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runariya · 25 days

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My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 5

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: covering up of wounds, thoughts about past mud€r, awkward morning, lies, fluff, 700 in 3 Jungkook because I couldn't not write it, inner conflicts between good and bad, detailed description of inner autopsy, scalpel in thigh, blood, stitching without local anaesthesia, drinking, fluff, OC drops a hint to her dark side, Jungkook is oblivious in so many ways it physically hurts, smut, f!ngering, worshipping, oral (m. receiving), protected s€x, OC rides him (it's the way that you can ride~), pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 7.6K

a/n: I thought I'd upload tomorrow as a present for ✨ Jungkook Day ✨ but I’m going to be busy, so here’s the chapter a little early. It’s a bit of a treat, mostly fluff and smut, pushing the plot forward, so ENJOY! After this one, we’ll be spiralling fast and hard 🫢 Please don’t come at me!

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

The next morning, you stand in your small shared bathroom that after all these years still feels too small, the kind of tight space that seems to crowd you when you’re already feeling a little claustrophobic. You’re staring into the mirror, eyes a little distant, trying to assess the damage from last night, trying to make sense of everything that happened in the darkness of night. The faint bathroom light flickers once, just as if it’s mimicking the wavering thoughts in your head, and you finally focus on yourself again.

Your neck isn’t much of a problem, the slight pinkish bruise barely visible when the light isn’t catching just right, so masking it with some make up isn’t much of a problem. You can make it disappear entirely, almost like nothing happened. Almost. What does concern you however is the little cut on your swollen, puffy bottom lip. The skin is stretching tight over the small cut that’s stubborn in its defiance, refusing to be ignored. It’s not big, nor is it deep, but it’s prominent in the way it catches the light, just enough that someone standing close to you might notice. Someone like Jungkook.

Brushing teeth only added to the inflammation, which you gladly don’t feel, but will be adding to the problem of covering up. You curse softly under your breath, wondering how you’ll manage to keep it truly hidden, to dodge any questions about why your lips look like you’ve been punched in the face, what you actually have been.

You rummage through your cosmetics bag, hands shaking a little more than you’d like to admit as you pull out a small tube of liquid plaster, dapping it accurately on it so it’s somehow a smoother surface. The rich plum balm next, gliding over your lips, darkening the pink flesh until it matches the colour of the bruised skin perfectly. The cut disappears, camouflaged, and for a moment, you feel satisfied like you’ve won some small, meaningless victory over your reflection. The mask is in place, or maybe just good enough as is it.

You sigh deeply, letting the air out of your lungs as if it could take away the heaviness that has settled in your chest, but it doesn’t. You look at yourself once more, turning your head side to side, searching for flaws you might have missed. You look…normal, more or less. Tired, though. There’s no hiding the shadows beneath your eyes, the slight droop to your shoulders. You haven’t slept well. Not because of the kill itself—strangely enough, that part almost brought a sense of clarity, like you’d purged something toxic from your system with a detox diet—but because of Pulse.

The memory of his eyes haunts you still, the way they were full of devastation, that strange sadness that clung to him, lingered in your thoughts like a stain in your favourite shirt you can’t scrub out for the life of you. He shouldn’t bother you this much. He shouldn’t. You’ve done worse last night, seen worse in your entire life. But there’s something about him that keeps gnawing at you, lodged in your mind, needles that are too deep to pull out, and it’s irritating in a way you can’t quite describe.

Why does he have this power over you? It’s irrational, maddening if you think about it long enough. You find yourself asking over and over again if you’ve met him before, if maybe, in some way, he isn’t a stranger at all. You can’t pinpoint it, but there’s something. Something in the way his eyes looked at you, something in the way his presence affects you even now, long after the night has ended. You hate it. You hate him for making you feel this way. It’s like there’s a vice wrapped around your chest, and every time you think of him, it tightens, constricting just a little more until you go wild.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now. You push the thoughts away with a forceful shove, leaving them scattered behind you like you did yesterday with him standing there. No, today is not the day to think about him or anything that happened last night. You’ve got classes to get to, and you’re definitely running late right now. You take one last glance at the mirror, nod to yourself, and step out of the bathroom, trying to ignore this irritating feeling that’s settled over your head.

But of course, as soon as you open the door, the universe decides to throw you another curveball. Jennie is standing there, right outside the bathroom, completely oblivious to the concept of modesty, wearing nothing but Taehyung’s oversized shirt. Your brain freezes for a second, and all you can do is blink, trying to process the scene in front of you. Jennie looks just as startled, her wide eyes locked on yours, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights right before its doom.

“No. Fucking. Way.” You mutter under your breath, the disbelief seeping out of your pores. This can’t be real. But it is, and the longer you stand there, the more awkward it becomes. Jennie doesn’t move. You don’t move. And then, because the universe apparently thinks this situation isn’t awkward enough already, Taehyung steps out of his room and stops dead in his tracks as well. His eyes flick from you to Jennie, then back to you, and you can see the exact moment his brain short-circuits.

It’s almost comical, the way the three of you are just standing there in this ridiculous triangle of shock and embarrassment. But then, you’re the first to break free from the spell. You grin, sidestepping Jennie and making a beeline for the front door. You toss a hand over your shoulder as you call back, “I didn’t see shit.” Your voice is light, teasing, and you can’t help but giggle as you slip out the door.

But of course, you did see something. And it’s enough to make you file this away for later, something to question Taehyung about when the time is right. You’ll have to sit him down and roast him properly for this—though, knowing yourself, the topic will eventually circle back to Jungkook, and how your friendship shifted too.

You’re walking down the usual pathway to your classes, when you spot Jungkook. He’s ahead of you, but even from a distance, you can tell something is off. He’s slouched, shoulders hunched forward, his usual confident stride replaced by something slower, heavier. Your heart skips a beat, but maybe you’re just imagining things, so, you jog the rest of the way to catch up to him.

“Kook! Wait!” you call out, breathless as you finally reach him. “You wouldn’t believe what I just walked in on!”

But the words die on your lips the moment you get a good look at him, and you’re painfully reminded that your first instinct is always right. He’s not the Jungkook you know. There’s something…different. His eyes are distant, unfocused, his expression hollow in a way that makes your stomach twist on itself, making the bright smile that had been on your face fade, replaced by a deepening worry as the seconds tick by.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You can see the sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion that drips from him like mud. It mirrors your own feelings, but his seem deeper, darker, like he’s sinking into something you can’t reach.

“Nothing,” he says, but the word is empty, devoid of meaning. “I might skip class today.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Skip class? You never skip class. Kook, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are red, bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in days, his muscles tense, coiled like a spring that’s ready to snap any minute. The unease inside you grows tenfold, spreading through your veins like wildfire. You replay yesterday’s date in your mind, sifting through every moment, every word spoken, every touch shared, searching for any clue, something that might explain his sudden shift. But all you can think of is that maybe, somehow, he regrets it. Maybe he regrets being with you, and the thought alone drowns you more than any ocean could.

“If it’s about yesterday,” you start, your voice hesitant, your thoughts stumbling over each other in their desperation to make sense of it all, “if you regret the date, we can still be friends, you know?”

For a moment, he’s completely still. Then, like a switch has been flipped, his whole demeanour changes to his usual self. His shoulders relax, his eyes lose some of that haunted distance, and he reaches out for you, pulling you into a tight embrace, squishing you against his firm pecs. His voice is firm when he speaks, simple and resolute. “No.”

“No?” you echo, stunned. You don’t know how to process the sudden shift, hell, even the last twenty-four hours.

“No,” he repeats, more gently this time. “It’s not about us, I promise.” His lips brush against your hair, his arms wrapped securely around you as if he’s trying to shield you from something you can’t see. “I want this. I want us.”

You feel yourself relax into him, the unease slowly seeping out of your body as naive relief floods in to take its place. “I want us too,” you murmur softly, leaning into his warmth even more.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with something that feels so much like devotion it almost makes you tear up. “I forgot to ask you something,” he teases, his voice lighter now, almost playful. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

His smile is lazy, like he already knows the answer, which you have to admit he does. Your heart skips a beat again, but for a very different reason this time. “Of course,” you grin up at him despite yourself still not trusting his mood swing.

“Good,” he winks with a playful smirk. “May your boyfriend kiss you then?”

You giggle, unable to help yourself, the sound is bright and airy in the morning light. It’s ridiculous, the whole situation is ridiculous, but it feels so right. So normal. So him. So you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, and when his perfect lips meet yours, it feels like coming home. It’s soft, warm, everything you didn’t know you needed until this very moment. He tastes like comfort, like safety, like love.

And for that moment, you allow yourself to forget the world. To forget Pulse. To forget the shadows that still linger on the edges of your mind. For now, it’s just you and Jungkook, and that’s all you need and have.

When you finally pull apart, he’s smiling down at you with nothing but affection in his eyes. “You sure you won’t come to class?” you try softly, hoping maybe he’s changed his mind too.

But the moment you say it, you regret it. You can see the switch begin to turn again, his expression slowly shifting back to that distant look, the one that makes you feel like you’re losing him to something you can’t fight.

“Nah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Or… unless you want to work on our project?”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice light. “We can do it another day.”

He shakes his head slowly, but there’s still that wall between you, something that he won’t let you see. “I’ll come by later,” he says, his voice distant again. “We can work on it then.”

“You sure?” you ask again, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he says, leaning down to kiss you one last time before you part ways. And even though something inside you still feels unsettled, you hold onto that moment, to the warmth of his lips, the softness of his touch, and the hope that whatever is weighing him down, you’ll figure it out before it eats him alive.

The day drags on after that like thick honey without Jungkook beside you, every class feeling like an endless void of monotony. You find yourself standing now alone outside the autopsy lab in the late afternoon, waiting for him, though you can’t help the quiet doubt creeping in—he's late, for the first time ever, and part of you wonders if he'll even show. To pass the time, you and your friends huddled mere minutes ago to plan a semi-surprise birthday party for Jungkook at the Italian restaurant, you volunteering to do the speech. It was light, fun, a bit distracting, a way to fill the gaps he’s left in your day, but somehow you couldn’t seem to fully join the excitement as you plotted out the details, even though it’s a way to celebrate the person who has become so important to you.

Across the courtyard, you see a couple stroll by, hand in hand, their laughter soft and intimate, and for a moment, a quiet contentment settles over you. You no longer feel that familiar twinge of sadness when you see couples like this, but are reminded of how lucky you really are, how someone as special as Jungkook has walked into your life. That warmth sits with you, and you think it permanently has settled within you by now, as you glance back down the path.

Then, you spot him. Jogging towards you in a black t-shirt, his hair tousled and damp with sweat, Jungkook’s muscular frame catches you completely off-guard. His late arrival suddenly makes sense. He must’ve lost track of time at the gym, and now, here he is, rushing to meet you with that apologetic smile. But your eyes can’t fixate on his face—his muscles are somehow more prominent than ever, veins tracing lines up his tattooed arm like rivers on a map, pulsing with every step. You’re not even sure when your mouth dropped open, but it stays that way as he finally reaches you, breathless and sweaty.

“Sorry I’m late,” he pants, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, his breath fanning your face with every exhale. He steps back but keeps his hand on the small of your back, his touch doing nothing more than searing where he touches you.

Your throat feels as if it’s turned to sandpaper, dry and useless, but through a miracle unknown, you manage to stammer out, “Did you work out since this morning?”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, his lips quirking with amusement. “Yeah, why?”

“Kook, it’s been over five hours,” you exclaim, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an undeniable glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what effect he’s having on you. “I’ve been hitting my new goal.”

“What goal?” you implore, your curiosity piqued, though your attention keeps slipping back to the way his shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, as though it might tear at any moment.

“700 in the big three,” he replies, smirking with that lazy arrogance that only makes him more irresistible.

“700 in the big three,” you echo, the words floating out of your mouth automatically as your brain struggles to catch up. You can’t even properly process what he’s saying; you’re far too busy ogling him like some kind of starstruck fool.

“700 in the big three,” Jungkook repeats, his tone teasing now, the humour barely concealed behind his smirk. He watches you with that glimmer in his eyes, this confident, playfully condescending glimmer you never seen before on him.

It takes you a second—a second too long, really—but the realisation hits you like a punch in the guts. “700 kilograms in the big three lifts,” you murmur, the numbers looping in your head over and over like a broken record, the image of him lifting so much weight making your knees useless. And with each repetition, your heart rate picks up, your mind spiralling in ways that are anything but clinical.

Jungkook watches your reaction with an amused glint, his laughter barely contained as he steps closer. “You good?” he asks after a moment, his smile widening at the stunned look on your face.

You nod—well, more like a broken bobblehead—completely overwhelmed. There’s something primal about the way he’s standing there, his raw masculinity sending your hormones into overdrive. And then, just when you think you might be able to regain some sense of control, or rather sanity, he leans down, his breath hot and still slightly quick against your ear, and rasps, “Shall we head inside?”

The words are innocent, off topic, so simple, so ordinary, but coming from him, in this moment with this tone, they feel like a challenge, like a provocation. Your body practically trembles at the sound of his voice, and your brain, already hazy from his presence, finally surrenders with waving flags. You’re helpless—utterly defeated by the sheer being of Jeon Jungkook—and at this point, you’d happily surrender to him again and again, for as long as he wants you to.

“Yes,” you breathe out, the word barely audible, more of a moan than an answer. You’re not even sure if you say it aloud or if it’s simply a thought that escapes your lips. But Jungkook hears it, and the atmosphere between you shifts in an instant. His body tenses, his eyes darkening with a hunger you’ve never seen in him before. It’s utterly raw and intense, and for a split second, you think you might combust under the weight of his gaze. There’s no softness, no tenderness in his eyes now—only desire, pure and unfiltered.

„Another time, ___.“ He doesn’t say anything else, as if he just answered your unspoken conversation, and gently guides you inside the building, his hand never leaving the small of your back. When you and Jungkook step into the lab, the freezing air of it cools you both significantly down, and as the door closes behind you, you try to gather your scattered thoughts, reminding yourself that you’re here to work, to be somehow professional enough to do the project. But with Jungkook beside you, radiating power and confidence, you know it’s going to be an uphill battle to stay focused on anything other than him.

Around you, everyone is already deep into their work, carefully peeling back layers of skin and bone in their inner autopsies. The only ones lagging behind are Ben and Juan, still caught up in their external examinations, fumbling slightly as they try to catch up. You don’t let it slow you down, though—you’ve already lost enough time. Without a word, you and Jungkook move, quickly pulling your gloves on and retrieving your body from the cooler unit. And just like last time, you find yourselves standing across from each other at the autopsy table, the cold steel beneath your fingertips again triggering you demons to come out and play.

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, kind and calm, and for a brief second, the darkness takes a step back, but it’s not enough when you look away, knowing better than to stand here with your emotions in overdrive. You can still feel the empathy radiating from him, a soft pressure against the walls you’ve carefully built around yourself, but you shut it out, wrapping yourself in the cold. It’s easier this way��safer.

And when that darkness within you finally consumes you fully, twisting its way through your thoughts, you feel the weight of your own hypocrisy. You’re the one who flips the switch now, pulls away, hides what lies beneath the surface. You realise then, slowly but oh so painfully, that it’s not just him keeping secrets. It’s you too, guarding those parts of yourself, refusing to let him in where it matters most. You shut him out, even as you crave his closeness, and in those moments, you know that the subtle divide between you isn’t just on him—it’s the walls you’ve built around your own heart, too.

“We should begin,” you note devoid of all the emotions it held before.

Jungkook nods, and so you reach for the scalpel, its cool handle familiar in your palm. You still feel his searching eyes on you, but you don’t look up, instead you slice the torso’s skin in the usual Y-shaped incision, down from the shoulders to the sternum, and meeting at the xiphoid process before extending down to the pubic symphysis. After peeling back the loose skin, muscle and tissue, you then begin cutting through the thin layers of fascia still clinging to the ribcage, exposing the pale white bones of the ribs.

Jungkook moves to the medical tool trolley, his gloved hands reaching for the rib shears. “Shall I...?”

“Yes,” you reply, stepping back slightly to give him room.

He carefully positions the rib shears between the ribs and begins clipping through the bones with a controlled strength, each snap of bone sending a soft vibration through the instrument. Jungkook works carefully, each snap of bone gentle, as if even now, he seeks to preserve some kind of dignity in death. It unnerves you a little, but as the sound echoes not only in the quiet room but inside your mind too—a crisp, definitive crack, similar to the thuds of Chulsoo as he hit the railings when he flew down the staircase, even though there’s no mess following the sound this time, only a slight shift in the body as the ribcage gives way under the pressure—you know there’s no chance for your emotions to be triggered.

With the ribcage removed, the torso opens before you like an unwelcome revelation, the organs lying in a strange, suspended silence, if waiting for you. The heart—the centre of all life, now still, now just another part of the anatomy to be examined—rests beneath the thin membrane of the pericardium, ready to be freed.

“The heart first?”

“Yes,” you nod with your voice sounding far away, almost hollow in your own ears. You reach for the scalpel again, making the first careful incision into the pericardium. The thin protective layer peels back, exposing the heart fully now, its grey, decayed mass sitting heavy in the cavity. And you wonder, if someone were to cut you open, would your heart, still beating, look the same? Rotten and past repair?

But you shake it off, “Forceps,” your tone more an automatic request than an engagement with him, the word just a tool to continue the work. Jungkook hands them to you, and for the briefest of moments, his fingers brush against yours, sending an unexpected jolt through you. You swallow it down with all your might, feeling utterly exhausted by now while you use the forceps to gently peel back the rest of the pericardium.

Jungkook leans closer, his brow creased with concentration, his voice quiet as he observes the enlarged heart carefully. “It’s bigger than normal. Maybe hypertrophy.”

“Most likely. Possibly undiagnosed hypertension or cardiovascular disease,” you agree, letting the clinical words form a barrier between you and the moment. You trace your eyes over the heart’s pale surface, noting the thickened walls, the silent history of the body it once powered.

Jungkook nods, his hands moving carefully as he begins to sever the heart’s connections to the body, everything done tender, as though he’s cradling something fragile in his hands. When the heart is finally free, he lifts it with care, placing it in the tray. “We should weigh it,” he suggests, glancing at you with a gentle question in his eyes, one that lingers in the air between you, full of more than just the cold facts of death.

„Hm.“ You nod, watching as he places the heart on the scale. The weight flashes across the small digital display, confirming what you both already suspected.

“It must have strained him,” Jungkook sighs quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he’s speaking to the heart itself, or perhaps to the ghost of the person it belonged to.

“Yes,” you reply absently, your mind trying to ignore his empathy. You can’t afford to feel it, not here, not now.

“Next, the lungs?”

But Jungkook’s suggestion hangs unanswered in the air, lost in the moment. There’s a sudden yelp behind you, and before you can react, Ben stumbles into your cart, knocking it violently over. A scalpel—thankfully still clean and sanitised—clatters off it and embeds itself in your thigh. The room goes still, breaths held, as everyone stares at the darkening spot of blood slowly spreading across your jeans. You feel the strange weight of the blade in your thigh, though there’s no pain. It’s just... uncomfortable, having a blade lodged in your leg. You sigh, long and heavy, while Jungkook exhales shocked, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply slightly angered, though the room remains frozen. “Tae, do you have your kit with you?”

All eyes are on you, including the professor’s, who looks more pale than the body on the table. You limp to a chair at the back of the room, Taehyung already swapping his gloves before casually grabbing his first aid kit. Jungkook hovers nervously, while Ben, on the verge of fainting, stammers out apologies. You wave them off half-heartedly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. As Taehyung kneels before you and rips your jeans open around the scalpel, you say, “No worries, I can feel no pain. It’s no big deal.” But inside, you’re simmering with irritation at Ben’s incompetence.

Ben, looking horrified, blurts out, “What do you mean?! You’re hurt!”

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat, yanking the scalpel out with not a care in the world, the metal clinking to the floor as you barely blink. He hums a soft tune as he begins cleaning the wound and stitching it up, while you explain, “NTRK1. I can’t feel pain. At all.”

Everyone is stunned to the core, everyone just able to stare as Taehyung works calmly, as if nothing unusual is happening. There’s a little bit of guilt within you, seeing Jungkook’s shocked expression, realising you should’ve probably told him and the others before now. But what’s done is done, and really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not such a big deal.

When Taehyung finishes, he pats your good thigh with a small smile, „All done,“ and starts packing up his kit, leaving you sitting there, feeling more awkward than anything else.

„Could you all please just keep going?“ you try not to snap, but you know the irritation and exhaustion are clearly visible now.

“Let’s get drinks tonight,” you turn to Jungkook, knowing it’s no use, the weight of the day, hell the weight of the last few days, presses down on you too much, the accumulated stress leaving you wanting nothing more than to melt away in the comfort of something strong and cold.

“With the gang?” Jungkook asks still a bit shocked, but his eyes soften as they always do when you’re tired like this, as though he’s already prepared to do whatever it takes to lift your spirits.

You shrug, not really caring who tags along. “I don’t care. I just need a drink.”

Jungkook grins, nodding, and without missing a beat, he turns to the others. “Yo, we’re going out. You coming with?”

Everyone agrees with enthusiastic nods except for Hoseok, who’s laughing nervously as he looks at the clock. “This early?”

Jennie rolls her eyes at him and chimes in, “Oh come on, you can have your Sprite,” but then mutters under her breath with a mischievous smirk, “with vodka.”

You laugh softly, standing up and limping towards the locker room to change out of your scrubs. Jungkook is right there beside you after he put the cadaver into the cooler, his arm hovering protectively at your side, ready to catch you if you stumble. A line forms between his eyebrows out of concern, but you want to ease that worried look from his face, not wanting him to fret over something that feels so routine to you.

“Kook, I’m fine,” you reassure him, flashing a small smile. “I don’t feel anything; it’s just my muscle acting up.”

He shakes his head a little, his mouth pulling into a line as he watches your movements. “It’s still strange to me. All these years, I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply softly, not meeting his eyes for a second, afraid he’d discover more of what’s hidden.

“Don’t be. It’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

After a few more steps, your leg starts to loosen up, and soon enough, you’re walking normally again. By the time you reach the familiar doors of your regular pub, it’s like nothing had ever happened.

The early evening moves swiftly, conversations flowing as easily as the drinks, everyone excepting your condition by the time food is served. The moment Jungkook and you announce that you’re dating, the group bursts into cheers and clapping, Yoongi muttering a sarcastic “about time” under his breath, though you don’t miss the glances Taehyung keeps casting in your direction, his brow creased with concern. You know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to talk to him, reassure him that everything’s okay—he just wants the best for you, after all. You’ll need to convince him that keeping certain things from Jungkook is still the right choice, for now at least.

Especially when Jennie, sitting beside Taehyung, is caught in the crosshairs of your teasing. Leaning back in your chair, you smirk over the rim of your drink and ask her slyly, “So, Jennie, seeing anyone lately?”

She shoots you a withering look, muttering a quick and firm “no,” while you catch the warning in her and Taehyung’s eyes. You hold back a laugh, already planning weeks of teasing them.

The night continues with light banter, and the worries and struggle of the past few days seem to dissolve into the air like the hot steam of your food. Being here with Jungkook and the rest of your friends, there’s a warmth that wraps around you, a kind of quiet contentment that settles deep in your bones. This, you think, is what you’ve needed. Just this—the laughter, the closeness, the easy way Jungkook drops his arm around your shoulder, always finding your free hand or brushing soft kisses on your temple and hair.

A few drinks in, after you and Jungkook have both had a couple of glasses, he leans in close, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s not a question, and there’s something in his eyes, something inviting that makes it impossible to say no. You smile, knowing full well you’re both about to become the subject of endless teasing from your friends, but you don’t care. You bid them goodnight, waving off their playful remarks, your mind already too focused on Jungkook’s big, callused hand wrapped around yours, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room and universe worth paying attention to.

When you step outside, the night air is refreshing, cutting through the slight buzz you’ve got going from the drinks, sobering you up until there’s nothing left but happiness. The two of you walk side by side, hands swinging between you, and there’s this lightness in your chest you haven’t felt in days. You’ve always known that Jungkook brings a certain calm to your life, a kind of peace you’ve never really had before, but tonight it feels especially strong.

He’s laughing as you mimic one of your professors, trying your best to imitate the man’s deep, grumbling voice and exaggerated gestures. Jungkook throws his head back, his laugh echoing down the quiet street, and the sound of it makes your heart feel even more lighter. His hand squeezes yours as you twirl around, your movements carefree and loose, your inhibitions melting away as you let yourself bask in this moment, in him.

You leave his hand, spin a few times around a lamppost nearby, feeling the gentle night breeze on your flushed face. You’re not drunk nor buzzed anymore, just pleasantly warm, and in the soft glow of the streetlights, everything feels almost dreamlike. You’re smiling, Jungkook is too, and for once, you’re allowing yourself to be fully in the moment, free from the shadows that usually cloud your mind.

You really want this to work, really want him to know, so you start “Will you still be with me when I’ve killed someone?” The words slip out of your mouth as you spin, a strange mix of jest and sincerity lacing your tone. You try to keep the smile on your face, but there’s an uncertainty in your eyes that betrays you.

Jungkook laughs, catching your hand mid-spin, pulling you into his chest. He holds you there, his strong arms wrapping around you, his warmth enveloping you. “We’re going to be doctors,” he states with a grin. “Of course we’re going to kill someone by accident.” He pauses, brushing his thumb gently over your cheekbone as he cradles your face in his hands, his voice lowering into something tender, intimate. “And when that time comes, I’ll still be right here, standing next to you.”

Jungkook’s words repeat in your mind, and part of you aches to believe him. But there’s that vile voice inside, always nagging, always spreading doubt, reminding you of what you are, what you hide beneath it all. If he knew, would he really stay? you wonder if his patience and kindness could stretch this far, past the monster you are. It’s hard to imagine, yet you can’t help but cling to the hope that he’ll love you enough someday to not walk away. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am, because there’s nothing you could do that can make me leave.” And after a short pause, when his eyes drown you with their tenderness, he says the three words you didn’t expect. “I love you.”

You’re floating, aren’t you? His eyes are so full of sincerity, it’s almost intoxicating, lifting you higher with every glance until you reach cloud nine where he awaits you. It’s too much, too good, but you let yourself get swept up in it, let the light of him fill you. The doubts are still there, of course, whispering their poison. But right now, you ignore them. You turn a blind eye to the darkness and deaf ears to the demon inside, because for once, you just want to feel this—this joy, this love—without the fear dragging you back down to the cold, hard floor.

„I love you too, Jeon Jungkook.“

And then he kisses you, a touch full of joy, soft with confidence and love. His lips meet yours, stealing your breath and offering his in return, and for now, everything fells right. You melt into his form, losing yourself as you gently suck on his plush bottom lip, and in that tender exchange, you feel whole.

When he parts, there’s a playful glint in his eyes „I think I forgot something.“

„Hm?“ you hum, still dazed from everything he is.

„Some weight for the 700.“

In one swift move, he sweeps you into his arms, cradling you effortlessly, and you can't help but laugh, breathless from the sudden rush. “You’re crazy,” you giggle, but the sound falters as you catch the predatory glint in his eyes.

His gaze locks onto yours, and with each step he takes toward your dorm, your heart skips. “Oh, I am,” he murmurs, voice low. “Don’t think I forgot how you drooled over me.”

Your laughter fades into silence, heat rising in your cheeks as wetness begins to pool between your thighs, his strength alone making your body respond instinctually.

When you finally make it back to the dorm and slip into your room, the space is drenched in darkness, save for the soft glow of light filtering in from the outside world. But you barely notice; all your attention is on Jungkook, his lips never leaving yours, hands roaming over each other’s clothed bodies with a heat that drowns out everything else. His breath is warm against your mouth, his tongue sliding over yours, and in each kiss, you taste him, feel him—everything he is, everything you crave.

His hands glide up your sides, fingers catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, and you do the same, your eyes falling on his bare torso. You always knew he was strong, but now, with the soft light catching the curve of his muscles, it’s like he’s carved from something divine—each breath making his body shift and flex with a power that steals your breath all over again. His gaze drops to your breasts, your lace bra pushing them up, but he doesn’t linger for long before kissing you again, guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of your bed. You fall together, crawling onto the mattress as if you’re made for this, made for each other.

He trails kisses down your body, his lips oblivious of the scars that litter your skin in the dim lighting, and there’s a tenderness in his touch that feels almost reverent as he carefully pulls your jeans off, mindful of the fresh wound on your thigh. His hands move over your skin as though he’s worshipping you, like you’re something fragile yet unbreakable, and it’s so unfamiliar it makes you nearly tear up.

You can’t take it anymore—you grab him by the neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back to kiss you as you fumble with his belt, his trousers quickly discarded with a kick of his leg. His lips move to your neck, tiny love confessions brushing against your skin between kisses, and when he finds the sensitive spots that make you moan, his hand slips beneath your underwear, fingers sliding over your wetness, his middle finger slipping inside you with ease as his palm presses against your clit. Your moan spills into his mouth, and he responds with a deep grunt that vibrates through his chest and into you, making your head spin even more.

“You’re so drenched,” he whispers, voice rough with desire, his finger slowly pumping in and out, each word sending waves of bliss through your body.

Your hands wander down his strong body, both of you discarding the last of your clothing in no time. His cock is to die for, long and girth like you never seen before, pulsing with dark veins making it even bigger, the tip glistening with precum. The sight makes you dizzy with want, every coherent thought slipping away as you take in the sheer beauty of him, his body and mind utter perfection.

“I love you,” you breath, pushing him gently onto his back with your small hands on his firm chest, straddling his tiny middle. Your arousal drips onto him, making him moan beneath you, his hands gripping your hips as you lean down to kiss his neck, sliding lower until your tongue teases his small, dark nipples. He bucks his hips into the air, the soft groan from his lips music to your ears.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper as you kiss your way down his body, eyes locking onto his cock when you finally reach it. His gaze follows you, full of lust yet still brimming with undeniable love.

You wrap your tiny hand around him, biting your lip as you keep eye contact, waiting for his reaction. His hips buck involuntarily, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You take him into your mouth, the weight of him sliding over your tongue, hitting the back of your throat as you work the rest of him with your hand. His moan fills the room, deep and guttural, one of his hands gripping the sheet while the other’s gripping your hair as he gasps, “Oh my god.”

And oh my god indeed. He tastes like heaven, feels like a dream as you pick up the pace, sucking harder, giving him everything he deserves until his abs tense and his thighs tremble. He stops you then, pulling you up to his mouth, kissing you deeply as your hands fumble for the nightstand. You quickly hand him a condom, watching as he bites it open, his hands shaking slightly as he rolls it on.

“Shouldn’t I prepare you more? It might hurt,” he murmurs, concern painting his face.

But you shake your head, kissing him softly. “I’m good. I won’t feel it,” you say, positioning yourself over him.

He pauses, his hands gripping your shoulders, eyes wide. “You won’t feel it?” he’s nearly squeaking full of disbelieve.

You laugh softly, realising your wording was off and correcting yourself. “No, I’ll feel it, just not the pain. Remember?”

Realisation floods his features, and he chuckles lightly embarrassed. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry.” His eyes drift down to where your juices drip onto his pelvis. “Okay.”

With that, you slowly sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully nestled inside you. The moan that escapes both of you is loud, filling the room as the overwhelming sensation of being joined like this crashes over you, throwing both your heads back. He fits perfectly, filling you in a way that makes everything else fade away, and when you start to move, it’s like you’re floating, flying in heaven, each drop of your hips sending you higher.

Jungkook matches your rhythm, thrusting up into you with an unrelenting drive, his stamina pushing you further and further until the room seems to shimmer in all the colours of the rainbow. You watch him, mesmerised by the way his muscles flex, the sheen of sweat on his skin making him look like some otherworldly being. And then it hits you—your climax tearing through you with a long moan as your juices spill out around him, soaking everything in their path.

Jungkook’s eyes lock with yours, his pace quickening as he chases his own release, his voice hoarse as he gasps out, “I love you,” before his orgasm hits, spilling into the condom as you ride out the waves of your own high together. It takes what feels like forever to finally come down, and when you do, you collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding in sync. No walls between you.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕

a/n 4: The next chapter will have a time skip, so there won’t be scenes like Jungkook’s surprise b-day party. However, drabble requests and character asks are open, though it might take me some time to write them ☺️

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @kookienooki, @hagridshaircare

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lilosaur · 3 years

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◡̈⋆ʜᴇʟʟᴏ(*´∇`)ﾉ is it okay for me to request scenarios for mitsuya, inui, angry and kazutora helping their s/o who struggles with online classes? many thanks if you decide to do this one 💖💖

Yess! This was something I could relate too so much, I prefer in person myself it was such a struggle for me doing online. Thanks for requesting! 🤎

༑ ࿐ྂ。Helping You With Online Classes ♡.°⑅

⟶ ticket no. 11 ɞ

w/ Mitsuya Takashi | Inui Seishu | Kawata Souya | Hanemiya Kazutora

ʚ Mitsuya Takashi ɞ

It was late into the night around 2:30-ish am your eyes were heavy and body drained and worn out while the bright screen reflected in your eyes. Your phone buzzed and you debated picking it up, your arms were so tired. Your phone rang again, maybe this was the third time? You were already losing your train of thought. You reached over to grab your phone, it was your boyfriend? What was he still doing up at this hour?

“Mitsuya? Why are you still up?” You questioned waiting tiredly for a response.

“You never answered my text love, I wanted to make sure your alright. You sound tired though, why are you still up?” He responded, you were confused you didn’t hear a sound of tiredness in his voice.

“Oh um I’m still working on some homework that’s due tomorrow morning.” Your voice cracked and your tiredness could be heard from over the phone “it’s kind of confusing though”

“Hmm do you want me to come over and help you with it?”

You didn’t want him to stay up any longer either, he had a busy life with taking care of his sisters and looking after his friends, you can probably figure this out all on your own anyways. “No no, it’s fine I’ll just be up a little longer.” You lied, you knew this would take a few more hours at least but you didn’t want Mitsuya to worry too much. You both said goodnight as you hung up the phone. You tried your best to look at notes, documents, and even looking up stuff online but everything was worded differently. Your teacher was honestly garbage she made everything sound so confusing when explaining.

It was almost 3am now, you only completed 3/9 of the questions on your assigned worksheet you didn’t even know if your answers were right. A faint knock could be heard from your window which scared the living crap out of you. You peaked through your curtains to see Mitsuya standing outside with coffee and a smile.

Mitsuya told you that he can help you with your school work, he may not have ideal grades but maybe he’d be able to help a little bit. If not then maybe he could email your teachers for you if you get anxious about it.

You and Mitsuya were able to get all questions done, he was so proud of you, for pushing through each day one step at a time. You two ended up passing out on your bed, what a nice night…kinda.

༚༅༚˳❃˳༚༅༚

ʚ Inui Seishu ɞ

You and Inui were spending time at a coffee shop talking about how your days were going and new stuff that happened. You had your laptop with you since you two happened to see each other at the cafe but you planned to just do some school work. You told Inui you were gonna do some work but you can still talk, he said he’ll try to be quiet as he pulled out a book to read. You were having a hard time understanding the concept and filling out open note stuff is so hard for no reason. okay but like open note stuff is so annoying like multiple choice >>>>

You about half way into a paragraph answering the third question but your mind hit a blank, you felt so confused. You looked back at other documents, worksheets, and notes you took but it seemed like this was something your teacher explained in class. Let’s just say your teacher wasn’t exactly the best at teaching.

Inui looked over to you and your facial expression said it all, the confusion all over your face and your leg tapping on the floor up and down.

“Do you need any help y/n?”

You didn’t really want to trouble Inui with your schoolwork even though you were heavily struggling, you took a moment to think about it but before you could even respond to him he was already walking over to your side of the table hovering over your shoulders and his eyes directed at your laptops screen. You looked up at Inui, you could tell he was really thinking about the question.

“I’m not really the best with this y/n but maybe we can look it up or ask someone smarter than me.” Inui said while looking back down at you, concerned and confused look on his face he couldn’t seem to decipher this problem either as it’s wording was very strange.

Inui helped you contact someone who was in your class and you were successfully able to complete both sheets of work. Inui gave you a nice hug afterwards to let you know how proud of you he is, he knows it’s hard for you with online classes but you still push through everyday!

༚༅༚˳❃˳༚༅༚

ʚ Kawata Souya ɞ

You had to cancel your plans with Souya because your parent/s wanted you to get your school work done before tomorrow morning. You’ve been struggling to even log onto your laptop and show up to your classes. Online school is still just as draining as in person if not more.

You felt so bad for kinda ditching Souya today so you made sure to send him a more detailed message about why you really cancelled and your so sorry and you’ll make it up to him. You just hoped he wasn’t too effected from this. Souya tried calling you multiple times but your phone was set on ‘do not disturb’ mode, you finally took a break from some of your work which your not even half way done when you FaceTimed him.

“Hello? Souya?”

“Hi y/n..” You heard Souya's low voice, he was definitely a bit sad over not being able to hang out.

“Are you done with your homework yet, maybe we could still hang out for a bit.” He asked politely.

“I’m sorry, I’m still working on it. It’s really confusing. But maybe we can hangout tomorrow!” You tried to stay positive knowing that this work was going to take a long while. You honestly felt so bad letting Souya down but your work had to be done.

“Hmm, we’ll maybe I can help you with it. I’m pretty good with anything y/n.”

You never really realized it but Souya really did have good grades. He helped guide you through what problems you were struggling with and he was even able to help you understand all the concepts better. It didn’t even take up too much of your time, you guys got it done in about 1 hour and your pretty positive most of the answer are right…sort of.

You two both talked for a bit before falling asleep while still on FaceTime together, after all it was still a school night. Souya was definitely very proud of you and happy to help, you’ve been pushing through this whole time all alone so he’s thankful he could help make it a bit easier for you! :)

༚༅༚˳❃˳༚༅༚

ʚ Hanemiya Kazutora ɞ

You and Kazu were getting a late night snack, you had taken a break from your time consuming study guides and worksheets, barely making it half way through part one of the study guide. It was a struggle but you’d hope that maybe after a snack with your lovely boyfriend you’d feel a little more motivated.

You guys decided to get brownies from a little corner shop and to share a soda. You found a bench to sit at and eat, you two chatted and somehow got to the topic of school. Kazu said he pretty much didn’t take school seriously at all and his grades didn’t really matter because he wasn’t going anywhere good in the future. You told Kazu all about your online school, you didn’t like it one bit. Kazutora understood where your coming from since he despised school just as much as you did.

You told Kazu you were kind of in a hurry because of your school work, Kazu took your little hints and insisted you let him help you out. He wouldn’t let you say no either, he knows you don’t like online school and you have troubles with completing work. Kazutora wasn’t the smartest but he wasn’t the dumbest either so he’d help you as much as he could.

You let Kazu help you and fortunately you were able to finish up most of your study guide and one of your worksheets. Kazutora offered for him to have a ‘talk’ with your teacher but you almost yelled at him to just leave it be..you’ll manage somehow.

You and Kazutora ended off the night with a walk around town talking about all your troubles in the world. Kazu told you how proud he was, you were able to get most of your work done even if it wasn’t right or you still missed some questions it was a start. One step at a time and you’ll be there soon, wherever your trying to end up in life if you just push on a little longer you’ll be there in no time.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this one. If you struggle with school in general just know your not alone, a lot of people have mental problems formed from school but I promise with a little bit of effort and if you push through just a bit longer you’ll make it to where you want to be. I believe in you all! :)

#mitsuya takashi #mitsuya fluff #seishu inui #inui fluff #souya kawata #souya fluff #hanemiya kazutora #kazutora fluff #tokrev fluff #tokrev hcs #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyorevengers #tokrev x reader #inui x reader #kazutora x reader #mitsuya x reader #souya x reader

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chainofclovers · 3 years

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Ted Lasso 2x9 thoughts

It’s no secret that I absolutely adore Coach Beard; he’s one of my favorite characters on the show, and he’s so well-written and well-acted that somehow I tend to be both perfectly satisfied with the details we see and truly curious to understand more about the way he thinks, what’s really happening re: his professional and personal devotion to Ted, where he comes from and where he’s going. I don’t need to know his name beyond the name he wants to be called, but I want to know why we don’t have any other names for him. And I don’t need him to be a bigger focal point of every episode, but I very much needed this episode’s world-exploding reminder that every single character on this show has a rich inner life, full of joys and troubles.

“Beard After Hours” is like a movie, but one that scatters its climaxes and puts off its resolutions...because it’s not a movie. It’s episode nine of a twelve-episode season of TV. When the episode ended, I felt this almost frantic “But he needed to break up with Jane for good before the end of the episode!” feeling. I was so pulled in by the idea of being able to tell an entire story in one night, of going on an odyssey alongside a complicated hero, that watching Beard and Jane find each other in that club felt as intense as the fact that we don’t know if Ted responded to Rebecca’s voicemail and we don’t know what’s going to happen with Rebecca and Sam and we don’t know who isn’t getting married and who is having a funeral in 2x10 (I mean, I have my strong suspicions, but still!) and we don’t know if Richmond will be promoted back to the Premier League. And on and on. I didn’t mind feeling desperate for the story to resolve even though I understood after thinking about it for ten seconds that of course it couldn’t resolve yet. Or ever. Or yet.

I’m a big fan of the TL episode recaps/reviews Linda Holmes writes for NPR, and I have to quote something from this week’s directly because it so perfectly explains my feelings:

The power of the scene where Beard dances in the club isn't that it's a beautiful romantic climax. It's that it's an explanation of why he cannot seem to extricate himself from this bad relationship. What makes the worst relationships so dangerous is that they have elements that feel good that are very hard to get elsewhere. Beard knows that; he tells it to God. What's concerning isn't that Jane makes the world seem more interesting; what's concerning is she's the only thing that does. That doesn't take away from the joy of the dancing; it just tells you that even happiness is complicated.

I love Holmes’ perspective here so much, because it articulates something I was struggling to figure out: how it can feel so legitimate, like such a (temporary but nonetheless powerful) relief, for Beard to find Jane in that club and to have this moment of euphoria as his night nears an end. How it is possible to experience that relief on behalf of a character while fervently wishing it could end differently, because it’s so clear from the abusive text messages and the toxic calls and the manipulative interactions that Jane is terrible to him and they’re terrible for each other. But Beard knows this. He knows it when he hugs Higgins in the parking lot after Higgins is honest with him in a way Ted and Rebecca and Keeley have not learned how to be, and he knows it when part of his prayer includes the clear articulation that Jane isn’t the cure for what “ails me.” He’s inching closer to greater self-knowledge just as Ted is.

And the two big resolutions that really, really needed to happen did. I didn’t know I needed Paul, Baz, and Jeremy to get to wrap up their own night out on the pitch at Nelson Road, but I did. It brought actual tears to my eyes. And the other resolution was Beard showing up with the other coaches’ coffees for their meeting to watch the game film. As interesting as it would have been to see what Ted would have done if Beard hadn’t shown up, I’m so, so glad that he did. He’s got a messed-up face and some truly epic pants on, but otherwise this is just Beard showing up for work, showing up for his friends. It was incredible to realize that Beard and Ted haven’t been exaggerating when they’ve referred to his sex-and-drug proclivities in the past. The night documented in 2x9 might have been particularly scary and violent and euphoric and awful and meaningful, but this type of all-night adventure isn’t a foreign concept for this guy. In all the other episodes of this show, when we see Beard we’re seeing someone who might have been out all night, who might have spent the hours the sun was down desperately pushing himself closer to whatever edges he could find.

I don’t really want to touch upon all the allusions in this episode. They are abundant, they are well-documented, and also I haven’t even seen the movie After Hours. I enjoyed this episode for its allusive qualities and I enjoyed this episode for what it was and I feel like I have to be at peace with the fact that I’m never going to pick up on every single reference on this show and that is okay.

So, yeah, if this entry on my tumblr dot com blog seems remarkably devoid of references and allusions, it’s not because I’m not into it but because I find it too overwhelming to actually write about.

Very into the Misplaced and Discovered box at the Crown and Anchor. (That’s what Mae wrote on the Lost and Found box at the pub, right? Whatever it is, it’s so funny.)

Beard hallucinating Thierry Henry and Gary Lineker was truly upsetting and a great indicator not only of how broken things are between the Richmond coaching staff right now but also how deep Beard’s self-loathing might go. If you’d asked me before Thursday if I thought Beard loathed himself, I would say no. That deepening of knowledge alone makes 2x9 worth it.

James Tartt and his friends in the alley. Such a nightmare. I go back and forth on how much of the night was real, and part of me has decided all of it is, short of the images of Henry and Lineker. (And even that is real to the extent that it was a way of articulating what was in Beard’s head.) But watching Beard in physical danger brought on by the same abuser who had him so upset in the first place. It was a lot.

I’m so excited that Paul and Jeremy and Baz got some spotlight this episode. It was so wonderful to see them out of the pub. I love that they ended up telling the Oxford snots who they really were. They got to see Beard going to bat for them and smoothing over the situation socially, and that actually made it more possible for them to end up being truthful about themselves. Because they have nothing to be ashamed of, and they deserved the magic of that night. (And for it to end on Nelson Road. Every feeling. Oof.)

I feel like I barely have anything to say about the trouser-mending lady or the many places Beard goes or his key-dropping or the nightmarish feeling of wanting to be home and being unable to be home. It all happened and we all watched it and again, it was a lot. But I do feel incredibly moved and fascinated by the fact that Beard very obviously still hasn’t been home when he brings in the coffee. He’s had to sleep at the club for Jane- and key-related reasons in the past, and this time it’s not that he’s slept there but it still feels like a kind of homecoming he was robbed of for the entire night. Ted and Roy and Nate are there. He’s gotten their coffee orders correct. Ted is growing and evolving (he wants to learn from what’s happened, he’s insisting upon it even when the others resist) but he’s done a really perfect (almost romantic in its loveliness) thing by presumably spending his evening following a breakdown of his own speeding up the game film to 10x speed and adding Benny Hill. Ted is not OK and Beard is not OK and Nate is not OK and Roy is pretty OK but could very easily be not OK because he’s just joined a coaching staff with a whole lot of not OK. But they all showed up.

I am very into the realism of the lights being off in the club other than the coaches’ office (@talldecafcappuccino pointed this out!), and the way we’re seeing their desks from a different angle because this episode is unfocused on Ted. It really added to the mindset of being hungover and exhausted and unable to go home or even to know exactly what home should be; even this warm, familiar place feels off even as it’s a relief to be back there.

I am excited to return to our regularly scheduled programming with the full cast of characters, but I really adored this episode for what it taught us about Beard and what it illuminated about the humor, pain, and complexity of each person who inhabits this universe. Beard may not be loud about his long-standing beliefs or about the things he’s learned, but there’s a lot happening in there and I appreciated getting to spend 43 minutes with him and (in the case of the ticket he scrawls on a piece of paper so the pub guys can get into Nelson Road) the moments he sets in motion.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #ted lasso 2x9 #meta by me #a lesbian watches ted lasso #coach beard

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yesimwriting · 3 years

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Solace (part 2)

SOLACE (part 2)

A part two but kinda works as a stand alone!!

A/n y’all seemed to like the first one so I thought I’d make a part two :)) This was NOT meant to be a series but now I kind of have an idea to make this a mini series where each part is kind of a blurb that connects to the last part and I think I might do that.

Pairing: General Kirigan/the Darkling x Heartrender! reader

Summary: The day after you go visit General Kirigan at night is also the day he decides he can become more honest about his intentions for you. The softness of it all is starting to get to you but you have a good friend to remind you that it’s okay to feel happy.

The sunlight peers into the room shyly. It stirs me awake into a soft bliss. Warmth. When was the last time I woke up feeling so warm? So rested? I squint my eyes open, still calm. But when my vision finally adjusts, I feel like ice all over again. This is not where I’m supposed to be.

Memories of sneaking here in the darkness of night, speaking to Kirigan so freely, and then letting him convince me to stay. He had seemed to want me here then, in the night when loneliness finds easy prey in even the most hardened individuals...but now, in the morning sunlight--he’ll regret it. We made it clear I’d stay only that night--and that night is now gone. Maybe he expects me to be gone before he rises. I know that’s what most men expect after taking company for the night, but we didn’t exactly partake in activities like that. I think what we did is worse.

Relations like that are about desire, falling asleep with someone else borders on intimacy. One misstep and who knows what I’ll invoke? I shift my gaze upwards, careful to not move in hopes of not disturbing the arms he’s draped across my back, holding me to him. Kirigan seems different in sleep, softer. His features are still sharp, but there’s something gentle about seeing him vulnerable. Something about the way his lashes brush against his cheeks and his lips stay parted just slightly. This moment can never repeat itself. It can never happen again, so I’ll have to hold onto this.

Cautiously, I prepare to slip out of his grasp even though it feels like its the only thing tethering me to this world. I touch his first hand, moving it off of me slowly. I wait a second, and when he remains unstirring I move his other hand.

“What are you so eager for, little wolf?” The raspy, tired quality of his voice leaves my stomach fluttering. His words jar me so much I find myself frozen.

He reaches lazily, placing an arm on the center of my back, trying to ease me back into place. “It’s morning now.”

His thumb brushes up and down my back in a way meant to lull me. “I’m the Shadow Summoner, the night lasts as long as I want it to.” He lets out an easy breath, “And I’m prolonging it.”

Ignoring the warmth the implications of his words bring, I decide to focus on how dramatic he is. “Dramatic even so early in the morning.”

Kirigan’s eyes flutter open, the slightest smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Watch yourself, little wolf.” There is no malice in his voice, only something hinting at teasing too humane for me to trust.

I roll my eyes, letting his fingers brush wherever he wants them to--up and down my back, down the arms I am too aware of. The desire to touch him easily, casually, just to prove that I have that privilege. I stretch, pushing down thoughts of rejection as I place a hand on his chest. He pauses, one hand frozen in place on my back. Slowly, he moves his hand away from me. I tense, preparing to retract my hand. He catches my hand before I can pull it away, moving it towards him easily until my hand is against his cheek.

“Y/n.” He’s called me my name so few times, and the restraint in his voice leaves me unnerved. “Will you wear a black kefta today?”

His color. Perhaps he meant the promise of solace more literally than I thought. Anyone who sees me will think I’ve been claimed by him in one way or another. Perhaps I have been. The thought stirs my chest, moving me in a way I can’t distinguish as a positive or negative. I feel myself being ensnared in a lovely trap, but when I look at him, at the honesty burning in his gaze, it’s almost as if he’s asking me to claim him.

“Yes.” Again the word leaves me as if willed by some outside force.

Kirigan’s intensity dwindles slightly. His hand drops from over mine, but I keep mine on his cheek, running my thumb across his skin. “You’ll do good for me today, little wolf.” His words leave no room for argument. I think speaking like that is a talent of his. “You always do so good for me.” The admiration in his words melt something in me, my entire body warmed in a way I don’t understand. Kirigan brushes his knuckles across my cheek again.

I’ve been silent for too long, each second I waste inflating his ego. “You’re suspiciously nice in the mornings.”

“You’re only skeptical because you never let anyone take care of you.” His words are chiding and the implication of them leaves my face warm. “So much promise,” he muses, hand trailing down my jawline, “So much power,” his fingers skim down my neck and across my collarbone. “I wonder what someone like you could do with an amplifier.”

An amplifier. I’ve seen them in use, and knowing what I could do with something that strengthens my already abrasive abilities. I could be a monster so easily. Kirigan must see some of my concern because he’s quick to sit up a little more in order to close the distance between us the way he did last night. He brushes his lips against my collarbone in a way that leaves me distracted by wanting. A wanting for what, I’m not sure. I ease into his touch.

“Today everyone will know what you are.” His voice is gentle against the base of my neck. “And they will know that we are meant to be equals.”

I feel the need to panic rise in my chest, but it’s dulled by the warmth his lips leave against my skin. “I’m only a Heartrender, I can’t be your equal.”

“You are,” he whispers, so assured, “With a heart as good as yours you may even be more.”

His words are too weighted for so early in the morning, but there is always tension with him. Shadows are meant to be weightless but I think they’re like anything else--carry enough of them and eventually you’ll break.

When he straightens I move to follow him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “You’re good, too.” There has to be goodness in him. No one capable of such warmth and gentleness can be made up entirely of wicked things.

“You claimed I was a villain.”

Did my words really impact him so? “My opinion isn’t law.”

Something strange flickers across his features. “It might as well be.”

I swallow back a bundle of nerves. “Sometimes I’m wrong.”

The words crack something vulnerable in me. A part of me thinks he can feel the part of me that’s breaking in hopes of offering him something.

“You really are my solace.” I don’t know how to reciprocate such a gilded sentiment.

I rest my head against his shoulder, taking his hand. “I’m glad to be that.”

He squeezes my hand. “We should go get ready before people start to notice our absence.”

I consider reminding him what he told me last night, but he has a point. There’s a difference between a rumor of me pacing in the night and both of us showing up late at the same time. Still though, a part of me is already grieving this version of Kirigan. Outside of this room his coldness will return. ‘Just for tonight’. We had agreed on that. But when the night ended, and the morning sun colored us both sane again, he had asked me to wear his color.

“I’ll go get dressed,” I stay still.

Kirigan runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ll have a black kefta sent to you.”

That has to mean something. Wait--do I want it to mean something? I pull my hand away from his stiffly, standing because I know the longer I’ll wait the worse it will be. “I’ll see you during training.”

“My door will be unlocked after.”

At that, my chest swells. He’s offered me an opening. “Good to know.”

His eyes narrow slightly at my coyness. “Find me after?”

“Only because you’re nicer in here.” He wants me to come back.

The black kefta does not feel like my own. The color is too alluring, too dark and enthralling. It is not meant for someone like me. It feels borrowed, but I’m not entirely uncomfortable. It’s almost like he’s still with me, keeping me from being alone.

When I walk down the halls, I feel the stares of the others sticking to me like tar. They barely tolerated me before--the grisha plucked from the slums after a fateful night in which Kirigan saw the extent of my abilities.

“New clothes, l/n?”

Julian’s words coax an easy smile from me. Always so open, so accepting. Even now he doesn’t pester me about the black kefta. “I barely noticed.”

My lack of real response earns me a playful glare. “Is that the only explanation I get? Moving up the ranks without me?”

I roll my eyes. He’s joking, but he’s drawing more eyes to me. “I’m not leaving you, Julian.” He’s been too good a friend for me to leave. “Nothing’s changed except the color of my clothing.”

“Good.” Julian’s lips twitch upwards, offering me the kind of smile that’s earned him many trysts with many women. “I’d miss you too much.”

And while I doubt that my disappearance would do anything else than up his popularity, I appreciate the sentiment. “Oh I’m sure you’d find a way to find company.”

He half laughs, “What are you implying of my virtue?”

Laughing, I roll my eyes as we continue to walk down the halls. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Julian reaches for me, touching my forearm. I stall. “In all seriousness, y/n, I really appreciate your friendship.”

Aw. Never did I think I’d have so many people to appreciate here. I think of Kirigan, of the vulnerability in his words and the new facet of him I saw last night that I somehow always knew he had in him. He may be a villain, or just one in the making, but he is more than a dark shadow. I find myself releasing I appreciate Kirigan too. It’s different than the way I care about Julian, more fragile, but it’s still a relationship I’ve created here.

I look down at the space where his hand touches my forearm. “I really appreciate your friendship, too. You’ve gotten me through a lot.”

“You need to give yourself some credit.” He releases my arm, turning to continue to walk forward.

I turn as well, “You should too.”

I look forward, and there, in the near distance is Kirigan. He’s staring at me, eyes lacking everything he had earlier. I offer him a small smile. He does not return it, his drops slowly to the ground. Weird. I guess he’s just turning on his indifference for a day of training. He asked me to wear his color, he asked me to come back.

Does he regret it? Maybe it was a premature request for me to wear his color so publicly. His gaze finds mine again, and with a tilt of his head he gestures for me to follow him.

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling imagine #general kirigan #genereal kirigan x reader #genereal kirigan imagine #grisha #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine #grisha reader #shadow and bone show #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x you #imagine #x reader #my works

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clarissalance · 3 years

Text

A sneak peck on the corner of your lips

Pairing: Xingqiu x G/N!reader, Chongyun, mention of Xiangling and Liyue trio

Warning: a peck, hugging, reader and Xingqiu are the same age

Word count: 3943

Summary: You are going on a ghost-hunting trip with Chongyun and Xingqiu to Mingyun village.

A/N: Last time I said I’m going to write shorter fic, well, my fingers accidentally slip and tada, here it is. I feel like this Xingqiu is a little bit too shy compare to the game but I want to make him blush (or any character in general). This one takes me quite a long time to write but I hope you all enjoy it. Maybe I should write Venti next, I totally forgot his birthday until my feed was flooded with his fanart. I’m sorry Bartobas ;-; Anyhow, please shower Xingqiu with a lot of love!! He’s the reason why I can pass abyss floor 11.

Picture credit: Pinterest. ( I really don’t know the author of this picture. If you find the source, please comment so I can add. Thank you (❁´◡`❁) )

Hanging out with the Liyuen trio has always been an adventure full of thrill and excitement. Usually, there would be someone who ends up with all troubles and mischiefs the other two sets up. Chongyun is our center, holding a strike 10 times in a row, while Xiangling sometimes gets bombed by them, but it’s nothing compared to our popsicle boy. Xingqiu, you have never heard of him getting into any troubles, but he has been the famous one in the town for plotting pranks and tricks. The victim is Chongyun, and he’s somehow still very oblivious, despite many times falling into the holes.

Maybe the boy is just too naïve and trusting for his own good.

“ Xiangling is not coming today. ” Xingqiu announces, successful getting your attention and Chongyun’s. “She’s busy with the restaurant, so today, there will be only three of us.” Letting out a commital sound, you return your focus back onto the unfinished charm on your hand, fingers skillfully waving through the strings.

“ Guess we’re off to Mingyun then.” Chongyun stands up abruptly from his seat, the sound of clothes rustling together. “I got a reliable intel this time about a ghost there.”

Glance up from the unfinished charm, you shoot a questioning look to Xingqiu, to which he sends you a wink and a charming smile. The source of ‘reliable intel’ Chongyun is telling you here definitely comes from Xingqiu. Somehow, the boy has managed to stay away from the Chongyun’s suspicion list, even after those obvious unrealistic intel disguise as pranks. You wonder how has he manage to deceive the poor exorcist this time.

“Chongyun, there are only hilichurls in Mingyun village. No one is there.” You state the obvious. How can he fall for this so many times? The light blue hair boy turns at you and tilts his head in confusion, waiting for you to anticipate more details. He is really dense, isn’t he?

“ So, how did you get intel about a spirit at the place if there is no one lives there?” Letting out a huff, you fold your arm, feet tapping impatiently.

“ Someone sends me the request this morning.” He pulls out a white envelope in his pocket and hands it to you, smiling a bit enthusiastically. The envelope has no trace that indicates sender, yet the exorcist assures you it’s a reliable source. You have no idea what his standard of ‘reliable' is anymore.

Inside the envelope is an expensive-looking card, the curving and neat writing dances on the piece. Bringing the paper closer, you can faintly make out the scent of floral perfume mingles with the fresh wooden smell of crisp paper. “By the look, this looks more like a love letter than a request of exorcism to me. You’re sure it’s not from one of the maidens?” A little further away, you can hear the sound of someone choking on breath and a muffled laugh. Chongyun then mutters something about no one would send him a love letter anyway. Oh, so he doesn’t know then. Did this boy live under a rock or something?

This is too well-crafted for a mere prank. Did Xingqiu handwriting improve this much over the past month? Eyeing the blue boy suspiciously, you carefully watch his interaction with the young exorcist while reading the content.

This letter is pretty legit, but you’re still very suspicious of a certain someone over there who meticulously crafts this. If you ask, will he answer truthfully or skit around the subject again?

Putting the card back into the envelop and return them to Chongyun, you finally raise your hand in defeat. Coming with them might be a better solution, in case the exorcist condition gets out of control, you can help Xingqiu carry him back.

“Fine, let’s see the spirit ourselves then.” You stand up, hand dusting your clothes. “ If we’re lucky enough, we might be able to see the adepti on the mountain before catching the ghost.” Shrugging, you beam brightly at the shoulder-shaking Xingqiu and the scratching-head Chongyun. You can already guess what will happen in the village after so many times witnessing Xingqiu’s prank. Is this what we called… experiences?

---

Mingyun village is located on a mountain and surrounded by many dried up ores mines, which result in people leaving their homes and moves to the Chasm and Harbor. As your group slowly trek to the written address, you notice an unusually high activity of hilichurls. It’s common for them to move to an abandoned village but isn’t this a little too much? From broken bridge connect the Guili Plain, there are many groups clustering, wandering among themselves. Even Chongyun tries to avoid them, not jumping on their head as usual.

Imagine fighting this many hilichurls, you don’t think your group can make it back to the harbour in one piece. Padding quietly, you walk faster toward Xingqiu, hoping to stick close to him. At least if fighting is bounded to happen, he can protect you. The young master still keeps his unfazed face, following Chongyun while eyes glued on his book. You remember he already finished reading this book?

“ Psstt.” You whisper. “ Are you sure we’re heading the right way? That direction is crowded with monsters.” From here, they can barely see the beast but you can sense an abundant amount over there.

“ It’s this way. It’s marked on the map.” Chongyun answers, eyestrain on a piece of paper, which results in his misstep and tripping. Behind, Xingqiu looks up and worriedly calls out to be careful. You trust Chongyun map-reading skill, but right now, you’re very concerned about his navigation. How can he navigating if he does not even look at the road?

As the scorching sun blazing down the heat, big droplets of sweat dripping down your forehead, and your shirt starts to stick on your skin. Ah, you forgot summer has arrived. The path is sun-drenched, not a single shade can be found. The sweltering heat in this village is almost unbearable, despite the area is borderline with Dragonspine. How can not a single breeze from Dragonspine drift to this area?

As you lazily following the group, your mind starts going into vacation mode. You imagine staying under the shade, enjoy the cool breeze and munching ice cream. The village is quite close to Yaoguang Shoal, maybe you can convince the guys to head down there after they finish their task. In this weather, dipping your feet in the cold water while enjoying popsicles are the best. Stealing some from Chongyun might not be that bad.

Next to you, the Chongyun and Xingqiu are not affected as much as you, maybe because they carry visions? You wonder how their visions help them to cool down?

“ Xingqiu.” You call, hand fanning your face. The boy looks up from his book, humming, unfazed by the boiling weather. Is he not feeling hot at all? Under all of those long sleeve shirt?

“Can we hold hand?”

As soon as the question leaves your mouth, some things don’t feel right. Did you phrase it, a little bit weird?

The cerulean-haired boy chokes on his saliva, eyes widen in surprise, almost drop his precious rare novel. You think you definitely phrase it wrong.

“ Are you okay?” Chongyun turns back abruptly after noticing the coughing sound, his blue eyes filled with worries.

Xingqiu shakes his head and waves his hand, motioning the exorcist to turns back to his map. After a few second of heaving, he finally returns back to normal, shooting you stinky eyes and put his book away. It’s not your fault that he chokes on his own saliva. He chokes it by himself.

“Why would you want… to hold my hand?” Xingqiu questions, cringing at his cracking voice.

“Don’t you feel hot under this weather?” You point your finger at the sky, bright rays hitting your face. Xingqiu nods in confusion, still not understand how your request related to this question.

“If we hold hand, maybe you can share with me some of your coolness.”

Xingqiu stares owlishly at you, and you elaborate more on how the pyro transfers heat through physical touch, and maybe, hydro has a similar mechanism.

As you explain, you notice how his shoulders shaking, while his face remains perfectly calm, except for the betraying light curve on his mouth. Is he trying to contain his smile?

Finally, Xingqiu folds in half and blurts out in laughter, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. In between his howling, the boy breathlessly explains how you misunderstand the elements and visions aren't used for this situation.

Potato, potato, you don’t believe the mischievous vision-holder over there has never tried using his vision for different purposes other than fighting.

Your face burns up, you’re not sure if it’s because of the burning sun, or the embarrassment caused by the hydro user over there. Pouting, you turn away from him, stomping toward Chongyun direction instead.

Hmph, if Xingqiu isn’t going to help you to cool down, then you’d have to ask the exorcist. Somehow, you already know the man is going to hesitate because it might disturb his congenital condition. Well, you’re just going to bribe him with two or three popsicles when you are coming back to the harbour. Nothing a little money can’t fix. And maybe a lot of persuasions too.

As soon as you make your mind, you rush toward Chongyun, calling out for the cryo user. The exorcist is a distance away from you both, and he doesn’t turn back even when you call out for him. Does this mean he didn’t hear the conversation between you and Xingqiu?

Casually skipping toward Chongyun, you call for him again-

“Chongyun, can I... ” before, suddenly hands from behind wrap around your neck, pull you into a wall of meat. You wince at the hard collision with the chest, sensation of callous fingers on your shoulder bring your longing desired: Coolness. Surprised by the sudden touch, you shoot your eyes wide open and crane your neck behind, immediately meet with a sly amber orb.

What is he doing?

Followed by your call, Chongyun curiously turns back and his gentle light blue eyes unwavering. He doesn’t seem to be surprised at this scene.

Does Xingqiu always this touchy?

The young exorcist raises his brows at you but behind, Xingqiu waves his hand dismissive, successfully driving the young boy away, even before you can form your word.

You see the exorcist shrugs and turns his attention back on the piece of paper, heading deeper into the abandoned village, distance between the cryo users and you two starts to grow.

You gawk shockingly into his small figure starts to get smaller, mouth gapes open slightly.

Did Chongyun just leave you behind? What kind of cold-heart friend is he? He definitely saw you are being held back by Xingqiu, right?

Behind, you hear Xingqiu mumbles something about Chongyun being ‘unbelievable’, ‘workaholic’ and ‘careless friend’. Shouldn’t you be the one who says that?

All of a sudden, you realize your back touching his chest, his hands wrap around you from behind. From here, you can smell the faint vanilla and a mix of woody, musk scent.

He reminds you of old books, the feeling of immersing yourself in a dusty library.

Blood rushing to your face, and the first thing that comes to your mind is to escape from his hold. The hydro user somehow able to read your mind, his grip tightens, holding you close.

In an intimate position, with you both fall in silence, your senses suddenly heighten. Even separated by layers of clothes, you can still feel the heat from Xingqiu. The rapid beat of your heart thumping in your rib cage, the coolness from his palm seeping slowly into your skin.

Somehow his touch doesn’t cool you but heating you up more, your body slowly burns up like a furnace. “ C-can you let me go ?” You stutter, squirming helplessly inside the young hydro user, avoiding his teasing gaze.

“ You asked me to touch you, so I comply with my liege's request.”

“ I didn't ask you to touch me.” You quip back at the shameless hydro user, body twisting weakly inside his hold, the sound of clothes rustling. How come you both learn martial arts, yet your strength is nothing compared to him?

“ This is not holding a hand.” You point out at his long arms wrap just under your neck, sulky. “ And stop hugging me. It’s burning in here.”

Xingqiu gives you a grin, amber orbs shoot you a questioning gaze. Well, it’s not true. His long-sleeved are rolled up, exposing the long slender arms, now is pressing on the thin layer of fabric, resonating with coolness. It feels like hydro is running under the vein of his arm. His fingers wrap on your shoulder, constantly transferring the calming sensation of flowing water.

“Isn’t this position more efficient than holding hand?” The hydro lazily rests his face on your shoulder, smirking devilishly. You have to admit this is much cooler than holding a hand, but this is too intimate. Flustered by his alluring gaze, you turn your head away, feet start moving toward the exorcist direction.

“W-we sh-ould catching up with Chongyun, he’s quite far away.” Stammering like a mess, you point your finger at the general direction where the exorcist was heading, the image of a light blue boy is getting smaller, slowly mending into the heat under the scorching furnace resting on your head. A chuckle is followed, but Xingqiu doesn’t say anything else, hands still wrap loosely around you, trailing steps after you.

You are too naïve to think that walking fast will break his hold. The young master of Feiyun Commerce Guild has proved your effort is futile. He effortlessly adjusts to your pace even when you purposefully try to quicken your step or stop abruptly. He doesn’t faze by your antic, instead, leaning close to your ear and blow hot air into your ears teasingly, knowing well how flustered you are.

From here, you can see Chongyun still having his eyes glued on the piece of paper, still not noticing his companions drift far behind him. Indeed he is careless, maybe you two should keep a close distance to protect him.

“ Are you getting cooler?” Xingqiu suddenly leans close, his face just a few inches away from yours.

You hold your breath in silence, heart almost drops at his close proximation. Can he not scare you like that? “ It's getting cooler.” As much as you tempted to elbow the hydro user away, you know how hot it will be without having his arms wrap around you, so you easily give in.

The two of you keep a decent pace while the boy wraps his hand around you, clinging like a koala. Look around, you realize this place is mostly dry trees somehow manage to root in the barren soil, broken wagons and holed baskets lying around in this place. Luckily, this area has much fewer hilichurls compares to the entrance of the village. Look like they’re also trying to find a shade in this weather. This place is closed to Dragonspine, and you still have no idea how the land doesn’t receive a single cool breeze from the frosted city.

“Why did you pull me back earlier?” Hesitantly, you ask him.

Xingqiu let out a confusing sound, not registering your question. Should you elaborate some more?

“When I was calling out to Chongyun.” You quickly add, trying to keep your voice steady and casual.

“ Oh, that.” He hums, his arms tighten around you. Why did he even hold you closer than before? You didn’t try to pry off his hug, why all of a sudden?

“ Because… you were… about to ask Chongyun to h-hold your hand right?” Freeze at his words, you twist your neck, curious at the face he is making right now. It’s rare for him to sound this uncertain about something. As a second son of the Guild Manager of one of the biggest trading guild in Liyue, the young man has been trained to speak with perfection. Every word coming from this young man is carefully formulated and spoken with utmost confidence.

As you face him, the young man furrows his brows, amber eyes fill with hesitant and worried. Why is he acting like this? A sudden wave of guilt washing your stomach, uneasiness slowly sinks deep into your skin.

You… are not supposed to call out for Chongyun?

“ B-but you laugh at me when I explain about the coolness exchange?” Tilting your head in confusion, you can’t help to not follow the hydro user thoughts. He refused you first, wasn't he? It should be normal for you to find Chongyun instead. The exorcist will probably agree to anything as long as he can help. “Wouldn’t it make more sense if I go to find Chongyun instead?”

“And holding hand with Chongyun? Archon, no!” Your skin jumps as Xingqiu raises his voice, and you have no idea what tickles him. Why fuzzing over something so trivial like this?

“ We always hold hands. There’s nothing wrong with it.” You can’t help to shoot back. “ You also hold his hand too.”

“N-no, our holding hand is different.” He can weakly defend, trying to rack his brain out to think of a time when they hold hands. He gives up soon afterwards. “Besides, you shouldn’t be holding hands with anyone.”

“ For your information, this is much more scandalous than holding hand.” You meekly point out, finger poking on his arm bares smooth skin. Twist back, you lean in closer, eyes crinkle into the shape of crescent moons. “And what’s wrong with us kids holding hand?”

Xingqiu can’t help but let out a defeated sigh, face drops down your shoulder and sulky buries his face in the crook of your neck. His hot breaths tickle the sensitive skin, cerulean locks brushing your cheek. Under his breath, you can barely make out his muffle word, saying something about don’t understand.

You slowly trek toward Chongyun’s direction, humming along with familiar tunes. Sudden changes from Chongyun and Xingqiu have no longer made you felt lonely or sadden. Boys at this age are unusual. They aren’t being closed with you as before, no longer inching close to you or hugging you from behind. They are more cautious when being close with you, more mindful when your fingers accidentally graze their.

If you ask them directly, will they answer you why they're acting like a married woman, always jumping every time you innate skinship?

You have a feeling they probably won't answer that.

“ /N… Y/N! ”

Abruptly, you raise your head, forehead almost hitting with Xingqiu’s. Your face is a breath away from his, so close that you can see his long lashes fluttering like a butterfly, shying away from the captivating eyes. His porcelain skin is smooth and flawless, a sudden urge tells you to caress it. A blush slowly creeping up his cheek, and finally, the hydro user shies away, staring at the road.

Xingqiu clears his throat. “ I was talking to you. You were spacing out again?” You can only offer him a sheepish smile.

“ S-sorry, I was thinking about something.”

Xingqiu looks up and stares at your face intently like he is trying to make his way into your maze-like mind. You shift away from his fierce gaze, but the hydro user is faster. His fingers easily catch your face, your cheeks fit perfectly into his cool smooth palm. Xingqiu lets out an amusing chuckle, fingers squishing your cheek playfully like a stress-reliever.

You feel like he has you wrapped around his little finger, literally.

“I don’t know what you were thinking, but whatever it is, it’s incorrect.” Despite the mean fingers toying your cheek, his voice is awfully soft and reassuring. Is he trying to comfort you? Carefully, you gloss your eyes over to his direction, observing the mischievous feature on his face slowly melts into a soft and mellow.

Before you can enjoy the rare gentle side of his, the amber eyes slowly gleam with playfulness, and he leans closer, only stops when your face is just a breath away. His hot breath fanning on your cheek, tickling. He is so close to you, so close that if you tilt your head, our lips will meet.

“ A moment ago, I said that you shouldn’t let any male hold your hand right?” His voice drops low, golden orb flickers like a torch. What is he planning again? You carefully nod.

He isn’t going to… bite you right?

“ You see, holding hand...” The young man chuckles slyly, the arm was wrapped around your neck makes the way down and nudges into your hand, fingers interlocking. " can easily drifting to this." You turn back fully to face him, the other hand still glazes your cheek.

“ They can easily slip their arm around you into a hug…” Slowly, the coolness in your palm slips away and snakes around your shoulder. “Then, they can…” Xingqiu’s grip on your cheek slowly relaxes, fingers slowly inch down on your neck.

Take a big gulp of saliva, you can only widen your eyes, nervously follow at the tracing fingers of his. His long digits don’t stop after wandering around your neck, they slowly creep up, follow your jaw, and then cup on your cheek. The cooling sensation you craved a moment ago now feels like frost nipping on your skin. Heart thumping loudly in the rib cage, you unconsciously hold your breath, waiting for his next move.

In the comfortable silence, his thump delicately brushes your cheek, caressing the sensitive skin. You notice his touch is loving and delicate, it makes you want to snuggle your face into his palm, enjoying this lasting moment.

“…then what?” You open your mouth impatiently, voice light and mushy.

A light pinkish blush quickly dusts on his cheek, you feel the man in front of you tenses up, but he remains his eye contact with you, refuses to avoid your gaze. His lips quiver but nothing coming out. Is he… hesitating? Finally, you hear him mumbles something quietly.

…you

“ What ?” You cock your brows and inch closer, eyes training on his plump lip. They remain still.

Feeling an intense gaze on your head, you feel a light squeeze on your cheek so you curiously tilt your chin up, just to see Xingqiu leans down and presses a light peck at the corner of your mouth.

His plump lips brush yours like a feather, almost non-touching. It’s soft and plush, but the moment only lasts for a few second. Abruptly, the coolness on your cheek leaves hastily, follows by his sleeveless arm around your shoulder.

As soon as you realize what just happened, the young master of Feiyun Commerce Guild has already dashed away, leaving a burning tomato behind. You shyly lower your head, face heats up profusely. Fingers slowly draw up to your lip, you recall the feeling of his lip touching yours.

You feel like you can combust right here and right now.

Unknownst to you, if you look in his direction, you might have spotted a pair of red ears and his inelegant falling on his butt.

#xingqiu #genshin xingqiu #genshin impact #xingqiu x reader #chongyun #xiangling #kiss #clarissalance #a peck #fluff #friend to lovers #best friend to lovers #genshin impact x reader

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darthkruge · 4 years

Note

Okay okay okay so imagine Reader is abducted by the separatists because she ( or nb reader ) is a very well loved member of the senate. So obviously Anakin goes to save her, but his idiot plan gets him captured as well so then it's up to Reader to talk her way out of this mess, get to her idiot boyfriend, free him and then both of them try to make it out alive. Bonus points for Obi-Wan looking very tired and sick of Anakin's ideas in the background. What do you think?

Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader ~ Rescue Operations?

Summary: After the Reader is captured by the Separatists, Anakin rushes to save her. When this doesn’t work out, the Reader has to get her and her boyfriend out of this mess.

Warnings: Language, whump, one scene where the Reader gets beat up, Reader is a badass, Anakin is completely in love with his badass girlfriend and we love that for him

Words: 3.8k

A/N: Catherine, my love!! I’m sorry this took me so long, I have nothing to say for myself other than my poor organization skills. But I’m obsessed with this request, I hope I did it justice <3

gif credit (x)

You groaned as you opened your eyes and attempted to shake the drowsiness that seemed to cling to your very bones. You blinked, trying to get your bearings and remember what had happened. You were preparing for your speech at the Senate, trying to pass a peace treaty between the Republic and some smaller territories that were debating joining the fight against the Separatists. You’d been fighting for support for the treaty for months and you finally had the chance to give one last speech before the vote.

You’d been pacing in your Coruscant apartment, practicing the speech for your boyfriend a million times. After you finished your recitation, you exited the room, needing to get your notes that you’d seemed to misplace. So you went into your office and… nothing.

Why couldn’t you remember after that?! You opened the door to your office, walked inside, and…

You sighed as you came back to the present, leaning against the wall behind you and looking around. You were clearly in a cell of some sort and the Separatists were almost certainly behind this. You were still in your Senate attire, although it had been thoroughly scuffed up, and they’d taken your datapad and other communication devices. You felt around your boot and smiled. Your knife was still there. They must have assumed you wouldn’t be carrying a weapon to your speech and not done a thorough enough check. Whatever the reason, you were thanking the Maker it was still there.

Back in Coruscant, Anakin was walking the Temple halls in a crazed state. When you didn’t show up for your speech, he immediately panicked. He knew how important this treaty was for you and the entire Republic; you’d been going over it for forever and there is no way you’d just blow it off without telling anyone. The rest of the Senate was also concerned. You’d grown up in one of the poorer districts and, thus, had a sense of relatability and humility that most were drawn to. Whether or not they agreed with your policies, almost everyone could understand that you always kept the interest of the people at the forefront of your mind.

When Obi-Wan walked up to him with a ripped piece of your clothes and your scattered and crumpled notes, Anakin felt his heart drop.

“It was the Separatists. They must have knocked her out in her office and escaped through the vents.”

Upon seeing his absolutely heartbroken expression, Obi-Wan added, “We’ll get her back, Anakin. I promise.”

Anakin could only nod, ideas for a plan to save you already running round his head.

You’d been in this kriffing cell for four days now. Or maybe it was five? You were desperately trying to keep your wits about you but it was so hard; they brought you a tiny ration of food and water once a day and it was not near enough to keep your strength up. You’d spent your time trying to carve your way through the bars but your knife was no match and you quickly gave up, not wanting to dull the blade. You’d found a loose brick hidden around the floor and used the knife to cut it out, allowing you to hide your weapon under it on the off chance they searched you again.

You tried to think of a plan to escape but they hadn’t even opened your door yet. There was no way you could get out by yourself and, until someone came in that you could attack, it was pointless to even try. They kept you in complete darkness and silence, no way to tell how much time had passed aside from the daily rations. You assumed you were on a Separatist base but that proved unhelpful; they were widespread and the cell held no defining features of climate or location. You had tried calling out to see if anyone else was around. Each time, you were met with your own echo.

You stilled, hearing footsteps approach you. A Separatist guard opened your cell door, roughly pulling you out. You yelped, legs not cooperating after so long of sitting in the cramped cell. He led you into another room that was barely brighter than your own. Sizing up the guard, you felt fear creep in. No matter how hard you tried to banish your anxieties, knowing they’d only serve to lessen your already shaken focus, it was sometimes impossible.

“Tell us which planets are deserting.” He commanded.

You met his stare evenly, refusing to let your fear betray you. There was absolutely no chance you’d tell him anything. As soon as the Separatists learned which planets were thinking about joining the Republic, they’d send armies to wipe them out immediately. You refused to let that happen.

“Fine. Be that way.” The man pulled his fist back and sent it into your cheek, the impact sending sparks of pain throughout your entire body. He brought his foot up, kicking you in the gut and you fell harshly onto the floor. He grabbed you by your hair, hoisting up your body as if it were a ragdoll. You gathered your strength and spit in his face, enjoying the way his smug look disappeared. In retaliation, he slammed you into the wall, the impact making stars cloud your vision.

The man released you and you fell, your consciousness already starting to detach from your body. You tried to reason with yourself, hoping logic would aid you. This is a trauma response. I’m not going to die. My body can take this. I will black out, but I will wake up again. They’re not going to kill me. They need me alive. I’m not going to die. I’m not going to die. Somehow, the hardest part is this was banishing the thoughts of that beautiful boy from your head. You knew that if you allowed yourself to think of him, to fathom how he would blame himself should this be your end, you would give in.

Instead, you focussed on the physical pain you felt, on the rage you channeled to this guard. You hated how weak you felt, how exhausted you were. You allowed your mind to hone in on all the ways you could hurt this man, given you had your full strength. You let yourself hate yourself, appalled at how you couldn’t even fight back. With every punch he threw at you, you went further into your head, into the one place this man couldn’t touch. Eventually, your mind started spinning from dehydration, pain, and overexertion. All you could do was curl into a fetal position and hope it somehow stopped.

“What do you mean you’re going to find her?” Obi-Wan said, running after Anakin.

“It’s been days, Obi-Wan, days. There are only so many Separatist bases in the galaxy and Y/N’s on one of them.”

“Anakin, don’t you think they’ve planned for a rescue mission?! This is Senator L/N we’re talking about! And they took her right before the vote, this was clearly a thought-out attack, stop acting like it’s simple!”

“It is simple! Those Separatist assholes have Y/N. And it’s been days. What if she thinks we forgot about her? What if she thinks we’ve given up? They could be doing fucking anything to her and I’m not going to let her stay there for another minute!”

“Anakin-” Obi-Wan began but Anakin waved him off.

“I’m sorry, Master. But if the Council won’t do anything, I will.”

“Anakin, the Council is trying! They just don’t have enough troops right now to send a full rescue mission after one Senator. They just want a few more days, then some troops should be back from their missions and you can have your full battalion.” Obi-Wan took a breath and lowered his voice, empathy for his friend clear in his words. “I know you love her. I want her back, too, you know. I’ve grown quite fond of her; her friendship is quite dear to me. All I’m asking is you be careful and think this through.”

“Believe me, I have thought this through. I wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger, we both know that. And while a few days doesn’t seem like much to the Council, we’ve seen the harm these Separatists can inflict in far less. Listen, it might not be the strongest plan I’ve ever made but, if it’s between a semi-formed plan and none at all, the choice is already made.”

With that, Anakin jumped into his ship and took off into the night. Obi-Wan sighed, leaning his head into his palm. He knew how much you meant to him and he knew of Anakin’s frustration with the Council. They moved slowly, wanting to figure out every angle before jumping into a decision. While Anakin was a brilliant strategist, he tended to act impulsively when someone he loved was in danger. As Anakin traveled further and further from Coruscant, the older Jedi could only hope that the both of you returned home quickly and safely.

Anakin looked at his ship’s display and cursed when he realized he was low on fuel. He’d been piloting for hours and there was still no sign of you. He was searching out for you with the Force and, still, nothing. Finally, he felt a faint energy pulse through the Force. He followed it to what was supposed to be an old abandoned Separatist base, concerned by how weak your lifeforce felt.

He parked the ship and got out carefully, trying not to alert anyone to his presence. He pulled out his lightsaber but was careful not to ignite it. He saw an open door and ran through it, relief blinding him as he felt your energy grow stronger with each step he took. He turned the corner and saw a crumpled body on the floor of a tiny cell.

No, Anakin thought, it can’t be her.

Without thinking, Anakin ignited his lightsaber, wanting to use the light to discern if the figure was truly you. The noise bounced off the walls and startled you awake. He mentally cursed himself and instinctively turned off the saber, not missing the even louder noise it made with it turned off. He inwardly facepalmed, realizing if he hadn’t alerted the guards before, they sure as hell knew now.

You blinked groggily, wincing at your immense injuries and bruises. You remembered passing out while that asshole beat you and now you-

Wait, You thought, is that a fucking lightsaber?

You knew you must have heard it wrong, there’s no way the Council would have approved a relief mission this quickly. Further, there is no way it would consist of just one Jedi.

Suddenly, the lightsaber re-lit, illuminating your boyfriend’s face. His determined expression grew stronger as he noticed the 10 guards surrounding him and pointing their blasters directly at his head. You smiled. He could take out ten guards with his eyes closed. You called to him in shock, hardly believing your eyes. He looked at you and immediately widened his eyes as he saw a guard come up behind you and point a blaster directly at you from outside your cell.

“Lightsaber on the floor, Jedi, or the girl dies.” The guard growled.

He looked at you in anguish and you could tell he was already beating himself up for “messing up” your escape plan. You shook your head, hoping he understood your message: this isn’t your fault.

“Anakin don’t-” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before his weapon was on the floor. He put his hands on his head. As they grabbed him, you stood in helpless silence as they threw him in the cell beside you. They locked the doors and, once again, you were in darkness.

You desperately crawled to the edge of your cell, trying to reach out to him. He was doing the same and when you felt his fingertips against yours, you almost started sobbing. You weren’t alone anymore.

“You came for me.” Your voice was soft, disbelief lacing your words.

“Of course I did, my love.”

Then, as if everything finally registered in your brain, you reached out and tried to slap his arm. “Anakin, what about the Council? They’ll kill you when they realize you went on a rescue mission, alone, and without approval! Ani, the only thing keeping me going in here was knowing that you were safe! And now you’ve gotten yourself thrown right next to me, no weapons, no light, no food, no water, no escape! What the fuck are we going to do?!”

Anakin had opened and closed his mouth multiple times throughout your speech, trying to find a way to plead his case but was left without one.

“I just wanted to save you.” The grief in his voice made you sigh and take a step back. This was your Anakin you were talking about. Your safety was his priority, always. Besides, doing all this because he was afraid for you? You couldn’t possibly stay mad. You smiled, despite yourself. Anakin. You thought, slightly shaking your head.

“Fuck, I love you. Is it selfish that there’s a small part of me that’s glad you’re here with me?” You said, breaking the silence.

Anakin breathed out a sigh of relief, glad you weren’t upset with him anymore. “Not at all, my love. So long as it isn’t bad that my least favorite part of this is not being able to see or kiss you properly because of this damn darkness.”

You chuckled, lacing your fingers with his once again. “You wouldn’t want to see me right now.”

Anakin froze. “Y/N? What are you talking about?” His voice was serious, clipped. He knew you would try and make it seem less than it was. You winced, realizing there was no way to lie your way out of this one.

“Just what the Separatists would call aggressive negotiations, I presume.”

“How bad?”

“It’s fine, Ani, I promise. Let’s just focus on getting out of here, okay?”

Anakin took a deep breath, collecting himself. “Alright. But as soon as we get back you’re going to a medical droid.”

You groaned. “Anakin I hate-”

“I know you hate the medical droids. But that’s only because they always rat you out when you try and lie to me about the extensiveness of your injuries.”

“You lie about how bad your injuries are, too! Remember that one time you came back from Kamino?!”

Anakin laughed, despite himself. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“You were literally bleeding from the head! And you said, and I quote, ‘it’s just a scratch’” Every time you thought back to that day, you were incredulous.

“Alright, alright! Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

“That’s my line!”

“Y/N,” He warned.

You smiled. Maker, you missed him. You honestly didn’t think that anyone else would have you laughing while you were beaten and captured.

“Okay. What’s the plan?” Anakin said, back to the matter at hand.

You lowered your voice, leaning toward his cell so you could talk without being heard. “I snuck a knife in with me and I’ve been able to keep it a secret. Now that you’re here, it might actually come in handy. The problem was that I couldn’t stab anyone because no one would come into the cell. I need you to get them here. Push them against the side of your cell, the one closest to me, and I’ll stab them. Then while they’re hurt, you run out, unlatch my cell, and we’ll go.”

“I’m dating a fucking genius!” You could just about hear the smile in his voice.

You smirked. All things considered, you were pretty proud of yourself.

“When do you want to do this?”

“They bring daily food and water rations in the morning, I think? I can’t exactly tell what time it is, they’ve kept it so dark and isolated. Regardless, the next time they come by I need you to get them in here. They normally just leave the food outside and push it under the door.”

Anakin could hear the disorientation in your words and wanted nothing more than to be able to see you, to be able to hold you and reassure you that it would all be alright.

“Okay, angel. Got it.”

“Anakin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for coming to get me. It’s really good to hear your voice.”

“Always, my love.”

Both of you silenced when you heard those footsteps. You smiled for the first time as you heard them. We’re going to get out of here.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea, Y/N! This brick in here is loose!” Anakin announced loudly. You bit your cheek to suppress a smile as you watched Anakin catch the guard’s attention.

“What did you say, Jedi?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Anakin responded, dramatically feigning innocence.

The guard huffed and you internally cheered as he roughly opened the door. He walked over to your boyfriend, keeping the blaster pointed at him. As soon as the guard’s attention shifted to the “loose” brick, Anakin used the force to knock the blaster out of his hand and push him against the wall of the cell where you slashed his Achilles tendons.

The guard howled in pain and you knew you had to work quickly if you were to get out of here before the rest of the Separatists found you. Anakin fumbled with the latch on your cell, the immense darkness making it difficult. Finally, he got it open and ushered you out. The both of you took off in a run and he gripped your hand with his metal one as you did so.

You immediately stopped as you felt his hand roughly pulled from yours.

“We’ve got you now, Skywalker” The guard said.

“Y/N, you ready?”

You blinked, unsure what he was referring to. Then, you heard an object whipping through the air and on instinct shot your hand out, catching it. You ignited Anakin’s lightsaber that he had summoned to you with the Force, it’s signature buzz making you feel powerful beyond words.

The light caught you off guard and you squinted until your eyes adjusted. You saw Anakin held back by two guards. Hearing faint footsteps, you took off in a run. Anakin ducked as you swung wildly, hitting and taking out both guards.

“You done holding us up?” You said, extending your hand toward him once more and passing him his lightsaber.

Anakin smiled, accepting it. “My sincerest apologies.”

You both ran, hand-in-hand, until you finally made it to the exit.

“What?” You said, as Anakin stopped abruptly and looked at you, panicked.

“The ship! It’s out of fuel!”

“It’s what?!”

“I-” Anakin and you stared at each other, flickers of doubt coming into your gaze. You can’t believe that you’d been able to escape for nothing.

“Anakin! Y/N!”

You whipped your head around at the sound and were met with another ship a few meters down, Obi-Wan piloting it.

“Well? Are you coming, or what?” You and Anakin looked at each other in shock before taking off in a sprint, one guard now close behind you.

He started shooting and Anakin pulled out his lightsaber, deflecting some of the shots. As he focused on that, you pulled your knife back out of your boot and sent it flying into the guard’s chest, effectively stopping his pursuit.

Anakin smirked at you, awestruck. You shrugged before jumping into the ship, extending your arm to Anakin and helping to pull him up with you. You entered and immediately leaned against the wall of the ship, relief coursing through you. You laughed and Anakin joined in. He immediately pulled you into him, kissing you hard.

He broke away from the kiss, looking at you with adoration. “You are a fucking badass!! You’ve never even held a lightsaber and between that and your fucking tiny knife you took out four guards!! I didn’t even get any! I’m not going to lie, Y/N, I’m a bit jealous.”

You laughed, leaning into him but wincing. As the adrenaline wore off, your pain was suddenly quite palpable. He noticed and pulled back, scanning your face and body.

His smile fell as the extent of your injuries sunk in. Your busted cheek, scratched face, and ripped clothing that exposed some of your many bruises across your torso and limbs were overwhelming.

“You kids alright in there?” Obi-Wan said, walking in from the cockpit. His smile died on his face as well as he took in your form.

“I’m alright, guys. It’s not as bad as it looks.” You said dismissively.

“That doesn’t look like nothing!” Anakin shot back.

Obi-Wan looked at you apologetically. “Anakin’s right, Y/N. Please, rest. We’ll be back to Coruscant soon.”

Coruscant! The Senate! “My speech!! Fuck, I had to present my speech! I’ve been gone, what, a week? They’ve probably already voted, Kriff.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “They decided to suspend the vote until you were back, Senator. They truly care for you and your policies.”

Your heart swelled at Obi-Wan’s words. You looked into Anakin’s eyes and saw that he agreed with the statement full heartedly. He took your hand and gently ran his thumb up and down its back.

“Rest, my love.” He whispered to you, coaxing you to lie down on the coach and pulling off his Jedi cloak. He wrapped it around you as a makeshift blanket, smiling as you pulled it closer to you and drifted off.

Obi-Wan walked up to Anakin and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s leave her be, okay?”

“I don’t want her to wake up when I’m not here.”

The elder Jedi nodded in understanding. “She’s exhausted, she won’t awaken until we get back to the temple, I assure you. And if she does, you’ll just be in the other room.”

Anakin looked at you once more before smoothing the hair back from your face and gently placing a kiss on your forehead. He let his palm run down your cheek before he finally pulled himself away and walked into the cockpit with Obi-Wan.

“So, how did you plan pan out?”

Anakin looked at his former Master, unamused. “I think you already know. How’d you know to come get us, anyway?”

“Well, when you didn’t come back or even attempt to contact the Council for over a day I assumed something had happened. I tracked your ship.”

Anakin nodded. “If not for Y/N, we’d probably both be dead.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I heard! Four guards?! You’ve found yourself a good one.”

Anakin smiled. No words were needed, everyone knew that was completely and utterly true.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader (Gender neutral) Rating: T for language and mentions/references to an (emotionally) abusive relationship. Mild, brief violence. Warnings: TW for referenced emotional abuse, mild TW for possible physical abuse (sorry, angry Dani is not 100% gentle with people she doesn't love-love) Notes: Music for this chapter here. If you're following this story and really want to continue reading, but worry about the TWs for this chapter, just send me an anonymous message and I'll write up an alternative version of this post. It's not something I would do without it being requested, but it's also not a big deal so don't feel like you're bothering me if you want that. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Tocatta

Chapter 5: Poco a Poco (Italian: Little by little)

Finding a schedule for lessons to follow proved to be an insurmountable task. Consistency was something that Daniela struggled with greatly, even when it came to things that she genuinely cared about. Things like ensuring you lived long enough to entertain her. Instead of working with you to find a balance that worked for both of you, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter seemed intent on doing things in her own time. Little by little. Which would have been fine, if the two of you weren’t restricted by time.

Fate wasn’t entirely unkind, however. There were still a few things that Daniella recalled from her “youth”, bits and pieces of musical theory, the bare basics of reading sheet music. Not having to teach her proper posture or the structure of a piano would save you a little bit of time. On top of that, you had been informed that, somewhere in the castle, there were a few books of sheet music you could borrow. Assuming you were eventually able to find them, that is. So far they had eluded you, but you hadn’t even had much time to search, as you were still expected to perform your usual Maiden-related tasks.

In the end, it was Daniela herself that proved to be the biggest obstacle in your way.

“Look,” Daniela said one day, barely ten minutes into a lesson, “I think we should take a break… maybe have some fun?” One of her hands is resting on top of yours, the other tucking your hair behind your ear. There’s a smirk on her lips, unsurprisingly, and she’s mere inches away from kissing you. If not for the heavy threat hanging over your head, you would have already thrown yourself into her arms. Instead, all you can do is sigh, turning away from her as you do. “Don’t be like that, sweet thing. C’mon, no one can hear us right now. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“Babe. Darling. Buttercup, honey, cute little button on a bear, you are not the brightest bulb in the lighting department,” you replied, holding the bridge of your nose between two fingers. Instantly Daniela is upset, giving you a (thankfully) playful smack on the arm. Before she can protest more you continue speaking. “Your family would not hear us making out, true, but they would definitely hear us not playing the piano. I’m pretty sure your mother already thinks I’m doomed to fail as a teacher, and the last thing I need is to give her a reason to drop the curtains this early into our performance.”

“First of all, I am not an idiot,” Daniela said, a bit of a growl to her voice. “Secondly, what harm can a few minutes really do? Don’t you think I’ve been working hard enough to earn a little reward?” Now she’s holding a finger under your chin, lifting it up, making sure you’re looking right at her. There’s no dissuading her, it seems, as she leans in for a soft kiss. This was one of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with (courting?) her; communication felt like a one-man play, except the audience was as likely to throw knives as rotten tomatoes. Whenever Daniela acted like this, pushing away your concerns in favor of her pleasure, it felt helpless to try and resist her.

So you kissed back, wrapped your arms around her, and hoped that she’d be more open to compromise afterwards. At least kissing her was nice. Even though it had only been a week since you first kissed her, she was already getting better, evidently learning through experience. The passion behind her movements had grown as well, leaving you a tad breathless. Regardless of her odd perception of romance, and her insistence that she knew best, you found yourself charmed by her. It was scary. Terrifying, really, how you felt yourself falling under her spell. Wait. Hadn’t you been in this sort of situation before?... Staying with someone who wasn’t good for you? Why were you kissing her? Why were you starting to tremble, tears in your eyes, mind falling down a slippery slope of memories?

By the time you snap out of it, you’re sitting on the floor, Daniela awkwardly kneeling by your side. What the fuck? You think, sniffling a little. Head spinning, mind reeling, you struggle to form coherent thoughts. Next to you Daniela is unsure of how to help. But she’s trying, sort of, one hand holding your own, the other gently rubbing your back. She’s saying something, the words going right over your head. Understanding her takes times, focus, like tuning an instrument until the pitch is just right.

“I don’t understand, we were only kissing, what happened? Can you even hear me? Is this your way of tricking me into not making out with you? Because that’s a total dick move and-” she rambles, only stopping when you give her hand a soft squeeze. Then she’s meeting your gaze, looking uncomfortable, shoulders tense. “You’ve been weird for a while. Distant. Like you don’t want to touch me anymore. Don’t you still love me?”

There’s real, honest pain in her eyes when she speaks. If the timing had been different… you’d have thrown your arms around her and covered her face in kisses, promising to hold her onto she felt better, promising that yes you cared. You cared so fucking much. But she’s making you exhausted; every second has to be focused on her, not you. Every moment of concern is flipped around until she’s the victim, or at least the one that needs comforting. You didn’t think that she even realized what she was doing. Well, you hoped that she didn’t, wanted to believe that if she understood she’d change.

“Remember the first day we kissed?... how you pulled me close, and I kissed you harder, and we started…. Remember how I made a move and you pushed me away? I’ll never forget the look on your face. I felt like shit afterwards. I should have asked before I tried anything,” you explain, letting go of Daniela’s hand so you could pull your knees to your chest. Somehow you can’t bring yourself to maintain eye contact with her- not right now, not when you could still remember what it felt like to be on her side of this story. “I don’t want to push your boundaries, or make you feel pressured to do something you don’t want to do. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you like that.”

“Oh bullshit,” Daniela snarled, shocking you, before getting to her feet. Confusion doesn’t begin to describe how you feel in the moment as you watch her pace back and forth. Both her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s refusing to look at you. There’s a buzzing sound in the room, faint but growing louder, like she’s a split second away from entering swarm mode. “We’re a couple, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you be able to tell what I want? Shouldn’t it be obvious what I desire, when I’m pinning you to the wall and shoving my tongue down your throat? What more do you require?”

“Holy shit, Dani, I know communication isn’t your forte, but have you really not even considered talking to me? That’s simple, easy, literally the first thing that should come to mind!” You snapped, too in disbelief to keep your voice down. For a moment Daniela stops her pacing, turning to stare at you with narrowed eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you’d be convinced she was ready to kill you. But she doesn’t move to grab her sickle, or otherwise advance on you, instead groaning and tugging on her own hair in frustration.

“Because that’s not romantic, genius!” She replied. Some dots start to connect in your mind, but you lack the full context, as if looking at sheet music with no clefs or time signature. It’s not until Daniela continues that you really understand; and, by extension, realize just how ridiculous this whole mess is. “None of the books I’ve read involve conversations like this. People just… they just love each other! And figure it out as they go along, reading each other’s body language and facial expressions, inferring what they need to know through touches and reactions. Why can’t we do that?”

“This isn’t a fucking book, dumbass! I don’t have powers like you, I can’t just read your mind and figure out what you want. That’s not how relationships work! Communication is key. And you can’t just talk, you have to listen, hard, and understand,” you continued, still on the floor, heart pounding so furiously you thought it might leap from your chest at any moment. As angry as you are, you wonder if you’re being too loud, too angry, wonder if there was a better way to get through to Daniela. Before you can think of a solution the air is ripped from your lungs. Your “partner”/student is grabbing you by the front of your shirt, yanking you to your feet. Instinct makes you struggle against her, as useless as it is.

“I. Told. You. I’m not an idiot!” Her free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek for a moment, then pulling away just as fast. When it moves back up she’s gripping onto her sickle. The sharp edge ends up resting against your neck, the slightest movement threatening to cut you open. This is the most Daniela has ever openly threatened you, and in that moment all your anger melts back into fear, tears spilling down your cheeks. A flicker of something shows in her eyes, making you think that even she doesn’t like where this is going. “Give me one reason not to end this right now.”

“... I don’t… I can’t think. I… Why would you?” The words leave you in a rush, even with the pauses, and each syllable makes the sickle press into your skin a little more. There’s sure to be a cut there, though you can’t even begin to estimate how bad it is. The blade is sharp, clearly, and it hardly even hurts as it slices you. Thankfully the sensation doesn’t last long. Once you’re done speaking, Daniela’s grip loosens considerably, hand slowly letting your shirt go. Her other hand takes a few seconds to move, but eventually pulls away without any fuss. For a few seconds she just watches you, eyes filled to the brim with a rich sorrow, mouth open but unmoving.

“No lesson tomorrow. I need a break,” Daniela whispers, barely audible. Then she’s dusting herself off, no longer looking at you, and heading towards the exit. Just like the first time you met, she pauses in the doorway. “How’s that for communication, hmm?” When she laughs, it’s empty, forced. Part of you wants to stop her and ask if she’s okay.

Instead, you watch her leave, unspoken words tangling with your tongue until you almost can’t swallow.

Then your feet move, automatically, leading you to the piano. You sit down without thinking. You touch the keys without thinking. When you play, you play without thinking. It’s just a song, the world tells you, and you have no choice but to play. It’s not just a song, you know this, but you can’t think. Can’t argue against the personification of your isolation, or the embodiment of your trauma. All you can do is let yourself get lost in the music, softly, recalling lyrics from a forgotten time.

I’ve been running all my life, trying to find a place to hide ‘Thought that I had settled down, but I guess things are changing now Don’t make me go, don’t make me go Just don’t make me go, this feels like home

As soon as the last note fades out you stand, wordlessly, and leave. Your feet carry you down corridor after corridor, past maidens working, some of whom gasp when they see you. But you don’t stop, not even when you cross paths with Lady Bela, who eyes you with surprising concern. She doesn’t try to stop you, though, and you doubt you would have cared if she had tried. It’s not until you are within your shared room that you finally stop moving. It is there that you sit, shaking, finally pressing a cloth to your neck. Blood stains the fabric, first in just a few dots, then spreading out. There’s not enough to make you fear for your life, but there is enough to make you cry harder. Washing the wound will sting… so you don’t do that. Soon you will have to return to your work, and the thought puts pressure on your skull, summoning an all-too-familiar migraine.

When you close your eyes, you don’t mean to fall asleep, but that is exactly what you do. And when you dream, you do not wish for nightmares. You never do- and fate never denies you their company.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #big oof in the chat for this one boys #introducing the secondary conflict #don't worry the next one will be happier :)#tw emotional abuse #we learn little hints of the reader's backstory here

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 3 years

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The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash.

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her.

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry."

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw.

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..."

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.'

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand."

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...'

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan."

There is a soft chuckle in her mind.

"What's so funny? You love plans."

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile.

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.'

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable.

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last.

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow.

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view.

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--"

"You've done what?"

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--"

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..."

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe."

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword."

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to."

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm.

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that."

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave.

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight.

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things."

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.'

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now."

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.'

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...'

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in.

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd."

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours.

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing.

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to.

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago.

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you."

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again."

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..."

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool."

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead."

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--"

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--"

"You're no family of mine."

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet."

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you."

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?"

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat.

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?"

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays."

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?'

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think."

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..."

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her.

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today."

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail.

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write.

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk.

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this...

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company.

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair.

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case.

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner.

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.'

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.'

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely.

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.'

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man."

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.'

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace.

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say.

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives.

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

#ezmerelda d'avenir #rudolph van richten #curse of strahd #dnd #dungeons and dragons #fanfiction #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #erasmus van richten #ravenloft #gonna take my horse to the old svalich road #tabletop

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Text

While You Sleep

Chapter 15

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: mentions of panic attack, mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

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“Would you like to explain to me why you’re here?”

“I think you already know why I’m here.”

Your therapist eyed you annoyingly at the bitter response. After your little episode during sex, Bucky had finally put his foot down. He realized you clearly weren’t getting anywhere on your own and he wasn’t the most equipped to give you the care you needed, so he set up a therapy appointment for you.

The therapist was under the same practice as Bucky’s own but he made it very clear you two couldn’t see the same doctor. You’d never admit it, but you were thankful for that. You couldn’t imagine sitting across from the woman who Bucky also dumped his trauma onto.

So, that was how, after some intense back and forth with Bucky, you ended up in front of a therapist you couldn’t remember the name of. It was pathetic, really, but in your defiance, you hadn’t learned her name. As if that somehow kept you disconnected from the whole process. At best, you knew her name started with a G and that’s all you were going to go off of.

“Sure,” Dr. G shrugged and glanced at your file. “I know what happened to you but why are you here? What made you want to see someone?”

You sighed. “It was just time.”

“Why?”

You slammed your hand on the side of the couch in frustration. It had been this weird back and forth for the last ten minutes. Honestly, you were hoping you could just drain the time but this doctor wasn’t giving either of you the luxury.

“What would you like me to say, huh?” You spat out, a new kind of anger springing within you. The dam wall had broken. “Do you want to hear about how for almost my entire life I haven’t been able to escape the nightmares of my soulmate? Or about how I get one little moment of peace with him and then it all goes to absolute shit? Because that’s just how the cookie fucking crumbles, isn’t it?” You bit your lip, holding back from the sob rising in your burning throat. But you certainly weren’t done. You forced on, “Maybe you’d like to listen to me ramble on about how my own goddamn apartment feels like a prison. Or how I can’t even have sex with my soulmate because everything, every little fucking thing, reminds me of that night. And it’s not just enough to remember it, I guess. Huge shoutout to whatever kind of soulmate bond this is.” You paused. “I was barely gone for two days and somehow it hurt me, it damaged me. But, really, it shouldn’t have, right? It was nothing compared to-,” Him. His experiences. Your words got stuck as you gasped, letting the sadness roll over you. The tears were flowing freely now.

You just didn’t understand. You didn’t understand your reaction to any of this. You were barely touched, never even experimented on yet you couldn’t seem to actually escape it. You were flinching at touches. Backing out of sex. Not to mention the images of Bucky. Real images, no longer just dreams, but almost like your memories came into play. You were forced to be stuck in a tragic playback of that time. Over and over, every night, and you were to move on? Yet how does all of this come about from being gone for a few hours? You felt there was maybe more to this all and anxiety gnawed at you about it.

Your therapist sighed and placed your file on her side table. She leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Trauma is trauma, no matter how small or insignificant your brain thinks it is.” She passed you a tissue which you accepted.

You dabbed your eyes. “It’s just not fair,” you mumbled. “I finally found him and now I fear I’m ruining it.”

“You aren’t ruining it,” the therapist insisted. “You went through something catastrophic and your mind is reacting. It’s beyond justified. Don’t you think he, out of everyone else in this world, understands that?”

You gave a pathetic shrug knowing she’s completely correct. But that wasn’t how this was supposed to work. You should’ve been his rock, right?

“Well,” Dr. G sighed as she leaned back in her seat, “I think he understands and you have no reason to beat yourself up over it. You aren’t responsible for any of it. You’re just responsible for recovering and, sorry to say, that isn’t exactly done overnight.”

You scoffed. “Well, where does it begin?”

“Talking,” she said. “Brainstorming. Shooting the shit. Whatever you want to call it, just find a way to let it out of here.” Dr. G motioned towards her heart. You felt your own pounding.

***

Bucky was right where you had left him sitting in one of the chairs in the corner of the waiting room. He didn’t notice you at first as he was engrossed in some technology magazine. You couldn’t help but notice how interested yet relaxed he was. He really did have a bit of a nerdy side to him.

“What’s so fascinating?” You asked, taking a seat next to him. He jumped a little at your sudden appearance. You held back a chuckle, finding it quite amusing you could surprise the ex-assassin.

Bucky looked back at the magazine and shrugged. “Some new tiny cameras this company in Europe developed. Smaller than your pinky yet has the quality of a full-fledged camera, or so they claim.”

You smiled at his light skepticism. For a man that was easily wowed by the world he sure was hesitant to indulge in it - hence the flip phone he still kept insisted on.

With a sigh, Bucky closed the magazine and placed it back on the table. He looked towards you again and asked, “How did it go?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to talk about it, but that also sort of beat the purpose of getting guidance from a therapist. She emphasized that communication was a major key - for both of you. You didn’t want to dismiss that advice right away but you also didn’t exactly want to make your soulmate more concerned than he already was. He had insisted on coming with you to this appointment despite being confined to the waiting room. Bucky didn’t mind, clearly overshadowed by the worry showcased on his face.

“I have to tell you a few things if you’d like to accompany me back home.”

“Home?” He frowned. “Home as in-,”

You shook your head. “My apartment.”

Wordlessly, Bucky stood and outstretched his hand towards you. You mustered up a smile the best you could, letting him guide you out of the building and onto the city sidewalk.

For as many concerns as you had running through you, you were finding some new sense of pride walking down the street with Bucky. Your soulmate. You had felt something there beyond it all.

How many times had you walked these streets simply letting your gaze wander about hoping to just spot him? And then you didn’t even find him in the most conventional way.

But you had to remind yourself of that hopeful gazing you partook in for many weeks. All you had to go off of was his actions. His violent, albeit unwilling, actions. And yet, in all that, you still wanted to meet him. Wanted to hear his voice and maybe get a peek into what he may be like. You certainly got way more than you had bargained for. And you wanted to keep it. Maybe you had been forgetting that in your worries of ruining it. These worries stemmed from wanting. You just had to remind yourself.

You two had been lost in your own worlds. You were quite surprised by how quickly you had arrived at your apartment building. Everything outside of it was the same like the world had just stood still. You dropped Bucky’s hand and began fumbling for your keys. He kept a protective arm around your waist, trying to offer some comfort for the daunting task.

After a shaky moment, you led him inside and up the stairs where your apartment door sat, seemingly untouched. You knew that wasn’t exactly the case. Agents had been in and out of your apartment upon your disappearance, Bucky had explained, but they must’ve been stealthy ones. It looked like every other door.

And, really, that’s all it was, you told yourself. It’s just a door. It’s a first step, your therapist had claimed, but it was also just a door. You had wrestled with yourself over this concept for a while now and here it was in front of you.

“You don’t have to do this.” Bucky’s voice broke your concentration. “You’re more than welcome at the compound. No one would blame you if you - you wanted to stay.”

“I know,” you sighed. “Thank you but I don’t want to wallow in it.”

Bucky didn’t say anything more and just nodded his head once in understanding. Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and flung it open.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Part of you was ready to be ambushed by Hydra men. Another part of you thought the place would be a wasteland. But neither of those was the case. It was just...normal. It looked exactly how you remember leaving it in all its worn-down glory. Relief washed over you.

You walked in as you had a million times before and threw your bag on the couch. You headed straight for the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. Bucky didn’t comment on anything and just took a seat on your couch, waiting.

Making your back to the couch, you offered Bucky water but he declined. Amazingly, you floated around the apartment with no worries. It felt like you never left while also felt like you were reclaiming.

You took a seat next to Bucky, keeping some space between your bodies.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” Bucky suddenly asked. You glanced back at him nervously. If he was at all anxious, he sure wasn’t showing it. Damn that assassin mentality.

“That nightmares have come back,” you admitted. The words landed like a million little bombs around the apartment. Bucky leaned back on the couch, his eyes wide with concern.

“What?” It was all he seemed able to manage to say.

You shifted on the couch uncomfortably, mentally working up the courage to continue on. “It all started back up after that… that night,” you explained. “I-I was suddenly seeing you fighting those men. I was seeing pretty much into your brain, feeling all that anger and relentless rage.” You paused. “I couldn’t believe it, really. I hadn’t had a single nightmare ever since we got together and now...it’s like a million steps back and I don’t know how to fix it. The doctor suggested talking and that’s what I want, Buck. You can’t turn away. Not right now.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead taking strong interest in picking at your couch cushion. He seemed quite uncomfortable, which was beyond understandable, but he also had to have heard your pleas.

“Y-You see all that?” He finally asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Just on a playback loop? Despite us being connected, really connected.”

You didn’t know what to do besides nod in confirmation. Bucky let out a deep sigh.

“And this, on top of everything else, hasn’t been helping you to recover, has it?”

You shook your head. Bucky now looked like he wanted to put his fist through your door. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Of course not,” Bucky mumbled. “I-I thought it was supposed to get better.”

“Me too,” you admitted. “I didn’t tell the therapist this but I… Well, I fear there’s something faulty with this bond.”

The thought had initially popped in your head out of nowhere. One night you were half-awake, already witnessing the shine of Bucky’s arm as his hand contracted around the goon’s throat, when you began trying to think about the good memories. The reader Bucky you got to see. How lovely that was to bring up. How the conversation that followed was refreshing, fun. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything like that up again because you lost them. It took a bit for your theory to prove certain but once it was, you realized, you were stuck.

But you also hadn’t exactly wanted to act on this theory, figuring this could be handled on your own. Date night proved wrong.

Bucky eyed you, curiously. “What do you mean?”

“It’s very challenging to recover from something when it’s the only thing you’re reminded of, right? Well, that’s the case, nightly. Despite how serious we are in this relationship, it’s cutting through, even though it seemed like in the beginning…” Your words trailed, a bit unsure. You changed the focus. “The memories and thoughts are still transmitted disturbing reminders. I can talk about it until I’m blue in the face, but I just don’t think that’s all there is to it. The bond isn’t letting me move on regardless of our circumstances. Everything you saw...”

Your soulmate nodded in his attempt to understand where this was going. You even had to admit, it was sounding a bit bizarre. You did think it was just trauma and in many ways, it is. It all comes back to the trauma derived from the situation but to have to relive it through your soulmate’s eyes. To have to see him personally killing someone was just… It was a whole new level of memories. You were personally attached to them. You weren’t just living through it in some fucked up metaphorical way - you actually had lived it. Besides - it shouldn’t be this way.

“You think we need to see someone about it,” Bucky concluded.

Hesitantly, you confirmed his suspicions. “Are there really doctors who study it? I've heard rumors but I’ve never seen someone.” Thinking of it now, you never knew why you didn’t. Probably because those who studied soulmate bonds were truly myths. There wasn’t exactly anything tangible to study. Who was going to waste their time?

Bucky shrugged. “I think I may know someone.”

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binnie-huaisang · 3 years

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Silly Fight

Genre: angst, fluff(?

Pairing: Chan × reader

Words: 3.4 k

TW: Mental health issues, depression.

Also, this came out a little darker that I intended and by the end I didn’t have the heart to give it the final I was actually going to write, BUT if you wanna read the original ending I was planning, you can look for the “alternative” version in my blog where I added the original ending because apparently I like to make myself cry (:

Note: I'm sorry if there are some spelling or grammar mistakes, or if some expressions just don't make sense. English isn't my first language, but I promise I'm trying my best.

Chan and you started dating a few years ago, of course nobody knew that, except for your friends and his family.

At the beginning of the relationship you were really nervous all the time, always scared to make a bad movement or saying something that could maybe make him uncomfortable. That, and the fact that you didn’t even live in the same country, had you worried every moment of every day. You had always been an overthinker, and this certainly did no better to your condition.

However, things were going great, and it wasn’t too long for the little voices in your head to notice that. It was almost as if Chan and you were meant for eachother. It wasn’t like anything you had experienced before. Your relationship was one of those that you can only find in fairytales, and you knew that it was because both of you were so in love that every thing that could seem as a problem for other people, meant nothing to you.

Even with the distance, you would always be there for eachother. Every time he was getting frustrated over work or you were having a bad time because of college, you would always be there to give support to the other.

Even if your personalities were very different, you barely fought, and it wasn’t because you weren’t able to see the other’s defects or mistakes, but because you knew that they were part of the person you loved and, in a certain way, you also had fallen for those things.

Yes, both of you were completely different worlds, but somehow, you made it work. Even after taking that big step that was making your relationship official, everything kept being the exact same way. Now, it wasn’t only your loved ones who would always tell you that you were basically soulmates, but also his fans and comrades.

Everything was just perfect, or at least it was until that afternoon…

You were visiting Chan after a few months of not seeing each other and, as usual, he took you to that coffee shop that was near his company building.

He was trying his best to act like everything was okay and that nothing was bothering him, but you knew him more than anyone in the world, and you could tell that something was off.

“Babe, is something bothering you?” you asked while caressing his hand over the table.

He saw the concern behind your eyes and that only made the guilt inside of him grow. He didn’t wanna do it, he knew it would end really bad for both of you, but he knew that if he didn’t tell you, someone else would, and that would be even worse.

“Everything’s alright angel” he lied. “Let’s eat, the food will get cold”, and there it was, that smile, the one that he uses every time something is bothering him but he doesn’t wanna tell you.

“Chan”, you called, making him look up to you. He could hardly look at you in the eye without getting nervous. He knew a fight was coming, and he was doing everything he could to hold it over. He was really trying, but he felt so guilty for being the reason for your concern.

Suddenly, the image of you crying in his bed popped into his mind. It was the first time he ever saw you cry, and no one could put in words how guilty and broken he felt for knowing that he was the reason behind it. Apparently you saw one of those mean comments people make on social media about him and you couldn’t resist it.

You were the kind of person that never cared about what others said about you, but as soon as someone said something about your loved ones, it was on.

That was one of the hardest days for both of you. You were trying to give comfort words to each other, but it was useless. You could still not understand why would people be so mean towards the best person you’ve ever met, the one who was always there for anyone that needed some help. On the other hand, he would never forgive himself for making you cry. He knew it was because of him, and he was feeling so mad for making the one he loved suffer in that way. You were his whole world, his motivation on the hard days and his celebration partner on the best ones.

You were everything he could’ve dreamed of, in his eyes you were just perfect, and the fact that he hurt you in some way was something that would never happen again. Or at least that was what he thought.

“Chan? Chan!” Your voice brought him back to reality. “Listen, I don’t know what’s happening, but you know you can tell me everything”.

“Well… Actually, there is something I need to tell you…” He finally said and you nodded. “I was talking with some people from the company the other day and… They asked me to talk to you about some things related to your podcast”.

Chan looked at you, examining every inch of your face, looking for any movement or expression that could let him know what you were thinking, but it was useless. Your expression was completely neutral.

However, in your head things were very different. You weren’t stupid, of course you knew what he was about to say.

You and your best friend, Santiago, had a podcast where you would talk about random stuff, it could be mental health issues, cartoons, movies, or even political complains, it was basically two friends just talking to each other. This podcast had existed even before you knew Chan and it didn’t seem like there was a problem about it until some people of Chan’s company asked him to tell you that you should stop joking about your mental health online because it gave a “bad image”.

That happened just a couple months ago and you were still mad. Anyone who knew you knew that was your coping mechanism and they had the audacity to ask you to stop doing it. Of course you could just refuse to do it, but you didn’t want any problems, besides, after talking with Santiago, you both agreed that there were some comments that could actually be a trigger to some of your audience, so you ended up agreeing.

“What is it?” Your face could be inexpressive, but your voice revealed all the annoyance you were feeling.Of course, Chan noticed that and it only made him more nervous. He really didn't want to do it, he knew it was unfair, but he had to tell you.

“Well… It’s actually a very stupid thing, you will probably laugh when you hear it because it´s really stupid-”

“Just tell me” you said, cutting off the babbling of the slightly scared boy that was sitting across from you.

“They say you should stop swearing so much”.

Chan was right, you did laugh, but it wasn’t for the reason he expected. You were so done with them. As much as you always hated the control they had over Chan, you could kind of understand it since he worked for them, but you didn’t, and the fact that they were trying to have control over you and your friend was unacceptable.

“You know what? I’m going to talk with them, I’m fucking done”. You said getting up from your seat. Even when you were keeping your voice in a low tone, some people turned because of the sudden move.

“Babe!” Chan took your wrist in his hand before you could start walking away. He didn’t say anything, but by the look in his eyes, you knew he wanted you to stay there and talk about it, and so you did.

“It’s just that… It’s so stupid!” You said a little more relaxed.

“I know baby” Chan comforted you by caressing your left cheek.

“I mean, I would consider changing something if it made you uncomfortable, but I shouldn’t have to change because some people that don’t even know me think that I ‘swear’ a lot”.

“Well…” The panic showed on his face as soon as he realized what he had done.“

‘Well’?” You raised a brow. “So you think they’re right’“

“No! Of course not! I’m just saying that maybe you do swear in moments where it’s not completely necessary”. Despite his previous intent of calm you down, he was having some stressful days and he was beginning to feel tired.

“But that’s the way I talk!”

“Well, maybe the way you talk does give a bad image!”

“Oh, because I clearly care so much for my image! Why do you care anyways? You’re not even in the podcast!”

Chan let out a sarcastic laugh. “What did you say before? That you would consider changing something if it made me uncomfortable? Go ahead then, change it! Oh, wait. You won’t, because you are so used to people agreeing with you that whenever someone disagrees you just ignore it!”

You stared at him with a stunned look. Something inside you knew that none of you were thinking straight and that maybe you should stop, but you were so mad at him for agreeing with the people that were trying to control you, that you ignored that little voice.

“First of all, why do you all complain about it so much? Whenever I say a bad word or ‘swear’ or however you wanna call it, I do it in my first language, you don’t even understand what I’m saying so shut the fuck up! And second, it doesn’t even make sense that you are telling me that you are bothered because of my language! I never swear around you because I know that your holy ears bleed everytime someone says ‘fuck’. Why don’t you just tell me that you are so scared of them that you need to be a total jerk to me in order to make them happy?”

“Oh, so now I’m being a jerk? You know what? Maybe I am scared of them, but you are being selfish! You are not even thinking about how this can affect me!”

“Pleeease!” You said with a sarcastic laugh. “You’re no one to talk about it! You were the one who pushed me into revealing our relationship because ‘you didn’t want to hide anything from your fans’“ You mocked. “I wasn’t prepared and you still made me appear in front of a camera! You didn’t care what it would do to me, so don’t talk to me about being selfish!”

You could feel the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You always tried to ignore the bad comments since they were minimum, but sometimes you couldn’t help being affected by them, especially when you were already having bad times.

“You know I’m sorry for that”. Chan said recovering from the sudden anger. He knew that he made a mistake by throwing you to the world like that and there wasn’t a day he didn’t regret it.

“Well, that doesn’t make the death threats disappear”. As much as you tried to hold them, you felt the tears finally scape.

Chan was speechless, he wanted to say something, to hug you and say sorry for everything, but he couldn’t move. He was just there, sitting while he watched you fall apart. And the worst part was yet to come…

“I- I don’t care about this. I don’t care about those stupid coments and I wouldn’t care about what your stupid bosses tell you if it wasn’t beacuse it’s always me who has to do or change something” Your voice was barely a whisper, but Chan could hear every single word. “My grades have been getting down, you know?” A sad smile painted your face. “I’ve been feeling bad for months and I cannot pay attention to my lessons. To be honest, I don’t even know if I like my career anymore, but I can’t quit, I don’t want to. I keep telling to myself ‘maybe it’s not the career, it’s just my depression, I’ll be fine in a few days’, but I’m not fine and I’ve been wanting to look for help but therapy is fucking expensive”.

Chan was looking at you completely devastated. He never knew you were feeling bad. Of course he knew about your depression, but you once told him that you’ve been feeling alright for more than a year now. How stupid he was for not noticing. He wanted to ask you why you didn’t say anything, why would you hide such important things, but, once again, he didn’t.

“The money I earn… I use everything to come here to see you because you are not allowed to visit me” You said in a more bitter tone than you intended. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming you, I know this is your job but… It can be a little exhausting to be the one who always has to adapt, to be the strong one. I never say anything because I love you so much and I know I should support you because the path you chose is already hard enough but… I’m just… tired. I’m tired of everything”.

You didn’t even have time to react when your boyfriend got up from his seat and walked around the table to kneel in front of you and wrap his arms tightly around your waist. The initial shock fading as you heard his muffled crying on your chest. You were trying to comfort him by caressing his hair, but it was useless. After a few minutes, when both of you felt that the sobs of the other were fading, Chan finally looked up at you, sending a wave of guilt through your body as you saw his still teary eyes.

Before you could say anything, he gave you a soft and long kiss on the forehead. The kiss was so full of love and emotions that it made you tear once again.

“I’m so sorry” He said with a raspy voice. “I’m such an asshole for not noticing. You’re always there for me and I just-”

“Shhh” You interrupted by caressing his cheek. “None of this is your fault. I shouldn’t have brought up the subject, this wasn’t the time to do it”.

“Hey, don’t say that!” Chan said as he lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “You’re right, I guess I’m taking more than what I’m giving, but this stops now. I will talk with my manager to see if he can fix something, and as for your therapy… I will pay for it”.

“Of course not!” You said with wide eyes. “I’m the one who has to handle this, I’ll find the way”.

“Angel, you don’t have to go through this by yourself, you have me now and I will not leave you alone… Not again”.

And with that said, he held you in his arms once again pulling you as closer as he could as if he feared you’d disappear at any moment. After a few seconds, you heard your boyfriend’s muffled voice again.

“Don’t say that again”.

“What?”

“That you are tired of everything, don’t say that. If you say that you’re tired of me, that you’re tired of college… I can take it, but please don’t say you’re tired of everything”. His words made you suddenly go pale. You didn't expect him to understand the meaning of your words, but he did. Even if you never told him the full story because you were so scared of him dismissing the matter, he knew you were struggling with something ever since you were a child. In fact, he knew more than you tought.

As far as you knew, he was always very busy to listen to your podcast, but that was only partially true, since he did use to listen to some of the chapters. One of them was the one where you and Santiago were talking about the importance of mental health and how people should always ask for help if they feel like there’s something that’s not working as it should. In that chapter you talked a little bit about your experience with depression and you mentioned… Something. Something that you almost did in middle school. Of course, Santiago didn’t seem surprised, since he already knew about it and he only reassured you that you weren’t alone anymore, but for Chan, knowing about that situation really shocked him. Of course he never told you anything since he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but ever since he found out about this… Situation, he would find himself thinking about it in the most unexpected moments of the day.

After thinking about what would be the best answer to the sudden request, you decided that a simple nod would be the only thing that wouldn’t make you burst into tears again, so that’s what you did.

“I still don’t want you to pay for my therapy tho” You said with a tired smile after your boyfriend had broken the hug just to start playing with your hands.

“We’ll talk about it later, angel” He said, smiling back at you, but this time it wasn’t a sarcastic or a nervous smile, it was a real one. “Now, why don’t we go back to the apartment? I will cook something delicious for you”.

“But we already have food here!” You said, letting out a little giggle at the ridiculous proposal.

You could see how the red color of his cheeks and ears became more intense before he leaned toward one of yours. “To be honest… I don’t know if I feel comfortable eating in a room full of people that saw me crying just a few instants ago”.

A sincere laugh escaped your lungs. You hadn’t thought about it until he pointed it out and he was right, it was kind of embarrassing. After a few more giggles from both of you because of the whole situation, you found yourselves walking towards the entrance while holding hands. It was weird, you knew that for most people, having that kind of discussion could've ended in so much pain, and even a breakup, but you weren’t like most people. Chan meant the world to you and you were the love of his life, which meant that he would not back down and he would not let anyone hurt you, even if that someone was you.

You were already walking down the street when you suddenly remembered something.

“Baby?” He looked at you with a sweet simile. “You don’t know how to cook”.

“Well, maybe by ‘cooking something for you’ I meant supervising the people who will actually cook for you”.

“Channie!” You whined, a little worried that his friends will get tired and refuse to keep cooking for you one of these days.

“It’s alright! Felix loves cooking for you! And Lino loves having you around, why would he refuse?” And there they were, the beautiful dimples you’ve been missing for so long.

You stared at his face for a few moments and before he could ask why had you stopped walking, you planted a quick kiss on his right dimple, followed by a sweet peck on his lips.

You laughed at the flustered boy standing in front of you, your smile only getting wider as you felt him holding you by your waist and pulling you closer so he could hide his already red face in the curve of your neck.

“I love you _____“ He murmured, sending shivers down your spine and making you feel butterflies in your chest.

“And I love you, my angel“

“Hey! That’s my nickname for you“ He pouted.

“I know baby, but you truly are an angel to me“ “Stopthisatonceifyoudon’twantmetokissyoualloveryourbeautifulfaceohmygodIloveyoumuch“ You giggled again, barely being able to listen to his muffled words since his face had already found its way back to your neck.

“Channie… I’m sorry for starting that silly fight…”

“Hey, stop it! You had all the right to be mad! And it wasn’t a ‘silly fight‘. Actually, I’m kind of grateful that it happened, since it made me know how you were feeling”.

You were about to complain, but before you could, he planted a quick kiss on your hand and dragged you towards his body, making you get back to the pathway. “Let’s go angel! The faster we get there, the faster I will be able to start begging Minho to cook something for us”.

Hi! I’m sorry if this is too bad, this is my first time writing a short fic and it’s also the first time I write something this long only in english. If there are any grammar mistakes that you can find, feel free to send me a DM and correct me (:

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drmmyrs · 3 years

Text

Remember Me (Becca x MC)

So, weird story. I was randomly browsing tumblr one time when this ask pops out at the top of the screen (req about amnesia au Becca’s POV). It wasn’t even related to anything I was reading but checked my inbox and it wasn’t there. Most probably the ask isn’t for me but still wrote it just in case 😅

PS if someone DID send me this ask, kindly drop me a message just so I know I’m not seeing things 😭

PPS I’m trying out a new writing style and I’m not sure if it’s any good so I’d really appreciate any feedback 🥺 (this will be a mini series too, I think, since the angst potential is definitely there 😂)

PPPS title is inspired from the song in Coco just cause I’ve been playing it a lot on piano recently

tag list: @whackawriting @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy @alexroyard @alexlabhont @veenast @noixngn @sillyandcutewizardstuffs (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️)

Pairing: Becca x MC (Emily)

Word Count: 2090

I don't remember what happened, nor know where I am, but I hear shouting, lots of it. I try to move, but my body feels completely numb; the only thing I can feel is the trickle of liquid that splatters across my face. Rain? I open my eyes strenuously, but all I can see past my blurry vision are brown eyes glistening with tears. I can't quite make out her face, but for some reason, seeing her cry sends a flurry of emotions that hurt more than my throbbing head. I try to open my mouth, hoping to provide comfort somehow, but no words come out. She is saying something over and over again, something about leaving? But my head hurts too much to be able to comprehend. A siren then blares from a distance, growing louder by the second as flashes of red cloud my vision. And that is when everything turns black.

I slowly open my eyes–still reeling from the nightmare that somehow felt too real–and harsh, blinding lights immediately greet me. I hastily shut my eyes back and suddenly become well aware of the ache engulfing my entire body. It isn't before long that I realize that someone is holding my hand, tracing lazy circles against my skin ever so often. I try to move it but only manage to lift a finger, and at once, the grip tightens and becomes still for a moment before I hear a voice– How can a voice sound so familiar... yet so strange? It's saying my name, urgent and gentle at the same time as though I might break at any second. I try to open my eyes, but exhaustion grips me powerless. And soon, I succumb to its fiery grasp as I slip back into slumber.

When I wake up again, I already feel much stronger than before. The ache in my body has turned into a dull hum as if sharp nails are gently caressing my skin, enough to be felt but not to hurt. I look around the room, panic swelling in my chest as I take in the sight of different medical equipment looming around my bed and needles sticking out of my arm. I fight the urge to squirm as I take big, calming breaths, ignoring how the four white walls seem to close in on me. Thankfully, the door opens, and a nurse walks in, temporarily distracting me from my distress. She smiles upon seeing me awake and walks towards me.

"Welcome back, Ms. Davenport. How are you feeling?"

"W–where am I?" I ask weakly.

"In the hospital. A month ago, you were involved in a car crash, and your head was hurt pretty badly," the nurse says sympathetically. She is now taking my vitals, scribbling something on her chart from time to time.

Car crash?

I scrunch my eyes, trying to remember, but the harder I try, the more my head hurts.

"Wait. A month? Are you saying that I've been here... for a month?"

The nurse nods. "You've been unconscious the entire time. But your vitals now are looking good. The doctor will just run a few tests to make sure we don't miss anything."

I stay quiet for a while, my mind still processing everything the nurse just said, which has only raised new questions.

"Your friends and family were really worried about you, you know. There wasn't a day when you didn't have any visitors. Especially that special friend of yours you were in the car with." The nurse turns towards me, holding a pen against her chin. "What was her name? Em–Emma, I think? She barely left your side. She actually just went to grab some food before you woke up."

...I don't know any Emma, but I don't tell her that.

"What about my parents?"

"Your mom and sister usually visit during the evening."

"And my father?"

The nurse shakes her head. "I don't think I've ever seen your father."

The nurse leaves after a while, and the doctor comes inside the room shortly. I answer a few questions before I'm escorted outside to take some tests. Afterward, the nurse leads me back to my room and gently guides me to bed.

"Would you like me to call in your visitors?" the nurse asks.

I nod.

The nurse goes out, and soon my mom walks in followed by–

"Emily." I frown. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Both of them stop in their tracks. My mom looks at me in concern and confusion, while Emily looks like I just punched her in the gut.

Anger bubbles up inside me as a realization comes to mind. "Y–you. You're the one who did this, aren't you? You're the reason I'm here."

A guilty look flickers across her face, confirming my suspicions. And before I can stop myself, I shout at her to leave, but she stands there motionless, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Go get the doctor," my mom tells her, which snaps her out of her shock. She scurries out of the room at the same time my mom starts walking towards me.

"Why is she here, Mom?"

My mom stops at the side of the bed and reaches out to stroke my hair. "Honey, the accident was not her fault."

"But she was there with me..."

"Yes."

"Why?"

My mom's hand goes still, resting on top of my head. "Becca, what was the last thing you remember?"

"I..." I close my eyes and think hard for a moment. "I–I remember hosting the Kappa party. But that doesn't make any sense. Why would I leave with Emily?"

A brief look of panic flashes across her eyes.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

My mom smiles at me, but it looks forced. "It's nothing, sweetie. The doctor will be here soon."

But I can see that she's trying her best to keep calm–the look on her face similar to when she would talk to my little sister and me right after we would hear her and dad fight.

The doctor comes in a little while later, asking a bunch of questions similar to my mom's. They then do more tests on me, and I grow scared by the minute, not understanding what the hell is going on. Eventually, I'm back in my room alone, my mom and the doctor staying outside to talk. After some time, they enter the room, and my mom sits beside me, taking my hand as the doctor walks towards the other side of the bed.

I look at my mom, drained from all the medical tests I went through the entire day. "What's happening, Mom? I'm scared."

My mom squeezes my hand and gives me a reassuring smile. "The doctor will explain it to you, sweetie. But I'll be right here the whole time." She then gives a single nod to the doctor.

The doctor smiles at me politely. "How are you feeling, Becca?"

I stare at him, suddenly annoyed at being asked the same question over and over again.

"Right then." The doctor clears his throat. "During the accident, your brain was affected more than we initially thought." He pauses, and I meet his gaze, willing him to go straight to the point. "It seems like you have retrograde amnesia, meaning that you have no memory of the past three years of your life."

The doctor goes on and on about the technicalities, but I'm not listening anymore. His voice is reduced to background noise as I repeat his words inside my head, trying to grasp the implications of what he just said. I prop myself up, looking wildly around the room, tugging at my shirt as if it would help me breathe. But it doesn't. My body feels numb, which is why I almost don't notice my mom pulling me into a tight hug, stroking my back comfortingly as she whispers reassurances. I focus on her voice, forcing myself to take deep breaths as I slowly begin to calm down. I pull away after some time, recomposing myself as I find my voice.

"Three years," I whisper.

"We'll help you recover your memories, honey. But for now, you can ask me anything you like."

"I–I think I just need some rest."

My mom nods, helping me settle back in bed before she leaves, promising to be back tomorrow.

Sleep comes easy to me, and I wake up the next day with Madison sitting at the chair next to my bed, browsing her phone.

"Hey, Maddie."

She looks up from her phone, a smile lighting up her face before she practically jumps out of her chair to hug me. "Becca!"

"Ow, that... kinda hurts."

When she pulls away from me, her eyes are teary.

"Sorry, I just missed you so much. You were gone for so long! I thought–"

"Hey, hey, none of that," I say, smiling at her.

She pulls the chair closer to my bed and sits down. "How are you, Becca? Your mom told me about your... condition."

I stare at the ceiling. "Yeah, it sucks." I snap my head back to her. "Tell me something. Do we still hang out a lot?"

"We still meet up from time to time. Not as much as we used to, though," Madison says, smiling sadly.

I nod. "Who do I usually hang out with now?"

"Emily."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Did we become close friends or something?"

"Oh, right. You've only been together for like two years," Madison murmurs contemplatively. "She's your girlfriend, Becca."

I let the information sink in. "You have got to be kidding me." I stare at her wide-eyed. "How–What–Why?"

Madison recounts our 'love story,' each detail more absurd than the last. I don't want to believe any of it, but Emily as my girlfriend... it actually explains everything. I rub my temples. How the hell did that happen? I remember like it was yesterday when she tried to steal Chris away from me. And now... and now...

"Maddie? Can you do me a favor and grab me something to eat? I'm starving."

Madison smiles. "Of course."

Madison goes out in a while, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

***

After a few more days of recovery, I am finally allowed to leave the hospital. Despite my protests, my mom explains that I will have to stay with Emily and her friends at what I assume has been my home for the past two years. She explains that she prefers for someone to look after me constantly, and she will not be able to do that with her job and all.

Outside the hospital, I find Emily waiting near a car; her eyes are bloodshot, as if she hasn't slept a wink in days. When she sees me approaching, her face immediately brightens up. Our gazes lock briefly before I turn back to my mom.

"Are you sure I can't stay with you?"

My mom smiles sadly. "I'm sorry, honey. I wish you could, but..."

"It's okay, I understand."

"Look, I know you don't remember, but these people you've been living with... they care about you very much.”

I nod.

My mom pulls me into a hug before guiding me inside the car, shutting the door afterward. She and Emily talk for a brief moment outside, and I watch as she hugs Emily before walking away. Emily steps into the passenger seat.

Zack, who is sitting in the driver's seat, turns around and smiles at me warmly. "I'm glad you're back."

I shift uncomfortably, ignoring his gaze. "Thanks."

We drive home silently, awkwardness saturating the car space. Upon arriving, I observe the details of the house, seeing if it sparks any memories... but nothing. I see Emily looking at me intently, probably thinking the same thing. They then lead me inside the house, and I step in hesitantly, taking in the surroundings, which vary immensely from the sorority house, the last place I lived based on my memories. Emily guides me to my room, lingering near me as I open the door.

"Becca–"

I turn towards her. "Please don't. I know you think I'm your girlfriend. A–and I guess I was. But as far as I remember, I don't like you at all. So I would appreciate it if you just leave me alone." I turn around and go inside my room, shutting the door behind me. I then lie on the bed, trying to forget how the light dimmed out of Emily's eyes as I broke her heart.

#becca #becca davenport #rebecca davenport #becca x mc #the freshman series #the freshman #the sophomore #the junior #the senior #playchoices #play choices #my work #my fanfics #my writing #request??

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maybe-itll-be-someday · 3 years

Text

Teenage Dreams

The one where someone disrespects Emily and Jack remedies it by punching them in the face.

Read on AO3

Emily was a great Mom.

Despite the fact that they weren't related by blood, she was the only mom he truly ever know. He never really knew his actual Mom since she had died so long ago now. He had snippets of memories, barely threads now since it's been over a decade since she passed, and the stories that his Dad would tell him. About how they first met in the Pirates of Penzance play in high school, how she supported him through law school and the Academy, and how she loved strawberry ice cream and will always love him.

But Emily had always been around, on the sidelines of his soccer games and baseball tournaments, wiping his tears and kissing his bandages when he scraped his knee or slammed his finger in the car door. They had gotten married almost five years ago now and it was only in the last three that Jack had insisted on calling her Mom.

"You're the only Mom I have." He had said when she was stunned into silence as he tested the moniker on his lips on a Wednesday afternoon. He doesn't think he'd ever seen Emily cry so hard before.

The only thing Jack Hotchner didn't really like about his mom, is all the snide comments and half whispers among his friends whenever they came over. He was aware that Emily was beautiful, if the way his Dad always told her was any indication.

It was after school and Mom had come to pick him up after his first soccer practice, his friends quickly starting to elbow each other as his Mom made his way towards them, still dressed from work with her FBI badge hanging off the side of her blazer.

"Hi sweetie." Emily greets. She smiled brilliantly at all his friends, some of whom quickly averted their eyes at the sight of her.

"Hey Mom. These are my teammates." He says, introducing her to the gangly group of teenagers who were either outright staring or doing everything in their power to not make any eye contact.

"I just need to go grab my stuff from the locker room. I'll meet you at the car?" Emily nods, knowing that now that Jack was getting older he was starting to enter the phase where everything his parents did embarrassed him, even if it was just something as simple as picking him up from practice. If Emily were a betting woman, she would wager a large amount of money that Jack wanted her to park down the street so his friends never saw her.

If only she knew exactly why Jack was keeping his friends far away from her.

His friends immediately start whispering to themselves as Emily makes her way back towards the parking lot to wait for Jack.

"That's his mom?"

"Holy shit."

"That is a MILF if I've ever seen one." Jack is quick to shoot an angry glare at his teammate, who at the stern look in Jack's eye, had the decency to look embarrassed before they made their way into the locker room.

Jack could still hear the rumblings among his friends, catching the words sexy and red from the direction of the showers. He tries to block it out, but he can feel the tips of his ears go read as his teammates swapped remarks about their list of hottest Moms and somehow, his own makes it on the list.

He's still bright red when he hops into the car, Mom with a concerned look on her face.

"Are you alright, Jack? You're not catching a fever, are you?" She frowns, checking his temperature with the back of his hand as he swats her away.

"Mom, I'm fine. It's nothing." Emily tuts, Jack's tone toeing the boundary between upset and disrespectful.

"Jack, you know that as a profiler I can tell when you're lying to me, right?" She says, her eyebrow raised and Jack grumbles to himself. Emily smiles at the muttered words, but for her benefit, she asks him to speak up.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said yes ma'am, I am well-aware."

"And you also know that I won't force you to talk about anything unless you want to talk about it?"

A small smile breaks on Jack's lips. Mom never did push him to talk about anything, always just letting him know that she was available when he eventually did want to. Her only condition was that he would talk to her eventually, no matter how long that took. It was one of Jack's favorite things about her, since she could really calm his Dad down when he had that vein bulging from his neck whenever information was withheld from him.

"I'm aware of that too."

"As long as you know." She says, before turning up the radio and singing in an off-tune pitch to the latest pop song on the radio, clearly unaware of the actual lyrics or which key the song is supposed to be in.

Okay, maybe there were two things he didn't like about her.

The next time someone makes a comment about his Mom, they make it to Jack's face.

Dennis Smith was one of those kids you'd consider an outcast in school. Always dressed in torn jeans and black, followed by thin cronies who were too afraid to stand-up to the kids who picked on them so they ended up hiding behind a larger bully. He had been taunting Elliot, Jack's lab partner, for the past three weeks. Elliot had run into class that day, his shirt torn and bag half-opened as he rushed to sit next to Jack.

"Dude, what happened?" Jack asked when he spotted the torn pocket and the hastily stuffed belongings in his backpack. Some of his books were wet and if Jack had to guess, they had roughed him up in the boy's bathroom.

"Dennis." Elliot just mumbles, pulling out his notebook and cursing when he realizes that they took his wallet.

No one was going to pick on his friends if he could do something about it.

At least, that's what his Dad taught him.

So when Chemistry ends, he stalks Dennis and finds him bent over a water fountain, his friends chatting away while leaning on the locker next to him. Jack reaches over and taps him on the shoulder, a bewildered expression on Dennis' face.

"What do you want, Hotchner?" He spit out, puffing his chest to make him seem bigger than he actually was. Dennis didn't like him, since he was one of the only ones who wasn't scared of the bully. Jack found it hard to be scared of him, considering the fact that both of his parents were in the FBI and dealt with much scarier things than insecure teenage boys with an anger issue.

Jack crosses his arms, Elliot hiding behind him as he stares Dennis down.

"What's your problem with Elliot?" He asks flatly, interested in getting to the bottom of this. The hallway slowly starts to flood with students exiting their classes and the commotion causes a small crowd to form. In the corner of his eye, Jack can see cellphones being pulled out and aimed right at them.

"My problem is that little pipsqueak told Ms. Gardner that I was cheating." The bully stares directly at Elliot, who cowers further behind Jack despite the fact that Jack was only a few inches taller than him.

"But you were cheating."

"Well, if he learned to mind his own business, then maybe we wouldn't pick on him so much." Jack sizes Dennis up - he notices the muddy state of his shoes and pants that dangle just above his ankles, clearly too short for him. He smells faintly of body odor and some form of energy drink and if Jack had to guess, no one was providing him parental supervision at home.

He was angry, and had no one to direct that anger towards except for a student who was just doing his due diligence.

"Look, Dennis. I get it - your parents don't spend enough time with you, they leave you alone a lot, and you're angry about it. Can't you find something better to do with your time? Like actually studying so you don't need to cheat?"

Dennis flushes bright red and Jack turns and motions for Elliot to follow him. Hopefully, that would be enough to stop them from bullying Elliot. It's only then that he hears what Dennis mutters under his breath.

"Not all of us have a hot ass stepmom to tend to our every need. If I had a stepmom like that-"

Jack's fist connects with his nose, his knuckles flashing in pain at the contact. He feels a white hot rage spark under his skin, directed at anyone who would think to badmouth his family. The crowd gasps as Dennis falls to the floor, clutching his nose and yelping in pain. Jack flexes his knuckles and winces at the dull ache that settled in his joints. He freezes when he hears a familiar voice call out his name.

"Jack Hotchner!" Jack's eyes close and hopes that it isn't who he thinks it is.

He plasters a smile on his face and turns around, hiding his swollen hand behind his back.

"Hi Principal Gibbons."

"You are grounded for at least three months." Aaron says, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. It was just his luck that his Dad would be the one to pick him up. Apparently, Mom was off on a case with the BAU and Jack had a feeling she would be more understanding of him breaking Dennis' nose after fifth period.

After all, she was the one who signed him up for self-defense classes.

"What were you thinking Jack? Breaking a kid's nose?" His Dad had been furious upon arriving at the Principal's office. To the normal outsider, he looked calm, but Jack knew the fury that lay underneath. Dad had an excellent poker face and he managed to keep his anger under wraps until they got back into the car.

"He was being a dick."

"Language." His Dad warns and Jack sighs, knowing that swearing probably wasn't going to save him from the thin ice he was already on.

"Look, he was bullying my friend Elliot and I stood up to him."

"So, instead of talking it out, you punched him." Aaron says in disbelief and Jack shakes his head in frustration.

"No, I told him that his parents weren't around and that he was angry, so instead of picking on Elliot, he should just study."

There's a beat of silence.

"You profiled him?" Aaron curses the pride that blooms at the realization, not wanting Jack to get off that easy. After all, he did get suspended for three days and had to visit the school counselor with Dennis upon his return for 'mediation'.

"I did. Then I walked away."

"Then why did you punch him?"

"Because he said something about Emily." Jack's arms cross, his gaze out the window and Aaron sighs. He had been ecstatic when Emily came to him with tears in her eyes because Jack wanted to start calling her Mom. It was a decision that Aaron always left entirely up to Jack, not wanting to force him into feeling like they were replacing Haley since they were getting married. She had always been perfectly fine at being called Emily, not wanting to infringe on Jack's view of Haley. Jack only reverted back to calling her 'Emily' when he wanted to distinguish Emily and Haley.

Aaron lets the silence sit for a minute, his anger deflating. "What did he say?" He eventually asks.

"That not everyone had a hot ass stepmom to tend to their every need."

A different flash of anger runs through Aaron, his grip around the steering wheel tightening a little bit and his knuckles flashing white.

"That's why I punched him. I don't want anyone to talk about Mom like that."

Aaron lets out a breath, the last of his anger dissipating with Jack's words. He had always taught Jack to stand-up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves and he did just that. He stood up for Elliot and he stood up for Emily as well, not tolerating any disrespect for the people he cared about.

"Hot ass stepmom?" Aaron asks, a curious eyebrow raised.

"Oh Dad, you have no idea."

Emily comes back home to the angry marks on Jack's hand settling into purple and yellow bruises.

"You did what?"

"He punched a kid at school. He'll be suspended until tomorrow." Emily crossed her arms, disappointment in her expression. "Did this kid attempt to hit you first?"

Jack shook his head, hung low from the stare his Mom was baring into him. Aaron chuckles, rescuing Jack from what he is sure is a tongue lashing with a gentle hand placed on her shoulder.

"He was actually defending a friend." Mom's stance softens ever so slightly and eventually, she uncrosses her arms and sighs.

"As long as it was for the right reasons. But I still don't condone the violence and you're grounded until next week." Jack nods, knowing that it was a lenient punishment considering he spent the last month grounded because he had snuck out to see a girl.

Later, when Jack is in bed, Aaron tells Emily the true reason why he had gotten in trouble. Her heart swells with pride and an absolute adoration for the boy she's watched grow up and felt honored that he would defend her from his peers.

"Hot ass stepmom, huh?" She teases as Aaron bristles. She loved that even after years together, he still got jealous. Many cops and detectives have been the end of the Hotchner glare when he caught them checking her out and somehow, it doesn't surprise her that a few harmless teenage crushes would cause his heckles to rise.

"Oh sweetheart." She coos, snaking her arms around his neck as his hands land on her hips. She doesn't miss the way his grip is just a little tighter and giggles as he grunts in acknowledgement.

"You don't need to worry about a bunch of teenage boys stealing me away."

"Who says I'm worried?"

Emily just laughs, smoothing the frown on his forehead.

"Whatever you say, sweetie."

Later that week, when Jack's friends come over before they head to the high school football game, Emily comes home from her run. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, her sweat slick on her skin and her running shorts hugging her behind tightly. Aaron walks into the living room to greet her to see two pairs of eyes glued to Emily's form as she walks into the kitchen to get some water.

He throws them a death glare and doesn't fight the smirk on his face when Emily presses a kiss to his lips in greeting.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jack hotchner #aaron x emily

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