#about the moment creeping up on them unexpectedly. the respect for each other as the base of their love. they didn't stop themselves etc. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nikethestatue · 3 years

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La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think.

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

Azriel

Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

Elain

“He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

Azriel

Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

Elain

Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.

The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

********************

Azriel

Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, ��there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

#la dolce vita #elriel fanfic #elriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #elriel fanfiction #elain fanfic #my writing #new chapter #acotar fanfiction #sjm books #azriel #azriel and elain #elain archeron #elain

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Note

THE REQUEST ARE OPEN AGAINN!! AHHHH CONTINUATION OF PILLAR BODY SWAP THANKYOUUUU

‘switch ‘em up pt. 4′ / Pillars x Reader (now with the Kamaboko Squad!)

warnings: none

words: 2,243

(a/n): I just wanna thank the lovely anon that gave me the idea to this plotline; it helped a lot!

for reference: Giyuu/Shinobu | Gyomei/Mitsuri | Obanai/Tengen | Sanemi/Muichiro | Kyojuro/you

“I’m not sure I understand entirely,” Tanjiro confesses, his eyebrows furrowing. “So you’re looking for some special type of herb?”

“Precisely,” Shinobu says.

Overhead, birds chirp and flood the skies, hopping from branch to branch and competing each other with their harmonies. A delicate breeze sweeps through the area, carrying loose leaves and the crisp smell of nature. On any other day, you’d love to come back; however, considering the circumstances, you’d rather not be here.

After much discussion on what should be done to return everyone to their normal bodies, Shinobu voiced an idea that may work – finding a special herb and using its medicinal properties. It’s a bit of a longshot, but it’s not like anyone else has any other better idea. And whether the others voiced it or not, everyone is secretly wishing that this magical plant will bring a miracle.

As such, you and the rest of the Pillars take the trip to Mount Sagiri; Tanjiro insisted he tag along since he knows the area well, plus he wanted to help. Of course, this meant traveling with his two friends, Zenitsu and Inosuke. Truthfully, it’s quite a crowd you’re traveling with, but it should prove to be useful to have extra eyes searching for the herb.

“Giyuu knows this area as well, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find it!” Tanjiro chirps, looking to his friend. Although Giyuu is still stuck inside Shinobu’s body, he looks away, a light blush dusting his face. “Plus, Urokodaki-san should be able to help us!”

“Wait, that old man who used to be the Water Pillar?” Tengen questions.

“Don’t disrespect him,” Giyuu abruptly snaps. The muscle in his jaw ticks. “That is all I ask.”

At that, Tengen lets out a drawn-out whistle. “Damn, alright. Don’t tear my head off, waterworks.”

“Waterworks? What kind of name is that?” Sanemi speaks up. “I think you’ve been inside of Obanai for too long, Tengen. Your insults are starting to turn lame.”

“Fuck you,” Obanai mutters.

“It’s not my fault Obanai doesn’t possess a flamboyant sense of humor!”

With a sigh, you watch on as Tengen, Sanemi, and Obanai start bickering. Frankly, you don’t know why they’re even putting in the effort. Everyone is stuck in a situation that they don’t like, so what’s the point?

Beside you, Zenitsu wrings his hands, an uneasy expression crossing his features. “Uh… Kyojuro? Wait, wait, sorry – (y/n)?” You hum in response. “Are all the Pillars this… tense? Like, normally?”

“Heh. Well, not really. Sanemi’s always got a stick up his ass, and Obanai’s just naturally edgy like that,” you tell him. As you look to him, it strikes you as odd to have to look down at him. You’ve otherwise grown used to the height difference, but it still takes you aback sometimes.

Zenitsu snickers. His unease melts away, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “When you put it that way, it sounds just like that moron Inosuke.”

“Oi! Who the fuck are you calling a moron?!” Inosuke barks.

Quirking an eyebrow, Zenitsu shoots you a bored look. “See what I mean?”

“We’re here!” Tanjiro exclaims.

Having been distracted from the short conversation with Zenitsu, you’ve completely ignored your surroundings. Cursing yourself internally for being so careless, you look ahead, taking in the sight of a small home with an even smaller garden next to it. So this must be Urokodaki’s home, huh? How quaint.

“This doesn’t really look like much,” Muichiro voices. Shifting his attention to Giyuu, he cocks his head. “So this is where you were trained?”

Giyuu nods stiffly. The look on his face – Shinobu’s face – is, well, vulnerable. You haven’t seen him show so much emotion before, and it’s a bit startling. If you’re being entirely honest, it looks as though he’s ready to throw up everything that’s inside his gut.

“It’s just as I remember!” Tanjiro chirps. “It’s nice up here, don’t you think? The air gets thinner from here on up, so please be careful when scaling the mountain.”

As if on cue, the door to the house slides open, revealing an elderly man with a tengu mask adorning his face. The air about him demands respect; it’s more than obvious that this very man was a Pillar, and a strong one at that. You watch on as Tanjiro and Giyuu step up towards the house before dropping into respectful bows. Tanjiro’s movements are much more fluid, more comfortable. Giyuu’s are more… wooden.

“Tanjiro, my boy!” Urokodaki greets. Ushering Tanjiro closer, he greets the young man with a hug. “…Who’s this fine lady with you?”

Tengen laughs.

“Urokodaki-san, it’s me,” Giyuu grumbles. “Giyuu…”

Although you can’t see Urokodaki’s face, you have a pretty good idea of what it’s like. The man falls silent, glances from him to Tanjiro, then he scans over the group behind him. Sure, you can’t blame him for being skeptical; a random swarm of people showing up to your house unexpectedly is bound to raise some questions. However, these are all Pillars he’s dealing with. This isn’t something to take lightly.

“Urokodaki-san,” Tanjiro begins, “we need your help. We’re not entirely sure how, but all the Pillars switched bodies with each other. It’s been like this for a number of days now, and we don’t know how long it’s supposed to last.”

After another moment or so of silence, Urokodaki sighs and crosses his arms. “Listen, kid, that seems a bit… much, don’t you think?”

“It might be some sort of Blood Art!” Tanjiro rushes. “Please, Urokodaki-san!”

Again, another sigh. “So everyone is in another body than their own? Haven’t heard of an ability like that before, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Nodding in Shinobu’s direction, he says, “So, that’s Giyuu’s body, but it isn’t him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Shinobu tells him. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to be in Giyuu-san’s body more than I have to.”

“Ehhh?! What’s with all the talking!” Inosuke bursts. “You guys said you wanted to find a plant, not talk to some old coot!”

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro scolds, but he’s too late. In a blink of an eye, Giyuu practically materializes right before Inosuke, his fist colliding with Inosuke’s gut. There’s a loud groan of pain as Inosuke drops to the ground, his hands clutching onto his stomach. To the side, both Zenitsu and Tengen break out into fits of laughter.

“I told you not to disrespect him,” Giyuu grunts.

“Ohoho!” Kyojuro booms, just as loud as always. At this rate, he’s going to blow out your vocal cords before you can get them back. “How loyal, Giyuu! I’m impressed!”

Rolling your eyes, you break away from the group, opting to join Tanjiro. “Urokodaki-san,” you greet, giving a polite bow, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Listen, I know this is a complicated situation, but we really need to find this plant. It’s crucial that we do.”

Urokodaki hums. “I know you – you’re Rengoku Shinjuro’s boy, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Well, technically – but I’m not Kyojuro. I’m (l/n) (y/n), the Wild Pillar.”

“You’re not? Figures. This whole “switched body” conundrum is making my brain work in ways it hasn’t worked in years.” Urokodaki waves a dismissive hand at you. “Whatever. If all of you are willing to look for such a plant, feel free to scale the mountain to your heart’s content. I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thank you so much!” Tanjiro chirps. After Urokodaki slides the door shut behind him, the two of you turn back to the others, smiles plastered on both of your faces. “Everyone – it’s time! Let’s turn you all back to normal!”

After hours of searching, no one has come up with anything. Granted, a vast variety of edible plants line the mountain – all of them useful in one way or another – but it’s not the dreaded silva you’re looking for. Shinobu said it was vine-like, with delicate leaves shaped like bells. The only you found worth of any interest was watching Inosuke eat almost every mushroom he could find and crack open acorns like they were nothing.

Soon, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of peach and berry. The view was simply breathtaking, and you had to stop to take it in for a few moments.

“It’s always been like that,” Giyuu says quietly. Stopping next to you, he gazes at the setting sun, a wistful gleam in his eyes. “Most of the time, we were too busy training to watch it, though.”

Now that you think about it, Giyuu has been acting weird ever since arriving. Call it intuition, but you’re almost positive that he was feeling guilty about something. And he said we instead of I, so that only confirms your suspicion. Glancing around, you imagine a younger Giyuu descending the mountain, panting like crazy in the thin air, narrowly avoiding the numerous traps Urokodaki set up. If he experienced anything like the pain roaring in your back and sides right now, you’re amazed he dared to set foot back on this very mountain.

“Thinking back to simpler times, huh?” you ask, voice soft.

Giyuu scoffs. “The training was far from simple, but yeah. Things were a lot more different then.”

As if acting on its own, your arm slings itself around Giyuu, tugging him closer and holding him against your body. With him in Shinobu’s body, he’s so small, his head nestled against your chest. At first, he tenses up, but then slowly relaxes in your hold. Ever since switching bodies, you’ve noticed Kyojuro’s personality starting to bleed into yours. Hell, even his body is trying to one up you.

“I miss him,” Giyuu whispers.

Your heart drops to your stomach at his tone. “…Who?”

“Oi! Are you two just gonna stand there or are you coming back down?” Sanemi snaps.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you pull away, but you keep a hand on Giyuu’s forearm. “You’re helping me down, got it? This mountain gives me the creeps and I don’t want to get rammed by another damned log. Seriously – how did Urokodaki-san even set them up?”

Despite the saddened glint in his eyes, Giyuu manages to crack a smile.

The inside of Urokodaki’s house is cramped, but it’s also very homely. Scattered around the living area, each person more or less sticks to themselves, too much in pain to engage in lively conversation. Shinobu treats to the wounds, making sure bones are intact and intestines didn’t take too much of a beating. The only ones completely unaffected are Tanjiro and Giyuu, but that much is obvious.

“So what now?” Mitsuri asks. Still in Gyomei’s colossal body, she’s probably one of the Pillars that’s had the most trouble adjusting to her new form. “We’re not going to give up looking, are we?”

“I didn’t think it was this rare,” Shinobu admits. “Perhaps we were looking at the wrong spots on the mountain? It’s possible.”

“Take a breather before springing back into motion,” Urokodaki says. Sitting before the hearth, he absentmindedly prepares some tea. “Think, plan, then go about your business. A mindless game of hide and seek isn’t going to produce any results.

“Mmph! Mmph!” Nezuko agrees (or you think so, anyway). You’ve only met her a handful of times outside of her box, but you enjoy her company very much.

“Wait,” Shinobu suddenly says, snapping upright. “Urokodaki-san, what’s that you’re grinding up right now?”

Setting down his mortar and pestle, Urokodaki busies his hands with plucking apart wildflowers. “It’s silva. It grows right out here in my garden.”

At that, Shinobu’s draw drops. “By the gods-“ She facepalms, then, and groans. “That’s the herb we were looking for! You’re telling me that it’s been down here the entire time?!”

“Why didn’t you say what you were looking for?” Urokodaki says. “Could’ve saved a lot of time.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sanemi curses.

“That wasn’t very flamboyant of you,” Tengen chimes in. “I agree with Sanemi – this is bullshit.”

Urokodaki shrugs. “And how is that my fault? You’re all Pillars, are you not? Shame on you for being unobservant.”

“Urokodaki-san, please,” Tanjiro says.

“Alright, alright, fine.” In a couple of minutes, he prepares the tea as planned and pours it into a number of ceramic cups. “Since you’re all on my ass about it, drink up.”

“Uh, should we really be drinking this…?” Zenitsu squeaks, staring down at his own cup.

“Stop being a pussy!” Inosuke cackles. Tipping his head back, he downs his tea in one go.

Everyone more or less follows suit, taking sips of their own tea. As you set your own cup down, you feel the beginning of a warm, pleasant sensation in your lower tummy.

“Hey, Shinobu?” Tanjiro asks. “Is the herb supposed to make you feel sleepy?” At his words, Nezuko slumps to the floor. One by one, all the others drop like flies, yourself included.

Some time passes before your eyes crack back open. The inside of Urokodaki’s house is dark; from the crickets chirping and an owl hooting nearby, you quickly realize that it’s nighttime, and it’s probably late. With a groan, you sit up, dragging a hand across your face in the process. Wait… that’s not your hand, and it’s not Kyojuro’s either. Squinting through the darkness, you’re able to make out slight details, but it’s enough to make your heart sink. The herb didn’t work.

You’re in Giyuu’s body instead.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira x reader #kny pillars #kny hashira #request

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thosewickedlovelies · 3 years

Text

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Cookies (part 2)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: T for mature themes (implications of sexy times and violence). It will go up later ;)

Summary: You share an apartment wall with Javier Peña, but that doesn’t make it any easier to get to know him. You didn’t think your baking would be the catalyst.

Javi and Reader continue to get to know each other.

Tags: Mention of blood, super vague description of wound care. Additional TW for Javi: the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known.

Word Count: 3,484

A/N: I was NOT expecting the amount of enthusiasm I got for the first chapter, but I’m so grateful for it!! I struggled a little bit with this chapter because it was the only one I didn’t have a solid plan for lol, but here it is because I’m impatient to share (and also tired of looking at it). I promise the next few will be better ;)

Masterlist

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The next evening, you give yourself a stern pep talk before going to knock on Javier’s door. Javi, you remind yourself. You’re here to check on his leg, assuming he needs you to.

The door swings open much more readily than it had the night before, and Javier appears, an expectant half-smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Neighbor,” he drawls. Despite the new air of informality about him, his eyes hold a familiar suggestion that makes your heart sink a little. Back to his customary flirting, then.

“Hi, Javier,” you say, more coolly than you had originally planned. “I came over to see if you wanted me to check on your leg. I just kind of assumed that you would have the right supplies and stuff when I was giving you instructions last night, but if you don’t I can give you some, change the bandage for you. The first few days of healing are the most critical,” you explain, willing yourself to cut off your own rambling.

He examines your face for a second, the ready welcome fading. “Why do I get the feeling this check-up is more for you than for me?” He hitches an amused eyebrow back up, stepping back to let you in.

Over the threshold you cross your arms. “I don’t know, did you want your secret stab wound to get infected?”

He puts his hand on his hips with the beginning of a disbelieving frown. “It wasn’t a stab,” he grumbles defensively, with all the dignity of a petulant child.

You roll your eyes at his assertive posturing. “I know. I examined it.” Javier doesn’t move, though it couldn’t be comfortable maintaining such a wide-legged stance in those tight jeans. Your lips twitch the slightest bit as you take in your normally composed neighbor, his conflicted moue suggesting he’s been thrown off.

Taking pity on him, you borrow a page from his communication manual, nodding to a chair. “Come on. Pants off,” you deadpan, letting just a hint of your amusement show.

His expression starts out relieved, then cycles through several emotions in the space of the next second (albeit extremely subtly). He seems to freeze momentarily. “Uh, if you’ll just excuse me for one second, I’ll have these off for you in no time.” He winks, which would be charming if it weren’t Javier and he didn’t look like he had forgotten something important, and hastily strides toward the bedrooms.

Mystified, you look around, curious about the man despite his unpredictable demeanor. The apartment looks comfortably lived-in, yet there’s a distinct lack of personal effects, creating an odd contrast. There’s an empty takeout container by the sink, but you aren’t fooled by that- very occasionally, you’ve smelled amazing things coming from this kitchen. You wonder what sparks his culinary inspiration.

A throat clears behind you and you jump. You hadn’t heard Javi return, but there he stands by the dining room table, the fly of his jeans already gaping. He quirks a brow at you. “See anything interesting?” he asks, tipping his head to indicate the apartment. Apparently at ease, he begins to remove his jeans, and you avert your gaze, a flush creeping up your neck.

What? You saw people in all states of nudity every day at the hospital; why should you be flustered now? Annoyed, you busy yourself sorting through supplies while he sits down,

though not before he pulls out a chair for you.

Just like the previous night, he waits until you’re almost finished working to speak. “How did you know I was in pain last night? I didn’t think I made much noise.” His eyes are narrowed, like it’s something that’s been bothering him.

You reflect on your answer before giving it. “You...moved like you were in pain. Slowly, shuffling. And...you made a noise once you closed the door. I heard it, you know, through the wall.” You admit the last part with your eyes down, focusing on adhering tape to his skin.

“Through the wall, huh.” Something in Javier’s husky voice makes you glance up. He looks contemplative, dark eyes studying you thoughtfully. He angles his head down toward you. “What else do you hear through the wall?”

You’ve walked into a trap of your own making. Those daring insinuations are back in his eyes, but you can’t escape to your apartment in the middle of changing a bandage. So you answer truthfully: “I hear you cook sometimes. Smell you cook sometimes,” you correct yourself brightly. “What do you make that always smells so good, Javier?” You meet his gaze with deliberate innocence, although you would genuinely like to know.

His expression shutters, and he leans back in the chair again. “Food,” he mutters. “Stuff I learned a long time ago.”

An unexpectedly real answer; you quash the intense curiosity it provokes. Not wanting to pry too much, too soon, you just snicker in response. “Food, huh? I think I’ve heard of that.” His attention snaps back to you, but you just let him brood as you finish with his leg.

This time when you stand, you linger over your supplies, leaving some out for him and explaining things to watch out for. “I’ll come by again tomorrow night, but it should be fine as long as you don’t aggravate it,” you conclude.

“Well, non-aggravating is my middle name.” Javier gives you a winning smile, one that probably would have passed the muster of anyone who hadn’t heard the mocking edge in his voice.

A laugh sputters out of you. “Is that so? I’ll be sure to tell Connie next time I’m over there.”

Something like fascination sparks in his eyes, a hunger he can’t hide propelling him to lean forward. “Oh? You two ladies talk about me?”

Your lips purse as your mind races through suitable responses. “Well, I had to get the dirt on my mysterious neighbor from somewhere,” you say lightly. Because it sure wasn’t coming from him. Yet the longer you spent in his company, the more you found you wanted to know.

“Hm.” A huff is his only response. His shoulders relax against the chair back as he returns to regarding you wordlessly, but in a distinctly more agreeable way.

You suppress a smile as you pick up your bag. “Well. Goodnight, Javi.”

Almost a week after your last checkup, Javier grinds his cigarette butt into the ground and flicks a last glance at your window. He and Steve had arrived home at the same time, so he’d stalled with the excuse of a smoke outside, knowing that if he entered his own apartment, he’d lose his nerve. Gritting his teeth, he limps up the stairs and to your door. He knocks.

The noise of the tv cuts off, and a moment later, you open the door. You blink in surprise. “Javi! What are you doing here?” Concern clouds your face as you take in his rumpled appearance.

The words lodge in his throat. “I, uh. I need your help,” he admits, dragging his gaze up from the floor. “Banged my leg at work today. Think I opened it up again...thought I should let you take a look at it.” He couldn’t stop imagining your reaction if you found out he hadn’t.

Your eyes widen, and you immediately step back to let him in. “Of course! Please, here-” You offer your arm, but Javier has enough pride this time to make it to your dining room table without help. When he looks up you’ve vanished, dashed off to your stash of medical supplies, he assumes.

He takes the opportunity to look around. Your place is cute, homey-feeling, because of course it is. He notes, however, that most of the decoration has been locally bought, and curiosity needles at him. Nothing more personal to bring with you? He gets a fleeting glimpse of the bottle of wine on the coffee table before you return.

“...sorry about that, I don’t know why I stashed this away so well when I knew you might need it again.” Your setup is a familiar scene by now. You keep glancing over at his blood-stained bandage, frowning worriedly, and he wonders how you can be so damn caring when it’s clear he’s interrupted your evening.

He makes a sound of disgust. “Nah, this was a stupid accident,” he says, annoyed all over again. “Normal, routine chase after some narco, but I slid against a wall that had some shit sticking out of it at just the wrong spot.”

Your eyes leap to his in shock, and too late he remembers that Connie gave you the ‘janitorial services’ line. You don’t ask though, pressing your lips together and determinedly refocusing on peeling off the bandage, and Javi can’t help but feel a twinge of respect.

Well, someone in the building would tell you sooner or later. “I’m an agent of the DEA,” he says, monitoring your reaction. “Since you were about to ask.”

You straighten indignantly. “I was not!” you protest, before you see the lazy gleam in his eye and realize he’s joking. You roll your eyes reproachfully, but the press of your lips now looks amused. “I just thought there was probably a reason Connie didn’t tell me.” Javier winces as you gently prod at his injury.

“Well, what’s one more secret between neighbors?” He winks conspiratorially at you. Just like the last time, however, it gets minimal reaction, and it confounds and intrigues him in equal measure. Women usually respond to his efforts. Even if there’s no real intention, he likes seeing them get a little flustered, likes the feeling of having influence, control. And women don’t seem to mind.

But you...you resisted. Javier doesn’t know why, but you don’t react to his usual charm in the ways he’d come to expect. He’s sure you don’t dislike him- but he’s not exactly sure what he’s doing to make you like him, either. There was something...enticing about it.

The familiar feeling of your fingers smoothing tape along his thigh brings him back to the present. He tries not pay too much attention to it, knowing that it would be extremely asshole timing to pop a boner.

“Well, you should be all set. Again.” You look sympathetic, not resentful, and Javier nods, suddenly feeling awkward. How could he possibly make up all of this up to you?

“Just- try to be careful, okay? You don’t have to hurt yourself as an excuse to hang out with me.” Out of nowhere you’re teasing him, with a line to rival some of his worst. His eyebrows raise, and he chuckles as he dips his head.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He gets to his feet. “...Thank you,” he says gruffly, hoping he’s conveying even a tiny amount of how much he means it. “Enjoy your evening.” He doesn’t let himself look back as he heads for the door.

Steve and Connie have invited you to a movie night. Or at least, Connie has. You assume the invite comes from both of them, even if a movie night doesn’t seem like something Steve would initiate.

“Javi will be there too,” Connie had informed you nonchalantly, but she watched intently for your reaction.

You hadn’t even blinked. “Great!” you said easily- until you realized the opportunity this presented and beamed. “What should I make?”

Which is how you end up standing outside her door, one floor up, holding a plate of cookies. You were glad now that you decided to make them today and not yesterday- finishing them barely 20 minutes ago had effectively given you no time to tailspin about what to wear or how you were supposed to act around Javi. Or rather, Javi and Steve and Connie, since although you and Javi had a secret, it was not what they’d imagine it to be.

Connie answers the door, and that’s definitely not a twinge of disappointment you feel, because why would Javier have answered the door of someone else’s house?

“Hey, come in!” Connie gushes. She waggles her eyebrows meaningfully at the plate in your hands. “What are those, and what are you drinking with them?”

Her easy familiarity grounds you. “Whatever you’ve got,” you reply, some of your nerves settling. Your friend leads you to the kitchen, where Steve and Javi stand continuing some conversation at the bar counter.

“The party has arrived, boys!” She announces. “I told you all that smell was for us.” She winks at you, a bottle already in hand to pour you a drink.

“Welcome, welcome,” Steve greets in his easygoing way, gesturing with his beer to encompass the apartment as a whole.

You smile in thanks, your eyes flitting briefly to Javier. He hasn’t said anything yet, but there’s a loose relaxation to him you haven’t seen before, a softness playing on his lips as he absorbs the scene. It’s similar, you realize, to the moment when he complimented your lemon cake, the first time you felt like you were meeting the real him.

This observation only takes a heartbeat to sink in. Tucking it away to examine later, you shyly lift the plate and set it in the middle of everyone. “She‘s right,” you confirm, peeling off the plastic wrap. “Peanut butter cookies.” The next few seconds are spent in an expectant semi-quiet as everyone takes a cookie and savors the first bite.

“Mmm,” someone sighs, and the dam breaks. A flurry of compliments all around, new threads of conversation bursting forth. You absorb it gratefully, relieved at their enthusiastic response and happy to have been able to contribute. You try not to react to Javier’s eyes on you.

The ice broken, you all chat and drink around the bar for a bit, before Connie declares that it’s movie time, leading everyone to the living room. Before following them, Javier grabs the plate of cookies. “We’ll just take these with us,” he says decisively, and you take it as a compliment.

It’s the first time he’s addressed you directly since you arrived, and there’s a knowing glint in his eye. “By all means,” you respond pleasantly, meeting his gaze. Taking your tenuous first step in sharing the establishment of a public-facing persona to your relationship (such that it is).

In your delay, Connie and Steve appear to have gotten into a hissed discussion, standing between the couch and the loveseat. Connie whirls around as you and Javi approach, fixing a smile to her face. She waves you over to the smaller sofa. “Come on, we get to snuggle up on the loveseat, so the big men have more room to spread out.” She aims a cool faux-glare at her husband, but a glimmer of real frustration prevents it from being believably fake.

Steve sends Javi a long-suffering, apologetic look. “Sounds cozy,” you chirp, mediating before anyone else can say anything. “So what are we watching?”

At this, Steve’s face lights up with a grin that almost makes you wary. He takes great delight in announcing the selection, some military action flick with “enough drama and hunky actors to keep the ladies entertained as well,” apparently.

“A true classic.” Javier nods sagely from his sprawled seat on the couch, his smirking grin suggesting that it was not at all true. Steve kneels to put the tape in, and as he and Javi continue to snigger over it, Javi shoots a self-conscious glance in your direction, his posture shifting.

Connie sighs. “They’ve done a few of these now. I should warn you that it’s less about watching the movie than it is about bonding over making fun of it,” she confides.

You keep the two men in the corner of your vision as you turn to reply to your friend, feeling warm with gratitude at being included. “That’s okay,” you assure her. “It’s a good bonding activity.”

Connie smiles, but seems distracted. She lowers her voice to speak again. “I should also tell you that they make fun of it because they know how government/military stuff really works. From their job at the embassy.” She seems unsure if she should say any more.

“Oh!” You realize that Connie has no way of knowing about your conversations with Javi. “I know. I mean, Javier told me. What they do.”

Connie looks amazed. “Javier told you? When?” Her voice drops to just above a whisper.

“Recently,” you hedge. “I was, um, helping him with something, and it slipped out.” No point in getting him in trouble.

Connie looks ready to burst, but before she can say anything the tv blares, and Steve pointedly declares that it’s starting.

You settle in for the mock-fest, and sure enough, the men don’t disappoint. It’s hard to follow what’s actually going on through their exasperated groaning, but you don’t mind. Their back-and-forth is just as entertaining, and you even manage to join in occasionally during the medical scenes.

Throughout it all, you surreptitiously watch Javier. His opening up is a slow-building thing, like he can’t decide how much of himself to reveal. He steals frequent glances at you, as if trying to judge what you’re thinking of him in this new context. But he can’t pretend to be his usual lascivious self in front of Steve and Connie, and all at once he seems to decide to just be, and damned if you don’t like it.

You don’t let on that you’ve been paying such attention, only teasing and acting like you normally would around friends. But you can’t help but respond to the way Javi’s eyes crinkle when he smiles; to the hard-won sound of his laugh, sending pleasant tingles down your spine. With other things for him to focus on besides you, you’re able to observe him more freely, noticing things you hadn’t before.

When the movie finally ends, you and Javier stand to leave, managing to only after Connie extracts ironclad promises from the both of you to do this again. The tentative banter you’d fallen into in the apartment carries you down the stairs; it felt rather like you were still creating the steps to a dance in which you weren’t quite sure if you were competitors or partners.

He walks you to your door. “It’s like eight steps down the hall, Javier.” It’s sweet, despite your objection.

“A lot can happen in eight steps,” he counters, undeterred.

At the door, he murmurs your name. You look at him in surprise when he takes your hand, even as your body sings from the warmth of his attention. “I don’t believe I’ve thanked you for all your help yet.” He brings your hand to his mouth and presses his lips to your skin. Softly, lingering. “Properly, that is.” In his hooded eyes is a brazen offer.

His mustache brushes more softly than you would have thought, and your mind immediately leaps to imagine what it would feel like against your mouth. Heat flares within you at the thought, but you pull your hand free and step back from him. You can see his thoughts slow, reorganize at your retreat.

“You don’t have to thank me with sex, Javier.” It would be lying to say you hadn’t considered this possibility; you place each word with care, knowing that any future relationship you might have with Javier would depend on his response to this conversation. “I didn’t help you as an excuse to sleep with you.”

It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in sex with him, exactly. The truth was...you didn’t want to be done with him yet. You wanted to learn more about him, uncover all the little things that made him him behind the gruff armor. But if you agreed to be seduced by him tonight, it would send the opposite message. That all he had been to you was a debt that was now paid.

Javier looks befuddled, the furrow in his brow deepening as his listens. Your next words come out sounding more practiced. “If that’s all you want from me then fine, but...friendship is good too, you know? Friends are a thing people have.” Your gaze drops briefly, a flicker of embarrassment overtaking you. But you’re determined to make him understand that this isn’t a blanket rejection.

His expression turns frustratingly inscrutable as he digests this. “Right.” Slowly he nods, shifting away from your door.

“Just- think about what I said, Javi. Okay?” No pity in your voice, only a soft, steady plea.

Javier continues to nod as he backs away. “Sure,” he replies, step by step, toward his own home. “Buenas noches, Vecina.” Good night, Neighbor.

In a twisted reversal of your usual roles, you watch him walk the length of the hall. A contemplative saunter, hands sliding into his pockets to retrieve a cigarette.

You can only hope you said the right thing.

---

A/N: In the first scene, Javi left the room to go put on underwear lmao.

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin, @thirstworldproblemss

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #narcos fic #narcos #javier peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years

Photo

you’re the one that i want (part 14)

word count: 5k

angst

(part 13) (series masterlist)

tag list: @chogiout ; @psshwa ; @yeocult ; @seongghwaa ; @cherryeonii ; @chaoticbanqtan ; @8teenee ; @nczenniez ; @atinyarmyx1 ; @mingtopiaa ; @chubsluda ; @joongiebug ; @mochibabycakes ; @jisungity ; @skz-on-my-mind ; @nlost21 ; @myonlyaurora ; @closer-stars ; @kuaenam3g ; @byungaji ; @floweryjh ; @joeycheungg ; @lostscenarios ; @atinyxtopia ; @sanisms ; @kpopnightingale ; @simpforhyunjin ; @hyunjeansuniverse ; @clown-teez ; @i-know-you-know-lee-know ; @tiny-whatsername ; @fairieofeternity ; @yixing-jaehyun ; @sleepyseonghwa ; @89staytinyzen21 ; @lokicaramel ; @ttalgimin ; @sakura-uji ; @songsoomin ; @toffee-hwa ; @deobitiful ;

right as the bell rang, seonghwa left the classroom like it was on fire.

you heard his friends call out his name in confusion and you couldn’t stop the way your heart sank, noticing he didn’t once look your way or try to talk to you; he avoided you like you were a stranger, someone he’d never seen in his life before and had no intention of speaking to.

even though just yesterday he told you to call him if you needed him. that today would be fine and he’d be there for you if you wanted to talk. it’d been like that for the past three weeks, he’d been normal and just like the seonghwa you’d gotten to know this summer.

sure, it’s weird and bizarre and a little unbelievable to see each other here, after the possibility of your relationship fizzling out, but...isn’t that a good thing? you were excited to see him until you saw the look on his face.

the shock and horror and nervousness, like you were supposed to be a dirty little secret he kept in the beach town.

it makes your stomach knot the more you think about it, your mind racing for the next few hours of class. you remember him doing the same thing in the beginning of the summer, when hongjoong and yunho and jongho would mess with him about you two.

and he had said it was because of their teasing and reactions but...could it have been more? was he embarrassed to be seen with you this whole time? is that why you two mostly spent time together alone, not because he only wanted you to himself but because he didn’t wanna be seen with you at all?

the more negative thoughts that plague your mind, the worse you feel. how could he have faked it so well, up until just yesterday? how could he have really made you feel like he had feelings for you, all while being completely and utterly embarrassed of you?

were you that stupid and desperate for love? were your parents right this whole time, that you’d take anyone’s love and affection who showed it, even if it was fake? his eyes could’ve tricked anyone, the brown softness that would shine down at you in the sun and make you feel as if you were something look at.

tears prick your eyes and you immediately shake your head, turning your attention back to the teacher at the board because you refuse to believe that.

you know you’re not the greatest but there’s no way the boy you fell in love with this summer could be like that.

it wasn’t until lunch that seonghwa saw his friends again, grateful that none of them managed to be in his morning classes or caught him after homeroom. because he had time to think, really sit down and ponder, what the fuck was wrong with him?

he thought he was going crazy when he looked up and saw someone that looked like you, shaking the thoughts away and dropping his gaze because that’s just not possible.

you were in your new town in your new school and what were the odds that you ended up moving right into his neighborhood? and got placed into his homeroom at his school, out of all the others in this district?

but then he heard that shaky, sweet voice he’d come to know so well and nearly snapped his neck looking up at you. he felt his stomach turn and heart drop despite the way he was so surprised and happy to see you.

because while he wanted to take you in his arms and be able to hold you, tell you everything’s gonna be okay today and let your nervousness melt away, that’s not who he is here; he was someone else this summer but now he’s back to his real life.

where he only knows how to care about himself, where people respect and admire him from afar because he’s cool and careless.

he thinks if anyone found out who he was this summer, even his own friends who hadn’t stopped poking fun at him since he came back, he’d never live it down. he’d be regarded as the boy who left one summer and came back a changed man all because of one girl.

one girl he knows changed his life but was now here again, thrown into his real life that’s acting as an unexpectedly harsh reality check.

a reality check he anticipated the second he left your aunt’s house in tears, thinking that within a few weeks time, you’d eventually get tired of him too and leave. that he’d have to put that guard right back up and remind himself he’s not the good guy you made him be.

and now it felt as if his double life had blown up in his face and he didn’t know why he felt embarrassed by it. not because of you, never because of you, but perhaps because of him. who you make him become and who you make him want to be.

but he can’t be that person for you right now. not with the way his friends are already swarming around him and asking him what the fuck happened in homeroom; he lets out a huff because he thought maybe they’d forgotten but of course not, because they’re nosy, obnoxious assholes.

“you and the new girl stared each other down and then you took off,” mingi says, looking over seonghwa with a curious expression before turning to look at wooyoung. “and you said she wasn’t hot! do you have fucking eyes?

“i said she wasn’t my type,” wooyoung clarifies, seonghwa’s eyes narrowing as he suppresses the growl threatening to leave his mouth; he knew his hickies on your neck were gonna wear off but he finds himself really wishing they were there at this moment. to let mingi know you had someone, to let everyone know you had someone, and that you were-

“do you know her?”

yeosang’s words cause seonghwa to look up, his jaw clenched and eyebrow raised.

“what?”

but of course, his friend sees right through his facade, his tongue licking over his lips before he stares blankly at him.

“you guys recognized each other, it was obvious,” yeosang says, watching as seonghwa’s eyes harden and become even more tense. “she couldn’t look away from you and seemed ready to burst into tears.”

“to be fair, it looked like she was gonna burst into tears this morning.”

seonghwa’s eyes move to wooyoung before he lets out a sigh, the idea of you crying today already making his stomach twist even more painfully.

he kicks the leg of the table in frustration and his friends jump at the outburst, the surrounding students looking over at them and immediately scrambling when seonghwa lowly tells them to mind their fucking business.

“what is your problem?” yeosang asks in confusion, the other two boys looking at one another with questioning eyes. “how do you know her?”

his phone vibrating against the table causes him to stiffen, popping his neck to the side and making no move to turn it over.

he stares down at it like he doesn’t know what to do, if he wants to run away and leave it there or throw it against the wall and watch it shatter. if he wants to turn it over and excitedly answer the way he’d do if he was alone and didn’t just see you back in his life again.

his adams apple bobs as he swallows, clenching his jaw as he looks up and meets his friend’s gaze. and that’s when yeosang’s mouth hits the floor, a laugh bubbling out of him that only enrages seonghwa more.

“no way.”

seonghwa’s tongue pokes at his cheek as he resists the urge to stand and punch his hysterical friend right in the face, mingi and wooyoung’s confused expressions only worsening at the way yeosang and seonghwa have a silent conversation with their eyes.

“no fucking way!” yeosang shouts, his voice filled with amusement.

“what the hell?” mingi grunts, “who is it? how does he know her?”

the brown headed boy turns his head to meet his two friends, his eyebrow raised as if to say ‘isn’t it obvious?’ before looking down at seonghwa’s phone; it takes him doing it two more times for wooyoung to smack mingi in the arm.

“holyshit!”

“what!” mingi whines, watching the way wooyoung stares open-mouthed at seonghwa whose expression is only darkening by the second; he’s gonna knock all three of them out, clueless mingi just for fun.

“the virgin!” wooyoung yelps, smacking mingi in the arm before pointing at seonghwa. “that’s the fucking virgin! the virgin he devirginized and wouldn’t stop texting! holyshit, this is great! how the hell did she-”

“shut the fuck up,” seonghwa growls through gritted teeth, becoming more and more tense as the truth comes out.

“oh, i’m afraid i cannot,” wooyoung says, throwing his head back in manic laughter. “that is fuckin’ crazy, oh my god. did she like...follow you?”

“why the hell would she have done that?” mingi asks with his eyebrow raised.

“because she’s obsessed now. she got the dick and now she wants to-”

“is that her?”

everyone at the table falls silent, seonghwa stiffening as he snaps his head up at mingi’s words. he follows the boy’s gaze and sees you standing there shyly, teeth in your lip as you look over the cafeteria tables.

“god damn it,” seonghwa growls lowly, rubbing his hand through his hair; this is all really gonna blow up in his damn face. he feels embarrassment and anxiety creeping up in his veins despite the way he’s reacting to you.

he doesn’t like it, the strange juxtaposition of feeling searing hot embarrassment and humiliation but also excitement and love. a part of him wants to call you over and place you on his lap, kiss your cheek and tell you he’d knew you see each other again.

but another part of him, the part he mostly identifies with and has quickly taken over him within these three weeks of being home, is feeling on the spot and ashamed; not even that he’s feeling this way but that he was so fucking different with you and anyone else seeing that would make his stupid, teenage skin crawl.

“should we call her over?” yeosang asks with a smirk, leaning back in his chair and seonghwa has half the mind to push it backwards so he falls right into the wall.

“stop it,” seonghwa growls but before he can do anything else, wooyoung’s loud voice booms through the cafeteria.

“hey, new girl! we have someone for you!”

the last thing you expected to see when walking in the crowded lunch room was seonghwa surrounded by his friends.

you almost thought you made up the homeroom incident but there he was again, dark eyes staring down his friends in a way you almost forgot he could. he looks so harsh and cold and scary, you can’t believe this is the same boy who kissed you goodbye and watched finding nemo with you a month ago.

you bite at your lip nervously, standing dumbly in the middle of the cafeteria entrance as students grunt and groan as they make their way around you. but you can’t bring yourself to move, your feet and body trapped as you take in seonghwa and your mind races.

his one friend is laughing and smiling while the other two look confused and the whole vibe of the table is making you very uneasy, swallowing nervously as you contemplate turning around and running out of the room.

because you feel so anxious about this whole situation. obviously he wasn’t gonna run up and make out with you in front of the whole class but to not even look over or wait for you? or even text you that he saw you?

that part of you so in tune with ways to keep you safe is screaming at you, knowing that there’s something very wrong and you feel it in the pit of your stomach. a loud boom coming from seonghwa’s table causes you to jump, his friends looking at the outburst in shock.

now tears are pricking your eyes but you refuse to cry because you know this isn’t a coincidence. you show up and he looks so horrified and now he’s pissed? but why? what did you do? you didn’t do anything differently and-

“the virgin!” you hear from a few feet away.

and that’s when your stomach really drops, face heating up and heart pounding because this feels like your moment in a bad teen drama. when the whole room falls silent and everyone turns to look at you, when they start to laugh and throw food at you and give you a proper welcome to high school.

when you find out the boy you spent the best summer of your life with took all of three seconds to completely lose anything he felt for you and blab to his friends about you. probably boasted about taking your virginity and bragged about it.

bragged about how he fooled you and how easy it was because you were so sadly unloved and vulnerable - an easy target is all, to get his dick wet and toy with a girl to keep him occupied during the summer.

but it seemed like more than that. it really had seemed like more than that. you saw it and felt it and trusted it but right now, you really don’t know anymore. maybe you were blinded by him, by his handsome smile and the fact that someone like him could want someone like you.

you bite down on your lip with unshed tears in your eyes, shaking your head and tightening your bag around your shoulder to run out of the room when that familiar booming voice calls out again.

“hey, new girl! we have someone for you!”

you snap your head over and see the black-haired boy making his way over to you, feeling your body shaking in fear because this isn’t gonna be good. the boy, you think his name is wooyoung, barely says hi as he grabs you by the elbow and drags you over to place you in front of the table before plopping down in the seat.

“seonghwa, new girl. new girl, seonghwa,” wooyoung says with a shit eating smirk, seonghwa’s jaw tight and eyes dark as he stares at his friend. you let out a shaky breath and it’s feel like your heart is about to burst, an anxiety attack very much so building in your chest. “but do you care to tell us her name?”

there’s nothing but silence from the table, the loud chatter and bustling of students surrounding you. your panic and humiliation makes it sound ten times worse and the only reason you know seonghwa doesn’t say anything is because you’re watching him carefully; but wooyoung just shrugs at the silence before another boy takes the lead.

“what’s your name, sweetheart?”

the pet name sounds extremely patronizing, reminding you so much of the way your parents speak to you. it makes you wanna snap at the brown-haired boy but you can’t find it in yourself, not with the way you’re feeling so horribly ill and confused as you look away from seonghwa.

“y/n.”

“y/n, that’s pretty,” the boy says and you’d think his smile was genuine if the vibe wasn’t so off. “so tell us, y/n. how do you know our friend?”

you bite down on your lip until you fear you’re gonna draw blood, pressing them together and moving your gaze back to seonghwa; you’ll say what he wants but he has to fucking look at you, give some indication of what the hell he wants from you. it make your heart pang with hurt, swallowing the lump forming so rapidly in your throat that’s making it harder to breathe.

“it’s okay, you can tell us,” he says again, a soft condescending tone that you notice makes seonghwa’s jaw tighten. but that right there makes you too scared to speak, your eyes moving from seonghwa to the other boy. “was he your boyfriend this summer?”

it all sounds so juvenile and stupid with the smirk on his face making you burn with even more embarrassment. it doesn’t even warrant a response that isn’t ‘mind your business’ but because you’re you and because you’re about to completely have a breakdown, you swallow down the panic and shake your head.

“no. but we were-”

“we weren’t dating.”

“you really snatched up a great boyfriend for the summer, y/n,” one of your aunt’s friends said as she smiled over at you two. “tell me, where can i find one?”

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you blurt out quietly, seonghwa looking over at you with his eyebrow raised. he looks over your pink cheeks and scared eyes and only smirks, reaching out to ruffle your hair which causes all of the women to squeal.

“i was just helping her surf.”

seonghwa’s voice is harsh and cold and you look back at him to see he’s still not looking at you; he’s just staring the boy down like he’s about to kill him and you know it’s because he’s making him answer these questions about you.

“are you not gonna look at her, hwa?”

you bite the inside of your cheek at the nickname, remembering how it used to fall from your lips and make him smile. and even though you swear the kid is gonna get punched, seonghwa eyes him for a few more moments before looking at you.

his eyes soften the second he sees you standing there, probably looking like a red-faced mess with frantic eyes and a heaving chest. but they’re still not how they looked this summer, not lighting up his face or followed by a quirk of his lips.

they’re so familiar but also not, because his body and entire being is off.

this isn’t the seonghwa you knew and everything about it is obvious. the softness is gone as quick as it came and the accusatory tone in his voice just might make you burst into tears.

“what are you doing here?”

your eyebrows pull together as you push down the feelings of pain and panic because he’s making it seem as if you had a choice in the matter? that you followed him here purposely, like some crazy ex girlfriend who wasn’t even deserving of the title.

“what-what do you mean? you knew i was moving to a new school.”

“i didn’t know it was this one,” he says lowly and you can’t help but recoil from the way his tight voice makes your heart hurt.

“neither did i.”

because neither of you had ever discussed town names. why would you? what were the odds that this was gonna happen and bring you back together again?

“isn’t this a good thing, though?” wooyoung asks and seonghwa’s head snaps to him immediately, his body tight and tense as he growls at the boy to stop.

“no, no, i’m just sayin, you guys can rekindle whatever...connection you had. summer romance turned into something more. how exciting is that, hwa?”

but hwa doesn’t say anything, only leans back in his chair with his jaw clenched. wooyoung looks to you and smiles, pulling out an extra chair that you eye warily.

“come. sit with us. tell us about it. hwa surfs down there, right? how was he?”

you bite the inside of your cheek again and roll your tongue over your lips, tears burning your eyes.

“good.”

seonghwa looks up and sees you eyeing the chair warily, the firm shake of his head causing your lips to quiver slightly. the pain in your chest is only getting worse and you can’t believe this is really how your reunion is going.

you thought he’d just been shocked and that he’d be excited to see you once it wore off. but now you see you’ve severely underestimated this situation, with how he and the other boys are looking at you. it makes you feel incredibly embarrassed and stupid, wondering just how much he told them about...what else you guys did.

and that’s what causes the tears to surface, shining in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall in front of all of them.

“i-i don’t think...” that this is a good idea. that he wants me to sit with you guys. that you guys know your friend as well as you think you did. or maybe it was just you who didn’t know him; you’re thinking that’s probably the more likely option here.

that he fooled you and used you and leaving you to look like a big fucking idiot.

“i’m gonna go,” you blurt out, not giving any of the boys a chance to speak before you turn and feel a tear drop from your eye. you bend your head down as you make your way out of the cafeteria, hoping to find the nearest bathroom so you can start like the proper new girl you are and cry in a dirty stall.

and you’re so hot in your pursuit, left the cafeteria so fast and have clogged ears from holding back tears, that you didn’t hear seonghwa growl at his friends. you didn’t hear the chair scuff or footsteps follow you and you don’t hear that they’re stomping behind you, approaching fast until an arm grabs your elbow again and spins you around.

you let out a slight gasp until you meet seonghwa’s gaze, his eyes still so guarded and cold it brings more tears. you take a few steps back and look at him with narrowed eyes, shaking your head and feeling your lower lip wobble again.

he catches it immediately and looks at your lips, not being able to stop his face from falling.

“why are you crying?”

“why do you think?” you snap and you think this is the first time you’ve ever snapped at him.

you watch his adams apple bob as he watches a few stray tears make their way down your face, taking a step forward like he’s about to wipe them away before he remembers that, apparently, things have changed.

neither of you say anything and the halls are so eerily quiet it makes everything ten times worse. the fact that you’re both here, standing in front of one another after the hardest goodbye of your lives only three weeks ago.

“i just...wasn’t expecting to see you, y/n.”

“and you think i was?” you squeak, wiping at your tear with the back of your hand. “i’m-i’m just as shocked as you, seonghwa.”

he bites his lip hearing your broken voice and lets out a sigh, hating himself in a way he’s never experienced before.

because he should be holding you and kissing you and telling you how happy he is to see you again. proudly hold your hand and interlock your fingers and show you off to everyone. he should’ve been filled with excitement at your arrival, not excitement twinged with shame and embarrassment.

he should be-

“i thought you’d be excited to see me,” you say quietly and the words sound just as pathetic as they are. “i know it’s...unexpected but we’re both here and i thought we both...loved each other, so-”

"that was the summer, y/n," he says and the cold, straight forward words makes your heart drop into your stomach. why does the season matter? what is so different now? "but this is my real life. my school and my friends and i didn't expect you to come back into my life again and-"

"you're acting like i did this on purpose!" you squeak, a humorless laugh threatening to leave your mouth. "i had no idea, seonghwa, not until i saw you looking at me like you've never seen me before. like i'm someone you never planned on seeing again."

he rolls his tongue over his lips and pops his neck to the side, looking at your unshed tears and the uncharacteristic anger in your eyes; you’re angry and pissed and you deserve to be. you deserve to be mad at him for being a cowardly asshole.

“we didn’t know if we were gonna, y/n. you even said people..grow apart. you said it every day.”

“and you told me that wasn’t gonna happen to us. we were talking every day and now all of the sudden...” you swallow down the words because you can’t say them aloud. can’t have it out there that, for whatever fucking reason, all of his feelings have changed and you were stupid enough to believe them in the first place.

“was everything a lie?” you blurt out. because what the hell else are you supposed to think right now? none of this makes any sense. “did you lie to me the whole fucking summer? did you even love-”

you can’t say those words either because a tiny cry leaves your mouth, the one you knew was coming and the one you hate just happened in front of him. because now he has the balls to look like he’s upset seeing you crying, like he didn’t just complete discredit your relationship and throw your fears back in your face.

“no.”

your teary eyes widen and you look at him with so pain and heartbreak in your eyes, he finds himself needing to clarify.

“i didn’t lie.”

because he didn’t. everything about your time together was the most natural thing for him. the way he found it so easy to be with you day after day, week after week and never wanting it to end. but he knew it was gonna and he was prepared to come back and be himself again.

he knew to the core that he was an asshole who didn’t deserve your love. and he can’t pretend he does any longer, especially not with you being here back in his normal life.

“but summer’s over, y/n. you weren’t supposed to come back to me here.”

your mouth falls open at the words and you let out a quiet scoff, tears on your face and a lump so large and tight in your throat. you can only stand there and look at him in silence because that seemed like more of a goodbye than the one you had at your aunt’s house.

but you suppose he’s right. you technically weren’t supposed to meet again. you were gonna see how everything ran its course and then decide, see if your ‘love’ was strong enough to last another year before deciding.

and it took just three weeks for it to go shit. for him to see he probably never wanted you and for you to realize again that this was gonna be inevitable. that no one was gonna be capable of loving you and you wouldn’t be able to make them.

“then we’ll just forget it,” you tell him and his eyes widen when he hears those words. “act like none of it happened and just...pretend we don’t know each other.”

“y/n, that’s not what i fucking-”

“well i don’t know what you want,” you whimper. “you’re-you’re not gonna... it’s not fair to just be nice to me when we’re alone, seonghwa. i-i know you’re embarrassed of me but if i’m gonna see you every day here, i-”

“who said i was embarrassed of you?” he growls, advancing toward you and you have half the mind to push him away. but you can’t because he’s looking down at you and you swallow nervously at the familiarity, his body almost touching yours and the heat and tension radiating off his body.

“what else could it be, seonghwa?” you ask quietly and your voice is barely above a whisper because you just wanna run away and cry and forget about everything that happened in the past five hours.

“it’s...not that.” he could say a lot of things but that’s the best one. the one that doesn’t make him cowardly and pathetic and a complete fucking asshole even though he’s all of those things. “i just can’t...do this again, y/n.”

can’t completely break himself down and open himself up to you again, in the eyes of people who have known him his whole life. he can’t act like that was really him and that he’s good enough for you.

you bite down on your wobbling lip after you process his words and his hand reaches up to wipe at the tears. but you move away from him quickly, stepping backwards and shaking your head as you look at him.

he doesn’t get to do that.

"you don't have to," you tell him, tightening your bag on your shoulder and getting ready to bolt. "we'll act like it never happened, then. like we never knew each other and just forget all about it.”

you look over his face for any sign of objection and even though his face looks pained and his jaw is tight, he doesn't say anything. and you take that as a silent okay, wiping at the tear on your face before turning around.

you half expect him to grab you again, tell you that's not gonna work for him and he wants to remember because how could he ever forget you?

but he doesn't.

so you walk and cry until you find a bathroom and hide in the stall, wiping at your face and feeling so fucking stupid for ever believing a word out of his mouth.

you didn't eat the dinner your mom prepared again and got slapped even harder that night.

you had barely said a word, just toyed with your food until your dad got up with a huff and sneered at you. your mom was on her fifth glass of wine when you got up and packed your food away, attempting to walk around her before she pushed you back and called you an ungrateful child.

screamed about how she's trying with you but that you don't care. that you've never cared about her attempts or tried to have a relationship with her so why would she try with you?

that she's just gonna give up on you because you're really not even worth it.

and usually her words would get to you but tonight they do with a vengeance. because when you go back in your room, your phone face down on the bedside table since you got home at three, there's no messages.

you have no one to talk to and the person you thought was gonna get you through this year also gave up on you.

seonghwa made you feel as if maybe you were someone that could be cared about. who deserved love and time and attention when really, he just wants to forget about it all.

forget about the memories he made with you and the way you made each other feel because when it really comes down to it, none of it mattered. it meant everything to you and you were gonna hold on to every bit of it meanwhile he’s able to throw it away after just a few weeks.

but you also knew this was gonna happen too. that one day he was gonna see what everyone else did and leave you too, so, really, you can't say you're surprised.

you knew you were gonna get end up hurt and that nothing good was gonna come out of being involved with him. that a boy like him would only humor someone like you for so long, string you along when your heart was slowly healing just for the pain to start crushing you all over again.

you were already hurting. you'd been hurting since you could grasp what feelings and emotions were, so why not go through it because of him?

you remember thinking that after your first night at the beach with him and you can't help but let out a humorless laugh now because you had called it. you knew it was gonna end like this and you still couldn't stop yourself from falling for someone who was just wants to forget you.

"i'm gonna miss you, seonghwa."

"i'm right here, baby,” he cooed lowly, his hand on your cheek as he slowly caressed your skin. “i'm not going anywhere."

"but you're gonna. we're both gonna leave and i might not ever see you again and you'll forget about me and then-

"who said that?" he asks you lowly, bringing your face toward his so his eyes can drop down to yours. "who said we're never gonna see each other again and that i'm gonna forget you?"

(part 15)

#what happened to the park seonghwa i met at the beach?#well i do not know #why don't you try the yellow pages or somethin?#fr tho this one do be kinda sad #seonghwa #seonghwa angst #ateez angst #ateez #seonghwa imagines #ateez imagines #seonghwa scenarios #ateez scenarios

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rosemaidenvixen · 3 years

Text

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 16: Walter

Ao3

Over the years Strickler had lost track of how many times another changeling had made a joke about how it must rankle him to teach history that he knew was false from firsthand experience.

But what most other changelings didn’t realize was that between ineffective funding and highly biased textbooks he’d be teaching falsehoods one way or another.

The truly ironic thing about being a changeling educator was being forced to leave out key events responsible for shaping the modern world as they knew it that no human was aware even occurred.

“Can anyone tell me who the final king of Camelot was?”

The predictable grouping of hands went up; Claire Nuñez, Seamus Johnson, Darci Scott, Eli Pepperjack. He had no doubt that they all knew the correct answer, maybe it was time to check that one of his less alert students was still mentally present in some capacity.

“Ms. Longhannon?”

The girl in question jerked her gaze away from the window “Wha?”

A chorus of snickers came up from around her. Shannon flushed.

“We were discussing the final ruler of Camelot, Ms. Longhannon,”

“Oh….that was King Arthur…..right?”

He smiled “Correct,”

Pressing a button on the remote in his palm, Strickler switched the view on the projector to a timeline extending from the years 400 to 1200 “The Pendragon Empire, founded by Uther Pendragon in the fifth century, lasted until the early twelfth century, ending during the upheaval surrounding the death of his descendent, Arthur Pendragon. A large part of the chaos after Arthur’s death was due to the fact that Arthur left no immediate heirs apparent. That combined with crumbling infrastructure and opportunistic invasions from neighboring nations is what led to the fracturing of the empire,”

Strickler paused as the soft scratching of pencils on paper filled the room.

Neighboring nations, what drivel, it was enough to make any self respecting changeling want to laugh and vomit at the same time.

Granted, Strickler himself hadn’t been present for Camelot’s true downfall. He’d been a young changeling back then, trying to sell a remote clan of Slavic trolls on the benefits of an alliance with the Gumm Gumms.

He hadn’t succeeded. But in the end it turned out rather moot.

No, that was putting it far too mildly. It had taken over a century for the Janus Order to recover from the chaos; setting their goals back by nearly a millennium.

Arthur might have lost the battle against his kingdom falling, but the victory he’d gained in the war was exponentially greater.

He’d prevented the extinction of the entire human race.

Strickler shut his eyes and pulled in a deep breath to ground himself back in the present as the last few students finished taking their notes.

No.

Not prevented. Delayed.

“Your final project will be done in groups, each group will be assigned a single century during the Pendragon empire and will put together a presentation summarizing the events and the impact of your assigned century. This presentation should last twenty minutes and we will be doing them in class at the end of the month,”

The entire room broke out into groans.

Strickler chuckled good naturedly “Consider it a small price to pay for not having any work over spring break, now I want you all to break into your groups, three to five people each, and have one member select your century, and enough rubrics for all of you,” he gestured towards the small slips of papers on his desk sitting next to a fat stack of rubrics “The rest of the hour will be in class work time, so I suggest you get started,”

There was a shuffle of desks and sneakers as the students settled into their groups, a handful darting up and snatching their centuries and rubrics under Strickler’s keen eye. Had to make sure everyone settled into proper groups and keep track of who was working on what century after all. He waited until things had nearly settled down before speaking up again.

“Jim Lake,”

The boy in question started in his seat, both him and his groupmates turning and looking at Strickler inquisitively.

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?”

Based on his expression Jim certainly minded quite a bit, a gauntness present in his features that hadn’t been there a month ago, but he stood from his chair all the same “Ok….sure,”

Strickler ignored the course of oohs that filled the room as Jim headed over to meet him at the door. Only after he had stepped out and closed the door behind them, the two alone in the hallway, did Strickler speak again.

“Jim, I’ve been monitoring your behavior these past few weeks, and quite frankly I’m concerned,”

Someone less observant and experienced at the art of subterfuge would have missed the subtle way Jim’s shoulders stiffened, the flicker of panic on his face before it settled into a calm veneer.

But Strickler missed nothing.

Jim forced out an uncomfortable laugh “Well...uh, sorry to worry you, but I’m totally fine,”

Strickler had to bite back a sigh. It looked like Jim, not unexpectedly, had decided to be evasive; no matter. In that case the only thing to do was strike at the heart of the issue, bluntly and without delay.

He whipped a comb out of his front pocket; cheap and still sealed in its plastic packaging, but very fine toothed, holding it out in front of him “I want you to run this through your hair,”

Blinking, Jim stared at the comb and then back up at Strickler “....are you serious?”

“Humor me,”

Looking more confused than anything else, Jim slowly took the comb, pulled it from its wrapper, and ran it through his hair once before promptly handing it back “There, is that all? Because I need to--”

“Jim. Look at the comb.”

He did, all the color instantly draining from his face.

From end to end the comb’s teeth were stuffed to the brim with short, black hairs.

“Your hair is falling out.” Strickler’s tone brooked no questioning. He wasn’t asking, he was stating a fact “So do not tell me that everything is fine. If everything were fine you wouldn’t be losing your hair from stress,”

Of course there were plenty of non-stress related medical conditions that could cause a sixteen year old boy to start losing his hair, but Strickler found that his intuition was rarely wrong.

Jim hadn’t so much as twitched, standing frozen in place, eyes wide and locked on the comb.

Strickler let out a sigh and tossed the comb into a nearby trash can “I’m going to be frank with you Jim, I know CPS is investigating your family,”

Now that got a reaction, Jim snapping his head up, breathing quick and shallow, voice tight with pure panic “You do!?”

“Keep your voice down, yes, the investigator called the school with a few questions,” Strickler saw no reason to bring up the fact that he had been the one to make the initial call, much less that he had done so at the behest of Mr. Domzalski.

“But I’m not going to ask about that. That case is a matter between your family and the state, now if you want to talk I am more than willing to listen, but I’m not going to pry into your family’s private matters,”

Just like that the wind went out of his sails. Jim practically going limp, swaying on his feet overcome with relief. But before he could relax too much, Strickler was talking again.

“That being said, in the weeks that the investigation has been going on, I have become seriously troubled by your behavior,”

“What...behavior...are you talking about?”

“You’re anxious and unfocused, I’ve caught you nodding off in class no fewer than three times in the past week. And this is pure speculation on my part, but I don’t think you’ve been getting nearly enough to eat, which could be contributing to your hair loss,”

Squirming under his scrutiny, Jim ran a shaky hand through his hair, before he quickly realized what he was doing and pulled it away “Ok things have been hard… and maybe I’ve missed a meal or two...but I’ve just...really been focusing on keeping my grades up,”

It was true. Strickler happened to know for a fact that Jim was pulling all A’s in every subject. But while that was a fact it certainly wasn’t the whole truth.

“You’re grades are exceptional, and normally I would applaud you for being so diligent with your studies, but I get the feeling you’ve been hyperfocusing on your schoolwork in order to avoid dealing with the other problems in your life,”

From the way Jim flinched at his words, breath catching in his throat, Strickler knew he’d struck the truth.

“Look...I...I know that there’s a lot going on, but I swear I can handle it,”

“Jim--”

“I promise it’s really not that bad,”

“Not that bad? For goodness sake Jim, your hair is falling out!”

The boy had no response to that, downcast eyes locked on the floor, unable to meet Strickler’s gaze.

Squaring his shoulders, Strickler clasped his hands together and netted his fingers in front of him. Bluntness had served its purpose in this conversation, now it was time for the olive branch “With everything going on in your life I imagine it must feel like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders,”

“Yeah,” Jim mumbled “Something like that,”

Strickler gave him a small smile “Have you heard of the greek myth of Atlas?

Jim looked up at that “No….should I have?”

“Atlas was a titan that took part in the war between the gods and titans, and when the titans lost Atlas was condemned to hold up the sky for all eternity,”

“Okay…but what does that have to do with...me?”

“In the myth Atlas alone bore the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, but Jim, you aren’t Atlas. However heavy your burden is, you don’t have to bear it alone. The faculty here can put you in touch with some excellent counselors and--”

“Actually I really don’t need anything like that,” Jim stepped around him and tried to go back into the classroom “And I should really be getting started on--”

“Jim.” Strickler allowed a trace of stone to creep into his voice “We are not done talking.”

The boy froze midstep, slowly turning back towards him with clear hesitation.

Once Jim was facing him again Strickler cleared his throat and started over “The purpose of counselors and therapists isn’t to scrutinize you or your family, but to give you tools and resources, coping mechanisms to help you better deal with the struggles life throws at you. And before you ask, no, you don’t have to talk about the investigation with them either,”

Jim’s mouth abruptly twisted into a scowl “If I don’t have to talk to them then why should I bother...even….”

He trailed off once he noticed Strickler’s expression, the boy couldn’t possibly see down to the depths of Strickler’s true thoughts, but he clearly saw something that gave him pause.

“...sorry,” Jim muttered, looking down and away.

Strickler just stared back at him evenly.

One didn’t survive as a high school teacher without developing a thick skin in regard to teenage impertinence. But this kind of snide back talk was far more in line coming from Steve, or even Seamus. Hearing it from Jim it was...troubling.

Not wasting any more time, Strickler pulled a sticky note out of his pocket and held it out “Here are a few of the counselors and therapists that I most recommend, but if you want more options let me know and I can get you a complete list,”

Jim didn’t move, arms not so much as twitching from their position at his sides. Staring at the note with a sour expression on his face.

“I’m not going to force you to go see any of them, but you will take their contact information and keep it,” One of Strickler’s eyebrows quirked up “Unless of course accepting the contact information of guidance counselors and therapists would put you at risk for some reason? If that is the case I certainly wouldn’t want to put you in any danger, but I would need to know exactly what kind of danger you would be in,”

Jim chewed on his lip, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Strickler held his gaze, kept his hand extended, and waited.

Finally after what must have been a solid minute, Jim reluctantly reached up and took the note. Tucking it into his pocket under Strickler’s close scrutiny “Can I go back in now?”

Strickler frowned. He was not pleased with how this had turned out. Despite his best efforts the boy seemed dead set on refusing every helping hand extended his way. But as the saying went, one could lead a horse to water, but can’t make them drink. The only thing to do was continue to offer the water and hope one day he bent his head and accepted.

“You can, but please remember, as a teacher it’s not just my job to educate you, myself and every other staff member in this building has an obligation to look after your wellbeing, so please don’t forget that, young Atlas,”

Jim rolled his eyes “Yeah, sure,”

Strickler frowned; darker, harder this time, Jim shrinking under the force of his gaze. Brusqueness gone as quickly as it had come.

“I...I’m sorry…”

It wasn’t as though Strickler was losing his patience with the boy, compared to his dealings with the order’s underlings this was as relaxing as a day at the spa. Rather he was becoming increasingly concerned by Jim’s uncharacteristic outbursts.

Despite Jim’s best efforts to bury his troubles and pretend that they didn’t exist, his woes were finding their way to the surface one way or another.

“More people care about you than you know Jim,”

Strickler was suddenly struck by inspiration. For whatever reason Jim wasn’t comfortable reaching out to Strickler, or any other adult it seemed. Perhaps the idea was to appeal to his peer relationships.

“Like your friends,”

He gestured towards the window in the classroom door, at cluster of five desks with four students at them in particular “You happen to be graced with a group of companions who would go to the ends of the earth to help you, not everyone can be so fortunate,”

Strickler turned his head slightly, trying to gauge Jim’s reaction. But to his shock, rather than looking relieved or even uncertain, something hard and inscrutable had settled over Jim’s face.

“Yeah, they would wouldn’t they,”

The boy’s tone cinched it. Strickler had accomplished all that he could for today, pushing Jim any further right now would do more harm than good.

With only a pang of reluctance, Strickler opened the door and allowed Jim back inside, following shortly after.

He went over to his desk to grade quizzes while the students worked for the rest of the hour, Jim taking his seat at the cluster of desks, rejoining his companions and enmeshing himself in their project.

Despite his best efforts to file this incident in the back of his mind, Strickler found himself dwelling on his brief interaction with Jim. Keeping a subtle eye on him and his group.

Strickler had been doing this for a very long time and found that for good or for ill, his intuition was rarely wrong.

You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink, only keep offering and hope one day he bent his head and accepted it. And Strickler’s intuition was telling him that Jim would break before he ever bent.

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #fanfic #A Secret's Worth #rmvwrites #walter strickler #jim lake jr

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10-30-pm · 3 years

Text

Lev Haiba x Reader (Fem Reader and Timeskip Lev) Part Two

CW: Mild suggestive content but nothing too serious

You dressed yourself in a knee length black spaghetti strap dress, a slit run up the side of your thigh. Lev had left you alone to change by yourself out of respect, which told you a lot about his character, but he soon knocked on the bathroom door.

“Y/N, are you decent?”

“I’m not finished getting ready but I am dressed, yes.”

“Then I’m coming in.”

Without another second he cracked open the door taking in your body. He nearly gasped audibly, but instead his lips just remained parted.

“You’re…stunning.”

You only shook your head at him, continuing to apply the mascara to your eyes in the lit bathroom mirror, “You flatter me.” He shook his head in response.

“No, I’m serious! I could look at you all day if you let me!”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you knew you were turning red, but hoped he couldn’t see it through the foundation on your face. He was being extremely blunt, even if he didn’t mean to be. You leaned over the bathroom counter to put mascara on the opposite eye, to which he took this opportunity to slip behind you, his hand landing on each of your hips so he could keep you far enough away for Jesus to slip between you both. Though it was an innocent gesture, it made the red on your face darken. He sat down on the toilet, looking up to you almost appearing smaller.

“What are you up to, Lev?”

“Just watchin’ you.”

You rolled your eyes brushing him off, but you could nearly feel his eyes traveling over the curves of your body. He was trying so hard not to check you out, he really was, but the dress hugged your body in a way he was almost jealous of it. He was jealous of a flimsy piece of clothing.

“I’m almost done.”

“Mkay.”

He mumbled out his response trying to snap himself from his daze looking back up to your face. You were lining your lips with a wine red lipstick now, your mouth shaped in an ‘o’. You popped your lips together spreading the pigment evenly until you were satisfied, standing up straight and putting the lipstick back in your makeup bag. Lev had thought far ahead enough to grab your purse that sat with you at the bar the night before. Thank god he had.

“Done?”

You turned your head to him smiling down at him with a nod. He looked up at you with a smile to match yours, his elbows resting on his knees with his legs fixed in a man spread. The suit he wore fit him just right, the fabric flat against his chest minus the bright red tie contrasting the deep black of his overcoat.

“Handsome.”

The smile on his lips spread wider, “Thank you, beautiful.”

He stood up from the toilet seat towering over your figure taking your hand. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles before guiding you from the room to the next. You expected no less than a penthouse from the model with how much his job more than likely paid, but it was still shocking to you with how big it was. After all, it was only him who lived there, but it had many guest rooms, bathrooms, and a few floors. It must’ve been lonely and quiet, though you supposed he must not be home a whole lot. His voice in your ears snapped you from your thoughts.

“Let’s go, shall we?”

“Where are we going might I ask?”

“Mm..it’s a surprise.”

You scoffed out a small chuckle giving his hand a squeeze.

“Alright then…lead the way.”

With the way you both were dressed you had guessed it was a fancy restaurant, and you were right. Upon looking at the menu your eyes widened significantly. There was no way that you could pay for even an appetizer. Lev apparently saw the distress on your face because he rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’m paying. Don’t worry too much!”

“I can’t have you do that- these are so expensive!”

He quirked a brow at you with a cocky smirk creeping up on his lips, “Do you see who you’re dinning with darling? Nothing on this menu is ‘too expensive’. Get whatever you’d like.”

Despite your better judgment you did order what meal caught your eye, and there wasn’t a long wait for it to arrive in front of you. The proportion was small for the price that it was, but it was indescribably delicious and it was displayed all over your features. Your eyes had lit up at the first bite. Lev chuckled lowly across the table at you, his own food held between his chopsticks.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

You knew he was teasing you about your reaction, but you couldn’t care less with how the food tasted. You nodded without hesitation, taking another bite. He took his own bite, chewing before picking up another piece of his.

“Wanna try mine?”

“Why not?”

Unexpectedly he craned his chopsticks out for you to eat from.

“Go ahead,” he urged.

Though embarrassed, you took the food from him, covering your mouth while you chewed, mostly to cover the pink of your face.

“How is it?”

“It’s good-“ you answered shortly still being flustered. He giggled again from deep in his chest taking another bite of his food, it soon disappearing from his dish with the small proportions. As you both polished off your food you both stood and left the restaurant, him taking your hand in his as you both walked on the path outside. You looked around you admiring the city scape, your eyes sparkling with the street lights. The night had snuck up on the both of you, the sun starting to set behind the skyscrapers. You’d always been a fan of sunsets. The bright reds and oranges that danced along the horizon just before night rolled in- it was beautiful. Lev caught a glimpse of you craning your head around the buildings to see the set, him then dragging you along to find a ledge which exposed you both to a view of the ocean front and the sun setting down under it. The waves crashed against the shore while reflecting the bright colors of the sky. You audibly gasped at the sight, you looking back at him with a smile spreading across your mouth.

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For dinner…and this.”

He nodded humbly, a smile grazing his lips as well.

“It’s my pleasure- I mean I am the one who asked you out on a date.”

A soft low chuckle emitted from his chest again as he looked back to the sunset while he rubbed the pad of his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’m glad you agreed to come.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze in response to his statement. With the scenery he took this as a good moment to speak. He looked down at your conjoined hands, then back up to your face.

“Is it too cliche to kiss you? If you’d let me that is.”

Your eyes instantly met his, them widening as if you ask: Really? He only smiled his goofy smile, tilting his head like he was a puppy.

“It’s not too cliche.”

He scoffed out a chuckle before cupping your cheek with the hand that wasn’t interlocked with yours, leaning down to kiss your lips. His movements were unsure and soft at first, but when you inched up on your toes to return his action he was reassured. He released your hand and moved his to wrap around your waist, pulling your hips in closer to him. The both of you pulled away from each other’s lips after a short while; you were the first to speak.

“You’re actually a pretty good kisser.”

He blinked confused with a overly dramatic gasp, “What do you mean by ‘actually’?”

You laughed, letting your hands rest on his chest. “Dunno- you just don’t look like you’d be a good kisser the first time.”

He let out a small huff, laughing softly at your answer. “I see.” You calmed your laughter and pulled your body away from his hold, “Once we get back to your penthouse I should be getting my things and taking my leave. Tonight was amazing Lev.”

“You don’t have to leave! I have plenty of rooms you can stay in or even my room!”

You giggled quietly to yourself, “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“No no, I insist! And you don’t have to go to work either!”

Now you had to laugh at that request. Your job paid all your bills, you couldn’t just drop it, at least put in your 2 weeks notice. “Lev I have to go to work.” He pouted for a moment with puppy dog eyes you had a feeling you’d be seeing often when he didn’t get what he wanted. It didn’t take much for you to let your walls down, “Fine! I’ll stay- but I still need to go to work!” Regardless of you staying with him, you needed to pay your rent and for utilities, not to mention your indulgences. He couldn’t help but grin widely, taking one of your hands in his and giving it a small kiss. Not long after the sun had set, he called his driver to return you both to the penthouse, the both of you holding each other’s hands in the backseat while you returned.

(Possible part 3 of people request it?? So sorry about the lack of posts recently I haven’t had motivation :,D)

#Lev Haiba #Haiba Lev #Lev Haiba Fluff #Timeskip #Haikyuu #Haikyu!!#fluff #timeskiplevhaiba #sfw #tbc #tobecontinued #anime #xreader #levhaibaxreader #volleyball #Fem reader #female reader

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princessofguineapigs · 3 years

Text

Home Is Where the Heart Is | Tom Holland Chapter 3

“Sam is coming. To help protect you. I want to make sure you’re untouchable to any thugs who might wish you harm.” Tom was explaining his plan to keep you safe despite the threats against you. “I can put him up in a hotel, if you like. I know you never invited my brother to stay with us,” he continued. It had been one day since the attack and Tom had passed the time thinking of ways to keep you safer, then arranging them.

“No, it’s alright. Sam can stay here. I’ll feel safer with an extra man in the house.”

Tom picked you up by the waist and you squealed. “Plus, we won’t have to worry about complicated dinner recipes,” he said.

So, Sam arrived, another long-term house guest. You weren’t sure how long he would stay, but you knew it had to be until the danger was passed. He took up residence in the guest room (Tom offered the bed up since he spends his nights in yours anyway).

Sam’s first request was to use the kitchen and “make a proper meal.” You easily agreed. “Is there anything Tom and I can do to help?” “You can let me work in peace.” Sam winked.

Tom walked in an joined you leaning against the counter. “How are things at home? Are mum and dad okay with you leaving?”

Sam laughed. “I’d say mum and dad are more than okay with me leaving. They’re down to two boys in the house from four. But things are good otherwise. Mum decided to take on the project of cleaning all the windows -- from the outside. She’s got ladders and everything. Dad isn’t a fan, but she won’t let him help because of his back.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, Paddy is convinced Harry is seeing someone again, but Harry won’t let on about it if he is.”

“We’ll have to interrogate him later,” you said.

“What’s Paddy’s proof?” Tom asked.

“He claims Harry says this girl’s name in his sleep. I say dreaming about someone doesn’t mean they’re together.”

Sam ducked down to pull a pan out of the cabinet. The thunder of pots clattered as he jockeyed them around, searching for what he wanted. If Sam was still speaking, you couldn’t hear him over the noise. He stood and looked at you as if waiting for you to say something.

“If you asked me a question, I couldn’t hear you over the din you were making,” you said.

“Right. I asked what you thought of Paddy’s theory, Y/N.”

You drummed your fingers on the counter. “I think we should invite Harry for dinner and press him for information.”

“Excellent idea,” Tom said.

“I’ll give him a call,” you said. You went to your bedroom to grab your phone. As you listened to the phone ring, you sat on the edge of the bed and picked at your blue jeans.

“Hey, Y/N. What’s up? I hear my twin is staying with you now.”

“He is,” you confirmed. “Until Tom thinks I’m safe again.”

“What exactly happened?” Harry questioned.

You got a lump in your throat unexpectedly. You shook off the dark thoughts. “Come over for dinner and I’ll tell you about it.”

“Sweet, a free meal. Wait. Who’s cookin?”

You laughed. “Sam, of course.”

“Phew, now I know it’ll be good. No offense, Y/N, but I like Sam’s cooking better and right now I’m as hungry as a lion.”

You giggled again. “See you soon, Harry.” You hung up.

You went back downstairs and found Tom lounging in the living room adjoining the kitchen. You snuggled up on the couch with him. Tom shifted his position so he could give you kisses. You heard Sam groan. “Oi! Love birds, set the table! There’ll be plenty of time for that,” he gestured to your compromising position on the couch, “later.” You and Tom grabbed cups and silverware while Sam started to plate the food.

The doorbell rang and Tom ran to answer it. His curly-hair brother was standing on the other side. You sat down with Tom and his brothers to eat and the meal began, as well as the relationship interrogation.

“Are you seeing anyone, Harry?” you asked, unusually candid.

Harry nearly spit out his drink.

“Why would you ask that?”

“It’s just a question.”

Sam set down his fork. “Stop avoiding it. It’s a yes or no answer.”

“I--” Harry’s ears grew pink. “I may have someone I’m interested in, but we aren’t seeing each other.”

“Who is she?” you pressed.

Tom leaned forward, eager to hear the answer. You were reminded of a dog waiting for a treat in it’s owner’s hand. Golden retriever indeed.

“If it works out, I’ll tell you,” Harry answered. He shoveled another bite of food into his mouth and that was that.

The four of you sat around the table, sated by the delicious food Sam had made.

“So this creep actually pulled a gun on you?” Harry reiterated.

“Yeah. Fuckin prick forced her to her knees,” Tom sneered.

You stood up from the table. “Um, I’m going to clean up,” you said. You cleared the plates, eager to get away from the conversation. The boys continued to discuss the attack in hushed tones. They might as well have been shouting from the way their whispers carried. It was sweet that they didn’t want to upset you, having picked up on the reason you left the table, but it wasn’t working.

Tom got up to carry the rest of the glasses and cutlery to the sink. “Can we watch a movie tonight?” Sam requested. “Sure. Harry, will you be staying the night?” you asked. “If that’s alright with you, yeah. I’ve got a sleeping bag in the car. I’ll go get it.”

“What do you want to watch?” you asked.

“How about The Golden Compass?” Sam suggested.

“I’ll put it on,” Tom said.

Soon, the four of you were huddled under your respective blankets enjoying the film under the dim lights. Except you and Tom who were of course sharing a blanket on your own island of cuddles. Eyes fixed on the screen, you laid your head against Tom. As the credits rolled, sleep overtook you like a riptide, unexpected and strong.

You were vaguely aware of Tom carrying you to bed. Waves of unconsciousness washed over you and you were out cold.

Tom smiled to himself as you muttered in your sleep. “Please don’t go...”

“Never, darling. I promise.” He was content watching you doze in his arms until he reached sleep himself.

“Morning, lover,” you said through a yawn. In the new day’s first light Tom looked like a golden god. “Is there any better way to wake up? I can’t imagine one,” Tom said. “How are you so quick with a flirt this early in the morning?” you asked. “Someone as beautiful as you, practically made of stardust makes it easy to flirt.” Tom kissed you. “To praise you.” Another kiss. “Pay homage to your beauty.” Tom moved to position himself overtop of you, flinging the blankets away. “Feel like making love to you,” he whispered. “Then do it,” you said.

Tom littered your body with kisses, leaving no marks, lest he mare the skin of such a perfect creature. No matter how many times you made love, he couldn’t believe he was seeing you naked, exposed like this. You were willing, too. Willing for him to use you. No, not use. Using something meant disposing of it when you were through. He would cherish these moments, not dispose of them. You were his angel open for him to worship.

His lips dusted your thighs with kisses on his way to your center. His hands traveled over the mountains of your chest. You fell apart easily under Tom’s touch.

“Hey, Tom, we’re --”

You screamed at the intrusion. Tom snatched the blanket off the floor and covered you with it, leaving himself bare, but at least they wouldn’t see his angel’s perfect body. You were only for his eyes and he wanted to prevent your shame.

Sam and Harry were in the doorway and you realized it must have not been locked.

“What the fuck? Get out!” Tom yelled.

The twins blushed. “Sorry, sorry,” Harry said, backing out. “Can’t control yourselves for one day,” Sam snickered, leaving too.

“It’s our room!” Tom called after them, peeved. He settled back on top of you, attacking with fresh kisses. You giggled, but pushed him off. “We should get ready for the day.”

Tom groaned. “Why are you always right?”

Harry departed for a photoshoot and you decided you didn’t want to be cooped up in the house, hiding like a scared groundhog. “Let’s walk in to town for the day,” you suggested to the boys.

“Into the wild, I like it,” Sam said.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just the town, Sam. Nothing dangerous.”

“Could be dangerous. It was a few ni--” Tom cut Sam off. “It’s the middle of the day. No harm will come to Y/N in broad daylight. Especially not with us accompanying her.”

“I dunno...” Tom was still hesitant.

“We can’t stay in the house forever,” you tried to reason.

“Tom, I personally guarantee her safety,” Sam said.

And so the three of you made the trip into town, in a car this time. You whiled away the morning meandering through bookshops and boutiques. Tom even helped out pick out some items to try on.

Your trio was just trying to decide on what to have for lunch when you saw him. Sam and Tom had their back to him, poring over a menu outside a bistro. The man who had attacked you the other night. The man you’d been tryin to forget ever since he threatened to find you again.

He approached you at full speed, arms outstretched. “I’ve got you this time, Giselle!” he roared. “You can’t run away from me!”

Tom and Sam turned around at his shouts and horror overtook both their faces as the man lunged at you. As he pounced, you screamed and threw up your arms. The boys sprang into action. Tom jumped in front of you as a shield and Sam ran at your assailant from the side, tackling him to the ground. The man was still screeching. “Where you go, I’ll follow! You can’t run from me, Giselle. I will finish the job I was sent to do!” Tom was holding you with his hand reached behind him, still shielding you while Sam wrestled with the man on the ground.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” you screamed.

“And who sent you?” Tom yelled.

The man threw a punch at Sam’s throat. The attack was enough to cause Sam to cry out in pain and loosen his grip. The man got to his feet and started to run. Tom ran after him while you went to Sam’s side. Sam was on the ground, coughing and sporting a bruised cheek. He tried to control his breathing and you helped him to sit up.

“Sorry he got away from me, Y/N.”

“Hey, tackling that man was no small thing,” you reassured. “You did your best. And look, I’m fine.”

Your mind still wondered why he had called you that name. Giselle. Maybe this whole thing was a case of mistaken identity. That still didn’t make it better. This man was intent on hurting someone. The question was, why did he want to hurt this Giselle girl?

Tom came back, huffing and puffing. It was clear his attempt to chase down the culprit had but in vain. “That man is bad news,” Tom said. He gulped in air between words. “He got into a car that was waiting for him with some dangerous looking men. They drove off.”

“Let’s get you home,” Sam said. “We can worry about who that man is later.”

taglist: @canwekissforever-hazzy @wonderfulfluffer @osterfieldshollandgirl @chrisosterfield

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine

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imagines-all-day-everyday · 4 years

Text

whizz-bang.

Requested by anonymous:

“Hi, could you please do reader comforting Tommy about the aftermath of the billy kimber fight.”

Warnings: Swearing (it’s peaky blinders duh), angst, violence, fluff

Notes: FIRST PEAKY BLINDERS IMAGINE!!! AND IT’S FOR TOMMY <3

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

“To Danny Whizz-Bang!” The Shelby brothers yelled out, clinking their glasses together before downing their first of many drinks for the night.

“To Danny Whizz-Bang.” *yn* mumbled under her breath before taking a large gulp of her whiskey.

She winced slightly as the strong liquor burned her throat. She’d never liked whiskey, but it was Tommy’s favourite drink and tonight was his night. After months of scheming and plotting and bloodshed, he’d finally defeated Billy Kimber and his men.

But fuck had it come at a cost.

She let a small sigh escape her lips as she traced the rim of the empty glass with her pointer finger. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the boys from her spot at the bar down their second drink.

She had a feeling it’d be a long night.

“Grace not in tonight, Harry?” She asked the bartender when she noted the absence of the blonde barmaid.

“No, she’s quit she has.”

“Quit?” *yn* exclaimed in surprise. “Whatever for?”

Harry shrugged at her question as he filled up three more glasses of whiskey. “Somethin’ about heading to London. Getting away from something I reckon.” He explained before picking up the drinks and bringing them over to the boys.

More like getting away from someone, she thought.

With that thought, her eyes wandered over to the second eldest Shelby. Tommy was seated alone at a table, nursing a drink. Even though this was supposed to be a celebration, she knew him well enough to tell that he was in mourning. She watched as he brought a cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply before letting the smoke waft out of his mouth. God he was beautiful.

As if he sensed her gaze his blue eyes shifted to meet hers. The pair stared at each other for a few moments before *yn* shot him a small smile and turned her attention back to the bar.

“Another one Miss *yn*?”

“Please.” She exacerbated, pushing her empty glass towards Harry eagerly.

“You might wanna slow down there.” A voice teased as she sculled down the liquor the second Harry had finished pouring it.

“Tommy Shelby telling someone to slow down, now that’s a first.” She smirked as she turned her attention to the man beside her.

“It looks like it won’t be the last tonight by the looks of it.” He mused as he watched her push the glass back over to Harry.

“You’re the one who’s always telling me to loosen up.” She answered, raising a brow at him as he took a seat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

He hummed in response as he took another gulp of his drink and began mindlessly trailing his fingers up and down her bare arm.

He watched her as she leant over and grabbed his pack of cigarettes. Wordlessly he struck a match, holding it out for her as she placed the cigarette in her mouth and leant forward. Once it was alight she leant her head on his shoulder before removing the cigarette from her mouth to exhale.

Thomas and *yn*’s relationship had always been one hard to define. They’d been friends for as long as both could remember - ‘joined at the hip since they could walk’ - was what Polly would always say. Over time there friendship had turned to feelings, although had never progressed further than that.

Both had past boyfriends and girlfriends, although never serious, and to Tommy’s selfish relief he found *yn* still unmarried when he returned from war. Though never spoken about, there was a mutual desire to not be with anyone else.

Polly woke up every single day waiting to hear the news that Tommy had finally proposed, but that day still had not come.

“Grace is gone.”

“I heard.” Tommy answered back, looking out the corner of her eye to observe *yn*’s reaction.

“Said she’s goin’ to London, to get away from something.” *yn* continued, trying to make herself sound as nonchalant as possible. Tommy watched her as she moved her head from his shoulder to sit up in her chair. “You going to go after her?” She heard herself ask before she could try and stop herself from sounding jealous.

“Now why would I do that?” Tommy asked, raising a brow at her as her cheeks grew pink in embarrassment. She mumbled something under her breath and shrugged before shoving her cigarette back in her mouth in a fluster.

She ran a hand through her hair and kept her eyes fixed on her half empty glass to avoid making eye contact with him. Tommy felt a small smile tug at his lips as he watched her fidget under his gaze.

Her lips parted slightly as she placed a new cigarette in her mouth and moved to light it. It was almost laughable how much time Tommy spent picturing how soft her lips were and how they'd feel against his, how her arms would feel wrapped around him as she whispered comforting things to him.

How could he ever explain to her that everything he did, he did for her?

That the only reason he’d fought to keep himself alive while he was crammed in the tunnels was because he’d promised her that he would return home. That ever since he was a little boy, she’d been the only one for him. That no one, not even someone like Grace, could turn his head even for a second.

But that was all too emotional, and emotions got you and your loved ones killed in his line of work.

He forced himself to push those thoughts aside as he downed the rest of his whiskey. He pushed it back towards Harry as he continued to trace *yn*’s soft skin with his callus fingers. He watched as she jiggled her leg up and down and chewed at her bottom lip. Something she only did when she was deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked her. “*yn*.” He continued, nudging her slightly when she didn’t respond.

“Hmm? Oh... nothing.” She shook her head as she fiddled with the bracelet (gifted to her by Thomas on her 21st birthday) absentmindedly.

“I swear it’s nothing important.” She insisted when she looked up to see him staring at her with his brow raised.

“Just tell me, love.” He sighed softly and she could tell that after the day he’d had, his patience was wearing thin.

“....Danny.” She finally admitted, speaking so quietly that Tommy barely caught the name muttered.

“Danny?” He repeated, surprise laced in his words. “Mm.” She nodded sheepishly as she fiddled with her fingers.

“I know it’s probably better for him this way you know, like he used to say, he came home from the war but left his brains in the mud.” She explained, a small smile flashing on her lips at the fond memory.

“But... his wife Rosie and his boys...” She trailed off as she heard her voice waver. “They’ll get looked after, won’t they?” She asked, finally forcing herself to look back over at Tommy.

She was met with an expressionless look.

This was the problem with *yn*. She made him feel things. The boys understood. When you lost someone, you paid your respects and you moved on. That was the only way you could survive the war. And that was the only way you could survive the business they were in.

But *yn*, she didn’t understand that. She mulled and pondered and felt for the ones that fallen men like Danny left behind. Her soul was still left mostly in tact, unlike Tommy and his brothers. And what Thomas hated was that when she said things like this, it made him feel too.

“Tom?” *yn* murmured, her eyes narrowing in concern as she tried to decipher what that complicated brain of his was thinking about.

“Oi you two love birds! Quite fucking talking and come over and have a fucking proper drink!” Arthur shouted as John howled in drunken agreement.

“*yn* will I’m sure.” Thomas answered as he suddenly rose from his seat. “Where are you going?” *yn* asked him, getting up from her stool hurriedly as she watched him pick up his cap and place it firmly on his head.

“Home.” He answered and the sudden change in his tone and mood didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’ll come then, we can just have a drink there.” She reasoned with him as she moved to grab her purse.

“Stay *yn*.” He spoke, flicking his finished cigarette onto the bench as he moved past her to grab his coat. She knew he was trying to be as gentle as possible with her, but his words still came out as more of an order than a suggestion. Without another word he shrugged on his coat, adjusted his cap one last time and stormed out of the Garrison.

“What the fuck is his problem.” She huffed, grabbing her drink before making her way over to join Arthur and John.

“You know what he’s fucking like, *yn*.” Arthur shrugged.

“Yeah don’t worry about it love, he’ll get over it.” John comforted, patting her on the shoulder gently as she took a sip of her whiskey.

“Even a mind reader couldn't understand our brother.” Arthur continued, smiling once he heard a small giggle slip past her lips.

“Now, I’ve been trying to convince Arthur to play this drinking game I heard about from a friend down in London, but he’s too pussy to give it a go.”

“Am fucking not!”Arthur shouted, horrified that John would try to embarrass him in front of *yn*.

“Well Arthur might be too pussy, but I most definitely am not.” *yn* smirked causing both boys’ eyes to light up.

“Now this is gonna be fucking fun.”

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

Turns out, although *yn* wasn’t a pussy, she was almost too good at drinking games.

Indeed, two hours later as she pushed open the door of the Garrison she realised she was almost completely sober. After completely destroying the boys at the drinking game, both had passed out in a drunken state and she’d only left after Harry assured once the boys had woken up he’d make sure they got home safe.

She giggled to herself as she thought about how miserably hung over both boys were going to be tomorrow. She then felt a blush creep up onto her cheeks as an unexpectedly dirty thought about Thomas pushed itself into the forefront of her mind.

Maybe she was more affected than she thought.

As she wandered through the now quiet streets of Small Heath, swinging her bag beside her, she let herself indulge in thoughts that she liked to call her little Tommy Shelby moments.

She came to a sudden stand still when her eyes fell on a very familiar and very tempting door. She should just leave him alone, she thought. He was probably asleep or busy conjuring up another plan. She should just walk straight past and go to her own apartment and go to sleep.

Or you could go and make sure he’s ok, he seemed upset when he left the Garrison. Usually she didn’t listen to her ‘sinful’ side as she called it, but with Irish whiskey flowing through her veins, this voice didn’t seem so crazy after all.

Before she could overthink her actions, she inched towards the door and pushed against it gently. When it didn’t swing open she reached into her purse and pulled out her key. She always felt slightly awkward using it, but Tommy and the rest of the Shelby’s insisted that it was her home too.

The key clicked into place and this time when she pushed the door, it swung open easily. She internally winced as it creaked quite loudly, the whole family were extremely light sleepers.

She closed the door softly behind her as she stepped into the kitchen. The house was almost entirely black, with only a warm glow coming from a single candle near the couch.

“*yn*?”

The quiet and mouse like voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. “Bloody hell Finn you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She scolded once she spotted the small boy lying on the couch.

“What are you doing up so late hmm?” She asked him as she made her way over towards him.

“Couldn’t sleep. Tommy kept waking me up.” Finn murmured as *yn* came to crouch down beside him.

“Tommy?” She echoed in confusion. “Mmhmm I could hear him yelling and stuff.” Finn replied.

The nightmares.

“This happens a lot doesn’t it?” *yn* answered softly as she moved to begin running her fingers through his brown hair.

“Yeah.” Finn nodded as he rubbed at his eyes. “But we aren’t supposed to talk about it.”

“I know you aren’t. But you know you can always talk to me and I won’t tell anyone.” *yn* whispered softly as she watched the boy get closer and closer to sleep.

“I know, that’s why you’re the best wife ever.”

“Wife?” *yn* queried, amusement laced through her words.

“Yeah, wife. That’s what Aunt Pol calls you, Tommy’s wife.” Finn yawned as he snuggled further into the couch.

The answer made a pink rouge appear on her cheeks and a love giddy smile creep onto her lips. “And what does Tommy say about that?”

Except instead of answering her, all she got was a small snore emitting from Finn’s parted lips. She shook her head and bit her lip to stop from giggling as she pulled the blanket up to his chin and tucked him in gently. After placing a gentle kiss on his forehead she rose to her feet and began to make her way up the stairs.

Once she reached Thomas’ door she came to a stand still. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there for, probably only a minute, but it felt like hours. This was ridiculous, she’d known him for her entire life, she had no reason to be nervous.

But this time, she knew something was different.

Brushing that aside she channeled the little liquid courage she had left and forced herself to connect her knuckles to the chipped wood. When she immediately didn’t hear movement from behind the door she began to feel guilty that she may have woken him up.

“Just give me a second.”

She waited a few moments before twisting the door knob and easing the door open. The first thing that hit her was the smell. It wasn’t particularly pungent or fragrant - but it was familiar. It was a smell that she had detected on nearly every man who had gone off to war and come back.

The second was Tommy seated on his bed almost completely on top of his pillow, staring at her wide eyed.

“You don’t need to hide it from me, you know.” *yn* murmured quietly as she took a few steps into his room. “I know all the boys use it from time to time.”

“All the boys you speak to, eh?” He shot back, his eyes never leaving her figure as she came to take a seat beside him.

“Very funny.” She drawled, fighting the smile that was threatening to emerge on her features.

Tommy didn’t answer, instead he moved over to his side table and grabbed his cigarette case.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” She continued, watching him as he placed his freshly lit cigarette to his lips.

“You didn’t wake me.”

She wanted to probe further into why he wasn’t sleeping, if his nightmares had been getting worse again, but she didn’t want to push it. His eyes flickered up to her face when she raised her hand to gesture for the cigarette. Wordlessly he passed the cigarette to her awaiting fingers, watching intently as she inhaled the nicotine deeply.

She felt her heart hammer in her chest as Tommy brought a calloused hand up to her face to brush her hair behind her ear. She felt a shiver run up her spine as his thumb brushed against her cheek bone, the cool metal of his ring was a weird contrast to her hot skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Tommy mumbled against his cigarette as his eyes soaked in every finite detail of her face. “Like a work of fucking art.” He breathed out as his thick eyelashes grew wet as salty tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. “You know that, don’t ya?”

“Tommy...” She murmured as she watched the tears finally escape from his blue irises to slide down his cheeks.

The sound of his name made him recoil, turning his back to her so he could bury his face in his hands. “Fuck!” He hissed, running a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends stressfully.

“Tom...” *yn* repeated as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

There were a few moments of silence as the sound of Thomas’ stifled sniffles filled the room. Before she could overthink her actions, *yn* leant forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing her chest against his back.

“It’s ok to cry you know.” She mumbled into his ear before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. Wordlessly Tommy twisted around in her arms to face her before wrapping his arms around her waist. She moulded into his body instantly, her hands instantly beginning to rub his back.

“He was a good man. He kept me alive in France.” Tommy breathed out as his tears pooled against the skin on her neck. “I know he was.” *yn* agreed quietly. “But he gave his life up to protect yours, because he knew that you have unfinished business, that you need to be around to protect all of us.”

There was a pause as Tommy pulled away slightly to look at her, studying her for a few moments as his fingers traced patterns on her lower back. He watched her curiously as she brought her fingers up to delicately wipe his tears away.

“You always somehow to bring the emotions out of me.” He observed as she withdraw her hands from his face. “Someone’s got to keep you human.” She teased lightly and to her relief, a small smile twitched onto his lips.

He brought a hand up to trace her jaw before twisting his fingers into the hairs on the nape of her neck. Without another word he guided her head forward to meet his, their lips finally connecting in a kiss.

She felt her heart thumping against her rib cage as Tommy’s lips brushed against hers. It wasn’t what she had expected. In the novels she had read it always went on about fireworks and butterflies and being weak in the knees, but *yn* didn’t feel that.

Instead, she finally felt a sense of completeness and familiarity - like this was something that was supposed to have happened a life time ago - and now that it had finally happened, she felt calm and fulfilled.

As the pair pulled away from each other and locked eyes with each other they both knew it - this was right, it was so fucking right.

“I love you, I always have.” Tommy confessed and the words once again made *yn* feel a sense of completeness.

“I love you too Tommy, and I’m always going to be here by your side, for every single step of the way, I’ll be here.”

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

gah this made me so happy - I hope you guys love it ! :) x

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby oneshot #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby imagines #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby one shot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders one shot

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bobasheebaby · 4 years

Text

100 Boy Meets World Prompts

Cory

1 “And I just want to ask one thing: What's this?” “No, NAME, we were just --“ “Undapants!”

2 “They want you to take the rolls!”

3 “Please pay at the register, honey. And tipping is not a city in China.”

4 “NAME, you're trying to seduce me.”

5 “No, I don't get hit by a bus.” “Why not?” “Because I use the crosswalks, I memorize the bus schedules, and if I've got a husband/wife like NAME, I ain't leavin' the house.”

6 “NAME, just face it, you're afraid to make a commitment.” “I'm not afraid to make a commit -- I've been with NAME for fifteen years!” “Ah, they've been good years.”

7 “Wait, is this you or NAME talking?” “He/She decided we're one person.”

8 “This is raw, hot, unfiltered passion, and that kiss opened the gates.” “There are no gates.” “Oh, there's gates.”

9 “You were one of those kids that enjoy getting spanked, weren't you?” “I always deserved it.”

10 “But I've never failed before.” “There's a first time for everything.” “That argument doesn't get you anywhere with him/her.”

11 “You're not my father/mother, NAME.” “If I were your father/mother, I'd spank you, NAME. Because that's what you deserve. A big spanking! Now take down your pants.

12 “How could you possibly get into this much trouble in one day?” “It didn't take me the whole day.”

13 “It's us against him/her. Living on the edge, babe.” “I like when you call me babe.”

14 “Maybe I'm dreaming. Pinch me! ... Not on the butt.” “Sorry, it was just right there.”

15 “Gee, NAME, I'm looking around the room trying to see if anyone asked your opinion. I don't see anyone. Is anyone? No?”

16 “Did you hear how I referred to myself in the third person for emphasis?” “I thought that was a nice touch.” “NAME did too.”

17 “Finally someone understands my particular genuis.”

18 “First of all, there is a Whipped Magazine. I didn't subscribe; somehow they found me.”

19 “You know, you're a very sexy boy/girl, NAME.” “Really? I'm a sexy boy/girl. Thanks. I can't wait to tell NAME.”

20 “I'm in! Those idiots let me in.”

21 “Well I am shocked and dismayed.” “Well now you can't be both. You be shocked, I'll be dismayed.”

22 “Wear something of mine. What do you want, a jacket or a hat?” “A jacket. I'm very prone to hat head. Sometimes I get it without even wearing a hat.”

23 “So how was your weekend?” “Ah, one of the all time greats. I slept in, I watched TV, I played video games. And Sunday I took it easy.”

24 “I'm supposed to see other people. You're supposed to wait until I die.”

25 “This is so great. I wish NAME was here.”

Shawn

26 “Use a mirror, babe.”

27 “You know, NAME, NAME said something interesting before that got me thinking.” “Wait a minute. NAME got you thinking?” “He/She seemed well rested.”

28 “You listened to NAME.” “Oh my God, I listened to NAME.”

29 “I mean, NAME, you're much cooler than I am. At least I thought you were.” “Trust me, I am.”

30 “Hey, if I had things my way, NAME would walk in the day after the honeymoon and have the whole thing annulled.”

31 “You know, I'd give up on them but I don't think they'd notice.” “What?”

32 “He’s/She's your ex. Let me spell that for you, X.”

33 “Please get out and don't ever come back.”

34 “Yeah, so it's like you're a couple and we're a couple, and we're exactly the same except that --“ “You're married and we're happy.”

35 “Well what kind of stupid thing was it for you to care whether I put you back together again? What are you, Humpty Dumpty?”

36 “I hate myself.” “You're not alone.”

37 “NAME, his/her lover.” “Oh, very tasteful honey. Did you hear that, NAME?” “NAME, his/her lover.” “Oh, shut up Yoko.”

38 “You're a disgrace to the entire back row.”

39 “You don't think I'm a geek?” “Of course not.” “You think I'm cool?” “Of course not.”

40 “You're thinking too much. Do what I do, don't think.”

41 “You sure that's three cheeses? Because I only see two. Where's the Gouda, pal?”

42 “Don't move. Maybe he/she doesn't see us.

43 “Oh, man, I gotta do something now. Think.” “You gotta think, NAME.” “Ow.” “Thinking cramp?” “Yeah.” “I get those, too.”

44 “Look, NAME, I've been doing some thinking. Ow!”

45 “We have to come up with a plan.” “You know that's so crazy it just may work.” “What may work?” “The plan.” “I didn't tell you what it was.” “That way they can't get it out of me.” “Get what out of you?” “Nice try.”

Topanga

46 “We've waited for this moment all our lives. What are you thinking?” “I can't believe NAME’s not here.” “I love you too.”

47 “NAME!” “Oh, no.” “Oh, don't you run away from me, you old goat.”

48 “NAME. My dear little butt-head. May I call you butt-head?” “Sure.”

49 “I don't want to offend any one and my family's feelings are the most important thing to me. But if she thought I was getting married in that freaking monstrosity, she must have been hitting the sauce.”

50 “Have you looked at him/her?” “Okay, so he’s/she's pretty, he’s/she's tall, he/she drives a new red convertible. Oh heck, I'd go out with him/her.”

51 “NAME, you transparent moron. If you sigh one more time, I'm going to give you something to sigh about.”

52 “You know I could take you.” “You don't want to dance with me, boy/girl.” “You don't see me running, do you?” “Bring it on, NAME.” “It's on.”

53 “That's it. That's it, I've had it! I don't want to put the Sweet & Lo in my purse.”

Eric

54 “Hey, little bro/sis. Life's tough, get a helmet.”

55 “So I said to myself, NOT THEIR NAME --“ “NOT THEIR NAME?” “That's what I call myself.”

56 “I'll do it. I'm the oldest.” “Actually, I'm the oldest.” “Yeah, but I've lived the longest.”

57 “I don't know what's going to happen to me. But I know I'm gonna be a good person who cares about people. And I blame you for that.”

58 “I sort of thought you guys would keep my room the way it is.” “Actually, NICKNAME, for that I think you have to be unexpectedly killed by a truck or something.”

59 “What are you going to do when your hair grows back?” “It's not going to grow back. I got my receipt!”

60 “I'm dead.” “I'm dead.” “I'll get as sick as you can get without actually dying.”

61 “NAME, one word: You're with me.”

62 “NAME, I think he’s/she's a witch. And not a good witch like Glinda, a bad witch like with the monkeys.”

63 “NAME, what are you doing to me? We had a deal. You and FRIEND are so perfect for each other you should be married!” “I'm not ready.”

64 “Oh, look at that. You wobble like a weeble!”

65 “Don't you see what you're going through? This is your middle east crisis.” “Middle age crisis.”

66 “Of all the nights to fight, I mean Halloween, this is the one holiday that's supposed to bring loved ones together.”

67 “How can I let it go when it haunts my very thought?”

68 “By the way, that last paper you wrote, I couldn't stop thinking about it.” “That's because it was smut! ‘My lips quivered.’ -- it was filth. It was screamy filth.”

69 “You can't do that, NAME.” “Why are you calling me NAME?” “Because that's your human name.”

70 “Stay out of this, NAME, it's a one man/woman mission. ... Will you help me?”

Mr. Feeny

71 “Don't you mean ‘do well’?” “No, I mean do good.”

72 “You are the worst babysitter that ever lived.” “And your children are the spawn of Satan.”

73 “I was expecting you. Today, tomorrow, yesterday. It was only a matter of time.”

74 “How are we supposed to get home?” “Wait 'til it's dark. Then run, very quickly.”

75 “You're still moving away? Ah, for the love of Mike, stop with the mind games, man.” “You know this is the reason I can't sell my house.”

76 “I know my man/woman.” “It's like we have one brain.” “Yes, well. That's too easy.”

77 “Ho, ho. Is that the stupid idea train coming 'round the bend?”

78 “Oh, I think you're much more stupid than you give yourselves credit for.”

79 “Well, since you're not set on a name for the baby, I, myself, have always been partial to THEIR NAME.”

80 “I'm not responsible for Dream THEIR NAME!”

81 “For years I've seen you give advice to everybody, but never me. Why is that?!” “You don't ask.”

82 “The guy on our couch eating our beer nuts.” “Mmm, nutty.”

83 “Wait a minute. Maybe we should all just think for a second.” “No, NAME and I tried that. It doesn't work.”

Jack

84 “You don't know what it's like to live here, man. You don't.” “Why do you stay?” “Because ... he’s/she's my friend. Because I like him/her. And no matter what crazy things he/she says or does, I still like him/her. God help me I still like him/her.”

85 “You know, NAME, I'm having trouble opening this jar.” “That's because it's a can.”

86 “I can't be poor. I'm too good looking to be poor.”

87 “I would never pay for that shirt.”

88 “He's/She’s too passive. He/She needs to voice his/her opinions more.” “Ooh, NAME, what do you think about that?” “I don't know.”

Angela

89 “You guys are our closest friends, but we are sick and tired of you!”

90 “Because I'd rather give him/her attention for acting normal.” “Oh, honey. We know that's never going to happen.”

91 “Let me ask you this, in all the time you were with NAME, did he ever call out the name S/O NAME?” “No, but he called out the name PERSON ANAME.” “In what context?”

92 “No, I was just a little surprised seeing you here, eating my food, which is mine.” — Rachel

Alan

93 “It's quarter after three. Only creeps and wierdos are up now.” [person c enters]

94 “Anything happens to NAME, I'll kill you.” “You like him/her better than me.” [person a nods]

95 “I have an incomplete future.” “Of course you have an incomplete future. The future's always incomplete. When it's complete, people tend to call it the past.”

96 “You chose FRIEND over your own flesh and blood? You're dead to me.”

Amy

97 “I don't like it when you call him/her an idiot, NAME.” “I didn't call him/her anything.” “Oh, well I guess I must have thought it in my head.”

98 “NAME, we used you as a decoy. We knew you'd be stupid so we used it against you.”

99 “What happened? I used to be good.” “NAME, I say this with love and respect. You were never good.”

100 “We're just asking you to get us off the hook.” “No. This is your hook, you're going to hang there like the worms you are.”

#boy meets world prompts #boy meets world quotes #cory matthews #shawn hunter #eric mattews #topanga lawrence #george feeny #writing prompts #drabble prompts #dialogue prompts #quaratine sucks and making these keeps my mind busy #i live in covid 19 hell #i love the feeny call #fee hee hee hee heenay

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mochirimi · 4 years

Text

Take the Lead [Bede x Gloria]

New Year's Eve in Galar is one big ball. Literally. One where Gloria danced and Bede stood on the sidelines, but with a new year comes new resolutions, and maybe it's time Bede got on the dancefloor...

Read Here at A03

The sound of popping champagne bottles punctuate the roar of conversation and laughter. And Bede sighs, further settling against the wall watching the party with a wary eye.

“What, not enjoying the ball are we?” The familiar old woman beside him glances up at him bemused.

It takes everything for him not to roll his eyes at her; doing so would surely result in a quick slap to the head and a “mind your elders” quip. Instead, he sighs again running a hand through his pale curls, “I just don’t understand why we have to come to this thing every year.”

This thing was Galar’s largest New Year’s Eve party full of the country’s most celebrated and their friends and family, televised for all to see. It was considered an honor to be invited and (for Bede) an obligation to go. Whatever the honor it supposedly was, Bede would have preferred to pass, but after the first one Opal literally dragged him by the collar to, it was an unspoken rule that he would at least attend as the retired gym leader’s escort, if not as the proper representative of the Ballonlea gym itself.

Now, three years later, he’d made it his usual habit at this thing to stand beside her as fellow gym leaders and old friends visited, adding a small remark here and there in the conversation to stave off boredom… and to keep him from straying off to watch her dance across the room.

Always the brightest star in the room, in any room— Galar’s champion, it’s hero, it’s absolute darling— Gloria. She was the only one he considered his true rival, having once blamed his disqualification from the gym challenge on her, calling it sabotage. But what once started out as animosity, became respect, admiration, (and with her leading the way) friendship.

With each calendar year, their relationship grew— at her insistence. Constantly showing up to the gym, to his home in Ballonlea simply to visit, have lunch, and talk he could acknowledge their relationship as… close. But their relationship was built on time spent alone, on a one to one basis. And if he admitted it, he had no place at events like this with her.

So every year, he held back, avoided her while she shined like the brightest star, while she danced around the room with Leon, Raihan, Milo, Marnie, and... Hop. This year is no different. Instead of looking at her, or at anything in her direction, Bede trains his gaze towards the view from their point at the top of the Battle Tower, to watch as the people of Wyndon enjoyed their own festivities down below.

“You know, if you don’t hurry, you’ll miss your chance again,” his surrogate grandmother states calmly, her aquamarine eyes trained on the figures across the room on the dancefloor.

He follows her train of sight and immediately frowns, quickly regretting the action. There, dressed formally in a black suit and indigo tie, Hop holds Gloria firmly in his arms as they waltz. And she is as bright as he has ever seen her. Dressed in shimmering pink taffeta and tulle, her brown amber eyes shine as Hop pulls her in close and whispers in her ear.

He can’t but bristle.

She laughs and smiles, nodding in agreement at whatever it is the imbecile said.

No one could deny the two childhood friends cut a perfect figure together. Having grown towards adulthood together, every gossip column loved to speculate towards the real relationship between the two rivals. And watching them now, Bede understood it.

He swallows the lump in his throat, unable to look away as he addresses Opal, the words coming out more slowly than he’d like, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She laughs, cackles even, and shakes her head. “If you keep this up, you’ll miss your chance. It’s almost midnight.” She says, looking up at him knowingly from beneath the brim of her purple hat. “Why don’t you just ask her to dance already?”

“I don’t dance.” He said matter-of-factly.

That was a lie. In fact in the privacy of his own house, Bede danced with beauty and grace, practicing with an invisible partner.

“Bede, you know better than to lie.” She tsks. “I know what you do when you’re alone.”

He turns to her, ready to protest just how wrong she was, just how wrong her statement even sounded when a clear voice interrupts.

“Bede?”

In front of him, Gloria stands with one hand outstretched, a hesitant smile on her face.

While bantering with the old lady, Bede failed to notice that the previous song had ended, that Gloria had turned her attention to their corner, and was now standing in front of him asking him to dance.

He freezes. Did he head correctly?

The noise of the surrounding room crescendos to a roar in his ears before breaking into complete silence. She seems to say something again, her mouth moving without him catching the words.

Quickly he shakes himself out of his reverie. “What did you say?” The words come more quickly, more eager than he’d like.

Her smile catches a little, as she licks her lips and tries again, “I said, would you like to dance?”

It’s what he thought she said. Simultaneous panic and exhilaration fill his body, settling into a bright, vibrant shade of pink color on his cheeks.

The only word he musters is, “sure,” taking her steady hand with his own shaking, pulling her in before she could notice. His mind only slightly hyper-aware of the fact his hand is on her waist.

Immediately he was overcome with the way she smelled, of jasmine white flowers, honey, and something sweeter.

“You know, it’s traditional to move when you dance.” She looks up at him.

Bede looks away from her expectant eyes and back again, nodding. “Right.”

He moves and she follows, and before he realizes it, they’re dancing around the room, in perfect sync. And it’s like magic; no one else in the room matters but him and her.

While they dance, Bede tries to come up with the right words to say, to inquire why she so suddenly (and unexpectedly) asked him to dance.

“I figured this year I would get a start on my New Year’s resolutions.” She says it so quietly he almost doesn’t catch it.

He dips her gently before asking, “What does that even mean?”

She takes a step closer ad he takes a step back. She licks her lips again. “I told myself that this year, I’d ask you to dance. Here. With me.” She explains.

His mind races at what it could mean, at what he could possibly say in response.

But she continued, “But then again, that’s been my New Year’s Resolution for a while now.” Her speech quickens, “You’re always off against the wall with Opal while everyone else dances. And I—”

A lump begins to form in his stomach. The words come out reluctantly, interrupting her, “I see, so it’s a pity dance.” He wanted to let go, to save her the time, but.

“No!” The protest comes out as an outburst. He blinks watching the dark pink creep across her own cheeks. The hand in his tightens its grip, almost as if she feared he’d let go. She looks away.“That’s not what I meant. I’ve wanted to dance with you for a while, I just couldn’t seem to ask you, and you’ve never asked me or anyone and what if you didn’t dance anyways.” Gloria’s words come out in a rush, strung together in a flustered line.

He pauses their dance and she stumbles, caught quickly in Bede’s arms. And she still won’t look at him. “Slow down already, you’re not making any sense, Idiot.” The remark comes out harsher than he’d like, and he winces. “I mean, what makes this year any different from any other?”

Bede’s heartbeat drums against his chest, erratic chaos in a ribcage. And he’s sure he’s about to die. The wait for a response seems to last a lifetime.

“Hop.”

“Hop? What does that imbecile have to do with anything?” He bristles a bit at the idea that the imbecile could have anything to do with this, with Gloria, with them, in this moment.”

“No, I mean—”

“What is it you mean?” He demands.

“Why do you keep interrupting me!” She snaps.

Bede quiets, hesitant. He reacted wrong.

Quietly she murmurs something he almost doesn’t catch, “Why is this so hard…” Shaking her head, a brown curl falls loose, falling on her cheek.

She looks at him. Finally. And there’s fire in her eyes, like when they battle and she’s about to land the finishing blow.

Bede forgets to breathe.

“I like you… Idiot.”

Somewhere in the background, he hears a crowd countdown in growing excitement. Instead, Gloria’s words echo over and over in his ears.

I like you. The world seemed to open up.

“Five!”

I like you. He could hear music, the voice of angels.

“Four!”

I like you. Every restless piece of his life coming into place, together with, her, with Gloria.

“Three!”

“Say something?” The fire in her eyes calmed and she looks into his magenta ones anxiously.

“Two!”

“I—” I like you too.

“One!”

And because words could not nearly be enough, he pulls her in for a kiss, for the kiss. First met with rigid shock, Bede feels her relax, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Fireworks pierce the sky behind them.

All around them guests cheered in the new year, howling and laughing, pulling in their partners in dramatic kisses of their own.

When they come up for air, the space between them is minuscule, their foreheads still touching. Neither can stop smiling.

When the words finally come to him, the initial moment is already passed. But he says it anyway because, for the first time in a long time, he means it, “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Bede.”

#Bederia #DressedinPinkShipping #Trainer Gloria #Rival Bede #Pokemon #Fan Fiction #Pokemon Sword #Pokemon Shield #My Fan Fiction #New Year's Eve #New Year's Eve Kiss

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virryth · 4 years

Text

Doctor!AU Jihoon

a hbd to Jihoon;; love him so much can’t wait to see him in Jan

tw// mentions of wound, blood, mild violence

Read Doctor!AU Junhui | More Jihoon au | More SVT au

1.7k | Fluff | Bullet | Not proofread

Vice-head chief doctor for the ER (trauma unit)

Famous for his quick, spot-on judgement for emergency care and his blunt personality

Can be reckless at times and gets scolded so many times for jumping the fence on hospital protocols

Did he maybe hit the patient with his fist in an ambulance to get their heart moving because they wouldn’t make it to the ER? Sure.

Performed emergency surgeries at the scene of the incident? A few times.

but hey his methods worked and he saved countless of patients in the end so really who’s losing

Rumored to have a criminal record

Not many people know but Jihoon has a pretty strong sense of justice, he once punched the daylight out of a guy when he found out the dude sexually assaulted his patient

Actually spent a day in jail and had to get bailed out by Wonwoo, but the other guy ended up in jail too so it’s worth it in his book

Honestly looks so good in the scrub, fills it all up, hair slicked back, clear translucent skin with the face of an angel

Possesses such a cute smile and the most pleasant laughter, one of the reasons the nurses and his fellow colleagues adore him (also very popular with the elderly)

Except when there’s an unusually busy night, catch Dr. Lee looking like hell, hair is either disheveled and messy from running his hands through them when he’s frustrated or just plainly under a rubber headband and kept out of his face

Scrubs either has specks of blood or some sort of dirt from wrestling restraining rowdy troublemaker visitors in the ER

Usually spotted resuscitating a patient while kneeling on top of a moving crash cart, or running around giving consultations for other trauma on-call attendants

Do not even breath the wrong way around him when he’s busy trying to figure out the cause of a patient’s symptoms

Dr. Lee will sit there and think until he’s found a solution

Will sometimes venture to other wards to consult with the other doctors if he has time. Jihoon can be stubborn, but he knows how valuable the experiences of his colleagues can be, especially when it’s as important as accurately diagnosing and treating patients

Both new and long-time interns are terrified of Dr. Lee from trauma unit, they all avoid him like the plague because those who worked with him have only claimed it to be one of the most stressful nights of their medical career

Some came out so shocked they ended up transferring

But;;; it’s not all bad, he’s hard on the interns because residency is the only time period where mistakes are allowed, he has to make sure they know that lives are at stake if they’re going to become good doctors in the future

The very small few who survived his supervisions all ended up learning a LOT from him because scary or not, everybody and their grannies have the utmost respect for Jihoon

The ER is the most hectic and traumatizing place in the hospital, on top of the physical strains there’s also a lot of emotional stressors that get him down once in a while

And those moments are when his true personality shine through, boy is sweet and so soft, but only to you and his close friends though, anyone else see that and he’s all hardass hauling the interns again

“He was worse in med school,” pediatric surgeon Junhui spilled at a team dinner, “one semester during exam season, he wouldn’t come back for three days and we find him passed out in the library with textbooks under his head.”

“We thought he had fainted or something, turned out he was just hungry,” medic Soonyoung chimed in, nudging Wonwoo to continue spilling the tea.

“He woke up so angry because he missed hours of study, we had to deal with that attitude for a week. He was such a d*ck.”

“Yeah, that’s my reason. What’s yours?” Jihoon countered, taking a shot.

(am i saying ‘96 line went to med school and spent their residency together yes I am)

You know the boys from way back when you were interns during your residency

In fact, on his first day of work, Jihoon was admitted to the hospital due to an explosion injury

He wasn’t even directly involved, he was just a bystander rushing in to help when he spotted multiple MVCs (motor vehicle collisions) on the highway on the way to work, and while working on the injured patients, one of the cars had exploded nearby

Still has a decent-size burnt scar on his back to this day, but doesn’t regret it one bit

Jihoon does anything and everything in his power to save people, even if he has to put his life on the line

Patient bleeding out during transit and there’s not enough blood in the ambulance? Here, take his if it matches.

Need a hand shouldering debriefs from a collapsing structure to rescue a patient? On it.

Vernon from ortho came by once, “hey dude your wrist is bleeding.”

Jihoon: cut myself pulling an earring out of someone’s throat, what’s up?”

Vernon: yikes,,, anyway still up for lunch? :D

That’s kind of his main philosophy, and yours, because you didn’t hesitate one bit when you head straight into the fire to save him

It’s because of this mild case of recklessness that you both often get sent to dispatch on evac copters to save people at extremely remote locations

And you’re amazing at it, but more often than not you both usually end up in Junhui’s pediatric ward getting bandaged up while looking at babies

Really popular with the kids by the way, everyone loves getting a piggy-back ride from Dr. Lee when he comes by

Knows all of the the long-term patients by names and is so loved by the kids it’s honestly not fair

Medic Soonyoung knows Jihoon the longest and apparently he was even more reckless way back then as an EMT, but he’s mellowed down a lot since he became a doctor

As head chief, you cut him waaaay too many slacks and all the residents know it

But they also know he’s the best in the field so they just let him do whatever

But that doesn’t mean he gets away all the time, you still scold him when needed, and Jihoon has actually toned it down a lot since you became head chief because he knows ultimately you’re the one shouldering the responsibilities for his actions

He knows you would stick up for him no matter what because of how much you value his skills, and he doesn’t want to disappoint you in any way

“You know they’re not doing this just for your skills, right?”

“Don’t do that shrink thing on me, Wonwoo, it gives me the creeps.”

“He’s right and you know it,” Junhui teased.

“Shut up.”

Jihoon is so shy about his feelings for you, hence he speaks more with his actions

Often takes you out for dinner, or brunch, or home, after your shift when you’re too tired to drive

Brings you breakfast in the morning after a night shift and tries to shoulder most of the traumatizing cases when he can

Honestly he’s still doing his job, but during breaks, he makes sure to hang around and is always ready to come in three seconds max if you ever call his name

And sure, although he puts himself in danger way too many times, you know he only wants to help

But that doesn’t stop you from worrying, his mindset of giving his all to save others is what’s gonna get him killed one day

On your day off, you often meet up and hand out, running errands and going to the movies to catch up on whatever pop-culture content you missed during the busy on-call shifts

And it’s so platonic, or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself because you honestly never know sometimes

One moment he’s resting his arm over your shoulder, softly speaking to you about what to order from the fast food menu. It’s so intimate you could hear your own heartbeats in your ears

Then suddenly he’s getting shy and conscious of how close you are

But then he holds you much a little too close to shield you from the rain as you share an umbrella

And you thought maybe that’s just who he is, he’s protective and skinship may come unexpectedly and unconsciously when he feels comfortable around people

Jihoon would say you were starting to sound like Wonwoo if he knew what you were thinking

It wasn’t until half the movie that you caught him staring

You had thought he had something to say, so you leaned in and waited

Truly, you didn’t expect to be kissed

And brief as it came, Jihoon had diverted his attention back to the big screen, picking up popcorn and chuckling when he saw the expression on your face

True to his profession, Wonwoo was the first to notice, he had been making jokes about how you two would end up together one day–a common topic among your circle of friends–and Jihoon choked on his coffee

They had kept it on the down low since the both of you had decided to keep it out of work

But things have definitely changed with the glances you noticed whenever he’s in the same room

There was so much affection in his gaze that you start to think maybe he’s been doing this for some time, it just took you this long to notice

You also find out that Jihoon is a lot more daring than you’d pegged him to be, and oh so subtle with his touches

Hand hovering on the lower part of your back to catch you in case you stumble, stolen kisses in the elevator, head touches and comforting hugs in the break room when you had time to take a breath

And yet you never got caught, it’s amazing how quick he turns back to strict Dr. Lee around the intern the moment he parts way with you

Occasionally Jihoon would join you in the empty corner near the supply’s closet, cooling your heads and leaning on each other to regain a sense of comfort and familiarity when things didn’t go well in the ER

He would hold your hand, leaning in to you and softly whispering into your hair about the gains and losses in life, sometimes about the future, where you would travel on your next vacation and what you would do together

The ER is a tricky placement, sometimes you witness the miracle of life, sometimes the end of it. It’s a battlefield almost every single day, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world

Not with Jihoon by your side.

–V

Read Doctor!AU Junhui | More Jihoon au | More SVT au

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caddy-whump-us · 4 years

Text

Haven’t you always wondered how Viktor caught Etienne, how all those things happened? I have those answers here. This is Part 1.

(So the backstory to this backstory is that I had insomnia one night and found, quite unexpectedly, a YouTube “ambience” video of Iosefka’s clinic from Bloodborne. And I found it so soothing that I actually fell asleep--but not before thinking about vampires and imagining a vampire victim being brought into a clinic not unlike Iosefka’s after being attacked in the street and found bleeding...)

Caution: references to sex work and in-universe slang terms for the people doing sex work, also involves the “attacked in a dark alley” trope and a character briefly concerned that the attack might be a debaucherous assault (if you get my euphemism?). So use caution as needed.

---

Up away from the high-brass glare and frantic electricity and thrumming low throat-thunder of Smoketown they were hauling one another, shoulders and arms, back across the footbridge over the river, back up the hill, back to the university. Whichever ones felt most sober hauled the ones who felt most drunk, and that shifted even by the minute and they laughed and called loud in the dark and others like them answered. Smoketown thrummed, fading, fading.

They were five: Hugh, Etienne, Sefton, Petrit, Anatoliy. Hugh was draped across Petrit and Anatoliy and singing to himself but Petrit was stumbling and the cobblestones were wet. Etienne gave him a shove to keep him up, to keep him going. Petrit turned and grinned; further down the street, another clot of six students shouted and waved at them and Petrit waved back.

They were passing through the Backtrace Wynds now, the twisting alleyways between the tenements rising up dark against dark above them. A few lights burned. A baby cried. Newtown was somewhere off to the left, the Old Town somewhere off to the right, and above Old Town was the university, and beyond the university were the manors and mansions and grand houses of the old families of the Old Town.

Hugh began:

In taberna quando sumus,

non curamus quid sit humus,

sed ad ludum properamus,

cui semper insudamus!

Anatoliy was beating time against Hugh’s shoulder. The students walking behind them took up the tune and joined in.

Bibit pauper et egrotus,

bibit exul et ignotus,

bibit puer, bibit canus,

bibit praesul et decanus,

Sefton reached out to shove at Hugh, but stumbled and fell against Etienne, who gave Sefton a shove instead so he drifted towards the brick tenement wall. He caught himself and put on a haughty look.

“Your tie,” he said to Etienne, “is undone.”

Etienne adjusted the blue silk bowknot under his collar--half undone, which was the rising style among the artists and intellectuals at the university.

“It is fashionable,” Etienne answered. “Something you wouldn’t understand.” And he laughed.

They were rounding a corner, turning towards the rise through the Old Town and up to the university, when Sefton half-walked and half-fell towards Etienne to give him a two-handed shove, forcing Etienne to fall against a low windowsill and sit there.

Sefton nodded, once, severely, and spun on his heel to catch up with Petrit, Hugh, and Anatoliy.

But Etienne sat a moment against the windowsill. The other knot of students had gone up a different wynd, but he could still hear them calling and echoing off the tenement walls. And there were others sliding and wandering through the dark, up the wynds, up the hill.

bibit soror, bibit frater,

bibit anus, bibit mater,

bibit ista, bibit ille,

bibunt centum, bibunt mille.

At this hour, even Smoketown was at low ebb, all the hoors and tushies and ponyboys counting up and counting out and bedding down wherever they did (the mysteries of Smoketown). Like as not, no small number of them came out of these wynds, flowing down towards the river, so much in need of coin to sign off on contracts as freaks and lurchers, ponyboys, bordello girls…

Etienne looked up at the cracked sky between the tenement rooftops, the handful of stars. Black tenements, blue night sky, night-blue sky. He breathed. Blue-black, cool.

The house they’d been in had been all heat and red and brass. Anatoliy had clambored onto a table to dance with a girl (the tag of her corset-lace had shown from the bottom of her blouse) who was all red and rose and red and rose. He had cheered them on with the rest. Gold and brass, everything touched with gold and brass--even the liquor was brass in their glasses, brass and molten gold going down the throat, all heat and bright light. And under it all, the low drum humming beat of Smoketown pouring out of alleyways and grindhouses, dram-shops and bars, cafes that only wore the name for respectability (there was none), the White Lake, the Black Swan, and farther out (if it still existed) the Aviary.

Etienne breathed in blue-black night again and let the silence settle like the cold in the air. The wind was rising cool from the river, up the rise, to ruffle through his hair. The calls and songs out in the wynds were like any other nightsound now. He leaned against the window to feel the chill of the glass on his back.

Qui nos rodunt confundantur

et cum iustis non scribantur!

Etienne was silent and still for a time, leaning against the window, listening to the fading voices, breathing in the dark air.

The sound of a footstep made him raise his head.

He was still unsteady from too much Smoketown liquor, but a man had (it seemed) materialized out of the shadows in the alleyway across from him--a tall man, with a sharp, pale face. And rich, no doubt: he had a short black cape half-draped across his jacket-front and pinned to the shoulder and a ring on each hand. One was set with a red stone and it flashed in the weak light.

Etienne studied him for a moment, then gave him a wave and a crooked smile. Yes, creep back up beyond the Old Town, back to your great house. Etienne would tell nothing, tell nobody. Smoketown, low by the river, was the great leveler of the city. And, in that, he and this stranger were alike. Etienne closed his eyes again, coming close to a drowse, and waited for the man to pass by.

Save that he did not pass by.

Etienne opened his eyes again to find the man standing closer. He shook his head and slumped against the window so his hands were on his knees.

“I’m not,” he began and gestured and made a kind of sly face.

But the man with the sharp, pale face kept coming closer, and nigh-silently, with no ringing steps, no tapping heels, catlike.

Etienne sat up straighter. “You’ve got me crossed-up,” he said, slurring down out of right and good and proper speech, down into Smoketown slang. “I’m not a boy-hoor.”

But the man kept on ahead, closing up the space between them. Etienne pressed back against the window. The man was staring at him, his face low and his eyes turned up, unblinking, narrow. Etienne moved to get up, to walk, to catch up with Hugh and Sefton, to disappear down some other wynd, but he was slow from drink and the man set one hand hard against Etienne’s shoulder and drove him back down.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Etienne said. “I said I’m not a boy-hoor.”

Now the man’s other hand was on Etienne’s shoulder and both of his hands were gripping at Etienne’s jacket and shirt beneath.

Etienne grabbed for the man’s wrists (thin ribbons of pale skin between his black gloves and his black jacket cuffs) and tried to speak again.

But the man had him by the shoulders. Lifting him up, pulling him along with a force that would have been astonishing even if Etienne had been sober, the man dragged and carried Etienne back behind the corner and into the darker, narrower alleyway.

Etienne’s back struck up against the brick wall. The breath knocked out of him, he was still swatting and grabbing at the man who held him there. He kicked and missed. His mind framed the word robber for an instant. And he stilled.

The man, now, was leaning almost against him, his face just beside Etienne’s ear. Etienne was gripping at the man’s wrists again.

“I don’t have anything you want,” Etienne said. His breath came hard, steaming in the cold air. “I haven’t got any money.”

The man’s grip tightened and Etienne found himself shaking. Something worse than robber rose up in his mind then.

He looked out into the dark alley beyond the man’s shoulder, desperate, hoping for another late-night wanderer or some early-morning workman to pass by, someone who would hear him scream.

And, suddenly, the man set his forehead against Etienne’s shoulder, just in the curve between his shoulder and his neck. Etienne grabbed for his cape or his jacket to push him away, but he found himself shaking and knotted up from his jaw to his gut. He was staring down the curve of the man’s back, breathing shallow and shaky, and unable to move.

The man, though, was very still with his face pressed against Etienne’s shirt-collar, nearly against his very skin. And Etienne could feel his breath: long, slow, cool breaths, as though he were calming himself and waiting. The arch of his back rose and fell, rose and fell.

They both waited.

Some dark thing in the back of Etienne’s mind knew that whatever came next was all but inevitable and only wished it were all over already. He squeezed his eyes shut. He took one more shaking breath and whispered, begged, “Please.”

And in that instant, the night shattered. The man was on him, ripping the half-tied bow from his neck, whipping the tie aside. Etienne was still trying to fight the stranger off, beating on his shoulders with his fists, jerking at his clothes. The man tore open Etienne’s shirt (the buttons rattled on the paving stones) and Etienne was shouting, panicked and crying out nonsense as though the sounds would scare this man off like the beast he seemed to be. He struggled, he kicked.

The man caught hold of Etienne’s hair and pulled back his head, showing his throat. Etienne was suddenly still and silent, though panting for breath. The air was cold on his chest and his neck. He opened his eyes. Above him again was the cracked sky, the blue and the stars beyond the black tenements like cliffs.

And if I die here, he thought, so clear to himself, at least I’ve seen the stars one more time.

And then he felt the knife on his throat.

Even if he had felt resigned to death a moment before, he still fought against it now, still trying to wrench himself away, pulling against the hand grasping his hair, fighting at the man--the beast that held him.

And just as suddenly, he realized that it was no knife cutting into his throat as he felt lips and tongue, and teeth. Etienne was still again, shocked and horrified.

Murderer. Madman. Cannibal.

His mouth open as if to shout, his head still held back and away, he strained to see what this creature, this beast was doing.

The word monster passed through his mind.

He felt the first trickle of blood spill down from the cut, the bite on his neck, and seep into his shirt. The man was pressed against him now, clinging to him, pushing him up against the wall. His teeth were viciously sharp and were still working against Etienne’s skin, but so were his lips and his tongue--too much like a seduction, too much like a teasing lover. His breathing caught, hitched. And against his will, Etienne’s heart beat faster, harder.

The man slipped his hand inside Etienne’s shirt, then, and set it over his heart. Etienne grasped at his hand, though he knew now he couldn’t move it. Another thin stream of blood slipped down Etienne’s neck, pooled briefly at his collarbone, then slid down his chest.

A bell was tolling somewhere, bronze in the dark.

Etienne felt his knees beginning to buckle and gave a few last, desperate shoves against the beast, the monster bleeding him to death. It did not good. He felt himself sliding down the wall, the brick catching and scratching at his jacket.

Creatures like this weren’t real, no, of course not. This man was some madman, some killer obsessed with blood and flesh--not just to see it, but to consume it. No, this was a madman or a bad dream. These things don’t happen. The world is very large and very strange but these things don’t happen in it.

As he fell, Etienne wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and shoulders to hold himself up. But the man was lowering Etienne down to the wet cobblestones as Etienne’s knees failed him and he began to fall limp. The man caught him around his waist and around his back, as though they were dancing and together they drifted down to the pavement.

Etienne’s hands fell away, useless, doll-like. Something cool, something dreamlike was settling over him. His heart was still pounding. He was no longer afraid; he wanted to sleep. The man gripped him harder and bit his neck again, sharply. Etienne wanted to gasp at that, but it came out more like a sigh.

And at that, the man pulled away, leaving Etienne sprawled on the street like a drunkard. Etienne, still bleeding, looked up at him.

The man had one gloved hand held just before his mouth and the red stone in the ring was shimmering in the light--he was trembling. Blood was smeared around his mouth, down his shirt-front, down the sleeves of his jacket, across the front of his draped cloak. His eyes were wide and glittering.

Etienne stared at him a moment more, still panting for breath but weakly now, until another wave of exhaustion came over him and he closed his eyes, just for a moment, just for a moment, until he would feel stronger again.

His eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered and he fainted..

---

It was closer to dawn, but not so long after, when two men dressed for the factories down along the river passed by.

The boy was facedown in the wet street, his forehead resting on one arm. He had crawled up from one of the narrow alleys to this little square before he’d collapsed. A streak of blood followed him.

One of the men went down to him and lifted the boy’s face up.

“One of the Fancy?” the other man called.

“No, he en’t,” the first said. “But ‘tis another--” and he left something unsaid.

His companion muttered something to himself.

“He’s still alive, though.”

The earliest parts of morning were beginning: babies crying for first feeds, the earliest factory shifts beginning to flow down to the river with their lunchpails and streams of cigarette smoke. A few sticks of coal-smoke rising up from chimneys. Another man passed in a parallel alley; only the cherry tip of his cigarette visible, drifting in the dark.

“Well,” and the man looked around, “the lady doctor en’t far a’here.”

“Aye, she’s. Fetch me up that barrow and we’ll haul him up and not be late.”

“Aye,” said his friend and went to pull a rusted wheelbarrow away from a doorway. It barrel-banged on the cobblestones.

They lifted Etienne shoulders and knees into the wheelbarrow and turned his head to look at the gash on his neck. It was scabbing over, though still bleeding gently. They knew the sight of it and gave one another a look.

The first shouldered under the wheelbarrow and pushed it thumping along up the wynds again, down a narrow side alley, then out again into another would-be square where four or five of the larger wynds came together and a ring of dusty shops fringed the edges.

One seemed more house than shop: two storeys, and no show-window in the front. No peeling gilt paint. Nor even a hanging sign over it. Just a brass plate by the door.

They hoisted Etienne out of the wheelbarrow again and set him on the doorstep, knocked on the door, and bumbled away with the wheelbarrow again.

Etienne, breathing as though sleeping, lay propped up in the doorway, unaware of when the door finally opened on him.

#whump #vampires #etienne #viktor #ocs #backstory #attack #Blood #manhandling #unconscious

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citrinekay · 4 years

Text

This one is for the anonymous comment I got on AO3 who wanted Holden comforting Bill for a change 💕 :

The letter arrives in the mailbox on a sunny Saturday in May, on a morning not unlike every other weekend.

They woke late and languished in bed for some time before dragging themselves from the sheets to start the day. Bill is cleaning up the breakfast dishes when Holden carries the stack of mail into the kitchen, and starts sorting through the junk and the bills. He pauses when he gets to the plain, white envelope addressed to Bill with a return address in Florida.

“Do you know someone in Fort Lauderdale?” Holden asks, frowning as he inspects the envelope.

Bill dries his hands on the towel, and shuffles over to peer down at the letter in Holden’s hands.

“Not that I know of.”

“It has your name on it.” Holden says, passing the envelope off to him.

Bill frowns as he rips the envelope open. Inside are two pieces of notebook paper, filled front to back in neat cursive. A slender, gold necklace with a locket falls out of the folds and lands on the table.

“What’s that?” Holden asks, reaching for the necklace.

Bill grabs it off the table before his fingers can reach it, and folds it up in his fist. His brow is furrowed, but his eyes are glassy with a mix of conflicting emotions that seem to flash from anger to despair in the space of a second.

Holden feels his heart sinking down into his stomach as Bill quietly reads the letter.

“Who’s it from?” He whispers, anxiously.

Bill doesn’t answer. He slowly walks away from the table, and paces the length of the kitchen as he flips over the first page of the letter to continue reading. The necklace dangles from his clenched fist.

Holden’s heart stammers. His mind is racing with conclusions, picking up and discarding each one as his mind bounds ahead into the superfluous. Biting nervously at his lower lip, he tracks Bill’s movements around the kitchen until he comes to a standstill on the other side of the table.

Bill drops the letter to his side, and stares blankly at the tablecloth. His chest rises with a hitched breath.

There’s a beat of stifled silence before Holden’s burgeoning curiosity builds in his chest, and he whispers, “What is it?”

Bill drops the letter on the table, and grabs his cigarettes with a shaking hand. Wordlessly, he turns to open the sliding glass door that leads onto the back patio, and steps outside. The door slides shut behind him, leaving Holden brimming with worry and curiosity.

He hesitates a moment before circling the table to pick up the letter.

Dear son, the letter begins.

Holden sinks down into the chair, his hand pressed to his mouth as he continues reading, unable to put the letter down despite it not entirely being his business.

The letter is riddled with apologies. I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible father. I’m sorry I was never there. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I never reached out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Finally: As my life comes to an end, I felt I should offer an explanation and an apology, no matter how inadequate. I’ve tried to make amends with everyone in my life that I’ve hurt, but I know that I’ve hurt you worst of all.

The letter ends with a notation that Bill’s dad had been staying in a nursing home in Florida, and he’d gotten one of the caregivers to transcribe the letter in his final days. The locket, the letter stated, had once been a gift from Bill’s mother to him and is one of the only remaining possessions he owns.

When Holden finishes reading the letter, he drops the paper to the table, and glances around the empty kitchen in disbelief. The few mentions that Bill has made of his father have always been in past tense, leading Holden to believe the man was dead and gone some time ago. He’d never once spoken of his father as if he were still living, as if there were some opportunity for reconciliation between them. And never once had the remarks been positive.

Holden sits at the kitchen table for a long time, trying to think of the right way to proceed before he gets up to slip out onto the patio.

Bill slouches in a patio chair with the ashtray on the table close by. One spent cigarette is already mashed in the tray while another dwindles between his fingers, burning itself away like an afterthought. Gaze fixed on the verdant glow of the back yard, Bill doesn’t look up when Holden approaches.

Whatever Holden had meant to say lodges in the back of his throat as he glimpses the pain concealed in the rigid clench of his jaw and the rigid glare of his misty eyes. He puts a gentle hand on Bill’s shoulder.

A quiet breeze sweeps across the yard, stirring the trees and bringing in the scent of newly mowed grass from a few neighbors over. Bill’s cigarette burns lower, ashes clumping at the receding tip.

At last, he crushes the remnants in the ashtray. His head lowers as he draws in a shuddering breath. He seems close to speaking when instead, he slips his arm around Holden’s waist and draws him closer.

Holden wraps his arms around Bill’s neck, and cradles his face tightly to his stomach. His chest is bursting with pained empathy that’s only slightly relieved by Bill’s embrace, knowing it's but a drop in the bucket against a lifetime of emotional conflict, hurt feelings, and abandonment.

Bill’s hands climb Holden’s back, and his nails dig past the thin barrier of his t-shirt, clinging on with shuddering desperation. He doesn’t make a sound, but Holden can feel the shiver ripple through his broad, staunch shoulders, the heat of gasping breaths seeping through the shirt and against Holden’s belly. Holden rubs his palm in soothing circles over his back, pressing the most comfort he can offer into the gesture.

They cling to one another for a long time, until Bill’s grip eases and his shoulders relax beneath the stroke of Holden’s hand. He retreats slowly, his head tilted down towards his lap to conceal the lingering dampness of his cheeks. He draws in a steadying breath, and reaches for his cigarettes again.

Holden’s chest seizes with a fresh wave of sympathy as Bill’s hand trembles, struggling to work the lighter. The cigarette dangling from his mouth bobs with the frustrated purse of his lips.

Crouching down beside him, Holden gently takes the lighter out of Bill’s hands. He flips the lid open, and extends it towards Bill’s cigarette.

Bill’s eyes press shut over lingering moisture and red-rimmed lids, and leans forward to accept the offer.

Holden strikes the lighter, and the cigarette ignites with a puff of smoke that he inhales slowly, deeply.

Setting the lighter aside, Holden slides his fingers around Bill’s hand lying limply against his thigh.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

Bill squeezes his hand, and turns his face away towards the neighbor’s yard. He drags the cigarette from his mouth, and expels a stream of smoke.

“I … I don’t want to talk about this right now.” He says, his voice low and hoarse.

Holden nods. “Okay, we don’t have to.”

“I just … I need a day or two to-”

“I know.”

They fall quiet again, listening to the wind in the trees. After a minute, Bill tugs on Holden’s hand, and guides him up from the patio stones to his lap. Holden settles down with his arm looped around Bill’s neck, a kiss planted to his temple. He doesn’t move until Bill decides to go back inside.

Bill folds the letter up and tucks it somewhere in his office along with the locket. They don’t talk about it again for some time.

A day or two turns into one week, then two, then three. While Holden keeps the contents of the letter in the back of his mind, Bill behaves normally, as if his preconceived notions of his father, his history, his world had not just been entirely shattered. While they’re at work, Holden can’t notice the difference, but it’s when they’re at home, in the silence or laying in bed at night, that the subtleties turn into blatant signs.

He’s quieter than usual, and there’s no joking. When they have sex, he barely looks Holden in the eyes as if he’s ashamed that such vulnerability had been unexpectedly laid bare. He stays up late, smoking and drinking, only coming to bed once Holden has already drifted off to sleep. Though Holden doesn’t pry, he knows that Bill is avoiding the inevitable conversation, the one two men who study human behavior - and childhood trauma specifically - can’t help but have.

Over three weeks have passed when Holden awakes one night to Bill climbing out of bed, and shuffling across the room in the darkness. His eyelids crack open to glimpse the bedside clock reading 3:35 A.M. The bedroom door creaks open and falls shut again, and he listens to Bill’s footsteps pad down the hallway to the office.

Holden rolls over onto his back, suddenly wide awake despite the late hour. He vacillates over what he should do for close to ten minutes before he throws back the sheets, and climbs out of bed. As much as he respects Bill’s privacy and all his quiet attempts at working through the revelation about his father alone, he also knows that Bill might never open up on his own. He might hold this grief to his chest stubbornly until it poisons him, too proud to ask for help, and Holden can’t allow that to happen.

Creeping out into the hall, Holden glimpses the yellow light from the office spilling in a narrow seam across the carpet. When he reaches the half-shut door, he eases it open gently with his fingertips.

Bill looks up from his desk where he’s hunched over a photo album. The locket is dangling from his fingers.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” He asks.

Holden stifles a yawn, and nods. “Yeah, but it’s okay. What are you doing?”

Bill sighs, and leans back in his chair. “My mother gave me these photo albums when they moved her into the nursing home. She knew she wasn’t coming back out again so we auctioned off all of her things. I took these just to make her happy, you know.”

Holden wanders closer, wrapping his arms around his middle.

Bill glances away, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “She was, uh … She was suffering. She wanted to think these albums had something good in them, that she hadn’t wasted her life loving a man who was never going to-”

He cuts off abruptly, drawing in a staggered breath.

Holden circles the desk, and puts a hand on Bill’s shoulder as he scans the photo album spread open to black and white photographs of a beautiful young woman with raven black hair, intense eyes, and a regal nose. The man situated behind her has an austere haircut and a grim mouth, eyes that snarl rather than regard. Holden can see the resemblance in Bill to both of them immediately.

“She was beautiful.” Holden says, nudging a fingertip against the headshot of his mother, presumably from college.

Bill scoffs, quietly. “Yeah. She was a good person too, better than most. She deserved more than my fucking deadbeat father. Why the fuck she ever stayed loyal to him I’ll never know.”

Holden purses his lips. He’s bursting with questions, but he doesn’t want to pry now that Bill is freely discussing the topic.

Bill straightens, quickly rubbing away emotion from his eyes with a brisk hand.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He says, “That the man in that letter was remorseful, that he regretted all the terrible things he said and did to us. That he was only human and I should have some fucking empathy considering the way I’ve handled fatherhood myself - that I should give a damn about him and it’s worthless fucking life.”

Holden swallows hard. He begins to shake his head. “No, I … I don’t.”

“Sure you don’t.” Bill mutters, “But you weren’t there.”

“You’re allowed to feel any way you want about it. He was your father, and he hurt you.”

Bill falls silent, his hand pressing to his forehead. His knuckles blanch around his grip on the necklace until his whole arm trembles.

“It’s okay.” Holden says, bending down to press a kiss to Bill’s nape. “You can tell me. I don’t care how ugly it is, just tell me how you feel.”

Bill lets his fist drop and hit the desk with a frustrated thud.

“I don’t know, Holden. How the fuck am I supposed to feel? I barely fucking knew him aside from what little I remember from before he left. Then he writes me this fucking letter like we used to have some kind of relationship, like I should forgive him?”

“You don’t have to.” Holden says, “We both know it isn’t that simple.”

“No, it fucking isn’t.”

Holden bends down to wrap his arms around Bill’s shoulders, and presses his mouth to the side of his neck. Bill sits rigidly still for a long moment before pulling Holden onto his lap. He plants a kiss against Holden’s throat and his cheek, letting the gesture linger until the heat of his anger eases and he’s breathing steadily again.

Holden nods at the photo album. “Can I look?”

Bill waves a hand. “Sure.”

Propping his elbow on the edge of the desk, Holden flips to the next page in the album. There’s Bill’s mother sitting on the couch, holding a baby in her arms.

“Is that you?” Holden asks, smiling delightedly.

“Yeah.” Bill says, pushing Holden’s hand aside to flip a couple pages over. “Look at this. I was an ugly little kid.”

“No you weren’t.” Holden laughs, running his fingertips over the photograph of Bill perhaps five years old, all dressed up in his Sunday best. “You were adorable.”

Bill snorts, “You’re only saying that now because you have to.”

“No, I’m not.” Holden says, scanning the next few pages of school photos and candid snapshots.

“I never smiled.” Bill notes, “Hated having my picture taken, but Mom insisted.”

“You were kind of a juvenile delinquent, I think.” Holden says, stifling a laugh as he gets to a picture of Bill standing in the yard without a shirt on, his eyes squinted angrily at the camera.

“Yeah.” Bill says, his tone sobering. “That was after he left.”

The smile fades from Holden’s mouth as he looks over the next few photographs. If he looks close enough he can see the change, the spark of childish mischievousness being taken over by calloused pain and anger that’s far too mature for a child of ten.

Bill sighs softly as he plants a kiss on Holden’s shoulder. “I never thought about him, you know.”

Holden peeks over his shoulder. Bill’s voice is softer now, the truth coming through.

“We used to hear from him occasionally. He would send my mom money sometimes, if he had any. The postmarks were always out of state - California, Oregon, Colorado - but never from the same place once. After I got out of high school and college, the communication petered off. He would call Mom every once in a while, then she’d call me and tell me about it. Finally, I told her that if he didn’t actually want to come around and be a part of our lives, I didn’t want to fucking hear about it. I was probably about twenty-five at the time, and that was the last time until …. Until a couple weeks ago that I paid him any mind.”

“It’s a lot to digest.” Holden says, “You have every right to be upset.”

“I just want to know what the old bastard was thinking.” Bill says, “That a fucking letter was going to change everything? Or maybe he just wanted to wreck my life one last time before he kicked the bucket.”

“I doubt that.”

“I don’t know.” Bill whispers, smothering the wounded tone in Holden’s shoulder. He slips a hand under Holden’s t-shirt, and rubs his fingertips in a concentrated line up and down Holden’s spine.

Holden closes his eyes as his skin tingles beneath the touch.

“He wasn’t religious.” Bill says, “He didn’t have any priest to confess his sins to so I guess that task fell to me.”

“Doesn’t it give you a little satisfaction that he was guilty?” Holden asks, “That you went on and lived your life, and he spent the rest of his knowing he fucked up irreparably?”

“Oh, because my life has been so great?”

“It is now, isn’t it?” Holden asks, casting a hesitant smile over his shoulder.

The corner of Bill’s mouth twitches with a smile. His fingers run up over Holden’s shoulder blade to stroke the top knobs of his spine. “Yeah, it is.”

He drops another kiss on Holden’s neck before drawing a deep breath. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

Holden gets up from Bill’s lap, and Bill’s hand slips out from underneath his shirt to latch onto his hand. They leave the office, and slip back down the hallway towards the bedroom, turning the lights off on the photographs and the discarded locket.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing

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icanthelpbut-love-you · 4 years

Text

a snowfall kind of love

Malec discord secret santa fic featuring the prompts “snowed in, hot drinks, and tipsy cuddling” for @hanukkahmagnus. Happy Hanukkah!!!

read on ao3

Alec stifles a giggle as he frantically tries to fit the key into the lock, feeling Magnus shiver and huddle as close as possible against the snowstorm raging around them.

Growling through chattering teeth, he fumbles when the ice on the door causes the key to slip.

“Lillith, Alec it’s cold out here! Can we hurry up and get inside – preferably before rather than after we both get frostbite?”

Any other time Alec would point out that as a warlock and a shadowhunter it would be difficult for either of them to actually get frostbite given the whole accerlerated healing situation (even without considering runes or magic). But it’s almost impossible to even see the lock a few inches in front of his face through the swirling snow and Alec needs all his concentration to try and wrestle the key into submission so they can get inside rather than take that chance.

So he settles for a distracted “I’m trying,” chuckling when Magnus presses closer and mutters under his breath about the cold and incompetent shadowhunters.

He does, however, startle as Magnus slides his freezing hands around Alec’s waist to emphasise just how cold he is, but manages to recover and finally fit the key into the lock. A teasing admonishment dies on Alec’s lips as they tumble inside. It takes both of their strength to close the door against the wind outside, but it finally concedes with a flurry of snow. The howling wind outside cuts off to a muted roar. They collapse against the door and Alec can feel Magnus shaking with laughter, even as they both shiver.

He has to admit, this isn’t how he expected their evening to go. It’s the last day of their mission – if you can even call it that when it essentially amounted to Magnus helping out an old warlock friend with a spell that’s slightly above their power level, with Alec tagging along because the spell is tangentially clave business (the official reason) and because Magnus wanted his company (the more accurate unofficial reason) – so the last few hours were supposed to just be some finishing touches and socialising. But the spell had, as ancient, translated-through-several-language spells are liable to do, become unexpectedly complicated when they tried to complete those finishing touches. Which meant they fell behind schedule just long enough for he and Magnus to get caught up in a sudden snowstorm on the way back to their lodgings.

Laughter abating, he turns to Magnus and is sent into a fresh fit of giggles. The warlock is covered from head to toe in snow, and Alec is sure he’s in no better condition himself, but even more amusingly his normally-perfect mowhawk is in complete disarray from the wind. And – Alec reaches out and runs his hand through Magnus’ hair to confirm, ignoring the disgruntled huff he gets in response – is frozen stiff, crackling against his fingers.

“Why didn’t we just portal?” Alec asks, still gasping for breath slightly. Even for a trained shadowhunter, their cabin is a fair distance from the quarters where Magnus’ warlock friend lives. Especially when he’d been expecting a leisurely stroll through the gorgeous snowy mountains.

“And ruin the fun?” Magnus quips back, “We couldn’t possibly.”

Alec fixes him with a disbelieving look and stares pointedly at the floor where the snow coating their clothes is starting to melt into a puddle around them.

Magnus remains unabashed, but his tone does become a little more serious as he continues.

“Old warlock formalities. I can’t portal on another warlock’s land without permission, even if they are an old friend – the wards wouldn’t allow it,” he explains.

“C’mon Magnus don’t act like I don’t know exactly how powerful you are. You could circumvent the wards in seconds.”

“You flatter me, Alexander,” Magnus chuckles and Alec rolls his eyes.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

And it is. He’s seen Magnus perform feats of magic he can barely comprehend and he’s well aware of the incredible power running through the warlock’s veins (a little too aware at times but that’s definitely not the point).

Yet when he says as much Magnus gets slightly shifty-eyed – as he always seems to when Alec compliments him on things that really should be obvious.

“Maybe so,” Magnus concedes with a shrug, after a brief pause, “But it would be an unforgivable breach of etiquette and deeply insulting to our host. I can only imagine the fallout if I made a show of the fact I could dismantle their wards for anything other than incredibly extenuating circumstances – I’d never be invited anywhere again!”

Alec has to admit he can’t argue with that; the importance of respect (or at least the illusion of it) between different factions and an understanding of the careful etiquette required to maintain it is one of the few things that translates directly between shadowhunter and warlock culture. The melodramatic way Magnus explains it still has him stifling a fond eye-roll though.

Looking out window as it rattles in the wind, Alec considers the snow still swirling outside before turning to his husband. He feels a grin creep onto his face as Magnus eyes him quizzically.

“Looks like we won’t be able to make it home this evening like we planned,” he says slyly.

Magnus mock pouts, and Alec can only smile wider at the glint of mischief in the warlock’s brown eyes.

“Such a shame,” Magnus says, taking a purposeful step closer until they’re pressed flush against each other, “The two of us, stuck in this quaint cabin in the middle of the mountains,” he inclines he head in invitation, breath puffing against Alec’s cheek in the scant space left between them and voice dropping to a low whisper, “Alone until the storm passes.”

Alec gladly obliges, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. He breaks away just as it starts to turn heated, dodging Magnus’ attempt to dive back in as soon as they part and grinning at the disappointed noise Magnus makes.

“I really like the way you think,” he murmurs, “But I should probably call Izzy and let her know that we’re stuck. Rather than just disappearing for the evening.”

The unimpressed look on Magnus’ face says he doesn’t see why, but he obligingly fishes the phone from Alec’s back pocket where his hand has wandered and passes it over.

(If asked, Magnus would firmly maintain that he showed commendable self-control in only copping a brief feel. Alec refuses to acknowledge either that or that frankly unbecoming squeak that escaped him.)

Izzy picks up after the first ring, clearly worried considering he’s calling her on what should be a routine mission. Concern quickly turns to scepticism, though, when Alec explains the situation. He gets as far as relaying Magnus’ spiel about the politics of portalling through a fellow warlock’s wards before she interrupts.

“I’m pretty sure being caught in a freak snowstorm counts as extenuating circumstances hermano,” she says dryly.

There’s a moment resounding silence where Alec is left floundering for a plausible reason why they can’t just send a fire message explaining the situation and get permission for a portal. Then Magnus cuts in.

“That would be a good point if I wasn’t utterly drained from this evening. All those complications in the spellwork – completely exhausting,” he explains smoothly, “I doubt I’ve got enough magic to create a portal if I tried.”

Izzy’s responding eyeroll is almost audible but she doesn’t call either of them on their bullshit. Alec is hit with wave of gratitude – he and Magnus have barely had any alone time since the wedding (perks of being high ranking leaders of their respective people) and several hours uninterrupted in the middle of nowhere sounds like heaven.

Unfortunately, Izzy knows this too if her suggestive parting encouragement to “have fun” is any indication. Alec doesn’t even need to look to know that Magnus is composing something even more suggestive to say back.

“Goodbye Izzy,” he groans and hangs up before Magnus can respond, all previous gratitude towards his sister dispelled at the prospect of having to listen to her trade innuendos with his husband.

He’s barely turned his phone off before Magnus snaps his fingers to summon a blanket and light the fire, alighting on the couch before flicking the blankets back to make space. He shoots an expectant and distinctly cat-got-the cream look at Alec who promptly bursts out laughing

“Magic depletion?” he asks increduosly.

“Oh yes,” Magnus confirms as Alec slides in next to him obligingly and snuggles up under the blanket, sighing at the warmth of his husband pressed up against him. Magnus promptly sends up another shower of sparks as he summons a steaming mug – heaped with cream and complete with actual sticks of cinnamon – for each of them, “And I think cuddling in front of the fire with the man I love is exactly what I need to recover.”

Alec presses closer with a shake of his head, still chuckling as he raises the mug to his lips.

“Well, far be it from me to deny you something so vital to your recovery,” he teases, taking a sip.

And almost doing a spectacular spit-take.

“By the Angel Magnus, how much alcohol did you put in this?”

“Just enough,” is the smug reply he gets, “Does wonders to warm you up.”

Alec raises an eyebrow in response, but the effect is definitely ruined as he takes another long sip. He tangles their legs together, rucking up Magnus’ shirt to trace patterns on his torso. Magnus shivers, though Alec’s not sure whether from the sensation or just because his hands are cold

“You know what else is good for warming you up?” he asks.

Magnus grins.

“Why don’t you enlighten me.”

“Body heat,” Alec murmurs, skimming his hands down Magnus’ ribs to emphasise his point.

He’s barely finished talking before Magnus is putting his mug to the side and shucking off his shirt, encouraging Alec to to the same with a murmured, “Can’t argue with that.”

When they’re settled again, hands gently roaming over bare skin – not with any intention but rather to just touch – Alec reaches for his cup again, relishing the warmth. His hands still feel like they’re made of ice but the hot drink and Magnus’ heated skin is definitely helping. Draining the rest, he tries not to wince at the way the alcohol has settled at the bottom of the mug making it somehow even stronger.

He catches the fond smile on Magnus’ face but before he has a chance to ask, Magnus is swiping a finger across Alec’s upper lip. He draws back and Alec has just enough time to process that some of the (frankly ridiculous amount) of cream from the cocoa must have got caught there.

Then Magnus sucks his finger into his mouth, licking it clean a way that crosses the border into indecent, and Alec’s brain short circuits.

A thought strikes him (once he’s regained the ability to think, albiet a little less clear than before) as he watches Magnus finish off his own mug with a smug wink before refilling them both. Tilting his head up from where it’s settled on Magnus’ shoulder, Alec steals a thorough kiss.

Magnus’ free hand immediately comes up to cradle Alec’s face and Alec parts his lips to deepen the kiss. Hauling Magnus closer until Magnus is practically sitting on his lap, Alec groans at the heady combination of chocolate and whiskey he can taste on Magnus’ tongue.

Eventually he manages to pull himself away and is gratified – always is, no matter how many times they do this – when he’s greeted by brilliant gold as he meets Magnus’ gaze.

“Just as I suspected,” Alec says, managing to keep a very serious demeanour until Magnus looks at him – still somewhat dazed – with such pure confusion that Alec can’t help but give in, “Tastes much better that way.”

Magnus narrows his eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I mix you a drink,” he says wryly and Alec snickers. It’s hard to tell, he thinks, whether the giddy boldness he’s feeling is because of the spiked cocoa when this is how Magnus has always made him feel anyway.

However, it quickly becomes clear that at least some of it is definitely from the cocoa, which is starting to settle over him in a pleasant fog. It’s the most content he’s felt in quite a while; curled up against his husband who’s shifting to pull the blanket more comfortably over them, with no responsibilities until at least tomorrow morning, and so, so warm despite how frozen he felt when they first sat down. Though he’d never hear the end of it if he said anything, Magnus definitely has a point about the cocoa’s warming properties.

Manuavering so his head is in Alec’s lap, Magnus makes a soft noise of approval as Alec automatically moves to run his hands through his husband’s hair. Within seconds Magnus is dozing.

Evidently there was also some truth to Magnus’ claim of magical exhaustion, as much as he was using it as an excuse, Alec muses as he toys with his sleeping husband’s hair. It wouldn’t be surprising given Magnus’ well-documented tendency to use jokes and flippancy to mask any and all vulnerability. Thinking about it now, Magnus hasn’t done anything more complicated than a summoning spell since they got back to the cabin, even though Alec can call to mind several other times where Magnus would normally resort to magic out of pure impatience.

The realisation drives home to Alec, not for the first time, how much they’ve both changed in the time they’ve known each other. When they first met, there’s no doubt that Magnus would have insisted he was fine and stayed awake well into the night to prove it. Raziel knows Alec spent their first few months visibly terrified, but in hindsight Magnus was just as bad. The only difference was he knew how to hide it. Now the Alec knows what to look for, there were so many things that screamed out how worried Magnus was that Alec would think less of him for any show of vulnerability.

It’s humbling that Alec is the one Magnus lets down his guard around now. Because it’s one thing to know someone will watch your back, but another thing – a completely different level of trust – to properly relax around them.

And Magnus is completely relaxed. Alec can feel the familiar presence of Magnus’ magic flowing just below his skin, reaching out as it always does when they touch. But it’s mellow. Sleeping, for lack of a better word. For someone like Magnus, who’s always on high alert and whose magic rests even less than he does, that’s almost a miracle.

Stirring slightly, Magnus (or at least his magic) seems to register that Alec is still awake, and with a gentle glow from Magnus’ fingertips the lights dim and the fire dies down to a pile of smouldering embers. Only then does it hit Alec how exhausted he is too. The combination of whiskey and the fading adrenaline from the day’s excitement is as potent as any sleeping draught Magnus could have brewed in his apothecary.

Lulled by the rhythmic up and down of Magnus’ breathing and the repetition of his hand still carding through Magnus’ hair, Alec catches himself dozing. The last thought he registers before he drifts off, wrapped up in the blanket and Magnus’ arms, is that they should definitely work out how to arrange another snowstorm next time they want some time to themselves.

#malec #malec fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #isabelle lightwood #shtv #malec fanfic #my fic

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