind him. It took a while before Dean could muster up the courage to open the card.

His hands shook as he pulled the folded over pieces of paper out of the envelope. Turns out instead of a generic store bought card, Cas wrote him a letter. It was a bittersweet sight. Despite how devastated he normally felt whenever he thought about Cas, he was good seeing his handwriting. In his hands was actually a new message from Cas. A message from Cas to him!

Happy Birthday Dean,

If you’re reading this then that means I failed. I wanted to burn this letter to ashes, but clearly I’m not there to do that. I’m so sorry, truly. I’m not sure what could have happened to bring us here, but I need to confess something important. I know you said no more deals when Jack died, but I still made a deal with the Empty anyways.

When I went to Heaven to bring Jack’s soul back to his body things didn’t go as planned. The Empty was furious Jack’s human half sent him to Heaven. It tore through Heaven like it was tissue paper. I did what I had to for Jack, and for Heaven. My life for his.

I don’t regret it. But the Empty did promise not to claim me until I gave myself permission to be truly happy. I’m still trying to puzzle out exactly what that could be. My family on Earth: Sam, Jack, and you - make me happy each and every day. I need you to remember that.

Please be safe and live a happy life. You are so loved by your friends and family. They need you for the next several decades. I mean it Dean. (I may have been curing you of liver and heart disease every year on your birthday. Well fixing to the best of my abilities the damage you keep causing on those poor organs.)

I hope you enjoy the present I picked out. Quite honestly, I got it because it made me laugh.

I miss you.

Castiel

Dean felt like a tangled mess of emotions. He needed to remember to breathe. Minutes later he carefully tore open the green wrapping paper. Curiosity poked at him. With Cas’ odd sense of humor, it could have been anything in the box.

Under the wrapping paper was a generic cardboard box, but inside were a handful of new cassette tapes. Dean fell over to be laying on his side. Laughing happily for quite a while, he studied each and every tape. They were all cassettes of modern music, specifically the pop artists Cas loved so much. The ones Dean used to tease Cas about while they’d be out on long drives.

He immediately knew which memory Cas was thinking of when he planned this. Dean remembered they were in the impala and Cas wasn’t in the mood for any of Dean’s old tapes. He teased that anything that came out after cassette tapes wasn’t real music. And only real music got to play in the impala.

Closing his eyes, Dean could picture the smug look Cas would be wearing right now. Tears started bubbling free from his eyelids. God he missed Cas with every ounce of his being.

A while later Dean got up and left his room, taking the tapes with him. He went for a long drive circling the neighboring towns while he worked through several of the tapes. If he relaxed enough, he could almost imagine Cas sitting in the front seat next to him, mumbling along to the lyrics of the songs he liked most.

Dean vowed that this time next year things would be different. He was owed a birthday wish and this was it: next year he’d be somewhere warm with his toes buried in the sand, and he’d have Sam, Eileen, Jack, and Cas with him.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #destiel #my writing #save #i hope y'all enjoy this #forgive me for any spelling errors. it's after 3am

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hydra-collector · 4 years

Text

Ripped Apart

AO3

Pairings: Intrulogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders (all other sides mentioned)

TW: self-harm, suicidal thoughts, ocean creatures, gore/body horror (referenced, doesn’t actually happen), cursing

Words: 1,844

Summary: Remus gets much-needed comfort.

Note: Takes place roughly after POF.

Bite your tongue.

He felt the muscle conform to his teeth.

Harder.

Bite it off.

Don’t.

Do it.

He bit until it bled, but not hard enough.

Please bite it off.

He would just cut. He wouldn’t have to think about this anymore. He’d forget. Healthy- healthier distractions.

He knew what he was. He knew he was self-destructive, unhealthy, depressed, even dying if you were to count where his thoughts had been going lately.

Just cut and it’ll go away.

What will? There’s the chance cutting would make him want to-

Cut your arms off.

No. He wasn’t going to do that.

You should.

He would bleed out and die, probably.

Then do that.

Just fucking cut.

That voice was constantly pestering him. Remus didn’t mind the intrusive thoughts, sexual jokes, murder, other people’s gore… none of it bothered him. But a while ago the thoughts of killing and hurting and dismemberment had begun being directed at himself. He hated it. He hated himself. What a disgusting being he was. The only way to make them stop was to give in. At least a little.

The blood that came was comforting. It felt humanizing, and reminded him his veins were still pumping. He was still alive.

It was grounding, but also saddening to some extent. He felt like this giant piece of shit that hurt anyone he touched. Part of him was so glad to be in this exhilarating whirlwind called life, no matter how hated he was, but the other part wanted it to end. He never knew if it was selfish or not. Sometimes he wanted so badly to fuck up his relationships with all his friends, if they even considered him a friend, and just erase himself from Thomas’s mind. Sometimes he felt trapped. Thomas never let his ideas free into the world. What was the point of Remus existing at all if he wasn’t going to be used to better Thomas’s content?

Was that his problem? Did he think Thomas was the problem and it was really him?

He sighed and set the razor aside for a moment.

Tell someone if you’re not going to rip out your internal organs.

Who could he tell?

Remus was still scared that Janus despised him, and he was never good with emotions anyway. He supposed he could talk to Virgil. But he’d left the dark sides. Why would he want to talk to either of them? Especially about sensitive topics. Patton was empathetic and theoretically would be good to talk to, but he’d hurt him. He hated intrusive thoughts, why would he want to talk to the embodiment of it? And there was no way he was going to talk to Roman.

Logan?

Logan, he was pretty sure, didn’t hate him. Rather, they’d talked before Remus’s first appearance and now could probably consider themselves friends. He knew Logan (even though he did shove teeth up his nose) and Logan talked to him. By choice.

He kind of liked Logan.

A lot.

Maybe too much.

He was the only side that Remus could give something the others thought disgusting, weird or creepy, and care about it. Talk about it. He’d even invited Remus to join in some chemistry once, (it did not go well; that did not happen again) and dissected all the dead animals he found. They talked about things the other sides wouldn’t dream of thinking about. And Remus loved science, especially about living things, because there were new, weird things always being discovered. The deep sea is full of wonders like squids and octopi, huge whales, tiny things, so many different species.

Just cut a little more. Then you can see Logan. He’ll help.

Will he?

“Logie! Teach me how to feel like a human again!”

He bounced his steps into the hall, Logan seemingly off to do work.

“You’re not a human, Remus.”

“I felt like one before, though.”

“Why not ask Patton for assistance? He’s much more well-versed in emotions than I am.”

“You’re the only one that likes me.”

“I doubt that’s true. Sure, the other sides may dislike your rather random thoughts, but why would that give them reason to dislike you? You’re a wonderful side.”

“That’s probably not true. No offense to you. I was hoping to find someone to stop me, but you don’t have to. I might cut off my arms and bite out my tongue. Ooh! Or blow up my legs! How long would it take for all of that to kill me?” He smiled a twisted, tortured smile, digging his long fingernails deep into his palms.

“Remus, are you alright? Would you like to sit down? I can get you anything you need, you seem like you could use it. Anything, I can help.”

“Logan, I haven’t been okay for months. Years? Probably my entire life.”

“Please, come sit down.”

Logan led him, hand on his back, to his room, walls blue and books stacked neatly in rows. He pushed aside his laptop from his bed to sit Remus down.

“Ooh, does the nerd wanna fuck?”

“Remus, I need you to be at least semi-serious right now. Did anything specific happen to make you feel like this? Are there any other notable emotions I should be aware of? And what can I do to help?”

“I’ve been depressed for,” he counted on his fingers, “I don’t know how long, but a while!” He said this far too cheerily.

“Okay, that does not sound good. Why did you tell me now?”

“I decided I either give in and destroy myself and wait to die or tell someone. I figured I can do it anyway after I’ve told someone, so I might as well. Ooh, should I write a note?” He grinned at Logan, beginning to scratch at his hands and arms.

“Remus,” he took the creative side’s hands in his own to prevent further scratching, “don’t write a note, don’t kill yourself. It is illogical to take away a part of Thomas’s personality, no matter how inessential you may think you are.”

“I don’t want to, but I have to. Everyone will stop being miserable because of me, I’ll stop being miserable because of me, I’m sure as hell not gonna be missed-”

Logan pulled their hands up to his face, making the impulsive decision and kissing the dark side’s knuckles lightly.

“I’d miss you.”

Remus gazed upwards, surprised. Logan retracted his hands from Remus’s.

“I apologize,” he still didn’t let go of his friend’s hands, “that was unnecessarily intimate.”

Logan could swear Remus’s eyes sparkled.

“No, it was okay. I don’t think anyone’s… ever done something like that.”

“Would more physical affection help with your mental state? If so, I shall provide it.”

Both were desperate for it.

Remus nodded and Logan sat next to him, at first giving an awkward hug, but soon the two moved to lean against the wall and grew more comfortable, supporting each other’s weight.

“I’m bleeding.”

“Remus, did you-”

Before he could even finish his question, Remus’s sleeves were pulled up, smearing the blood still oozing out of the fresh wounds.

“I love them. They’re so pretty. They’re dark and warm and satisfying and I don’t have to chop off my limbs-”

He had a visible reaction to thinking about it again, hitting his head with his now bloody hands.

“Why do I remind myself-”

Logan took Remus’s hands again, keeping them away from his head, as well as each other, in case he started scratching himself again. It hurt him to see him like this. He waited a moment until he was fairly sure Remus could sit for a bit without hurting himself, left to wet a washcloth from the bathroom and brought in the First Aid kit.

“I wanna see them though.”

“Remus, let me. They’ll get infected.”

“Even more fun!”

“Remus, no.”

“Remus yes.”

“What?”

“Didn’t expect you to understand that.”

“Are you going to let me clean those?”

“Can I make more after?”

“No, this is incredibly unhealthy. On quite a few levels. Not only does self-harm directly impair your physical health, but additionally indirectly affects physical health by worsening your mental health, which is probably the worst effect.”

“They make me feel better though. And stop me from dying. Even if cutting technically hurts me, it’s probably keeping me alive.”

“It’s not a healthy coping mechanism. At some point it won’t be enough.”

“It’s enough now.”

“Like Janus said, don’t wait until you’re having a mental breakdown- or in your case, once you’re about to die- to take care of yourself. It only ends in misery, Remus.”

Logan only just realized how close the two of them were. He’d leaned forward, hands on Remus’s upper arms, holding the two of them too close for normal comfort. But right now it was oddly okay. He could feel Remus’s breathing on his face, irregular and nearing sobs. He should give him room to cry, but he’d grabbed onto Logan as well, so apparently didn’t want to.

“I already hurt so bad, why do I want more of it?”

Remus sniffed before burying his face into Logan’s shoulder and letting his tears flow into the black polo.

“Please hug me. Or clean them. It doesn’t matter. Just touch me. And in a non-sexual way, for once.”

Logan took his chance to gently wash the cuts with his rag. Remus continued crying while he applied the antibiotics and wrapped gauze firmly around his arms. Remus cried when he was done, falling on his chest with enough force that he ended up on his back, surprised. He adjusted this position so it was comfortable for the two of them, leaning against pillows he moved next to the wall.

He rubbed Remus’s back and upper arms, shoulders, held his hands, squeezed his torso, hoping it was helping. Remus turned his head and opened his eyes, which had at last stopped crying. He stared at Logan, maybe a bit too long.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“No.”

Remus contemplated for a moment, then decided to say it, grinning widely.

“Can I kiss you?”

“W-what?” His cheeks turned red.

“Can I kiss you? I don’t have to.”

Logan thought for a moment, looking at Remus’s face, then slowly nodded.

He held Logan’s face with his hands and kissed him softly, causing him to get even redder.

“I did not expect that.”

“What?”

“It was remarkably… unlike you.”

“Want another more like me, Lo?”

“I hesitate to ask what that would be like.”

Remus grinned. Less pronounced than the previous ones of the day, but it was more real and meant so much more than those had. It lifted Logan’s heart a little.

“Are you feeling a little better now, Remus?”

“I don’t really wanna die anymore, so probably.”

It was a massive relief to Logan to hear that. He started smiling, which Remus smiled back to.

Logan, after some silence, kissed him on the forehead. He held him as long as he could.

Remus needed every second.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #remus sanders #logan sanders #intrulogical #ts remus #ts logan #ts remus angst #remus angst #remus sanders angst #tw ocean #tw gore #tw body horror #tw self harm #tw sucidal ideation #tw suicidal thoughts #tw cussing #grays fics

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 6

Catch up on Chapter 5 here

“Van?” You gasp down the line the second you hear the ringing stop. “Van!”

“What’s going on?” Van says immediately. You can hardly process what he’s saying. Your teeth chatter.

“Are you in L.A.?” You ask, still gasping for air.

“I am, why?”

When you can’t answer through the chattering of your teeth you hear him down the line again: “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I was in an accident,” You choke out. And with your announcement the real gravity of the situation hits you. You start crying. “I just got hit by a car.”

Van is there for you on arguably one of the worst nights of your life.

A/N: Content warning for a very in-depth description of a car accident (only minor physical injuries), psychological shock, and an anxiety attack.

Word count: ~6.1k

Chapter Six May 2019

The Catfish show is the last hurrah of sunny L.A. weather before clouds roll in. By Wednesday, it’s been raining consistently for days.

Technically, you know you should be grateful. Rain can be sparse sometimes, causing some serious droughts and an increase in wildfires. But while you’re happy those are being prevented, you’re not happy with having to constantly drive in the spattering rain and be kept awake at night with roaring thunder. And without any gaps in the showers for the Earth to soak everything up, the ground has become one giant swampy mud puddle everywhere you go.

You come home from work that night worn thin. The daily grind is mundane enough without the lack of sunshine, but after consecutive days without any time outdoors you feel extra irritable.

You check the weather forecast as you plop down on the couch without even bothering to change clothes yet. There’s still more rain being predicted. You tip your head back against the couch in annoyance.

One thing was for sure, you couldn’t stand another routine night of cooking dinner and then heading off to bed early simply from boredom. Something had to give.

Your fingers are poised over your phone screen as you consider. Should you text Mary? See if Van’s still in town? Have a night to yourself? It was a weeknight, after all. Everyone was probably busy with regular life.

But a night to yourself didn’t sound so bad, as long as you deviated from the usual. Maybe tonight was a good night to get some takeout and do something special in the name of self care. Now that you think about it, it’s been a long time since you’ve had IHOP. That’s always a nice treat.

Once you’ve had the idea, something about it just seems right. A big stack of your favorite pancakes, the rain pounding against the windows while you enjoy them. You could catch up with some TV or maybe grab one of the brand new books on your bookshelf you’d bought and never touched again. Or you could run a bath. All of those possibilities sounded perfect for tonight.

Before you can talk yourself out of it you’ve pulled up the IHOP menu. You really only look for fun. Your favorite order is always the cupcake pancakes, and this time is no exception. You place the order through an app and shuffle around getting dressed to head out in the rain.

Outside, the weather is disgusting. You tug your windbreaker around you tighter, carefully trying to avoid stepping in the murky puddles overflowing your yard as you head for the car. Even your gate seems sad at the weather, so waterlogged it doesn’t give its usual enthusiastic creak as you pass through.

Everyone else seems to have taken the night-in approach, too. There’s not too many other cars out, and you make it to the restaurant in record time, collecting your still-hot styrofoam container of pancakes. You’ve got the heat going in the car, your favorite Spotify playlist running through the aux, and as you pull away from IHOP you can feel yourself bubbling with excitement at the little night you’ve carved out for yourself.

You’re having an internal debate between Netflix shows when you see it. Actually, you hear it first: the noise of another car near you, even though you weren’t aware someone was so close in the lane next to you.

But they’re not in the lane next to you. You’re passing under the green light of an intersection when you realize you’re hearing a car that’s still driving on the opposite road. Headlights soak your vision as you realize they’re still moving directly towards your car. Your first instinct is to hit the brake, but immediately you can tell there’s no avoiding him. In a sickening jolt your mind processes that he’s going to nail the front passenger door and your adrenaline makes your foot press on the gas. You don’t hear any brakes squealing. He’s going to run you into the middle of this intersection and kill you.

“SHIT!” You scream as the sickening sound of metal crunching fills the car, the rubber of your tires wailing as the car is pushed sideways. You don’t know why you scream when you’re the only one present. You try to check your mirrors, hoping you don’t hit someone else as you’re pushed a whole lane over. Headlights beam you in the eyes again as the car slightly behind you in the lane next to you comes to a screeching stop.

As fast as the chaos had begun, it was over. You’re directly under the traffic light you’d been trying to pass under, and it beams red into the windshield of your car. You jerk your neck looking around, hoping someone doesn’t absentmindedly accelerate. You can’t see too much through the rain but tons of yellow headlights spotlighting you.

Someone tries your car door handle. You scream, startled. When they realize it’s locked they slap their hand against the window. You have to fumble before you manage to unlock the door.

“Are you okay?” Someone shouts at you. You stare up at them, trying to process the words.

“He ran right into you!” They continue, gesturing to the passenger side of your car. “Are you hurt?”

Honestly, you don’t feel anything. All of your limbs feel like solid ice. “I don’t think so,” You tell them, looking around for blood. Everything seems intact.

The rain is pelting through the open door, soaking the interior of your car. In the beam of headlights you see another silhouette approaching you from across the road. “Is everyone okay?”

“Get in my car,” The person talking to you commands. “You’ve got to get out of the middle of the road.”

You try to unbuckle your seatbelt with your icy fingers. You grasp for your phone on the passenger seat, coming up empty.

“My phone!” You cry out, groping around in the dark. “Where’s my phone?”

“Is this it?” The person asks, kneeling down by the side of your seat before pressing the solid weight of your phone into your palm. It’s splattered with raindrops. You attempt to wipe it off with the sleeve of your jacket, realizing too late that it’s also wet, smearing more water across your screen. The thought of your phone being broken only pumps more icy panic through your veins.

“Let’s get in my car,” The stranger says again, “So I can pull us to the side of the road.”

You do as you’re told, stumbling through the puddles of rainwater to his car. Your fingers ache as you ease them under the door handle, sliding into the front seat.

It’s only then you can see the scene of the accident fully. Your car is in the middle of the intersection, melted around the front of the other car, who’d hit you square in the middle of the passenger side. The whole right side of your car is crinkled and caved in. Black tire marks streak the pavement around you. Other good samaritans are attending to the other person. It looks like they’re struggling to get the driver’s door open.

“Are they dead?” You panic, leaning forward in your seat for a chance at a better look. The car starts up, the man who’s helped you immediately turning the music down as he slowly inches around the scene, pulling halfway onto the sidewalk in an attempt to be out of the way.

“I dunno,” He says glancing around in his mirrors as he cuts the ignition. “I’m gonna go help. Stay here.”

You don’t know how long you sit in the silence, shivering, before you look at your phone again. You manage to dry it off by wiping it against the seat you’re sitting in. It lights up when you hit the home button, illuminating a jagged crack that runs across the center of the screen. Your thumbs act of their own accord.

“Van?” You gasp down the line the second you hear the ringing stop. “Van!”

“What’s going on?” Van says immediately. You can hardly process what he’s saying. Your teeth chatter.

“Are you in L.A.?” You ask, still gasping for air.

“I am, why?”

When you can’t answer through the chattering of your teeth you hear him down the line again: “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I was in an accident,” You choke out. And with your announcement the real gravity of the situation hits you. You start crying. “I just got hit by a car.”

“Holy fuck. Where? Are you hurt? Is help on the way?”

You’re not able to properly process anything he’s said. “I got hit by a car,” You sob again. “He just- He just ran into me!” You choke around a wail. “It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Where? Fuck, you gotta give me something else to go on! Where are you?”

“I dunno why I didn’t call Mary,” You blubber, more tears running hot down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, alright,” Van tries to shush you. “Where are you? C’mon.”

“I was at IHOP.” Van’s shushing had worked for a brief moment, but as the memory floods back you return to full on sobbing.

“On Sunset?” Van presses, before his voice cuts out as he jostles around on his end.

“No, no,” You cry, wiping at your nose. It only rubs icy rainwater all over your face. “Not Sunset. The other one. The other big road. I can’t remember the name, fuck. I’m drawing a blank on everything, I dunno.”

“Santa Monica?”

You perk up at his words. “Yeah, that one, that one.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I can’t feel anything,” You sniffle. “I’m so fucking cold. I don’t think so. I’m not bleeding. I don’t think. I hope I’m not bleeding all over this guy’s car.”

“What guy’s car?”

“This guy. He almost hit me, too. The car pushed me over into his lane. But he stopped.” You are cut off by your own involuntary gasp for air. “I got in his car. He drove up on the sidewalk.” You glance out the side mirror, watching the crowd of people still fussing over the other person’s car.

“He’s trying to help the other person,” You tell him tearfully. “They can’t get the car door open. I think they’re dead, Van.” At that you sob again. “I think they’re dead.”

Van starts to speak, but a noise from your phone interrupts him. You pull it away from your ear in confusion. The screen doesn’t light up. You hit the home button. The empty battery indicator beams up at you.

You stuff your phone into your jacket pocket, a small sob of frustration escaping your throat.

You sit alone in your numb haze. There are car horns honking in impatience at the hold up. You wipe your eyes, laughing bitterly to yourself. If only you were one of them, caught in the minor inconvenience of traffic while someone else suffered your fate.

In an unknown amount of time the emergency responders are finally on the scene. You watch as the police start posting up yellow emergency tape and other officers attempt to direct the jam around the giant mess. The sirens of a firetruck and an ambulance rip through your consciousness as they drive up on the muddy grass around you.

A paramedic retrieves you from the car. You’re not sure who even told them where you were. She leads you through the rain to the back of the ambulance.

There are lots of questions as she gets you seated on a stretcher, starts working on paperwork. They’re hard to answer. You don’t remember your own phone number. You don’t have your purse with your license with you. You left it in your car, you tell her. She checks you for a concussion, whiplash. Makes sure your reflexes aren’t impared.

You stay in the ambulance while two police officers take the paramedic’s place. Telling the story makes you feel slightly calmer. You start to put the pieces together in your mind, slowly grasping how you went from excited for your food to the back of an ambulance. You’re not sure if your details make sense, but the officers seem pleased with what you’re able to tell them.

“Are they dead?” You ask when your part is finished. You can’t see any of the scene from where you’re sitting, only the officers conducting traffic outside in the rain. You’ve heard the commotion though, the ripping of metal while the firefighters dismantled the car.

“She’s alive,” One of them tells you, and your body is flooded with relief. “Injured, but alive.”

They’re packing up their things, carefully depositing their notebooks back into their uniform pockets and starting to shuffle away when you hear the bleep of one of their walkie-talkies.

Yeah, looks like it was distracted, the voice crackles over the speaker. Phone should be submitted into evidence.

The officer unclicks the radio from his pocket. “Headed over there now,” He says, and they leave you to handle that accidental information on your own.

The first one steps down into the grass before you hear him say, stern, “Can I help you, sir?”

You immediately jump up from the stretcher, clamoring over to the edge. The officer that hasn’t stepped out yet looks at you in confusion.

“Van!” You gasp, stumbling out of the ambulance. At the sound of you moving around the other officer is distracted, Van easily shuffling past him to get to you.

One of your feet slips in the mud. You almost fall backwards but Van’s there to steady you.

As instantly as you’ve caught your balance Van roughly pulls you forward into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you.

“Are you her ride home?” You hear one of the officers ask Van from where you’ve got your face pressed into his chest.

“I am,” Van tells them. “Is she going to the hospital?”

“The paramedic examined her, but she can choose to go if she thinks she needs to. She’s in shock, though. Can’t drive.”

“Do you think you need to go to the hospital, ma’am?” Someone asks from behind you.

It takes all your strength to pull yourself away from where you’re pressed against Van.

“I think I’m okay,” You tell them. “I don’t have any pain right now. Just wanna go home, really.” As soon as you’re done speaking you’ve pressed yourself back against Van. Having something familiar to cling to has instantaneous calming effects on you. Your teeth start chattering again.

You break away from him eventually to speak to the paramedic, who hands you some paperwork that’s getting damp from the rain.

“If anything feels off, come to the emergency room immediately,” She tells you, holding eye contact so you take her seriously. You nod.

She turns to Van. “It’s very important she comes in if she’s showing any of the symptoms listed.”

Van thanks her, before gently tugging the paperwork out between your fingers, folding it into his own pocket.

You get a slip from the officers so you can get the police report later for your insurance company. Then you’re free to go.

The scene has quieted down significantly. The helpful pedestrians are gone now, having been replaced by the responders. The car honking has stopped now that traffic was being directed, and a tow truck company was supposed to be arriving any minute now.

“I didn’t even get to thank that guy,” You mumble when you realize that the car you’d been sitting in is no longer on the curb.

“Hm?”

“That guy,” You say louder, looking around again. “I never got to thank him.”

Van rubs his hand over your back. “It’s okay. He knows you were distracted.”

You nod, hoping he’s right. “Where’s your car?”

Van gestures down the road. “At the IHOP. Are you able to make it?”

“IHOP? You walked all that way?”

It’s only then you realize that Van’s soaked from the downpour, same as you. For some reason your brain had been tricked into believing he’d escaped the misery of being this cold.

“Well, yeah,” Van laughs, “I didn’t have a choice! Traffic was blocked. I had to get to you!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” You huff.

“Will you fucking stop?” Van insists, starting the journey down the sidewalk towards his car. He keeps a hand on your back as you move with him. “Look at you. Your car is a ball of tin foil in the middle of an intersection and you’re tryin’ to tell me not to come check on you. Save it, love.”

Your brain is too tired to bicker with him. You let your body move on autopilot. When you reach the crosswalk of the intersection you’d been hit at Van’s hand suddenly drops to grab yours, breaking into a light jog to get you two across during a red light.

Even once you’ve crossed the road he doesn’t let go. He holds your hand the entire walk down the block to IHOP, where his range rover is crookedly parked across two spaces. He only lets go to help you into the car.

“I assume you didn’t eat dinner?” He asks softly once he’s pulled onto the street.

“I had takeout in my car,” You say sadly.

“Wanna run back in to IHOP?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well I am,” Van says, “And you gotta eat something. McDonald’s it is, then. At least get some chips.”

As glaringly obvious as his britishness is, it still catches you off guard. You crinkle your nose at his choice of words. Chips.

He pulls up to a drive-thru a few minutes later, easily rattling off what you assume is his usual order. Then he turns to you expectantly.

“Um, whatever you got,” You tell him, unable to remember your usual order. Van nods, turning back to the speaker.

“So you get vanilla, too?” He asks when he pulls the car forward, in line for the window to pay.

“Vanilla what?”

“A vanilla milkshake,” Van says slowly. “That’s what I ordered.”

“Oh.” You watch the windshield wipers move in an arc across the glass. “I honestly have no idea what you ordered. I just couldn’t remember the menu.”

The weirdness of feeling so cloudy makes your eyes water. You desperately just want to feel normal.

“This is so weird,” You tell Van, your voice tight from your tears. “Something’s wrong with me.”

As Van pulls up to the window, you reach out suddenly, hand on his arm. “I don’t have my purse,” You realize. “I don’t have any money on me.”

Van only gives you a confused smile before he fishes his wallet out, handing his card over to the cashier when the window opens. You heave a sigh of relief.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” He says when it’s time to pull forward again. “Your head is fucked up. You’ll calm down.”

You wipe away the stray tear that’s started its journey down your face, hoping he’s right. “I guess it feels so stupid, getting McDonald’s after that. I almost died.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever been in an accident?”

Van hands over the paper bag of food and then a wobbling drink tray before pulling away. “I’ve had a fender bender or two when I was younger. Nothing like yours. And I don’t drive much, to be fair. Only when I’m here or in London. On tour I don’t have a car.”

“I never thought of that. How do you get around then?”

“Walk. Take an Uber.”

As the scent of hot french fries fills the car your body remembers how hungry it really is. It rips through your stomach with a growl.

“I take it back, I am hungry.” You pick through the paper bag. “What’d you get us?”

“Quarter pounder with cheese, Coke and a milkshake.”

“Holy shit. Is that what you usually get?”

“Sure. Sometimes I like some nuggets with it. But usually this is it.”

You blink at his silhouette while he looks ahead at the road. He glances over at you. “What?”

“That’s a lot of food for one sitting!” You laugh in disbelief.

Van shrugs. “I dunno! Maccies is good! What do you want me to say?”

“Maccies?”

Van rolls his eyes. “Aw, Christ. McDonald’s.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Sometimes!”

Having a normal conversation helps you calm down. By the time Van pulls up to your house, you feel slightly closer to being back on Earth as you help carry the food inside.

But being back in your living room and remembering the night you’d originally intended to have still brings tears to your eyes. Van notices right away.

“Go take a hot shower, yeah?” He suggests, coming over to you as soon as he’s set the bag of food and a lump of his things he’d thrown in his car down on the coffee table. He takes the cardboard drink tray from your shaking hands, setting it down before helping you ease off your soaked jacket.

“I don’t want to,” You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes. The idea of becoming even more waterlogged sounds miserable. And you just want to sit down.

“It’ll warm you up,” Van continues. He gives your lower back a rub before resting his hands on your shoulders, giving you a closer look. “Your lips are blue. You definitely need it.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but Van doesn’t allow it.

“I’ll get the water running,” He says, making a beeline for the bathroom before you can decline.

You find him fussing with the faucet when you finally follow. You take off your clothes right there, the icy layers of fabric slapping against the tile.

He doesn’t even give your naked body a glance when he stands upright. “Do you want something hot to drink when you’re done?”

“Do you know how to work a Keurig?”

Van nods.

“Yeah, coffee. But use one of the blue cups. The other ones are nasty.”

With another nod Van shuffles past you and out of the bathroom, leaving you to it.

Your skin is so cold even the lukewarm water Van had turned on burns. You stay in there, easing the water hotter and hotter until you’re no longer cringing away from the spray and the shower is filled with steam. Then you decide you’re warmed up enough and rejoin Van.

He’s changed into the dry clothes he’d brought with him, a black t-shirt and the worn flannel pajama bottoms you’d borrowed once. His hair is starting to dry, fluffy and unruly. He’s on his phone but looks up as soon as you return from getting dressed in your bedroom.

He smiles sheepishly. “I realized too late I have no idea what you put in your coffee. So I ran the cup and left it for you to finish.”

You head to the kitchen and finish adding milk and sugar into the steaming mug before you come back to the sectional.

The paper that the paramedic had given you is resting on the table. You nod to it. “Reading up on me?”

“Oh, yeah. Wanted to make sure I knew what we were looking for. You’re still okay, right? Nothing hurting?”

You roll your neck. “I’m starting to feel a little stiff, but I mean, that’s probably expected.” You tug your sweatpants down to your knees, showing Van a cut on your outer thigh. “I think a piece of the shattered window hit me.”

He grazes his fingertips against you gingerly, careful not to touch the cut. It only looks like a long cat scratch, but there had been enough crusted blood around it when you’d undressed that you knew something sharp had caused it.

“But I’m okay.” You shrug, pulling your pants back up.

Van eyes you for a long moment. “Are you doing better in your head?”

You manage a weak smile. “Yeah. It still doesn’t feel real. But the shower helped.”

Van seems satisfied with that answer, nodding to your food set aside on the table. You notice he’s waited to eat until you were ready, the milkshakes starting to melt. With both of you present now you dig into your meals. In the silence your mind wanders.

“I don’t think I can explain this to everyone tonight,” You groan around a mouthful of burger. “I don’t even remember the story as it is.”

“Wait ‘till morning,” Van says, uncapping his shake in order to dip his fries in. “You don’t need to worry about anything else tonight.”

“I wish it was that easy,” You sigh. “But I’ve got to call off work tomorrow. Gotta text my boss.”

“So just do that. Nothin’ else.”

You feel a headache blooming at everything that has to be done. You try to push your thoughts away, focusing back on your food. You abandon your coffee while you eat, the hot drink not going as well with your menu as the Coke, but once you’re done eating you pick the mug back up just for something to keep you distracted.

When Van’s done he taps away at his phone, and you remember that yours is dead.

“Fuck, gotta charge my phone,” You huff, going to get up from the couch. But Van points to the kitchen table, where your phone is charging.

“I got it going for ya. Is the crack from the accident?”

“Yes,” You sigh.

You make your way to the kitchen table, checking out any notifications. Everything is achingly normal. There’s a meme from your mom, a text inviting you out to drinks from some of the girls at work, and Mary complaining about something Theo’s done. You try to keep the details as minimal as possible as you text your boss, and you ignore everything else.

There’s so many people who will want to know what happened: Mary and Theo, your mom and dad. Your boss. Some of your coworkers you’re close with will wonder why you were out. You could cover a lot of your bases with your family and close friends with a Facebook post, but inevitably people will only reach out to you wanting more details. Then the insurance company will need all the details for the claim. And who knows how much everything will cost, and who’s responsible for it. You had no idea what towing company had even taken your car.

“Are you alright?”

You feel like you’ve been asked that question a million times tonight. You only realize you’re short of breath when Van’s question pulls you from your thoughts.

“Whoa,” Van murmurs. He sets his phone on the coffee table, instantly repositioning so that he’s sitting in front of you. “What’s going on?”

“I’m stressed out,” You admit. Your eyes have watered so many times tonight that you’re sick of the sensation, wiping at them furiously. That only irritates the already tender skin.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” Van tries to tell you, hands on your shoulders. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“But it’s not!” You sob into your hands, before digging your fingers into your hair. “It’s not okay! I almost fucking died! I almost died, Van! Would you have even missed me?”

Van’s face immediately contorts into anger. “Why would you even fucking ask that?”

Because we’re just a fling. There’s others. Why would you care? You don’t scream the words that run through your head.

“I’m freaking out!” You yell instead. “I’m freaking the fuck out! I can’t ever drive a car again after that! I almost died! I don’t even have a car to drive! I have no way to get to work! And I’m not made of money, I don’t have the kinda cash to Uber everywhere! I don’t have money for car repairs. And I mean, you saw my car! C’mon, it’s fucking totaled! I don’t have money for an Uber, let alone a new car!”

You reach for a stiff McDonald’s napkin in order to wipe your running nose. “How do I tell that story to everyone, Van? How? I literally could not explain it if I tried. A car literally ran into me. Straight into me. They had a red light. A red light! And it was distracted driving. Did I tell you that? I heard it over the walkie-talkie. Fucking texting and driving. How do I explain the fact I don’t even have whiplash? Or a broken arm? None of it makes sense!”

Van’s anger has faded from his expression by the time you’ve stopped yelling, but his jaw is set. He looks like he’s thinking.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” He agrees. “I saw it with my own two eyes and I don’t know how you walked away. I don’t have an answer for you there.”

He takes a deep breath. “But you can borrow the Rover as long as you need it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He snatches the keys off of the table and holds them out to you. “It’s yours while you figure all this shit out.”

You jerk away as if he’s offered you a grenade. “There’s no way. Nuh-uh.”

“You’re right. Everything is fucked. But it’s gonna be okay. And if I can help it be okay in some way, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

You’re still leaned away from him. “You’ve helped enough already. I don’t want your fucking car. What if I crash that one, too?”

“You didn’t crash anything. An asshole hit you. And it has full coverage, so I don’t care.”

“I’m not taking your car, Van!”

“Yes, you are! Fuck!” Van tosses the keys in your lap lightly. You flinch as if they’ll burn you. “Stop giving me shit every time I’m trying to be nice to you! I’m going to be back in London soon anyway, so use my car! I won’t be around to!”

You toss the keys back at Van. “Take these back.”

Van stands up. “I’m not taking these back, they’re yours for now.” He walks over to where your coat is hanging over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, dripping water onto the floor, and tucks his keys into your jacket pocket.

“And just so you know,” He starts angrily as he returns, “I meet people all the fucking time that I can tell don’t give a shit about me. We were at a party full of them. When you have money and even the smallest amount of influence, people want to be mates so bad. Especially in the music industry.”

He plops down in his seat, gesturing at the front door behind him. “If you think I’m racing out of my house in the middle of a storm to make sure they’re okay you’ve got it all wrong. And if you think I’m offering everyone my car keys you’re crazy. We’re friends. Don’t ever ask me some stupid shit about you dying like that again. The keys are yours. End of.”

You stare at him through your tears, clenching your teeth. When he’s around nothing ever makes sense. It’s like you’re best friends yet you feel like you know nothing about him. You two act like you’re dating in private and then go weeks without speaking. He’s so fucking nice to you all the time and you don’t understand where it comes from, why he feels compelled to do things like hand over his car keys without a second thought. You don’t have an issue with a friends-with-benefits arrangement. But Van has a way of blurring the line between the benefits and the friendship. And you have nothing for him in return. No exclusive access to things, no guest lists, connections. Certainly no cars to lend.

You want to cry from how overwhelmed you are by his kindness this entire night. And you want to scream at how much it confuses you. You settle for reaching forward and grabbing his shirt collar and pressing your lips against his, hard.

Van’s not one to startle. When you kiss him he’s usually all in, easily following your lead. But this time you notice his surprise, how he’s frozen in shock for a moment before he’s kissing you back.

He’s gentle, carefully cupping the back of your head as he tries to slow the pace. You’re not having it. You pull him closer by his shirt, pressing his mouth open with yours to force the kiss deeper.

He’s sitting slightly too far away from you to the point where you can tell it’s hard for him to lean forward enough to kiss you. You press him back by his shoulders, nudging him to rest against the back of the couch as you scramble up to straddle him, resting yourself over his thighs. You pant into his mouth as you slip your fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, pressing it upward in an attempt to slip it off of him.

Suddenly his hands are resting over the back of yours.

“Hey, hey,” He murmurs. He holds your hands gently, guiding them away from their task of undressing him. You still cling to the fabric for dear life. He has to press into your flesh with his fingertips in order for you to finally let go.

“There’s no need for that,” Van tells you softly. You accept he wants to keep his shirt on and go for the waistband of his pants instead, trying to ease the elastic down. He tightens his fingers around your wrist, gently wrestling you away again.

You give a frustrated sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Your head’s not in the right place,” Van replies. “You’ve had a long night.”

“I know I’ve have a long night,” You plead, “That’s why I need this. To chill out.”

“I’ll roll us a joint. That’ll chill you out.”

“I don’t want to smoke weed. I want to give something back for how nice you’ve been tonight.”

“Oh, quit it. You’re keeping me company. I was sitting around bored out of my mind.”

“No, you’re keeping me company,” You argue, wriggling around in his lap. It’s easy to feel his semi through his flannel bottoms. “Lemme make you dealing with me crying all night worth it.”

Van grabs your upper arms firmly, nudging you off of his lap before standing up. “I’ll grab the weed.”

You watch him rifle through his things as you come to terms with the fact you’ve officially been rejected.

The sting of Van’s rejection is only eased after passing the joint he’s rolled back and forth a few times. He doesn’t acknowledge how silent and broody you’ve become as he rolls it, but he’s too smart not to know. The fact he’s as cheerful as ever as he makes you take the first hit only boils your blood more.

But as you two burn the joint down to a pitiful nub you start to simmer down. Your bad mood becomes less about Van and more about how awful your night has gone as a whole. The fact you weren’t going to get a quickie with Van out of tonight was only the cherry on top.

“Should I roll another?” Van asks after you two have given the first one some time to settle. It’s calmed you down, but not enough to sleep. Given the way Van’s socked toes are tapping at your knee you get the feeling he’s not ready to sleep, either.

He brings the second one to the bedroom, waiting to light it until you two are settled in. This one tastes a little stronger, burns your throat more. After three hits you’re snuggled up against him as he lights his nighttime cigarette.

“I have a question,” You say slowly, keeping your eyes closed. You don’t want to lose the way your head is floating, so much lighter now that you’ve been able to let go of your worries. Besides the one that keeps nagging your brain every time you breathe in the scent of Van’s fabric softener.

“Shoot.”

“Are you seeing someone in London?”

“Loads of people. Me mum ‘n dad. My cousins. Mates from back home.”

You giggle, poking his thigh. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ve got a question for you,” Van declares, poking you on the arm.

You press your forehead against his outer thigh, slinging your arm across his lap. It’s the ultimate comfortable position, your body sinking into it happily. “Hm?”

“I wanna know who’s been treating you so lousy that you’re so shocked when someone cares for you.”

Maybe you could’ve answered him if you hadn’t drifted off to sleep.

#summer's a knife #van mccann #van mccann fanfiction #vanfic #catb #catfish and the bottlemen #van fic #van mccann fic

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let-me-be-a-fander-in-peace · 3 years

Text

Outsider.

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My versions of demons are technically not Christian demons, but it’s a bit more complex than that, so VERY information about the demon race at the end of the fic. Here is the prompt I used.

————————————

Relationships: Virgil & Thomas, Remus & Janus & Virgil.

Word count: 3,100.

Description: it was bound to happen eventually, doesn’t mean that Virgil, a human, is happy about being put in a school for demons.

Tw: Joking about skinning someone alive and comparing their organs, and joking about hostages. (Yes, Remus is mostly the one joking about it)

————————————

Of course, Virgil thinks, only my parents could mange to make this big of a mistake.

Standing in the hall you enter once you walk through the frount door of the school. Virgil sees all of the baige lockers lined up, most of the few gaps in between the lockers against the wall are wood doors that enter into classrooms.

Virgil sees students walking down the hall, talking with friends or walking alone. There also students standing by the lockers grabbing thing they need for there first class or putting their supplies away. There are also groups of people just standing by the lockers taking with each other. this would normally not surprise, except for one key detail;

They were all demons.

Everyone had horns and some color from the rainbow skin tone mixed with unique features every demon have, like wings, tails, multiple eyes, plants growing in select areas, and more.

Virgil felt anxiety pounding in his gut as he walked to the councilors office. He could feel eyes burning his skin and he can see the double takes some of demons are doing.

Virgil stops in frount of a door and pulls out his crinkled postet note with the councilers door number on it from his pocket. He glances down at his postet note to confirm that he is at the right door. yep, Virgil thinks, this is the right door, and he hesitantly walks in.

Virgil enters the Councilers office and walks towards the accountant, He glances down at the name tag, Mrs Qucei to ask for his schedule.

“..Hello? Um, I’m Virgil Angst and I’m here for my schedule?”

Mrs. Qucei without looking up from typing on her computer says “Go to the door behind you to enter Mr. Sanders Office for you schedule.”

Virgil stands in that place for a second before quickly turning around and speed walking to the door behind him and knocking.

“Oh? Come in!”

Virgil hesitantly turns the door handle and pushes the door open, just enough for his body to fit through.

When Virgil closes the door he looks a around the room. The room has beige walls and dark wood flooring, on the left wall there is a giant picture frame with a bunch of mini lgbtq+ flags with the corresponding meaning for each flag.

In the left hand counter there is a bedside table with small figet toys on it and a lamp. There is a bin under the table with more figet toys, and next to the bedside table there are different types of chairs, there is a beanbag, a spiny chair, a stool, and a two person couch.

Across in the back right corner facing the right there is a wooden desk and a big computer screen in the middle of the desk. The desk seems to be kinda messy, there is a messy stack of papers on the side and a buch of pens and pencils littered the desk, when they look like they should be in the cups with pens and pencils, (some with animal erasers and fluff balls on the top).

But typing on the computer in your typical office chair there is a demon, he looks to be an short demon, (so around six foot four) and his skin is a warm gray. This horns go up and then swoop down, kind of like a crooked upside down L. He has a slim-ish nose and small lips. His eyes have no whites in them (most demons don’t) and his eyes are a dark brown. His hands have webbing in between them, and he has sharp and long nails. he is wearing a warm brown leather jacket and a dark blue top, he’s wearing jeans and brown loafers.

He looks up from where he was sitting and smiles at Virgil, ushering over to the many chairs. Virgil drops his backpack right against to the tall stool so it’s leaning against it, and Virgil sits on the tall stool where he can hang is legs off. Virgil pulls on this sleeves and bunches the extra fabric that goes past his hands into his sleeve covers hands, and he keeps doing that to have something to do with his hands.

Mr. Sanders smiles at him before talking, “Hi, I’m Mr. Sanders he/him, what’s your name and pronouns?”

Virgil figures that Mr. Sanders already knows his name, seeing as he is the new human student, but goes along with it anyways, “Um, Hi? I’m Virgil Angst.. uh- he/him.”

Virgil mentally cringes at how he spoke, why did I have to be so bad at social interaction.

Luckily for Virgil, Mr. Sanders didn’t seem to mind, and keeps talking, “obviously your the new student, I have your schedule right... here!”

As Mr. Sanders shuffled around his desk for Virgils schedule, he let out a small ‘ah ha!” As he found it. He quickly stood up and walks over to Virgil, handing him his schedule. Then goes back to sit at his desk.

Virgil looks at the schedule handed to him, it has his locker number and combination, and it has his six classes in this order: Biology, Algebra, World history, English, Lunch, German, P.E.

Virgil looked back up at Mr. Sanders. There was still one question in his mind, why was he, a human, doing in a demon school?

As if Mr Sanders could read his mind, he starts the talking, “Now I’m pretty sure your woundering why you’re in a school full of demons, and I would be wondering the same thing if I were you. The reason for this is that the school was informed of your parents, er, work schedule,”— I know that parents keep getting relocated and moving for the new job—“and sense this is the easiest place for your parents, we let you enroll!”

Oh. Oh...

my parents were to lazy to get me into a human school...

...So they signed me up for a school for demons.

...Eh, it was going to happen eventually, I guess.

“Now that I’ve given you your schedule go to your first class! You don’t want to be late!”

Virgil pushes himself off of the tall stool and swings his backpack over his sholder before saying goodbye to Mr. Sanders and walking out of the Room.

Virgil entered the hallway and looked at all of the locker numbers and counts until he hid his own locker.

A-124.

A-125.

A-126.

A-127 .

And... A-128!

My locker.

Virgil looked at his looker and back at this schedule a few more times confirm that he was actually at the right locker. Once he wasn’t so anxious that this wasn’t the right locker the looks at the locker combination and puts his hand on the lock to try.

17.

Virgil put it to number 17.

45.

Virgil twisted the lock in the other direction to get to 45.

31.

Virgil twisted the lock in the opposite direction all the way around before putting it on 31.

Finally Virgil pushed up the black peace that opens the locker, and the locker opened with a small squeek.

Virgil suddenly felt a wave of relieve that he hadn’t been assigned the wrong locker, and then he put this backpack in his locker and took out his binder and a book Virgil is currently reading. Then Virgil took a picture of his schedule and set it to his background screen. Then was on his way to biology class.

As Virgil walks down the hall he saw a bunch a demons looking at him. He understands why they’re looking at him, doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

Virgil steps infrount of a open door and checks his phone to see if this was the right class.

He checks his phone and thinks, yep, this is the right class.

Virgil walks through the door and sees a seating chart being protected on those roll up white screens. Virgil looks around at the seating chart before in the corner of his eye he catches his name. Virgil’s name is in a box that represents the back corner table, with two other people, A Remus Creatività and A Janus Dolus.

Virgil walks over to where his name corresponds to and sits down, putting his binder and book in the table corner. Virgil grabs his book and opens it up to his paper bookmark. Pulls the bookmark out and sets it to the side, and continues reading where he left off.

Not even a page in, Virgil feels his book get suddenly ripped out of his hands. He looks up at the bitch who ripped his book out of his hands, and see’s a tall demon around six foot nine with light green skin, he has a pointy nose, and big eyes with a white eye color, around his eyes there is purple eyeshadow, and (really good) winged eyeliner. He also shaved his eyebrow ends. He has a crazed smile with a lot of sharp teeth. He has a dark green curly muttet with a buch of small white streaks in his hair and one prominent white streak in the frount. In his hair there are dark green horns that fade into black at the top, the horns zigzag to the back of his head.

He has two pairs of tentacles, they’re a dark brown, lighter on the bottom where the suckers are. and crossed like you would cross your arms if you didn’t have bones.

He is wearing a black T-shirt with the red anarchy symbol, and a bunch of Bracelets on his wrist, some are your average homemade friendship bracelet, some are rubber bands with stuff on them, and there are also hair ties and those animal shaped rubber bands. He’s wearing gray ripped shorts and purple tights with a bunch of holes in them. And finally he’s wereing doc Martins with purple lace.

I think that’s lace code Virgil thinks, err... if that is lace code, which I think it is, purple means gay pride... I think.

Virgil is snapped out of his head by the demon talking,“Oooo! What’s this!”

The boy exclaims, closing the book with a finger in the book to hold the placement, and reads the summary on the back.

Then another demon, around six foot three, walks up to the other demon and pulls Virgils book out of his hands. This demon has a golden skin tone and a long nose. His face is half regular and half snake. On his regular side he has dark brown eyes, just like most demons, you can’t see the white in his eyes. On his snake side there are yellow-green scales, the scales start right next to his nose and go to his ear. His lips look totally normal except for that where the human lips end on this snake half there is a snake mouth, (stretchy skin that Virgil can’t see connects his snake mouth together), and it extends to his ear. his eye on his name half is fully yellow and he has a split pupil. under his name eye is what looks to be a giant pink eye bag.

His clothing is very causal, his black hair is slicked back and in a black Beene, so Virgil can’t see his horns.He is wearing a black long sleeve shirt with thin yellow strips on the sleeves, he has three pairs of arms, (so six arms total) that all have the same sleeve pattern. He has black fingerless gloves, his nails are painted white with a glossy topcoat, and you can see scales on some of his fingers. he is in black leather pants with a brown belt. His shoes are black high tops with white accents.

“Remus, Why are you harassing the new student?”

The tall demon, who’s name is apparently Remus, pouts, “Jannyyyyyy—“ Remus gets a death glare from... Janny? “Janusss! I wasn’t harassing him! He’s at our table and I want to know if he’s juicy or not!”

“You could do that without harassing him.”

“But that’s no fun!”

The short demon, Janus? glares at Remus, crossing his multiple arms, he still has Virgils book in his hand.

“...Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He sighs giving in to Janus’ stare.

Virgil feel kinda awkward, and interrupts, “Uh, hi, this is fun and all, but can I have my book back.”

They both turn to him. they look at each other and back back at Virgil, “Sweet Satain, I forgot you were even here.” Remus bluntly responds.

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry, here is you book back.” Janus says and he hands Virgils book back to him. Virgil hesitatly takes his book back, and puts his book mark on the last page he was at before shutting his book.

“So! Your the new kid! And your human, of course I was curious!” Remus exclaims, “So, how did you get into this school? Last time I checked humans went to that other school a town over, so what are you doing here?”

During that speech Remus went to sit across from Virgil, and Janus went to sit next to Remus. Remus is leaning over the table with his fists against the table looking at Virgil with wide eye curiously.

“Ummm..”

I really dont what to say to to demons, who are basically strangers, that my parents where so busy that they convinced the leaders to let me go to school here because I can comfortably walk here.

Suddenly the teacher starts calling for everyone’s attention, signaling that class has started.

Virgil silently sighs in relief. Saved by the teacher.

Class is pretty boring, seeing as it’s the first day of school and all classes are just going over rules and stuff like that.

Virgil is reading the class syllabus when suddenly a paper is sild over to Virgil. Virgil looks up from the class syllabus to see Remus wink at him, so Virgil hesitately unfolds the paper and reads their writing in it.

Did you know that skin is the largest organ?

Virgil feels confused, why is Remus asking if I know if skin is the largest organ?

...no, I didn’t.

Virgil slides the paper back to Remus, he writes something down and slides it back.

Well it is! If you skinned someone alive and separated all of there organs, all of their skin clumped together would be bigger than all of the other organs, even the big intestine!

Virgil writes something down and slides it back to Remus, Why is them being alive while you skin then important?

Before Remus could write something down Janus slides the paper to himself and looks between Remus and Virgil with a ‘seriously?’ Expression. Remus quickly nods and Virgil hides his face in his hoodie out of embarrassment.

Janus writes something and slides it over to Remus, who writes something down and slides it to Virgil.

Virgil unfolds the paper and reads it.

Why must you always have the most gruesome conversation starters. Is written in nice cursive with a black pen.

After that is, Because you always gotta start out conversations with your true self!

Next to that Virgil writes, So,,, your true self is skinning a person alive to compare there organs?

Yes! Inside my soul is skinning someone alive and comparing their organs. There is a picture of a ghost, inside the ghost there is one stick figure with exed out eyes and with red pen scribbled all over the stick figures torso. Next to the stick figure is another stick figure nellinf next to it with a knife and the end of what is supposed to be the arm.

I can attest to that, is written next to it.

Now we know what is inside Remus’ (that’s your name right?) soul, what’s inside your soul?

The paper was eventually sild back into Virgils area and he read what was new in it.

Yes! My name is Remus, you also spelled it correctly, an what is inside your soul, Janus?

Below that Janus had written, ...Hmmm, inside my soul is a very rich fancy old lady who killed her husband for his money, and she is covered in jewelry drinking wine in a finch wine glass. what about you, Virgil. (if that is your name.)

The paper slides to Virgil, he reads the paper and thinks for a second, before writeing something down. Yes, Virgil is my name, In my soul there is a 2000’s emo kid writing decent poetry about how ‘no one understands me’ while blasting The Black Parade.

Virgil sides the paper over to Janus, who does one of those nose laughs where instead of making noise you choppily exhail. He writes and slides the paper over to Remus, who slides the paper back to Virgil.

You couldn’t come up with anything more creative than The black Parade?

Yeah! Is written in his chicken scratch handwriting, what about the screams of hostages?

Virgil rolls his eyes and slides the paper back. You couldn’t come up with anything more creative with just ‘the screaming of hostages’?

The paper is slid back to Virgil, oh-ho! Do not test me! I don’t want to scare you, too much, you feel me?

You say that as your convertation started was about organs. Is written in Janus’ fancy handwritten

Yeah, why did you try to start a conversation with that?

The paper is slid back to Virgil, and Remus has a weirdly smug face on as Virgil opens the folded paper. because only juicy people actually respond to that! Congrats Virgil! You passed the juicy test!

With his micanical pencil Virgil writes, I don’t know if I should be relived or scared that I passed the ‘juicy test’, and slides it over to Remus and Janus’ side of the table.

The paper slides back to Virgil. I’ll leave that up to you! But just know now that you have passed the test you are our friend. You cant escape. Below that in Janus’ black pen is, good luck.

Just as Virgil finishes reading Remus’ and Janus’ nots the bell goes off, making Virgil jump in his seat.

The bell is so loud, he thinks while packing up. Once he has all of his stuff ready to go he gets up to leave class when he hears Remus yell, “SEE YOU LATER!” And Virgil waves back at him.

Virgil walks out of the classroom and looks at his phone to see what his next class is, it turns out his next class is algebra.

———————————

Heyyy everyone... I have so many other things planned out, but I saw this prompt and all of my modivation for all my other wips left my body... so have this!

There is going to be more than one part! it should be out soon, now information on the demon race!

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I do not mean to disrespect Christians! This universe’s version of christainly is just that, a fantasy version that represents the worst version of Christianity. so please don’t come for me.

The demon race and the Human race met in the 500’s, the reason I say demons are technically not the Christian demons is because they were labeled as the devils followers, they were said to be devils from hell. That is where the image of Satan was created. There where lots of hate agents demons back in the old days. but demon and Humans have been collaborating for so long that most of the hate and suspicion for demons has died out with time.

In this universe Demons are taller and stronger than humans, but there senses are dulled down compared to humans, (which was why the bell was louder to Virgil.) Demons where also considered to be Dumber than humans (there not), because they were hunters and gathers, and they spoke a different language. So in this universe that was how the image of the devil was created. in the modern day (when this story takes place) most Christians consider the big, red, horned version of Satan bullshit, (especially demon followers) but it kinda rude to call demon’s devil’s.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #deciet sanders #character thomas #ts fanfic #my writing #tw gore mention #this was supposed to be a one shot #but oh well.#ts remus #ts deceit #ts virgil

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atths--twice · 4 years

Link

And now... for the last chapter...

The Ninth Month 6i/6

Chapter Nine

Heading Home

Mulder and Scully are heading home with their little girl. Time for the Unremarkable House to become remarkable.

November 2nd- mid morning

“Okay, do we have everything?” Mulder asked as they began to load up to head home.

He looked again in the backpack. There was the black beanie stuffed cat from Elise that she had brought when she checked on Scully, along with a picture from Raina. A drawing of a little baby with arms coming from her head.

He saw the necklace from Skinner. Scully had told him about it and he felt a wave of thankfulness to still have him in their lives.

There were a couple of hospital blankets that he knew he was not technically supposed to take, but he wanted them for the memory. To keep and connect it to the first time he held his little squatch.

Scully was not crazy for that nickname. He told her it was her fault for packing the Sasquatch blanket. He had sat on the couch holding Faith, that blanket covering her, the first time he called her Squatchy. Scully had scoffed but the name had stuck.

He saw the beautiful cards Karla and Jill had given them. There were also the items they had packed to come to the hospital. All the outfits except for the one Faith was wearing.

It was a black onesie with green and grey alien faces on it, as well as flying saucers. It had even come with a little cap with alien eyes on it. Scully had requested it and he had thanked her with a big kiss.

He double checked the bathroom and all around the room. Scully was properly dressed for the first time in a couple days. She was going home with a lot of stuff: a plastic basin, a squeeze bottle to use in the bathroom, a big cup she had been drinking out of obsessively along with a few other things. They also had a huge stack of paperwork to take home and file.

It felt as though they had signed more paperwork than they had ever done at work. The best of all the paperwork though, was signing the birth certificate.

Scully had to fill it out as they were not married yet. She had wanted to wait and get married when she was not “as big as a pregnant blue whale.”

Watching her put down the baby’s name, her whole name, made him grin. Faith Katherine Mulder, his little Squatchy. He had signed his name with hers and it was official in all aspects. He kissed Scully and then the baby, his love for both of them filling his heart.

The pediatrician had been in to check on Faith and Elise had come in to check Scully once more before they were to leave. Good bill of health was given for both and now they were just waiting for the discharge papers.

The bags were ready and the car seat was on the couch. Scully was sitting on the bed holding the baby. They would not put her in the car seat until they were ready to go.

As much as he knew they were going to be on their own after they left the hospital, he was anxious to leave. Being in the same room, with people coming in and out at all hours, was wearing on his nerves. He wanted to get home, sleep in his own bed, and be able to have Scully by him as he did.

The door opened and Jill came in the room. She smiled at them with a folder in her hand.

“These are all your discharge papers. I put them in this folder for you. You will have a checkup with your doctor in six weeks unless something changes. The baby will see the pediatrician in a few days to be sure she’s getting enough to eat and gaining as she should,” Jill said to Scully, while handing Mulder the discharge folder. He added it to their backpack.

“I have an orderly on his way with a wheelchair and then you three are good to go,” she smiled at them. “I have enjoyed meeting you both. That little girl is adorable, take good care of her.”

They both thanked her and the door opened. The orderly pushed the wheelchair into the room. Mulder walked over to Scully and took Faith from her. Jill helped Scully off the bed and she lightly groaned. She stood still for a minute and then walked to the wheelchair.

Mulder put the baby in the car seat, only fumbling with the straps once. He covered her with a soft blanket and then he picked up the car seat and turned to Scully. The orderly had hung the backpack on the wheelchair and slung the bag over an arm. He grinned at Mulder and nodded at the baby.

“You just worry about that little one, sir,” he said, handing Scully the basin of things. “I’ve got your wife.”

Scully met his eyes and they both grinned. No reason to correct him.

He made sure the baby was covered and then stepped behind the orderly to follow them out. Jill held the door and Mulder thanked her for everything as they passed by. She squeezed his forearm and nodded.

Mulder followed them down the hall, his eyes staying mostly on the little girl in the car seat. What a difference walking out as opposed to walking in the hospital. He had felt so nervous and terrified, now he felt love and a peace he could not explain.

The orderly was making Scully laugh and he was thrilled to hear it. She was on an emotional roller coaster these past few days. Sobbing one minute, happy the next, then asleep or grouchy. He knew she would be, it was just hard to see her that way, especially when she tried to brush it off.

He told Karla he had read up on what to expect, but the truth was he had done more than just reading books. He had found a chat group of fathers online and they shared their stories of new babies and what they learned about postpartum. He had asked hundreds of questions and they had all been incredibly helpful.

They had shared tips and signs to watch out for when it came to depression or emotions. He understood where they were coming from and he appreciated all they had to say. He felt he had the upper hand when it came to this instance, though. He had spent almost twenty five years hearing “I’m fine” and knowing that was not the truth. He did not have all the answers, but he knew her and he knew how to read her. They would be okay.

They arrived at the lobby and Mulder left the baby with Scully so he could get the car. The orderly was exclaiming over how cute she was and her alien cap when Mulder walked through the door.

It was a bit chilly out and he zipped his jacket on the walk to the car. He wondered if they had put socks on Faith and then smiled at his dad thoughts already taking place.

He arrived at the car and kept grinning as he got in and turned on the car. He shook his head as he backed up and drove to the hospital entrance.

He got out of the car and walked back into the hospital. He took the baby and placed her car seat in the back, clicking it into the base. He pushed the handle down and again made sure she was covered. He looked at her face and smiled. God, he was already so in love with her.

The orderly pushed Scully out and Mulder helped her into the backseat next to Faith. The orderly offered to put their bags in the back of the car and Mulder accepted, making sure Scully was doing all right as she climbed in and put on her seat belt. He kissed her cheek and then softly closed the door. He thanked the orderly and he got back in the car.

“All right,” Mulder said, looking at the hospital and beginning to slowly drive away. “Mama Bear and Squatchy, you ready to roll?”

“Mulder, absolutely not,” Scully said.

“To which?” he asked, pulling onto the main road.

“I know you have Squatchy set in your mind, so I’m going to veto “Mama Bear,” she said, causing him to look back at her. She shook her head and he nodded.

“Okay, we’ll work on a name,” he said as she scoffed, and he headed to the interstate.

He felt as if giant potholes and rocks had been added to the road since they left the house. Every bump, he looked in the rear view mirror worried the baby had woken. He looked quickly both ways before he slowly proceeded through the intersections. He heard Scully laugh quietly and he glanced back at her.

“This Mulder is a far cry from the one who jumped onto a moving train. Or broke into government buildings,” she said with a smirk.

“Well, I have more important things to think about than myself these days,” he said, stopping and looking again.

“More important than your own life?” she asked skeptically.

“Way more important,” he said glancing back at her again. He reached a hand through the seats and she grasped his hand.

Finally, they approached the road to their house. He sighed as he pulled up their driveway and parked the car. They were quiet for a second, her hand in his, as they looked out the window.

Then he felt it. Three squeezes. They were okay, they could handle it. He squeezed back and got out of the car. He took a deep breath as he walked around to her side and opened the door.

He helped her out and she stood waiting by the side of the car. He got the car seat out, checking to be sure the blanket was still covering her, before he stepped back and shut the door.

He reached for Scully’s hand and they walked toward the house. Slowly, they made their way up the stairs and onto the porch. Mulder unlocked the door and let Scully inside before following with the baby.

It was warm in the house. He set the car seat down on the floor and took off his jacket. He hung it up and reached for Scully’s. She walked over and sat on the couch, sighing as she leaned back.

He walked back to the car seat and unbuckled the straps, carefully taking Faith out. He wrapped her with the blanket and held her in his arms.

“Welcome home, my sweet girl. You’ve not experienced the place on the outside. Let me give you a tour,” he said and began to walk around the room.

He told her of the first time they walked into the house and how it felt immediately like home. How they had held each other tight and slowly danced that night, knowing they could finally stop running.

He showed her the I Want To Believe poster. He told her how important it had been to him and to her mom over the years. It was a symbol of their quest and what drove them to be who they were.

He took her by the stairs and told her how much her mother enjoyed them.

“Mulder!” Scully cried from couch.

“What?” he asked, turning toward her with a surprised look.

“Don’t talk to her about how I “enjoyed the stairs.” She’s a baby, but she still doesn’t need to hear about that,” she said, shaking her head.

“Scully, I was referring to the color and the structure of the stairs. Also, the sound they make as you walk on them. You told me many times you like the creak of old stairs,” he said innocently. “Get your mind out of the gutter, woman.”

He shook his head dramatically and turned back to his tour. “But she enjoyed them for other reasons, too,” he said, in a staged whisper.

“Mulder,” she said warningly.

He laughed and continued on, telling her about their first Christmas here and how her mom had bought a tiny little “Charlie Brown” tree. They had decorated it with a small amount of hodgepodge decorations she had found on a last minute shopping trip. It had been his favorite Christmas because it was the first one in the home they lived in together, just them.

Scully got off the couch and came over to them. She held his elbow and put one on his waist. He looked at her and the memory of the last time they stood this way with a new baby between demanded his attention.

The way she looked at him, he knew she was thinking of it too. The tears in her eyes confirmed his thoughts. She looked in his eyes and the love she felt for him radiated from them.

“One day, Scully,” he whispered. “One day he’ll be back. He’ll find us again.”

She nodded and her eyes spilled over. He bent his head and kissed her softly. The old memory and the new meeting in the middle creating a joint memory. Two moments bound together by the two who created them.

He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. Slowly, and without planning, they began to softly rock back and forth. Mulder began to quietly hum the song he did on that first night in this new home as she held on a little tighter to him.

There they stood and slowly swayed. In the middle of their living room, in the middle of their lives, with their daughter in the middle of them. He smiled at the thought. If this was the middle, the ending was going to be amazing.

_________________________________________________

Wow! So this was a journey I never expected to take, but I have enjoyed it. Going through the months has been very fun. I have loved this little peek into their lives, of what they could be like in their little home.

I’m sure you all now know that this is not the end of the story and I check in on them from time to time. I need to see Mulder dancing in the kitchen with his girls. Scully watching her girl take her first steps. Mulder falling asleep with his daughter on his chest. Scully and Faith giving Mulder “the look” simultaneously causing his eyes to widen before he bursts out laughing.

Yeah.. this story is not over. <3 The next one will be posted tomorrow.

Oh, and I know that is a picture is of William, but it fits here for sure. : )

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Pregnancy #New Baby #New Family #Domestic Life #Domestic Fluff #Coming Home #Happy #Love #Contentment

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dontshootmespence · 4 years

Text

Random Chance

Summary: Y/N yields to peer pressure and Spencer loses a bet. Did fate bring them together or was it random chance?

Words: 1,689

Warnings: Gross fluff.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo 2020! This fulfills my meet cute square.

This was the fifth outfit change.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” You screamed, glancing into the mirror before ripping off your shirt and pants for a sixth outfit. “Speed dating? Fuck my life. This is peer pressure. You suck.”

Under pressure, filled with nervous tension, you tended to run your mouth, and right now Piper was at the opposing end of your razor sharp sword. But she still had a smile on her face. “You need to get out there and you won’t do it yourself, so I had to push you,” she laughed, pushing passed the mountain of packed boxes and pulling one of your favorite dresses out of the closet.

“A dress? Really? For speed dating?”

Dating sucked. It was the most horrible thing ever. All you wanted was to fall into the perfect relationship and then cuddle on the couch. Was that so much to ask?

Piper laughed and stood behind you, holding the dress over your body. “Yes, it’s not an evening gown or anything. And it’s you. Just because you’re going speed dating doesn’t mean the guys you meet shouldn’t see exactly who you are.”

As much of a pain in the ass as she was, Piper was still your bestie, since you were in diapers. And she wanted the best for you. She’d pulled out your Harry Potter dress, the one with the first chapter’s words written all over. “Pair that with your cute red flats and the guys will be falling over themselves to get to you and the ones that don’t are stupid.”

You snorted and stepped into the flats, taking yet another glance into the dreaded mirror. “You know you couldn’t have picked a worse time for me to go speed dating,” you said, finally content with your outfit. Within the week, you’d be moving and starting a new job at the local community college. “Next week, dude.”

“Life’s too short to wait,” she said, playfully smacking your butt. “Plus, at least it’s at that kitschy bookstore you love. Now go take a nice relaxing walk and breathe. You’ll be fine. I gotta go to work.”

“Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe,” you call, hearing the thud of the heavy apartment door close behind her.

After grabbing your red sweater, you headed down the stairs, locking the door behind you. The bookstore was only a few blocks away and it was a beautiful day out, so you decided to take advantage of the sunny weather.

A breeze brushes through your hair as you walk and the sun beats down on your skin. There are a few other people around, but mostly people are at work. You would be too if it weren’t for the whole “new job, new place, new life” kick you were on. Decided to take a few weeks off before starting your new job.

The entrance to the Old Fox bookstore was as obnoxious as could be, at least when compared to the rest of the stores on the block. The door was painted a bright red, but it was somewhat worn by age. The store opened up during the 60s and it was still just as popular today.

Like the three bears, the store wasn’t a giant chain or a teeny tiny hole in the wall, it was just right. The walls were a muted turquoise, which you’d alway loved. Everyone seemed to think that neutral was the way to go but you’d always been a fan of in your face color - at least after your goth teen years.

Noise filled the air - not normal for this place - it was always on quiet side, but given the event you weren’t surprised. Seemed to be an equal amount of men and women, which made you feel a little better, not wanting to be outnumbered.

Since there was still a little time to waste before everything started, you figured there wasn’t any harm in looking for another book or two...or five. One of the first things you planned to put up in your new apartment was this scratch-off list, kind of like a lottery ticket, the listed nearly 200 classics. You'd read a lot of them before, but there were still some that you hadn’t, so maybe you could find one and pick it up before the nausea-inducing speed dating began.

After reading Good Omens, you’d been hankering for another Neil Gaiman book, so you slithered between the masses in the store toward the section in question. American Gods, Anansi Boys, Eternity’s Wheel, you weren’t sure which one to pick.

All - all was a good choice, right?

The colorful spines of the books called out to you, another one of Gaiman’s works. Your hand crawled along the edges of the nearby books, your hand just brushing up against someone else’s as you reached for The Graveyard Book. “Oh, sorry,” you said, staring up into the face of a beautiful stranger. He was thin and tall with delicate features, but he had a sharp jaw and deep set hazel eyes that were complemented by wavy brown hair. “I’m apparently on a Gaiman binge. Have you read any of his stuff before?”

“Yea,” he replied, eyeing the stack of books already in your hand. “American Gods, Good Omens and Eternity’s Wheel. I tend to read textbooks most of the time, but I’ve been told I should delve into more fun reading, so-”

He cut himself off and took the book off the shelf, offering it to you. “You saw it first.” Aw, gallant, too. “I’m Spencer by the way.”

“Y/N,” you said, extending your hand. “What brings you here? You live around here?”

Spencer glanced toward the tables set up for speed dating. “No, actually I lost a bet to two friends of mine and if I lost I had to go speed dating. Can’t say I’m all that comfortable with it.”

“Me either,” you laughed. “My friend Piper peer pressured me into it. I don’t drink but somehow she got me to agree to this.”

The owner of the store gave a five minute warning that speed dating was about to start. “So how long will it take you to read those?” He shifted on the balls of his feet, probably nervous, which you understood.

“Well, I have a few weeks off while I move apartments and start a new job, so these...probably four, five days.” You laughed, feeling every inch the nerd you were. “Been an avid reader since I was a kid. Why do you read textbooks though? Fiction is so much more fun.”

“I can read 20,000 words per minute and I’m always trying to absorb as much knowledge as I can. Helps with the work I do.”

“Which is?” He was cute and intriguing.

“I’m an FBI profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico.”

And smart. Shit. There had to be something wrong with him. Dream guys like this didn’t grow on trees. “Impressive, Spencer. What’s your background in?”

He looked down at the ground, almost like he was embarrassed, speaking softly. “I have BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy, as well as PhDs in mathematics, chemistry and engineering.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed. Really smart. Like stupid smart. “That’s amazing.”

“Really?”

“Of course!” How could that not be amazing? “Why?”

“It’s just that people normally think I’m a freak for having so many.”

You wanted to punch whoever made him feel that way. “Definitely not a freak, just insanely impressive considering you’re so young.” He couldn’t have been much older than you. Maybe five years at the most.

��I started college when I was 12.”

As the owner called out to start the most awkward dating experience known to man, you turned to Spencer. “Hey, would you maybe want to get out of here? Go grab a cup of coffee? I mean, we both had friends insist we come here, but we never said we actually had to go through with it.”

Tension fell from his shoulders, like he could finally be at ease. “I’d like that. I’m really not good at this whole date thing,” he said nervously. “Just a heads up.”

Both of you shuffled over to the register, so you could pay for your books. “Neither am I, don’t worry. I’d prefer to just magically be in a relationship and not have to work for it, you know?”

“Absolutely, so Y/N, what do you do for a living? What’s the new job?”

Now it was your turn to be embarrassed, well not embarrassed, intimidated. “It’s definitely not as fancy as FBI profiler. I have my master’s degree in English literature. I’m going for a PhD too, but to pay for the half of my doctorate that scholarship won’t, I’m teaching. First, it was an online course through a University in New Hampshire where I’d travel occasionally, even though I live her, but now I got a job at the local community college.”

“That’s awesome,” he said, seeming genuinely interested. “What’s the focus on your thesis?”

So few people asked you that. Most people’s eyes glazed over when you talked about books. Everyone except your mom. “Analyzing Othello through the lends of racism as it relates to the Elizabethan period.”

After handing the cashier your money, you and Spencer walked out together, talking about your favorite Shakespeare plays, when he bumped into someone. A muscular, equally tall black guy. “Hey, kid. Funny meeting you here. Aren’t you supposed to be fulfilling your end of the deal? You lose, you speed date?”

He was one of Spencer’s friends. That much was obvious. But Spencer looked 1001% done with his bullshit - whatever it was. “Y/N, this is my friend Derek Morgan. We work together at the FBI. Morgan, this is Y/N.”

“Well, hello, Y/N.” A charmer.

“Good to meet you,” you replied on a laugh. “Technically, he didn’t go speed dating. Neither did I and I promised my friend Piper I would, but...he is leaving with a date.” You grabbed Spencer’s hand, a jolt of something awesome moving through you at his touch. “We’re going for a cup of coffee now actually.”

“Yea, so as you see, I’m the one busy with a woman right now.” Morgan seemed quite the ladies man and Spencer looked mighty proud of himself right now. “See you tomorrow at work?”

“See you tomorrow,” Morgan replied, a note of surprise in his voice. “Nice to meet you Y/N.”

“You too. I sense we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

When you both walked away, you pulled The Graveyard Book out of your bag and handed it to Spencer. “You read this first. I think this date might go pretty well, but if you have this, then you have to return it to me and I’m guaranteed to see you again.”

Spencer smiled, his fingers tightening around yours. “I’ll have to thank Morgan for being a pain in my ass.”

“So, you lost a bet?”

“Yea, he bet I couldn’t go a day without spouting statistics and I lost. I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Piper just peer pressured me. Guess I’ll have to thank her too.”

The strong, heady scent of coffee began to fill your nostrils as you approached the cafe. When he opened the door, he seemed to finally catch a glimpse of your dress. “Wait, is that the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone on your dress?”

“Yup. I’m a Slytherin by the way.”

“Oh, you definitely won’t need a guarantee to see me again, as long as you want to, I think I’m smitten.”

Piper was going to get a big hug later. Maybe dinner. And lots of wine.

#cmbingo #cmbingo2020 #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #meet cute #dontshootmespence

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moonwaif · 3 years

Text

FFXV Halloween Week 2020: Day 7

@ffxvhalloweenweeknsfw

Monster of the day: Witches

Theme: Spells/Potions

Scenario: Halloween Party (games, pumpkin carving, etc)

Mod’s choice: Black Cats/Familiars

NSFW: Costume play

Pairings: Gladnis

Rating: M

Tags: Sex Magic, No actual sex, Awkward Conversations, Getting Together, Paranormal Investigators AU, Enthusiastic Consent

(Also on Ao3)

---

As an official member of the C.D.D.S. (a.k.a. Chocobro Daemon Destroyers Squad, as dubbed by Prompto), Gladio has a pretty flexible relationship with the word “normal.” However, even he has to admit that nothing about the current investigation is anywhere near the realm of normal.

First there’d been that weird purple envelope with the heavy wax seal. Inside was a letter from one Ardyn Izunia, written in flowing script and kindly soliciting their services at Zegnautus Keep—an old castle, located somewhere in the distant mountains of Niflheim. This was also weird. Sure, the C.D.D.S. may have been well-known exorcists in Lucis, but they weren’t exactly world-renowned. On top of that, Izunia claimed to be an acquaintance of Lord Regis, yet Noct didn’t know him. Gladio didn’t know him. Neither did Ignis, or any of Lord Regis’s old acquaintances. And when Prompto did a websearch, it came up empty.

That probably should have been a sign, Gladio thinks, striding through the castle halls. He glances at the giant portrait of Izunia smirking down at him, framed by cobwebs and moldering tapestries. Its eyes seem to follow Gladio as he passes, its smile shriveling in the shadows. The real Izunia had been just as disconcerting when they’d met him. But Noct had been in a slump since his father’s death. Noct had been depressed. That meant Ignis and Prompto were depressed too, and this seemed like a good chance to get away from it all. Besides, Noct was curious. He wanted to know more about this mysterious acquaintance of his father. So they stuck around, and when they were unexpectedly joined by the Nox Fleuret siblings, who Izunia had also commissioned—well, they figured the more the merrier and tried to be on guard.

What catchy name will Prompto give this particular case, Gladio wonders? Something about hubris, maybe. Something about old gods. Before anything specific can crystallize, Gladio is already at the set of massive, iron-laid doors. They groan as he yanks them open and steps into the castle library.

Ignis is still exactly where Gladio left him—hunched over a desk, hidden behind a stack of books. “How are they?” he asks, not even bothering to look up.

“Stable,” Gladio answers, “at least for now. The curse on Ravus is spreading. Luna still isn’t responding. Cindy’s looking after them.”

“And still no sign from Noctis?”

“The planchette hasn’t moved in the last half hour.”

“Dammit!” Ignis slams the book closed and tosses it aside. He makes a steeple with his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We should never have come here.”

Gladio draws up behind Ignis’s chair. In the dim light, he can see loose papers full of obscure runes, time-weathered pages penned in tightly-scrawled ink. If this were a normal gig, they’d have wrapped everything up by now. They’d have subdued the spirit, and if that wasn’t possible, exorcised it. The client would be shoving fistfuls of money at them and weeping tears of joy. Ignis would have food on the grill. Gladio would be setting up camp for the night. Prompto would be complaining about EMF detectors and other technical jargon while uploading the latest footage to their blog. And Noct would have been loafing around, watching all of them with a contented smile, asking when dinner would be ready.

Gladio gives Ignis’s shoulder a squeeze. “What’s done is done—no use beating ourselves up over it. We’ve gotta keep our heads clear if we're gonna help Noct.”

Ignis sighs heavily. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Gladio. I lost myself for a moment.”

“Don’t sweat it. Now are you sure you haven't found anything?”

Ignis drops his hands to leaf through a book. “Nothing about those marks on Ravus’s arm, or what could be strong enough to entrap the most powerful medium in Tenebrae.”

“What about the portal?”

“No definitive answers, but nothing that contradicts our initial theories, either. Noct and Prompto are most likely caught between the two realms.”

“Which means Luna’s still our best shot at reaching them. Damn.”

“About that . . .” Ignis shifts in his seat, turning to face Gladio fully. “There is one thing—an old tome, written in Solheim runes.”

Gladio perks up. “You think there’s something in there that could help us get to Noct?”

“Possibly. There is . . . a spell.” Ignis removes a book from the stack. It’s dark and fat. Any markings on the cover have been completely worn away. “A ritual, to be precise. It enables the caster to send spiritual energy to a soul trapped between Eos and the spirit realm.”

“All right! I knew we could count on you, Iggy.”

Gladio claps him on the shoulder. Ignis slumps under the weight. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

There’s something about Ignis’s expression that Gladio can’t put his finger on, but he doesn’t have time to parse it. "Which components are we missing? Anything we can substitute?"

"We have all the necessary items. It’s just, this spell—well, it requires two people."

Gladio nods. "Cool, so we'll tag team it out."

Ignis winces. "I really wouldn't be so quick to say that if I were you."

"Why? Does it require a sacrifice?"

"Of sorts.”

Gladio raises a brow. Ignis closes his eyes. When he opens them, it’s with steely resolution.

“It's a book of sex magic, Gladio."

---

It takes less than five minutes to move all the furniture, less than ten to finish drawing the array around the bed. After all, Ignis isn’t the high witch of the Lucis Caelum clan for nothing. He lights the candles with a snap of his fingers while Gladio sets out the bowls of sylleblossom petals and animal fat—six in total, one for each of the Astrals. Then both of them step into the array.

Gladio removes his jacket. He suppresses a shiver as Ignis draws his thumb along his chest and abdomen, leaving behind a maroon sigil. He stays very still as Ignis unbuttons his own shirt, and when it’s his turn to copy the sigil, he tries very hard not to stare at Ignis’s pecs, or the freckles on his stomach.

Ignis clears his throat. His entire face is red, from his neck to the roots of his hair. “Next we present the offerings. If you don’t mind, I can go first.”

“Be my guest.”

Ignis reaches into the pocket of his trousers. “This pendant was given to me by Lord Regis when I was still a child, in honor of my appointment as the high witch’s apprentice. I have since kept it with me out of respect for the Lucis Caelum line as well as for good fortune. I offer it today as a token of gratitude and good will to the Astrals and to the elements, that they may grant Lord Noctis their aid.”

He sets the pendant in one of the bowls of sylleblossoms (Gladio definitely does not admire the muscles in his shoulders and back when he bends over).

Gladio reaches into their satchel of supplies to remove his own offering. “I brought cup noodles.”

Ignis stares at him.

“Um.” Gladio shifts uneasily. “These delicious noodles are for the Astrals, so that—”

“Just put it down,” Ignis snaps. “In one of the bowls.” He waits until Gladio is finished. When he speaks again, his voice is somewhat softer. “Gladio, before we go any further, are you sure about this?”

Gladio squares his shoulders. "You said it should be the two people closest to the target of the spell. Out of all those conscious and present, that's you and me."

"I know, but you shouldn’t feel obligated. There may be other ways. I could keep looking. I could—”

"Ignis. I want to do this."

Ignis exhales deeply, with a sort of resignation. "Very well."

"What about you?” Gladio asks. “Are you good? If not, me and Cindy are pretty tight. She hasn't known Noct for that long, but maybe if I talk to her, she and I could—"

"No.”

The response is forceful—loud, even. Ignis pauses to adjust his glasses.

“The principal caster should be an experienced magic user,” he continues calmly, “which is me. And if it has to be anyone, I'd rather it be the two of us."

Gladio decides not to read too much into that last statement, but he does feel a little smug.

"So," he asks, "what next?"

"Eager, are we?" Ignis remarks dryly. "Just stand there, for now. And follow my lead."

He turns to retrieve two goblets from the bedside table and hands one to Gladio. The liquid is fragrant with cloves and other herbs. Next, Ignis links their arms together, so that they're each holding the goblet before the other's lips.

"Repeat after me," Ignis says. "Ic bescence þe mīn ferþ . . ."

Gladio repeats, understanding only every other word. But he trusts Ignis, so when the goblet tilts toward his lips, he drinks until it's drained.

"Now then." Ignis's entire torso is flushed now, and Gladio is sure it has little to do with the wine. "I suppose this is the part where we go to bed."

"If that's what the spell says," Gladio concedes.

The mattress creaks as they both take a seat on the edge. Ignis perches very stiffly, arms and legs drawn close to his body.

"So." Gladio leans back on one hand, stretches his legs—pretends to be much more relaxed than he really feels. "How specific are the details of this spell?"

"Any act of intimacy will suffice," Ignis says quietly. "So long as the fertile essences are spilled by both parties."

Well then, Gladio thinks. It shouldn't hurt to look, right? He is, after all, an expert in looking at Ignis—though mostly through stolen glances, or carefully neutral gazes. Now he lets his eyes roam freely. Ignis is slender without his shirt—his shoulders broad and sinewy, his waist narrow. Myriad freckles and moles pattern his skin. Gladio wants to reach out and run his hands over every single one. Instead, his eyes snap up to Ignis's face. Ignis stares back, expression inscrutable. He leans forward, and Gladio inches toward him, arm raising instinctively as he prepares to—

"I've never done this before," Ignis blurts.

Gladio falls back. He blinks, then scratches his head with a chuckle. "Yeah, this is my first occult sex ritual, too."

"No, I mean, I've never done this with anyone, ever—being intimate."

Oh.

"Is that a problem?" Ignis presses.

"Of course not," Gladio says. "I'm just . . ."

Ignis's lips curve in a rueful smile. "Surprised? The role of the supreme high witch doesn't allow much time for romantic escapades. Unfortunately, I'm not very experienced. I hope it won't be too unenjoyable for you."

He says this with his typical flat, sarcastic affect, but there's something tender underneath. Something dark and edgy.

"I'm sure I'll enjoy it," Gladio assures him. "You're perfect, Iggy. Everything you do is perfect. But are you really okay with this? Kind of an intense first time."

"I'm okay with it. Actually, I . . ."

He pauses, gaze darting to the floor. Gladio waits with entirely feigned patience. By the time Ignis looks back up, his entire body feels like it's on fire.

"I've always wanted it to be you," Ignis says.

A raspy, trembling breath escapes Gladio's lips. With it goes the last few tattered shreds of his composure. "Iggy. Fuck, I—I'm gonna take such good care of you. I want to make you feel good, Iggy."

Ignis takes Gladio's hands and guides them to his waist. "I know," he says. "I trust you."

#my stuff #gladnis #gladiolus amicitia #ignis stupeo scientia #gladiolus x ignis

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

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Operation Emma’s Christmas

Merry Christmas to @kitsunewingstar! If I calculated correctly this should post in the afternoon of Christmas Eve for you, (very) early in the morning of Christmas Eve here in the UK/Europe, and Christmas Eve Eve in the US. It’s been lovely chatting with you and I hope you have a wonderful holiday with your family!

You requested something sweet and Christmassy, so I hope this delivers! For the purposes of the story, we’re assuming there was no Christmas under the curse (since we never saw/heard about it on the show) and that S7 and its timeline is not a thing.

Thanks to the @cssecretsanta2k19 for organising this event!!

SUMMARY: What with curses and monsters and trips to Camelot, and a distinct lack of quiet moments, the residents of Storybrooke have never really celebrated Christmas. Now that he has a child and a wife who misses the holiday, Killian is determined to change that.

He just has to figure out how.

(Set post-S6 in a world with no S7)

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm @snowbellewells @stahlop @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @jonirobinson64 @tiganasummertree @ohmightydevviepuu @shardminds @jennjenn615 @superchocovian @teamhook

On AO3

Operation Emma’s Christmas:

Killian Jones has been alive a very long time, and seen many strange and wondrous things. But none of them, from the spice markets of Agrabah to the snow-covered mountains of Arendelle to the hold of the Jolly Roger when it’s brimming with loot can, in his opinion, top the astounding treasure that is Google. He is awestruck by the notion of being able to ask any question he likes and having the answer appear within seconds. Emma tries to explain how anyone can put stuff on the internet and he can’t believe everything he reads, but he brushes her off. He knows how to separate fact from opinion and how to identify a reliable source, he tells her patiently. Among the many things they teach you in the Royal Navy.

With the aid of the oracle Google, Killian learns all about this extraordinary realm he now calls home, enough so that he no longer finds himself adrift on a foggy sea when Emma and Henry make references to things he’s never heard of. He finds lists of movies he should watch and books he should read and the most influential songs of the 20th century, and he sets about watching and reading and listening to each one, with all the studious dedication of the keen young lieutenant he used to be, oh so many years ago now.

“It’s kind of a shame we don’t do Christmas in Storybrooke,” says Emma wistfully one afternoon in mid-December, as they sit on the floor with their backs resting against the sofa watching Hope crawl around the living room. “Now that we have a kid. I mean, I had Henry before and we did Christmas in New York and in our fake memories, but… it’d be nice to do it here.”

Killian is already on his phone consulting the oracle on the subject of Christmas. An annual festival commemorating the birth of Jesus Christ, observed primarily on December 25 as a religious and cultural celebration among billions of people around the world, he reads. He clicks on Images and scrolls through brightly decorated evergreen trees, houses draped in twinkling lights, giant-sized stockings hung above fireplaces and a very fat bearded man dressed in red. He makes a mental note to do more research when he gets back to the station and in the meantime looks up at where Emma and Hope are now playing patty cake.

“Why can’t we?” he asks.

“Why can’t we what?”

“Celebrate Christmas?”

“Oh. I don’t know, I guess we’ve just never done it in Storybrooke.” Emma pauses, laughing as Hope leans in to pat her cheeks. “Because of the curse, I suppose.”

“But knowledge of it is presumably part of this curse download that your family and all the residents who were brought here by Regina had, correct?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, that surely means that they would wish to begin a new tradition, one that includes this festival?” he presses.

“Oh, I don’t know, Killian.” Hope crawls into Emma’s lap and she cuddles the baby close. “I don’t want to make a big deal about it. It doesn’t matter.”

But if there’s one thing Killian doesn’t require Google’s assistance to understand, it’s his wife. This Christmas business is clearly very important to her, and he intends to see that she gets the finest celebration of it that he has in his power to provide.

—

Killian’s first step in Operation Emma’s Christmas is to enlist the aid of Henry and David. The prince to help him procure all the materials he needs, the lad to come up with a name better than “Operation Emma’s Christmas.”

David comes through like the noble royal and loving father (in-law) that he is, but Henry, to Killian’s great chagrin, loves Operation Emma’s Christmas. “Straight and to the point,” he says. “Perfect.”

Killian sighs, frowning at the back seat of David’s truck where his stepson sits typing something on his phone. The lad is so much more prosaic now that he’s discovered girls, he thinks, when really the opposite should be true.

“Are you sure you can’t come up with something better?” he grumbles.

“Nope.” Henry doesn’t even look up from his screen. Killian sighs again.

“Don’t worry, Hook,” says David. “The operation will be a success, the name doesn’t matter. Actually, I’m really glad you thought of it. I’ve been intending to get a Christmas tradition going around here since Neal was born, but what with one thing and another—”

“Never a quiet moment,” says Killian. “Aye.”

“Well, we’ve got one now and we’re gonna make the most of it,” says David, pulling the truck over to the side of the road. The three of them get out and Killian catches his breath at the sight before him. They are standing above a wide, snowy valley, extending as far as the eye can see, liberally dotted with lush green fir trees.

“Take your pick,” says David with a grin, pulling a large saw from the back of the truck.

“Lad, I’m going to need your help for this,” says Killian.

“Oh yeah,” says Henry.

—

Once the trees are procured, their next stop is Regina’s house. She doesn’t look particularly pleased to see them, even less so when they explain their mission.

“Christmas decorations?” she says in that scathing tone that still gets Killian’s hackles up, even though they’re technically friends now.

“Yep,” says David, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her what Emma calls his ‘stern Dad’ look. “I have to assume that we never had Christmas in Storybrooke because you didn’t allow it under the curse. Am I wrong?”

“No.” Regina has the grace to look abashed. “You’re not wrong.”

“Well then. Don’t you think it’s time you rectified that?”

“So you want me to what, just magic up some ornaments so you can decorate a tree for Emma?”

“And for David and Snow,” says Killian. “And anyone else who wants one. I mean, decorations for the whole town would be best, but if that’s beyond your scope…”

Regina sneers. “Let’s start with yours and Emma’s,” she says.

—

Snow White is well known for her inability to keep a secret, and so they elect not to bring her in on Operation Emma’s Christmas. Instead Henry is tasked with distracting both her and his mother while ornaments are hung and lights strung at the respective Jones and Nolan households. David and Killian requisition walkie-talkies from the station and have far too much fun strategising and organising their decorating battle plans while Hope gurgles and Neal babbles mostly coherently in the background.

It takes perhaps longer than it should, neither of them having any actual experience to draw on and needing to consult the oracle frequently, but in due course everything is ready and Killian sends Henry a text with the all-clear.

He fidgets as he waits for Emma to return, fussing nervously with Hope’s tiny Santa hat as she gums at the pacifier stuck on the end of his hook—a red one for Christmas. He double-checks that all the lights are on and the ornaments hung just so, and all the parcels are stacked in a pleasing way beneath the tree. When he hears her at the door he snatches up the baby and positions them both in front of it all.

“Killian, I’m—what the—” Emma’s face is a picture as she takes in the sight before her. The huge tree that Henry selected fills nearly half the room, and is covered in shiny red and green ornaments and sparkly lights, with a bright silver star at the top. Beneath it piles of presents sit wrapped in glossy paper and festooned with ribbon bows, and lined up along the mantelpiece are four huge stockings labelled Hope, Henry, Emma, and Killian. The effect, Killian hopes, is festive in the extreme, merry and jolly and everything Emma missed out on when she was growing up.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he says.

Emma turns in a slow circle, eyes wide and mouth agape. “But it’s—it’s only the 20th!” she says.

“Aye, rather late. Google informs me that some people decorate their homes as early as the first of November. But we still have time to enjoy it, apparently the custom in many households is to leave the lights up until the sixth of Jan—oof!” He exhales sharply as Emma throws herself at him, one arm wrapping around his neck and the other cradling Hope’s head as she kisses him.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” she says, peppering his face with kisses. Hope gurgles indignantly and Emma kisses her as well.

“Henry and your father helped. And Regina, as a matter of fact.”

“But I bet it was your idea, wasn’t it?” She gives him a knowing look.

“Aye, I confess it was.”

“Because I mentioned in passing that it’s a shame we don’t do Christmas in Storybrooke?”

“It was the way you mentioned it.”

“The way I mentioned it,” she echoes.

He nods. “Aye. I sensed it was something you missed out on in your youth, and that you wanted Hope to have the experiences you lacked.”

Emma brushes her fingertips across his cheek, a soft smile on her face. “You sensed all that from me saying it might be nice to have Christmas here?”

He grins and pulls her closer, shifting Hope so she is snuggled between them. “How many times must I tell you, my love, that you are an open book to me?”

She returns the grin, letting her forehead rest against his. “At least once more, I guess.”

“As always.”

#cssecretsanta2k19 #kitsunewingstar #profdanglaisstuff #operation emma's christmas #cs fic #cs ff #canon compliant #sort of #future fic #christmas fic #captain swan #captain cobra #captain charming #cs family fluff #sweet and fluffy #and christmassy

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lalainajanes · 5 years

Text

As One Wishes To Live (AKA Genie!Klaus). Read Part One here!

His new mistress – Caroline - had excused herself. Klaus hasn’t yet relaxed.

It’s a survival instinct.

Only two of his keepers had been awful from their first meeting. The rest feigned kindness only to grow into their cruelty once they realized just how much power they wield.

He expects Caroline will be the same. Oh, she seems sweet. Earnest. Stubborn too, enough to hold on to her principles for awhile. She’ll bend, like they all do. First, it’ll be little things, simple requests to save her time and effort. A “Klaus, could you mend this?’ followed by a please and a thank you.

The requests never stay simple.

He’ll look for what weaknesses while he still has the freedom to.

He cannot hurt the one he belongs to, but he’s learned that rule is bendable. He can manipulate an owner into hurting themselves. He can do it with words, a hint here, an innocent observation there. Occasionally, the universe provides a lovely set of coincidences that Klaus merely can neatly steer a captor into. He’d once orchestrated a nasty carriage accident by keeping a whiskey glass full and producing a few coins to entice a barmaid into distracting a stable boy. Poor lad had rushed through his tasks, hadn’t noticed the wheel in desperate need of repair.

He’ll explore Caroline’s home over the next few days. Just in case. As long as he’s been locked in his lamp, all the objects he can’t name. It’s only logical that he be curious.

Caroline’s fairly young and obviously baffled by his presence in her home. She doesn’t seem stupid, which is a pity. The unintelligent are more demanding than the cunning but easier to manipulate. She’d been flustered as she’d departed, her cheeks stained a bright pink. She’d promised she’d be right back, after she found him some clothes.

Klaus could have told her that if she wanted him clothed, he could conjure whatever she fancied. He’d served those who liked him to remain bare and accessible but most liked to dress him up. Some in clothing that marked him as a servant, others in finery that made him look like a prize. Klaus has long since stopped caring about what does, or doesn’t, cover his body.

He’d let her babble and flee. He’d wanted privacy to study his new home and he’d sensed Caroline had needed to collect herself. He could have denied her that, pressed his advantage, perhaps dropped the covering she’d insisted he don.

She’d fought it, kept her eyes on his, but she clearly finds his body appealing.

He may have to use that but, for now, she hasn’t truly earned his ire.

Once she’d left Klaus had held still and listened carefully as she’d made her way up a single set of stairs. She’s rummaging now, still talking to herself. Exceptional senses are one of the perks of his curse. To cater to a master’s every whim he needs to hear calls when they are mere whispers.

Caroline’s home seems quite small and Klaus imagines he’ll be able to track Caroline’s movements easily. It’s nice enough, very clean and warm. There are an alarming number of objects that Klaus has never seen before, odd hums and beeps that he’s trying to ignore.

Much has changed in the ninety or so years he’d been dormant.

The chair she’d bid him to sit in had been plush and the fabric hadn’t scratched at his skin at all. A relief because he’s always more sensitive when he’s been stuck in his lamp, his skin feels thin and new each time he emerges.

Klaus eyes the window, squinting against the sun that’s streaming in. His head aches a bit. He takes a few steps, glancing behind him even as he reaches for the curtain.

Caroline had wanted him to be comfortable, hadn’t she? Shutting out the light will help.

If she complains, well, that will be a clue that perhaps she’s not as generous as she’s seemed.

Caroline’s got a stack of various pieces of men’s clothing – things stolen from exes or friends, even a random leather jacket that a disaster of a one-night stand had left behind. She knows exactly where the pile is, but she spends a solid ten minutes pushing things around in her closet, tidying and refolding to keep her hands busy while her mind whirls.

It’s useless because she’s not going to solve the issue of the genie she now apparently owns with a little stress cleaning.

It makes her feel better. Calmer.

Sort of.

When her hands have stopped shaking (and she’s done enough deep breathing that her face should be a normal color) she crouches and yanks out the plastic tote she needs. It’s been awhile since she’s had to add anything to it. Her extended period of singledom is the main reason Kat had so thoughtfully gifted Caroline the lamp (and Klaus, technically) but she’s reasonably sure she’ll find something that will fit her guest.

Whether he’ll like the clothes she’ll provide Caroline can’t guess. He’s been impressively inscrutable so far, not that Caroline can blame him.

It sounds like he’s known a lot of terrible people. The kind that won’t hesitate to pounce on a weakness and use it for their own gain.

She figures comfort is the way to go, digs a pair of grey sweats that had been Tyler’s from the very bottom of the tote. Klaus might be a bit taller but he’s leaner so hopefully that will make up the difference. She grabs one of Stefan’s t-shirts that she hadn’t bothered to return (since he had about eight million, all identical and black) plus a blue hoodie Enzo has given up asking her to return.

She throws it all over her shoulder then snags a pair of the socks she uses for working out from her dresser. She makes a quick detour to the kitchen to grab her laptop and her phone off the charger before she returns to find Klaus where she’d left him. He’s pulled the curtains and he’s wandered over to the wall of shelves where she keeps her books and DVDs. He’s looking at one of the framed photographs that she’s got up, an old one.

“That’s the last family photo we took,” Caroline tells him. “I really hated that dress.” Black velvet, enormous lace collar. It had been a gift from Granny Forbes and Caroline had worn it exactly twice.

Klaus gently sets the frame back down turning to face her. His expression is just as smooth as it had been when he’d first greeted her, giving away nothing of his feelings. His eyes are on her though, not the floor. He’s sizing her up and Caroline can’t say she blames him.

She smiles, hopes he can’t tell that ten minutes away wasn’t nearly enough time for Caroline to stop freaking out internally.

None of the giant pile of what the fuckery they’re currently dealing with is Klaus’ fault. She doesn’t want him to feel like he’s unwelcome. It’s just good manners.

She sets her laptop down then holds out the clothing, “I dug these up for you. I know they’re not ideal but once your dressed we’ll look online and get you something a little more your style.”

“My style,” he repeats slowly.

“Yeah. I mean, if you’re a label snob like my friend Kat you’re going to need to embrace knock offs because my credit card can only take so much.”

He appears a bit mystified and Caroline wants to slap herself. “Oh, wait, sorry. How long have you been in…” she waves her hand towards the coffee table, his gold lamp. It’s entirely possible Klaus doesn’t know about the internet. Or even credit cards. Caroline has no idea when they became a thing.

His eyes follow her gesture and he takes a step back, so he’s nearly pressed against the bookcase.

She looks away, pretends not to notice. She studies the lamp, realizing that she’s only managed to polish a quarter sized spot on one side. That’s totally going to bother her.

Klaus doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t move much either. Caroline’s about to remind him that he doesn’t have to when he reaches for the bundle she holds. He pinches the fabric between his fingertips, tugging experimentally. “I can’t tell you exactly. It was… 1926, maybe. When my last mistress died. She called for me infrequently in the end. Her daughter thought to own me next. She was not happy to learn I cannot be inherited.”

“Is that the one who made her final wish on her death bed?”

“Yes.”

She’s really trying not to pry – he hasn’t had the chance to set his own boundaries for a freaking millennium so obviously she needs to reel in her curiosity – but it’s hard. What had the woman wished for? Could she have wished to not die? Can Klaus make people immortal? Would…

“Revenge,” Klaus murmurs, interrupting Caroline’s train of thought. “She had three daughters and her husband divorced her to get his male heir. He lied to get it, painted her as the adulterer then left her with barely enough money to live on. She wished that he would live to know his name would die with his son.”

That’s… wow.” Caroline’s a little impressed with the spite level. “Was she… good to you?”

“Better than most.”

With the switch back to vague answers, Caroline decides it’s best to change the subject. “Well, there’s going to be a lot of things we need to get you up to speed on. We’ll start with the practical.” She sits down, taps the top of her laptop. “This is a computer; it connects to the internet. The internet does a lot of things, some of them great, some of them super creepy. But it will allow us to get you a 21st century wardrobe delivered before the weekend.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

She shakes her head, tucking her legs underneath her as she boots up her laptop. “Look, I’m not going to make you go anywhere you don’t want to but I’m pretty sure eventually you’re going to get bored enough to want to go outside. And if you do it like that…” she wiggles her fingers in his direction, carefully not looking directly at the subtle ridge of muscle at his hips, “…questions will be asked. Cops might be called. We can’t rixk that until we’ve got a solid backstory and some supporting documents.”

She types “Casual Men’s Clothes” into google, figuring she’ll let him browse the images to see what he likes. Klaus clears his throat but it’s a theatrical kind of noise, an ‘ahem’ sound that’s never an accident.

Caroline holds in a sigh and looks up, mentally preparing herself to ignore all the distractingly bare skin, only to have her mouth drop open for an entirely different reason. Klaus is holding the clothes she’d given him but, on his body, he’s wearing something very similar. He’s switched up the colors – black sweats, dark red tee, grey hoodie – and everything fits like it was made for him.

Well. That’s handy.

“Oh,” she says dumbly. “You…”

“Am perfectly capable of clothing myself without assistance, yes.”

He’s smug about it and Caroline should find it annoying but, as it’s the first real hint of personality he’s shown, she’ll let it slide. “You weren’t kidding about the magic, huh?”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Are you a believer now, love?”

The dimples are just as distracting as the hipbones, damn it.

Caroline focuses back on her laptop, tapping a few keys for no real reason. It’s not like he’ll know she’s typing nonsense. “I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

Klaus hums in acknowledgement, “Is this what men wear nowadays? I’ll admit it’s very comfortable.”

When she glances up she finds he’s adjusting the sleeves of the hoodie, pushing them up his forearms. “It’s a super casual example but yeah, you won’t get arrested if you walk outside like that. You’d get some looks if you tried to walk into a nice restaurant though.”

“I see. Can you show me?” he points at her laptop. “For when we venture out.”

“Sure. Internet window shopping is one of my very favorite things. Come sit.”

Caroline tips her head to the side and this time Klaus doesn’t need to be prompted further, settling down next to her. He jumps a little when she sets her computer on his lap and Caroline figures he hadn’t anticipated it would be warm. She points to the screen, “What do you like?”

He blinks at the twenty or so images for a long moment. He then leans closer. Caroline reaches over runs her finger over the trackpad. “Here, see that little white hand? If you want to see something close up just tap. Like this.”

He’s a quick study, his fingertip bumping into hers as he tries it for himself. She shows him how to scroll down and he mutters about how many choices there are. He glances at her every once in awhile, but Caroline makes it a point not to react.

Even if she had been paying for the clothes she wouldn’t have wanted to pick for him. Earlier, one oh his comments had made her feel a little sick to her stomach. His body, he’d said, so casually, was at her disposal. Caroline’s not naïve enough to think that had only meant he’d been treated like a life size Ken doll but she’s certain he’d been dressed up according to the whims of others for the bulk of his existence.

That’s over, Caroline’s decided. If he wants to wear cargo shorts and lumberjack flannel for the rest of his life that’s totally his call.

She touches his arm to get his attention. Klaus tenses, his body locking up so tightly that she can feel in even though a few inches of space separate them. She withdraws gingerly, easing over to give him more space.

She’s kind of a toucher. She’ll have to remember to curb the instinct with Klaus.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen, okay? I’ll order dinner.” And send a couple texts, plus an email to her boss. She’s so going to need a couple days to get acclimated but Klaus doesn’t need to know the details. “Come get me if you need anything.”

It’s a useless offer because Klaus won’t ask for a single thing. He doesn’t trust her even a little bit.

Convincing him that he can won’t be easy. Good thing Caroline’s always liked a challenge.

Klaus had risen as soon as he’d heard Caroline stir. He hadn’t rested well.

The bed Caroline had offered him is very comfortable. Too comfortable.

He’d tossed and turned, tried both sides. He’d quickly given up on sleeping, had risen once he’d heard Caroline’s breathing deepen enough to indicate that she wouldn’t wake easily. He’s slipped out of the room and downstairs, paced the rooms and the halls, going over all that he’s learned to far.

Last night Caroline had chattered away while she’d changed the sheets for him, told him that her mother was the one who most often stayed in the room but that it always took a great deal of cajoling for Caroline to convince her to visit. She’d grabbed him a toothbrush and towels. Had pointed out that red on the taps meant hot water and then asked if he had any questions about the shower. He’d just managed to avoid rolling his eyes because he has seen one before. Caroline had sensed his annoyance and cheerfully confessed that she’d done a quick bout of research on the history of indoor plumbing while they’d sat together after dinner but that she’d just wanted to make sure. She’d said that a hot shower always made her feel better after a rough day.

Klaus had thought about that statement once she’d left him alone. He wouldn’t have classified his day as rough, exactly. Bewildering perhaps, but the first day with a new master always is. He’s yet to sense any sort of sinister intent under Caroline’s solicitousness so either she’s a fantastically skilled actress or she’s genuine in her disgust for the curse he lives with.

The shower had been fantastic though.

He’s waiting in the kitchen when Caroline wanders in. Her hair’s half up and half down and she’s wrapped in a pink robe that’s far too large for her. She’s rather lovely, sleep mussed and stumbling. She gives him a little wave, “Morning. I need coffee.”

She yelps when the cup appears in her hand, drops it immediately. The glass shatters against the tile floor, hot coffee splattering her bare legs.

“Ow, ow, hot!”

Klaus is at her side in a blink, stilling her when she makes to step back. “You’ll cut yourself,” he scolds and then concentrates, clearing the mess away just as quickly as he’d created it.

Her eyes are wide, fully awake now as she pulls away. Klaus bends so he can sweep his hands over the reddened skin on her shins and ankles, taking away the mild burn. “What the hell was that?” she exclaims, her arms flapping wildly.

“You needed coffee.” He’s not going to explain the rest. Caroline’s sharp enough to make the necessary connections.

Her fingers twist the ends of the belt that wraps around her waist. Her outrage quiets slightly, “And if I need something you have to get it for me?”

Klaus conjures another cup, this time a sturdier vessel. He offers it instead of answering. Caroline glares, refusing to take it. “It’s just an expression! I don’t need coffee I just want it. And I am perfectly capable of making my own.”

He’s not about to confess that his curse means he must fulfill her wants too. Caroline had claimed decent people existed but no one – mortal or immortal - is immune to temptation. To know that every whim can be satisfied? Awfully enticing.

She spins away from him, stomping across the kitchen. She yanks a slim canister out of a cupboard, tucking it under her arm when she looks over at him, “Just so we’re clear, if I say ‘I need’ followed by a thing you’ll just poof it into my hands?”

Klaus nods in confirmation. He has no desire to explain that if he doesn’t provide for her he’ll feel a small twinge. That the twinge will grow into aches and stabs and bone grinding, suffocating pressure. That it will build and build and build until he gives in. Or until he collapses and then gives in.

It’s been a long time since he’s fought a master’s will but he’d done it often in the beginning, before he’d realized that open rebellion is pointless. The pain isn’t something he’ll ever forget.

Caroline’s got her back to him, her hands busy, and she’s quiet. Contemplative, he’ll say, because her eyes keep flitting his way. “I think we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”

Ah. Finally, something familiar.

How disappointing.

He doesn’t move, is sure his expression remains carefully pleasant. Caroline, somehow, manages to sense the downturn in his mood. She sighs, shoving the cup he’d made across the table towards him as she sits down. “Not like that,” she insists. “We’re not even going to call them rules. We need to agree on a few things.”

Klaus stays silent, wary. The worst people often had a gift for spinning pretty words to cover their worst actions.

“You do have a say, here. I wished that, remember?”

She’s wished for his honesty, his true thoughts and feelings. Klaus isn’t yet sure if she deserves them.

Drink…” her teeth come together with a snap and she shakes her head. “Sorry, I think I almost did it again. If you happen to like coffee, please feel free to drink the one you made.” Her brow wrinkles in concentration, her mouth moving and forming the same words she’d just spoken. She nods briskly, satisfied. “Was that okay? Didn’t trigger any bad genie mojo?”

He can risk a taste of honesty. To test her.

Klaus grasps the mug, lifts it to his lips. He sniffs experimentally, “I don’t remember if I like it or not.” He’d drunk it often centuries ago. He’d lived in Hamburg with a scientist who feared failure more than he desired rest. Klaus had spent hours upon hours transcribing notes, drinking coffee when prompted because his master, like most scientific types of the time, had thought magic preposterous. He hadn’t understood that Klaus didn’t need to fight sleep with stimulants.

She watches him, a pleased smile curling her lips. “Good?” she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested.

“I think so,” Klaus replies. He tries another mouthful.

It tastes better than he remembers but perhaps that’s because each sip is a choice.

Caroline panics when she hears keys in the door. She's been taking advantage of the pile of banked sick days she has, to deal with the whole genie situation. She'd sent her boss an email with a sob story about a killer bout of stomach flu. She's never done it before, feels a little bad about lying, but her excuse hasn’t been questioned.

One of the perks of being a kickass employee.

The truth would have gotten her locked up on a twenty-four-hour psych hold, and Caroline does not want to deal with that. Even if Klaus could probably break her out with his freaky magic stuff.

She’s sprawled out on the floor, catching up on her YouTube subscriptions. Klaus is on the couch – so far he’s yet to let his posture be less than flawless in her presence – reading a book. He’s not a fan of the television but he’s yet to object to having music on.

She shoves herself up onto her knees when she hears the door open, her eyes sweeping the room for anything that might invite questions. There’s nothing, thank god.

"Care?" Bonnie calls, "are you okay? I brought crackers and Gatorade!"

Ugh. She hadn't counted on her friends, and their keys to her place, screwing with her plans.

"Hide!" she hisses at Klaus. His eyes widen, face going blank. He nods once, harsh and jerky, before he immediately does his wispy smoky thing, dissipating before her eyes (and seriously, that’s never not going to be weird) leaving his lamp rattling.

She feels a stab of guilt, because she'd meant for him to go upstairs, having picked up on the revulsion and wariness he seemed to feel for the little metal vessel that had been his home and prison. It still sits on her coffee table; he makes a point not to touch it. She'd been asking questions for the last few days, carefully teasing out his story.

Sometimes Klaus grows cold, his answers becoming monosyllabic. He's never refused to answer her inquiries, but she’s quick to change the subject when his words become slow and reluctant. She’s told him he doesn’t have to do anything; she suspects he doesn’t believe her. That he’s waiting for her to flip and start making demands.

Once she’d worked out that he was forced to follow her orders she’d asked what happened if he didn’t. He'd gone stiff when he'd imparted that knowledge, the words clipped as he refused to meet her eyes. She imagines he's tested the limits of the magic that traps him thoroughly, as stubborn and prideful as he seems to be. That whatever the punishment doled out is unbearable if he dreads it so deeply.

She’s vowed he’ll never hurt that way again but pain isn’t always physical.

She’ll have an apology to make.

Thinking quickly Caroline ruffles her hair, wraps herself in her afghan and slumps down on the couch. She tries to look miserable and queasy, planning on getting Bonnie to leave as soon as possible.

She's under no illusions that her friends won't have to meet Klaus eventually. She's just planning on easing them into it. Maybe mention that she's looking for a roommate, interview a couple candidates for show.

It'll give her time to make up a reasonable background story. Plus, Caroline needs a little more time for Klaus to get acclimated to the world, so he won't make her friends suspicious. So far things from the twenty-first century are hit and miss. He'd turned his nose up at the coffee she made, has continued to conjure his own. Caroline has to admit his is way better then what he machine drips out. Klaus does seem to like the internet. After he’d thoroughly investigated men’s clothing she’d taught him how to google things and he seems to enjoy that he can find information for himself instead of having to pester her when he there’s something he doesn’t understand.

She's going to need to prepare Klaus for Kat. She’s sure he can hold his own, has seen steel nerves and an implacable will under the deference he’s trained himself to exude, but she can't help feeling protective. Caroline has seen Kat cheerfully crush weak men under her stilettos, with merely biting words and a toss of her hair, not exerting the slightest effort. Kat will actually try if she thinks she's vetting a potential roommate of Caroline's.

The least she can do is spare Klaus the worst of that. Since she'd unwittingly made herself his mistress.

Yep, that’s still creepy. And a tiny bit hot in a way that makes Caroline want to fidget in shame.

She makes a show of struggling to sit up as Bonnie approaches, really makes it seem like it’s an effort to lift her head.

Apparently she’s pretty good at the fake sick thing, something that might have been useful back in high school. Bonnie doesn’t stay long, insists Caroline rest as she goes. Part of that might be how distracted she is, her mind too focused on Klaus. She's not even sure how she can get him out of the lamp, knows she’ll have to coax and grovel, that she can’t demand.

She'd read the little flash of betrayal in his eyes clearly, even though he'd masked it expertly. She doesn't want to see it again.

Klaus has no form inside his lamp.

Caroline had shown him a few episodes of a silly television show. He’d found it offensive, had glowered through parts of it – did humans really think such incompetence would be allowed? Klaus is quite sure the magic that punished him for disobedience would have torn the tiny blonde woman apart for her antics. Afterwards he’d admitted that he could understand Caroline’s initial reactions to his presence. He wonders if she thinks his lamp is like the television genie’s, bright and comfortable and strewn with cushions.

In truth, there’s nothing inside. He’s nothing inside. He’s only thoughts and emotions. His senses leave him, except for his hearing, and it’s dark. The longer he spends inside the harder it is to keep from drifting. Only the call of his owner can pull him back.

Inside, he’s not aware of time passing. He’s completely subject to another’s whims and he hates it.

He can hear Caroline, one of her friends outside. He listens eagerly, clings to the knowledge that if they’re talking he’s losing only minutes, not years.

The friend seems concerned. He learns that Caroline’s been faking an illness. Had she not trusted him enough to leave him to his own devices in her home?

Had she not known that she could banish him, as she’d just done?

Caroline whispers his name. He can’t tune her out.

If he’s honest he doesn’t want to. He’d preferred his cruelest master to the nothingness of his lamp and even if Caroline’s a liar he doubts she’ll take that title.

“I don’t know if you can hear me.”

She must touch the lamp because he gets a brief impression of warmth.

Too brief.

“I’m sorry.”

No one’s thought him worthy of an apology since he’d been human. Even then they’d been rare.

He listens to her breathing, quick and anxious. “I didn’t mean to make you go away. I’ve been trying so hard to choose my words carefully. And trust me, I suck at that. I just panicked.”

He thinks of how she’d looked in the moment she’d told him to hide. Her eyes had been round, her body tense. Usually graceful she’s moved in fits and starts.

Perhaps she’s not a liar.

“I haven’t told my friends about you because… well, they’d think I’d gone nuts. Elena would tell her mom and her mom would call my mom and the whole town would be whispering about me within the week. People from high school I don’t even like would start sending me faux concerned messages on Facebook hoping for more dirt.”

She pauses.

Klaus hopes she hasn’t gone.

Only because he hates the lamp, of course. The lack of awareness, the inability to exert even the smallest bit of his will. Having to depend on another to tether him. Never knowing when, even if, they’d release him.

“I meant hide literally. Like, hide upstairs in your room or even in the laundry room. Just out of sight. Not out of the house. Well, I guess you’re still in the house. Which I’m really glad about, by the way. Even though I know you’re pissed at me. Which is totally okay.”

He hears her groan and then her next words are muffled. “God, I sound like a moron.”

“I get it if you don’t want to talk to me. And if you come out you don’t have to talk to me. I can go out for awhile if you really want some you time. And you don’t have to come out. But, if you want to… Well, I’d appreciate it.”

Klaus concentrates, presses against the boundaries of the lamp. Leaving always burns a little but the relief of having a physical body again is greater than the discomfort. He rolls his shoulders once he’s upright and solid, waiting for Caroline to notice him. She’s got her eyes closed, her head in her hands.

His fingers twitch.

He cannot remember the last time he’d felt the desire to touch another person but Caroline tempts him.

Klaus reaches out, looping one of her blonde curls around his index finger. She gasps when he tugs, her hand grabbing at his. She’s quick to stutter an apology, to pull away.

This time Klaus chooses not to let her. He wraps her hand around her wrist, tugs until she stands. “Thank you,” he says. “For apologizing.”

Her throat moves, a nervous swallow that he easily hears. She seems to be having trouble looking at him, her blue eyes flitting away, landing on the lamp. “What if… can you destroy it?”

Oh, how he’s tried. Klaus shakes his head, “No, I can’t. It’s immune to my powers.”

Caroline’s eyes narrow, her head tipping to the side, “What if I wish for it?”

Klaus can only laugh, too startled to bother hiding his derision. “You’d waste another wish?”

He can’t see how she could possibly want to.

“Would getting rid of it hurt you?”

Not weaken him or take away his power. She’s worried about him hurting.

“Caroline. I think you fundamentally misunderstand the concept of wishes.”

She glares at him, “I’m going to ignore the fact that you kind of just called me stupid.”

“I didn’t phrase it quite that way.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of annoying?”

It’s not a condemnation. She might even be teasing him.

“Not for a very long time.” His siblings had once expressed such sentiments. Rebekah sually in a pitched shriek of outrage, Kol with a shove that generally led to a scuffle.

“That’s a no, then? Destroying the lamp won’t hurt you?”

“Not if you wish it.”

“Good.” Caroline steps away, shaking off the light hold he’s maintained on her wrist. Klaus finds that he’s not overly fond of the distance between them now.

She’s still in a bit of a temper, carefully straightening her clothing and enunciates carefully, “I wish for this lamp,” she pauses then, reaching out to pick it up, cradling it in both hands, “to be destroyed, for it to never be remade or repaired, and for it’s whatever magic it holds to die.”

“Thorough,” Klaus murmurs. He hadn’t been wrong; his Caroline is clever.

She bends her knees, dipping into a brief curtsey, “I’ve been researching.”

“Are you sure this is your wish? Once made…”

“A wish cannot be unmade. Blah blah blah. Just freaking do it.”

He takes it from her, the first time he’s willingly touched it. He grips it tightly, until it burns his hands. It fights him, he shakes, but a master’s will cannot be subverted.

He’s panting when he’s done but the lamp is gone.

He’ll never lose himself inside it again.

He laughs again, this time with genuine joy.

Caroline fusses over him, drags him into the kitchen and turns on the cold water. She holds her hands under the stream.

He doesn’t tell her it’s useless, that he’ll heal well enough on his own.

He remembers wanting things once. A toy sword, bread his mother had just baked. Pigments from a travelling merchant. The heart of a girl who couldn’t decide if who deserved her love most.

Klaus had thought he’d forgotten how to want.

He hasn’t.

#kcauweek2019 #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #an actual sequel to a thing that people actually wanted???#who am I

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crowned-ladybug · 4 years

Text

So I said I wanted to see demon AUs that aren’t smut and that I sadly don’t have the energy to make my own rn, and then I went ahead and accidentally made one anyway

So here’s some incomplete notes on it. It’s 2.7k words. I’m so sorry.

Local dumbass heir to the throne (Joseph) doesn’t Wanna be a heir to the throne bc it’s Boring he’s always wanted to be an Adventurer but here he is anyway. Then one night he gets drunk off his ass and manages to?? accidentally summon a demon??? in his friend’s Magic Lab???

(The friend is Avdol and he’s v v tired of Joseph’s shit)

fuckin Joseph made a drunk deal with a demon who Absolutely saw nothing against making a deal with the royal heir currently drunk off his ass bc hey, free deal

luckily the deal wasn’t for Joseph’s soul or firstborn child or half his kingdom or whatever. Instead the deal is a magical bond between Joseph and the demon that allows the demon to share in Joseph’s life energy/general basic human magic and thus be able to exist in the human world in a stable form without having to go home to rest every once in a while or having to maintain like ten spells Just In Case

the demon is doing this whole deal thing bc 1) he Has to, it’s kind of his Job and 2) he’s looking for vengance on a gang of demon hunters who have killed his family but since they’re human, he needs a way into the human world for a longer term to be able to hunt them down

the demon is Caesar in case you haven’t figured that out yet

Joseph is a lot less concerned about having made a deal with a Literal Demon than he should be. He thinks it’s p hilarious actually and Caesar immediately starts having regrets (he’d bond with Avdol over it if he were willing to lower himself to the level of Measly Mortals)

the fun thing is that bc he’s tied to Joseph magically to allow him to freely exist in the human world, Caesar can’t get out of a few mile radius of him, which kinda makes his plans to hunt down the demon hunters (*cough* Pillar Men *cough*) a lot harder and Joseph even more annoying to deal with

the logical solution to that is to pass Caesar off as a servant Joseph befriends, so that he can stay in the castle, and then eventually they can go off on some adventure together to defeat the Pillar Men (or, well, so that Caesar can defeat the Pillar Men while keeping Joseph at arm’s length) which would also mean that Joseph can Finally get his big adventure he’s been dreaming about

then Joseph gets the genius idea to kill even More birds with one stone and decides that Caesar should pretend to be his bf bc all the annoying ass nobles and shit won’t leave him alone about not having a partner and “oh no, you’re of age now, what will happen if you have to take the throne but have no queen by your side?” and everyone keeps trying to woo him and it was fun at first but now it’s just goddamn Tiring

Caesar agrees to it eventually bc Anything as long as Joseph lets him do his research on the Pillar Men in peace. He doesn’t really realise what fake-dating the annoying bastard entails until he’s already too deep into it and he kinda literally can’t go back on his promises to Joseph, being a contract-bound demon

(Caesar looks like a proper demon normally but he Can disguise himself as p much entirely human-looking if he needs to. It takes energy tho, so he reverts back to his demonic looks whenever he’s safe from prying eyes, or if he’s unconscious)

they’re essentially fake-married for magic tax benefits it’s so great

there’s Definitely some Magic Soulbond Shenanigans along the line of “if one gets hurt the other also feels it”

they find out that Caesar reverts to his demonic form when asleep when he pulls two all-nighters in a row looking for information on the Pillar Men and passes out in Avdol’s study, scaring the shit out of poor Avdol. After that they manage to land a room for him in the castle with some lie about him having travelled here from faraway lands (technically true) and having nowhere else to stay (also technically true), but he also spends a lot of his time in Avdol’s study and Joseph’s room without his disguise, solely for convenience’s sake

they ofc have to fool Everyone with the fake dating, including Joseph’s family, bc No One else can know that Caesar is a demon on a quest for vengeance. The worst, most unexpected part for Caesar is that Queen Erina and Lord Speedwagon actually seem to like him?? they’re just genuinely nice to him??? simply bc he’s around Joseph and bc they find him likeable??? he did Not expect Anyone to be nice to him in the human world, what the Fuck, he doesn’t know how to Deal With That

Suzi is Technically a servant but she’s been Joseph’s friend since they were lil kids so she was essentially raised alongside him and they’re best friends and Suzi can only keep Joseph out of dumb shit like half the time bc the other half she’s right there in it with him

she is Entirely unfazed by Caesar, sees through the pretend relationship in like two minutes and knows immeditely that Something Is Up. When she accidentally catches Caesar in his demon form while checking to make sure he’s not stacking all-nighters again, she doesn’t even bat an eye (meanwhile Caesar’s thoughts are entirely “oh fuck do I have to kill her now, Joseph’s gonna kill me if I do, oh fuck, oh fuck”) just tells him to go to sleep on time and then leaves (to call Joseph out on getting himself into even deeper shit than she’d originally thought)

look idk what he does or what relevance he ends up having to the plot but Polnareff is also there, he’s a dumbass knight who’s the reason Joseph knows how to Not fight properly (bc Polnareff has a shitton of dumb tricks and Joseph knows all of them) and has a giant crush on Avdol

god there’s just. A Shitton of dumb shenanigans during their time in the castle, both with the fake-dating (like having to teach Caesar proper royal etiquette and him getting Very confused and flustered when Joseph casually flirts with him) and with hiding Caesar being a demon (they have so many stupid close calls and make so many dumb decisions they Really Shouldn’t, it’s great)

when the time comes to go and find and kill the Pillar Men, it’s only Caesar and Joseph going bc Caesar doesn’t want any more ppl in this mission than absolutely necessary, totally not bc they’re his friends and he worries about them or anything

they get some tips on where to look and how to get there from this weird adventurer dude who passes through the castle on his travels every once in a while. Joseph’s only met him in passing but he thinks he seems fun and has his own dumbass theory that he’s totally some runaway royalty or something. Instead turns out that the dude is half demon and actually related to Caesar and Caesar, being an orphan and all, had thought finding a remaining member of his family would be Way more thrilling but no this dude is just as weird and annoying as Joseph so he’d like a refund pls

(the dude’s Gyro. Ofc it’s fuckin Gyro. Johnny’s there too somewhere I just haven’t figured that out yet. He might actually be the top horse trainer/caretaker/whatever of the castle and the True reason Gyro travels this way every time is bc he’s smitten as hell)

while Gyro gives them some advice he also tells them that hey. Maybe you shouldn’t do this?? esp not just the two of you??? Considering the Pillar Men are known to be ruthless and Very good at killing demons

ofc these idiots Don’t Listen and go after them together anyway

the plan technically is that Joseph stays a safe distance away while Caesar goes and fights the Pillar Men and Totally wins but like. ofc he doesn’t listen and refuses to stay on his ass and let Caesar leave so they go in together anyway

they manage to find Santana alone and Actually Kill Him but it’s a close one, much tougher than anticipated bc as I said before, these dudes are Really Good at killing demons and also just killing in general. It’s also when Caesar realises the full scope of the “if one gets hurt, the other also feels it” part of his bond with Joseph bc Joseph gets hurt worse during the battle and Caesar is so shocked by his own reaction to it that he’s frozen for a moment and it almost costs him his life

that night when they’re camping out after the battle, Joseph reveals that a long while ago he figured out how to break their magic bond without it hurting either of them or sending Caesar right back to his own world. it’s some old spell he found in one of Avdol’s books or something, idk, and at first he’d kept it hidden from Everyone bc he was starting to really like Caesar but knew that Caesar was only around him out of necessity (not true actually but Caesar hid and denied his growing fondness for v v long) and he didn’t want him to leave the moment he realised he Could, even if it was v v selfish of him and he feels like shit about it now. And then later on when it turned out that they’re gonna see this quest through together anyway, he figured it didn’t matter anymore and so he kinda just forgot about it

but he’s remembered it again before they left and packed what he needs for it as a grim Just In Case (and it may or may not be a weird red gem bc yknow, but idk yet) and now he offers to break the bond already bc of how him getting hurt almost got Caesar killed. But Caesar tells him not to, bc it doesn’t matter now and a spell like that would probably take a lot of energy out of both of them when they need everything they’ve got for the upcoming battles

in reality he doesn’t want the bond broken bc it makes him feel like he’s got a right and a reason to stay, without having to fully face just how much he cares about Joseph, and bc it makes sure that Joseph is never far from him and lets him know if he’s hurt and maybe like this he can somehow protect him from getting hurt again

spoiler alert: he can’t

the fight with the other three Pillar Men doesn’t go their way at all. I mean it’s 3 vs 2 and the 3 are Very Good at killing so it should be Expected, but they’re young and dumb and Caesar is stubborn and still thirsting for revenge and if Joseph can’t hold him back then at least he can stay with him

they both get badly hurt and when it looks like it’s just it for both of them, Joseph brings out that spell again and breaks their bond before Caesar could tell him to stop and tells Caesar to run, to get away and don’t even fucking look back, just Go. When Caesar tries to object, Joseph tells him that he’s not dying just so Caesar can get himself killed too and Caesar is too scared to do anything but listen and run as Joseph leaves himself no escape and takes another two of the Pillar Men down with him before Caesar could figure out a way to save him

Joseph survives, Somehow, minus a hand anyway. He wakes up again in his own room in the castle and he has No Idea how he got back or who even found him and his best guess is that Gyro and Johnny have followed them and lbr Avdol’s magic has probably had a part to play in it too

and Caesar is just. Gone. Separated from Joseph and already weak from the fight, he didn’t have enough magic left to remain in the human world for long and thus got pulled back into his own world, and being just a normal demon, he can’t even cross back over without being summoned. But Joseph doesn’t know any of that, he just knows that Caesar is Gone and he strongly doubts he’s coming back bc he hasn’t already and he’s p damn heartbroken about it

meanwhile Caesar isn’t having much better of a time in his own world either. Bc nothing went well, Nothing, but he realises that he doesn’t even care about his revenge plan anymore, he doesn’t care about hunting Kars down and avenging his family. But he’s just lost the only family he’s had Again, the ppl in the castle this time, and he’s stuck here without any way back unless someone accidentally summons him again, and for what he knows Joseph had died to save him and Caesar didn’t even get to say goodbye or bury him

this v shitty state lasts until Joseph’s desperation + a lil nudge from Avdol and Suzi gets him to try summoning Caesar again (bc Joseph decides that if he gets no response at all, if the spell fails, it means Caesar’s really just Gone and he hadn’t made it out alive after all, but having definite knowledge of that will still be better than just Not Knowing and hoping for the rest of his life)

Avdol lets him take his study all to himself and so Joseph settles in during the afternoon and gets to finding the spell which is Not Easy bc he’d been drunk off his ass when he’d first found and performed it. He’s starting to lose hope and think that maybe the spell doesn’t even Exist in Avdol’s books, he’d just butchered a completely different spell and that’s how he got to Caesar, when he Finally finds it, and it’s almost midnight at that point and he’s Exhausted and Scared and Sad and he just Wants This To Work

the spell asks for an offering for the demon’s services, and the first time around Joseph had said something like “idk name your price” which is how Caesar had got the bond he needed (tho Joseph doesn’t actually remember this)

this time he just says “anything” which is a p dumb thing to offer when making a deal with a Literal Demon but he doesn’t care, this is Caesar, he trusts him and he loves him and he’d damn right give anything to just know that he’s okay and maybe get to see him again

and the spell Works it fuckin Works even if it takes a moment and there’s a flash of light and then suddenly there’s Caesar, sitting on the ground in Avdol’s study in all his demonic glory, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dim light and until he sees Joseph sitting on the ground in front of him, crying. And from then on it’s just a big “i thought I lost you” reunion moment that’s so happy it Hurts. They stay sitting on the floor for Hours despite it being late at night, just pressed together and talking about anything and just enjoying each others presence bc they’ve missed each other and thought they’d never see each other again

the next morning Avdol finds them sitting against the wall in a pile and fast asleep and decides to take the day off and goes to find Suzi and Polnareff to tell them the news

idk where the rest of the plot goes yet bc Kars is still out there and Erina and Speedwagon still don’t know about the whole demon thing but have this for now

#jjba #caejose #joseph joestar #caesar zeppeli #mohammad avdol #suzi quatro #polnareff and the pillar men are also there but not enough to ba tagged sorry #also gyro and johnny yeah them too #I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS IT JUST HAPPENED #my mind went ''heir of dumbass Joseph accidentally summons a demon but it's mostly just fake-dating'' and then this happened??#ill add a tag for this au once i figure one out bc i guess now i need that too huh #goddamnit #demon au

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eilonwiiy · 5 years

Text

Bookends ; a Witchlands AU

Chapter 2

A night at the Cleaved Man turns both Safi and Iseult's worlds upside down after an explosive confrontation with an uptight Nubrevnan and an unexpected romantic gesture from a close friend...

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children’s Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Previous chapters: 1

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, and more… stay tuned!

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi

* . * . * . * .

There was a certain art to it, Iseult had to admit. Bartending, that is.

Safi darted every which way behind the bar, hands reaching for bottles and canisters without thought and pouring liquids and syrups of all colors into an endless supply of glasses at breakneck speed. Just when Iseult thought the place had reached its peak hour, a fresh wave of college kids invaded the counter. Iseult wasn’t sure how a place as cramped as The Cleaved Man managed to pack so many bodies. For a bar as ancient as it was, she supposed being forced to get up close and personal with eligible strangers was half its appeal.

Not for Iseult though. She isolated herself on her usual perch at the very end of the bar by the swinging half-door that led behind the counter, still wearing the outfit she wore at the library: a thick black knitted sweater, matching jeans, and laced-up boots. No one bothered her, save for one unfortunate soul at the beginning of the night. He looked relatively harmless - if you could call a salmon pink polo shirt and khakis shorts in mid-winter harmless. But that didn’t stop Iseult from squeezing a lemon slice in his eyes when he wouldn’t take a hint that she wasn’t interested.

When he had turned to Safi, face dripping wet and eyes stinging red, clearly expecting to see some sort of reprimand dished out, she only shrugged.

“That’s what they’re for,” she said and plopped a fresh slice into the drink she’d just finished mixing and offered it pointedly to a girl on his other side. “Good luck out there,” she told her.

The girl grinned and raised her glass to Safi in thanks, turning to leave, but not without giving the open-mouthed guy a meaningful look.

After that, the evening was considerably less exciting. For Iseult, at least. For everyone else, the night was just getting started.

Walking into the Cleaved Man, you could easily expect its raucous crowd to break out into a sea shanty at the drop of a hat. It was like stepping into one of Iseult’s beloved swashbuckling tales, with its musty smell, fat wooden tables, and rickety benches. There were even giant beer barrels tucked into the tight space’s dark corners serving as makeshift seating that Safi swore were older than the bar’s current owner. Ornate, wooden chandeliers hung from iron chains, strewn with strings of white lights, a nice modern touch that doused the room in a soft, golden glow. While swarms of college kids hovered around the bar, smaller, more intimate parties clustered together in cozy booths, each with a single candle flickering bright upon the table, illuminating the smiles and laughter of their occupants. Only a few diamond checkered stained glass windows lining the front of house offered the passersby a small glimpse of the merriment contained within.

Iseult appreciated the fantasy of it. There was something romantically atmospheric to it. In a historic sort of way, if that was possible. If it weren’t for the thrumming music and the mounting inebriation pressing in on all sides of her, she would have loved to come here with a book and simply read.

“How are those limes coming, Iz?” Safi called over the music, not looking up from the glass she was shooting Sprite into.

“I’m almost -” Iseult began, but Safi was already there, sweeping whatever slices she had off the cutting board into a tin bucket and hurrying away, “-done.” She speared another lime and got back to chopping.

Friday nights were one of the busiest nights of the week, but they became even busier when you were working for two - as Safi was tonight. She wasn’t technically alone. But Stix seemed more interested in picking up girls than serving drinks.

Whereas Safi was a whirlwind of frantic energy, Stacia “Stix” Sotar leaned completely at ease against the counter at the other end of the bar. Across from her a girl with badly dyed red hair spoke animatedly, eating maraschino cherries from a glass and wearing a dollar store tiara. She was clearly the matriarch of her group, as the rest of her friends - overly made up for a night at the Cleaved Man - stood adoringly around her, sipping their drinks and bursting into fits of laughter more often than was believable. The birthday girl’s heavily painted eyes never left Stix, and Iseult had lost count of how many times her hand consciously fingered the bedazzled sash advertising “21 and HOT, buy me a SHOT” draped across her generous chest.

Well, Stix had clearly seen to the shot. What service.

Iseult’s attention lingered a moment longer before sparing a glance to the rest of the bar. The evening was definitely in full swing. People had long since moved onto their second or third drink, graduating to shots and plates stacked high with wings or cheesy nachos. At the eye of the impending storm, Iseult spotted a familiar face that could not have looked more out of place.

Lounging languorously in sky blue, Leopold shuffled a deck of cards at one of the small round tables in the center of the room. Keeping him company were his roommates Lev, Zander, and - much to Iseult’s displeasure - Chiseled Cheater. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did. They lived together after all; he had as much right to hang out with them as anyone else. Still...

As though hearing her thought, Leopold turned in Iseult’s direction and met her gaze. His face lit up and he flashed her a criminally stunning smile, burning like a beacon amidst the sweat and alcohol swirling around him. He immediately beckoned for her to join them. She shook her head.

Why? he mouthed.

Iseult skewered a lime and held it up.

Leopold’s lips pursed, accentuating their natural pink plushness. His finger tapped the table, and with a quick word to his companions, he tossed the cards down with a little more flourish than was necessary and slipped away. As he made his way towards Iseult, he moved through the crowd like a snake, disturbing no one and going unnoticed. Well, not completely unnoticed. A fair amount of heads turned to catch more than a periphery glimpse of his deliciously carved cheekbones and silky waves of strawberry blonde hair.

“Was that lime a metaphor for what you’re going to do to me for sharing a drink with Caden?” he drawled, sidling up to Iseult. “Or have we seriously fallen to such a level of co-dependence that our dear Safi can no longer do her job without pawning some of the load off onto you?”

Iseult sliced into a particularly juicy lime and let the satisfying squelch answer for her. Leopold shook his head with an amused chuckle, and before Iseult could protest, he plucked a slice from the cutting board and popped it into his mouth.

“Mmm what a sweet death it will be,” he said in between suckles. If it had been anyone else, Iseult would have been disgusted by such an obnoxious display - and in a public place no less. But Leopold had a way of making even the grossest practices seem sophisticated. Sensuous, even.

“Limes are bitter,” Iseult corrected.

“Not with you at the end of the knife.”

Iseult looked at him. He licked a runaway trail of juice from his thumb, far too invested in the lime to notice Iseult staring. His lips were red and wet, glistening obscenely under the halo of stringed lights hovering above him. She couldn’t help it; her face warmed.

But when he tossed the lime into the open garbage can behind the counter, it was like he’d said nothing.

“Do I need to call social services?” he pressed in a mock whisper that was sure to reach Safi’s ears. “Is she keeping you here against your will?”

“Ha-ha,” Safi interjected, slapping a towel onto the counter and wiping it down. Leopold lurched back as she made a pass near him.

“Watch the sleeves, love,” he chastised with a small, but noticeable pout that only made Iseult stare at his lips again.

“Oh Polly, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t fussing over your designer shirt of the day, but you came to the wrong place if you expected to not be spilt on at least twice.”

Leopold gave a disdainful huff. “Tell me about it,” he muttered, scrutinizing a spot on his shirt that was only visible to him. After a moment, he clicked his tongue and abandoned the fabric with a note of disgust. “I’d be at Arlenni’s Loop if it weren’t for the company - which brings me back to my original question. Are you going to keep poor Iseult here shackled to you all night or are going to let her actually enjoy herself?”

“She’s keeping me company. What could be more fun than that?”

Iseult kept her gaze downcast, suddenly needing to cut each lime slice with exact precision.

Leopold turned away from Safi like she hadn’t said anything. “You should join us. We were just about to start a game of-”

“We don’t need to play any more games with your lot, thank you,” Safi cut in, brandishing her rag and earning an affronted glare from Leopold.

“Excuse me, since when does ‘Iseult’ mean ‘we’? And what exactly do you mean by “my lot”?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Safi gave the table he’d just left a withering glare. Leopold followed it over his shoulder, then turned back to her, frowning.

“For Noden’s sake, Safi. This is overdoing it - even for you.” He watched her, waiting for a response, but she said nothing, attention trained on the row of glasses she was now wiping dry. When it was clear she wasn’t going to concede, he breathed an impatient sigh, then, designer sleeves and all, leaned against the counter and drew himself closer to Safi. Understanding softened his expression, but his lips twitched.

“Now, love,” he began delicately, “I know you fancied yourself his girlfriend-”

“I did not!” Safi barked, slamming a glass onto the counter and sending water droplets flying. She glared at Leopold, eyes blazing. “He stole our apartment, Leopold!”

Leopold was entirely unaffected, despite his shirt was now spattered shirt. He simply drew away from the counter, straightening and crossing his arms. “Oh boo-hoo, Safiya. So you let slip to a guy you made-out with that you found the perfect off-campus apartment and he swooped in and snagged it for himself. That hardly makes him a thief.”

“It’s how he got the information that matters,” Iseult intervened, feeling that she had let the two childhood friends’ bickering go on long enough. Safi nodded fervently in agreement.

Leopold clucked his tongue in distaste. “Oh stop that. A lot of things happened at Vaness’ end-of-the-year party, but you being taken advantage of was not one of them. Call him an asshole if you must, but don’t turn him into something he isn’t.”

Iseult’s heart lurched at the mention of Vaness’ infamous end-of-the-year party, but she swallowed it down. “He took advantage of her feelings.”

“We all do at one point or another in our lives, whether we mean to or not,” Leopold said, giving her an almost pitying look. “Heartbreak, dished out or taken, is an unfortunate side effect of having feelings.”

Iseult’s nose twitched. What her mother would have had to say about that. But even as she looked into Leopold’s sparkling sea green eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a trail of unease crawl up her spine.

“Why does it even matter?” he pressed on. There was a strained edge to his voice as he ran a distracted hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. “I saved the day and now you have an open invitation to our place at my behest and can torture Caden with your presence til the end of your days.”

This part was true at least. Leopold had swooped in and snagged the fourth room Caden, Lev, and Zander needed to fill. And he had used his status to forgo any scrupulous tenant screenings and ensure the landlord’s lease papers were signed before anyone could do anything to stop it. It had been brilliant, actually. And he had done it all on his own.

“What am I supposed to do?” Leopold looked imploringly between Safi and Iseult. “Not talk to them?”

Safi sniffed and raised her chin in the air. “That would be preferable, yes.”

Leopold stared at her. “You are impossible,” he declared finally, to which Safi merely shrugged. Annoyance flickered across his face and he ran his hand through his hair again, cursing under his breath, “At least you got a good lay out of it.”

“What??” Safi sputtered, eyes blown wide with panic and darting between Leopold and Iseult. “We didn’t- did he tell you that?! ”

“No,” Leopold admitted sounding equally unamused. “That was wishful thinking on my part.”

The two of them glared at each other, neither one looking happy with the other. For a second, Iseult thought Safi would throw something at him. Her dirty rag perhaps. Or a bar glass. That would be a first. But instead, her expression frosted over and she hefted the plastic bin of newly washed glasses against her hip. They clinked noisily against each other.

“Go away, Polly. Or you’ll have more than a stain on your shirt to cry about.” She regarded Leopold cooly, then strode away, leaving him and Iseult alone.

Iseult shifted in her seat and situated herself back over her cutting board. “I’d take her advice seriously. Those bar guns shoot surprisingly far. I’ve seen them in action.”

“If it means getting a drink…” Leopold trailed off, and to Iseult’s surprise, he drew up an empty stool seemingly out of thin air and plopped himself down next to her. He leaned into her conspiratorially. “What are the odds of her making me a drink that isn’t laced with strychnine? Should I go bother Stix?”

Iseult glanced across the bar. Stix was still working her magic on the “birthday bitch” as she’d overheard one of her loud friends dub her. Her obnoxious red curls bounced as threw her head back and let out a shriek of laughter at something hilarious Stix apparently said. Iseult noticed Safi roll her eyes in irritation as she tried to take the order of a big burly guy towering behind the group.

“You’d have to be a girl to get her attention,” she muttered, reaching for a lemon.

Leopold frowned, eyeing the group with mild interest. “Surely I’m as pretty as one, wouldn’t you say?” He drew himself back, so that his form was on full display for Iseult. He grinned and gave her an optimistic sort of look that brought out his natural boyish charm. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a shot. Especially if it means avoiding my untimely death.”

Iseult didn’t respond. That prospect didn’t sound so bad right now. Leopold seemed to have read her mind because after a moment of awkward silence, he reached out and covered the hand holding her knife with his.

“Iseult," he said softly, and Iseult’s hand twitched under his. He paused. "I didn’t mean what I said. Safi means more to me than… well, anyone. I’d never do anything to intentionally upset her. I love her.”

His voice was pitched low so that only Iseult could hear him, but every word rang true and clear. She slowly turned to look at him and something in his face relaxed when her eyes met his. He was so close to her she could see the little flecks of blue in his them bloom with every blink. The strands of red in his lashes. He licked his lips... and she hated herself for looking there too.

“But,” he resumed cautiously, “I’m tired of her getting on my case for this. It’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong, and look... I know you would face Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting it, but I think you know that Safi needs to let this go. If not for my sake, then for hers.”

Iseult blinked. No one knew her better than Safi… which was why she was so stunned with how close Leopold came to hitting the truth. But it was like he said, she’d take on Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting Safi was wrong.

Leopold squeezed her hand in understanding and let go. Iseult immediately pulled it into her lap, only then realizing how warm it had felt under his. She clasped her other hand and fidgeted with the silver ring around her index finger.

Leopold hopped off his stool and brushed his hands on the front of his pants, as though he’d dirtied himself through the mere act of sitting. He pointed to Iseult’s half-empty glass. “Do you need another juice box?”

Iseult grabbed the drink out from under the scrutiny of his finger and took a defensive sip from her straw. It had a watery taste to it, all the ice cubes nearly melted to nothing. “No, I’m good.”

The corner of Leopold’s mouth curved up and the dimple on his cheek became a winking star. “Yes, you are,” he purred, backing away into the crowd, “So very, very good.”

And then he was gone. Iseult gaped at the spot, not sure of what had just happened, and turned in a daze to the end of the bar where Stix stood. Sure enough, Leopold reappeared, slipping smoothly between closely pressed together shoulders and then leaning against the bar without taking any notice of the half dozen or so faces gawking at him for so blatantly cutting the line. Or maybe he simply didn’t care. Even Birthday Bitch was looking at him like she couldn’t believe he was real as his lips moved with ease. That is, until Stix started laughing at something he’d said. A true, genuine sound.

The girl didn’t like that.

With a scandalized look at the pair, she swiped her drink off the counter and took a pouty sip as she hobbled off her stool. Leopold gracefully took her place without sparing the girl a glance, and even had the audacity to plop a maraschino cherry in his mouth. Iseult saw Birthday Bitch peek over her shoulder a couple times to see if Stix had noticed she’d left.

She didn’t. Not even a little, judging by the pen and napkin she was sliding Leopold’s way.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Safi, joining Iseult and watching Leopold scribble what could only be his name and number onto the napkin.

“Admit it, you’re impressed,” Iseult said. Safi only let out a mirthless laugh and turned her back on them just in time to miss Leopold slide the napkin back to Stix with a wink before disappearing back into the crowd. She grabbed a lemon slice and shoved it in her mouth.

“He even got her to work,” Iseult added, ignoring the loud noises coming from Safi’s passionate assault on her lemon and nodding over her shoulder to where Stix was miraculously making a round of drinks. “He’ll have you groveling at his feet by midnight.”

Safi swiped another lemon slice and made to shove it in Iseult’s mouth. Iseult dodged the attack, and when Safi tried again, Iseult only scrunched her face and ducked a second time. As childish as it was, it set both girls to laughing, a welcome sound to Iseult’s ears after such a long night. Safi and Leopold bickered all the time, but she hated to see her so wound up over something so inconsequential as Chiseled Cheater. Her friend didn’t wear hurt as well as she thought she did.

Safi finally stuffed the lemon into her own mouth. “At least I can take a break now,” she said grudgingly, though her expression remained at ease. She swung her hair over her shoulder and stole a glance at Stix. “Who do you think it’s for?”

Iseult wasn’t sure if she meant the drinks or the napkin Leopold slipped Stix. She decided on the napkin. “Stix, of course.”

“Please, he’s not that good,” Safi muttered distantly as her eyes scanned the bar. “My vote is for the birthday bazongas over there.”

“Safi.”

“What? They’re huge!” Safi made an emphatic, and entirely unnecessary, gesture with her hands. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice!”

Iseult’s nose twitched, but didn’t say anything.

“See,” insisted Safi with with all the maturity of a five-year-old. “And trust me, if we noticed, Polly definitely noticed.”

Something needled Iseult’s chest. “You don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”

Safi opened her mouth to comment, but a tray of drinks magically appearing interrupted them.

“Special delivery,” trilled Stix, lifting a glass off the tray balanced on her hand and placing it in front of Iseult. Her braided white hair was piled high on top of her head and up close, Iseult could see blue and silver beads woven into the tightly wound strands.

“I didn’t order anything,” she said automatically, eyeing the colorful concoction like she didn’t know what it was.

Other people might have been put off by Iseult’s inflectionless voice, but Stix only smiled, showing off the gap between her two front teeth.

“You can thank Prince Charming over there,” she said, with a nod and a wink. Both Iseult and Safi’s heads spun to where she gestured, but somehow Iseult already knew who she’d find.

Gold waves rippled under the lights as Leopold tipped his head back and shook with laughter. The deck of taro cards was back in his hands and he was in the process of dealing a round to Lev, Zander, and Chiseled Cheater, the cards flying from his long, delicate fingers and sliding across the table. Dumbly, Iseult turned back to beverage sitting in front of her and inspected it. It was like a sunset in a cup, all orange, yellow, and red bleeding brilliantly together. She didn’t reach for it, though, to give it taste.

Iseult eyes slid to the napkin set beside beside it and she noticed there was something scrawled on it. She peeled it off the bar and slowly held it up to read. Her heart was pounding. Why was her heart pounding? Stasis, Iseult. Stasis.

Iseult looked up from the napkin and back at Leopold. He wasn’t even watching to see what her reaction would be. In fact, the only person distracted from their card game was Chiseled Cheater, and he definitely wasn’t looking at Iseult.

Even from afar, Iseult could see the small line that wormed between Caden’s brows whenever she caught him looking at Safi. He was in the middle of drinking his beer when his gaze strayed to her, the bottle hovering briefly over his lips before he indulged in another long swig and turned away.

Unfortunately for Iseult, Safi wasn’t paying attention to him. The only thing she was gawking at was the fruity monolith standing between them.

“You’re right,” Safi declared breaking the silence. “I don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”

Iseult said nothing. She picked up the glass, set it down next to her cranberry juice, wiped away the ring of condensation it had left behind, and returned to her knife and lemon like the drink had been a figment of their imagination.

Of course, Iseult knew never in a million years would Safi leave it at that.

“So when did this happen?”

A surprise spurt of lemon juice shot into Iseult’s eye, but she willed it not to blink through the stinging pain. Stasis, Iseult. Stasis in your fingers and in your toes. “Nothing is happening.”

“Uh, this very loud drink begs to differ.”

“Well, drink it and then it’ll shut up.”

“I’m not drinking your love juice.”

Iseult’s breath hitched in disgust. “Please don’t call it that.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call it?” Safi asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You won’t tell me what it is!”

“It’s nothing,” Iseult replied evenly, blank expression betraying nothing. Because it was nothing. There was no way Leopold had feelings for her. They were strictly friends. That was it.

Safi snorted when she told her just that. “Right. And I’m the queen of Cartorra.”

“That explains it then,” a voice called.

Both Safi and Iseult looked around to see who had spoken. It was difficult with the bar crowded as it was. Then, a young Nubrevnan man sitting a couple seats away wearing a crisp white shirt unbuttoned dangerously low leaned forward and cocked his head.

“Why you can’t be bothered to serve your subjects,” he elaborated, acknowledging the people on either side of him with a curt nod before drawing back to Safi.

Safi and Iseult shared a look, one that confirmed the unspoken: this guy was an ass.

The corners of Safi’s quirked and she turned back, slow and purposefully, to the man. “Can I help you?”

The flat of the man’s hand slapped the table. “Now she hears me!” he exclaimed in mock surprise to the crowd, playing them for a response and flashing a good-natured smile despite his antagonizing demeanor being anything but. Annoyance fluttered in Iseult’s chest as people laughed. Drunk people were so easily amused.

“Excuse me?” Safi shot back.

A man - no, scratch that - a giant standing behind the seated Nubrevnan leaned down to speak loudly next to his ear. “May have spoken too soon, Cap.”

More people laughed, but Iseult only mentally rolled her eyes. Cap? As in captain? Oh yeah. This guy was definitely a douche.

The giant flashed Safi what Iseult assumed must have been a smile, though it twisted unnaturally across his pale face. Iseult discreetly nudged the bucket of freshly cut lemon slices towards Safi, but she waved her off, not taking her eyes off the man sitting in front of her. Though, Iseult didn’t miss the nearly indistinguishable nod letting her know she knew it was there in case she decided to change tactics. Now all she had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

“Are you going to order anything or not?” Safi asked in a bored voice.

He made a show of considering it. “I don’t know,” he mused loftily, resting his well-tanned arms on the counter. He leaned forward. “What are the odds of getting our drinks within this calendar year?”

“Slim,” Safi replied automatically. She approached the counter, meeting his advance with a little extra swing in her hips, a lioness hunting her prey. “But how would you even know?” she added as she planted herself in front of him. Her hands swept deftly over the burnished wood counter, arms stretching long on either side of her until she was taking as much space as possible. “You clearly don’t own a calendar. Did you not notice that it’s January? Or do you not know how a button works?”

Much to Iseult’s satisfaction, the man flushed. He glared at Safi. “I know how a button works.”

“So you’re just stupid, then” she retorted. A murmur of amusement rippled through the crowd, music to Safi’s ears, and she stood a little taller. Her mouth twisted as she gave him a cursory look. “Why even bother putting on a shirt if you’re just going to wear it like -” she gestured vaguely to his exposed chest “-that?”

The giant’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying he should take it off?” He turned to the crowd as he suggested it, opening the heavy-handed question to everyone. He knew what he was doing. The bar immediately erupted into cheers. The space was so small that even people who weren’t close enough to know what was going on hollered their support, clapped their hands, pumped their fists into the air - anything for a chance at a flash of nudity.

The giant circled the spot where he stood, towering over the crowd and nodding his approval. “The people have spoken!” he declared over the noise and the bar responded with another enthusiastic cat call of approval. The giant’s smile grew bigger and more terrifying. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave him a friendly jostle.

But the man merely shrugged him off and sank lower into the bar, keeping his gaze downturned. Several strands of his dark swept back hair fell across his forehead, but weren’t long enough to hide the crimson flush from earlier that had deepened on his bronze cheeks. Then, without warning, his rich brown eyes fluttered back up to Safi and he looked nothing like he had moments ago. Now he looked shy. Handsome .

Iseult couldn’t see Safi’s face, but she knew. She knew all it took was one look and Safi would melt. She had learned that the hard way with Chiseled Cheater.

But Chiseled Cheater had never looked at Safi like this. Chiseled Cheater was a practiced player. He tossed around charming smiles and easy jokes, dished out compliments in heaps, lured young women into shadowed corners with promises and heady kisses - and through it all, his mask never fell out of place.

Not this Nubrevnan, though. In his silence, he was completely bare to Safi.

But a second later, whoever had been sitting before Safi - looking at her like maybe he’d wished they could start over - was gone. The young man’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed with a keen sharpness.

“I know you,” he murmured, almost to himself, scrutinizing Safi like he was seeing her clearly for the very first time. Safi opened her mouth to object, but he barreled through her protests. “Yeah,” he said with more confidence, and suddenly his eyes were on Iseult who, up until that point, had gone unnoticed by the Nubrevnan. He wagged a stiff finger from her to Safi. “I recognize you! You’re the Breakfast Bandits!”

“What?” Safi snapped at the same time Iseult blurted incredulously, “They call us the Breakfast Bandits?”

The man crossed his arms triumphantly, rolling his broad shoulders as he leaned back on his stool. The gesture pulled his shirt open even wider, exposing a generous amount of his muscled chest. Clearly, his modesty had been short-lived.

Safi mirrored his pose. “So what if we are?”

Whatever amusement the man had gained from messing with Safi vanished. His tone turned serious. “You’re stealing food.”

Safi gave a disbelieving laugh. “I’d hardly call it stealing. Not when we’re paying thousands to go their precious little school.”

Iseult pressed her lips together. It probably wasn’t worth mentioning that Safi had a fully-paid scholarship or that she’d dropped out five months ago.

“Besides,” Safi spurred on, “where do you think all that leftover food goes at the end of the day? In the garbage. We were just taking what would have been thrown away.”

Strangely, this seemed to anger the Nubrevnan even more. “That food doesn’t get thrown away,” he gritted out. “That food is divided and delivered to local homeless shelters.”

“Oh? And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m the one who does it.”

The space between them dropped dead. Iseult could practically feel Safi’s stunned shock pulsing off her. Somewhere overhead, Lizzo cried about great men.

“You-” Safi stammered, reminding Iseult of her own cursed stutter.

“Me and my crew,” the man explained, scowl deepening. There was no triumph in his voice this time. “We divy what’s left over at the end of the night, load it up in my truck, and deliver it to shelters here and in neighboring cities. Every day. We usually finish up around 2 in the morning.”

It was a first. Safi was at a loss for words.

Still scowling, the Nubrevnan shook his head and rose up from his stool. Standing, he was a full head taller than Safi. He glared down at her, his eyes searching her face. Despite the obvious contempt pulsing off him, it was almost like he was hoping she would say something.

But she didn’t.

He breathed in deeply, struggling to remain in control of his emotions, and his nostrils flared. “You may think it’s just one hash brown,” he finally uttered in a low voice, “that you’re entitled to it. But to someone who hasn’t eaten in a week, it’s the difference between life and death.”

Again, Safi said nothing. Iseult noticed that the giant was no longer smiling. In fact, no one was smiling. And the longer the Nubrevnan glared at Safi, the more fed up with he seemed to become, until finally he succumbed to his anger and ripped his jacket off his stool. A violent movement that made Safi flinch.

“You can forget about those drinks, domna,” he announced as he punched his arms through the coat sleeves. He didn’t look at her. He simply flicked up his jacket collar and spun away on his heel. People stepped out of his way as he marched towards the front entrance in long, determined strides. The giant and the rest of his crew followed in his wake.

However, when he reached the door, his hand hesitated on the handle. His head turned half a centimeter, then froze. Like he had to actively stop himself from turning to look back. But his gaze slid to Safi anyway, two dark moorings along the brim of his jacket collar. For a second, Iseult thought she caught another glimpse of that shy young man from earlier, but before she could decide if what she’d seen was real or not, he yanked open the door and stormed out into the night.

Safi stood motionless, staring after him long after the door slammed shut. Iseult ransacked her brain for something to say, anything... but nothing came. It appeared that the Nubrevnan had not only taken Safi’s voice, but Iseult’s as well.

The rest of the night passed in silence between them. Safi went about serving customers and making drinks, though with none of her previous vigor. She navigated the bar on autopilot, any exchange made subdued. Iseult recognized the faraway look in her eyes. It was the same one she wore whenever she was preoccupied with thoughts of her Uncle Eron. The notion that the words from this complete stranger could have the same effect on Safi as one of Uncle Eron’s drunk debauckles made something in Iseult’s chest worry into a knot.

When the last tankard was hung and the final table wiped clean, Iseult followed Safi and the happy jingle of keys that signaled it was time to go home. Bundled up in a dark wool coat and thick scarf, Iseult held open the door for Safi as Stix switched off the lights and filed after her.

At some point during the night, it must have started to snow. A light dusting of white covered the sidewalk and the cars parked along the street, and lazy, slow-falling snowflakes floated down from the starless sky as the three of them stood outside the Cleaved Man. After tugging the door handle and making sure it was securely locked, Stix zipped up her leather jacket and happily wished Safi and Iseult goodnight, setting off downtown. Her night was apparently just getting started.

The sound of Stix’s boots hitting pavement echoed in the distance and Safi and Iseult turned to face each other. For a moment they just stared at each other, both looking as tired as the other one felt. Everywhere else on their block had closed up for the evening, and after a night spent in the Cleaved Man where the noise never stopped, the street sounded unnaturally quiet.

“Home?” Safi finally asked. It felt like forever since Iseult had heard her voice. Big, chunky snowflakes clung to her knitted beanie.

Iseult nodded. “Home.”

As one, the girls turned, linked arms, and set off in the direction of their apartment, leaving a trail of footprints along the snow covered sidewalk.

It wasn’t until Iseult was lying in bed that she realized she never did see Leopold again.

#the witchlands #witchlands #baesult #iseult det midenzi #aeduan #safiya fon hasstrel #merik nihar #safik #stix sotar #kullen ikray #caden fitz grieg #truthwitch #bookends #mine #my fics

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