#and forced to witness her suffer and break down while unable to help. unable to save anyone. I’m sure they’re normal about this tho | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sylusjinwoon · 2 years

Text

{ 98 }

p1nocchio.

partially inspired by m3gan.

lies of p. - au

pinocchio x fem.reader

tags for the story: @bunny-kio ; @revoirestbelle ; @theempressofdarkmagic

you had always cherished the life you lived with your dear mother, living a quiet and peaceful life while settled in the heart of your small town. your mother was everything to you, raising you as a single parent when your father was unable to fully commit to her as a husband and good father should.

yet you found yourself not caring nor minding his absence, for your mother was truly your entire universe. she cared for you and loved you so deeply that it was difficult to see anyone else in your own world. you were living in complete and utter bliss, so wrapped up in your own personal sandbox that you ignored the signs, unknown to the fact that your mother's days were numbered.

you would come to lose your mother during your seventeenth year.

she had come home from work, paler than usual as her skin felt clammy to the touch. before she had entered her home, she takes a few moments to catch her breath. a series of coughs wracks through her form, with tears dotting her vision as she felt the uncomfortable sensation of phlegm coming up towards her throat. letting out a series of coughs, she tilts her head to the side and gasps, coughing out the phlegm as her throat seems to burn in response.

as the sputum lands on the dirt path leading to her home, the older woman felt a sense of fear coursing through her veins at the sight of the blue-tinged mucus-

she was infected with the plague that was currently coursing through krat, reaching even the confines of her small town as she felt a tinge of fear course through her veins all while thinking of ways to protect her daughter. as if sensing that something wasn't right with her, the sight of you coming out of the cottage makes her gasp. she was about to tell you to go back inside, not wanting nor wishing for you to bear witness to her suffering when yet another series of coughs was felt coursing through her form.

"mother!" you cry out to her, hands already reaching out to her, supporting her close to your form as you carefully inch her closer inside your shared home. you take her towards her bed, trying to stop your tears from falling upon seeing just how weak your mother had become.

her breathing was labored, showing no signs of her once vibrant nature you had grown so used to. you never knew she had gotten so sick, filled with a guilt at being unable to care for her. perhaps if you had been more aware of the signs, then maybe you might have had the chance to save her somehow, to prevent the plague from spreading throughout her body as you could keep her by your side.

the following days were nothing short of pure agony for you; you cared for your mother to the best of your abilities and made her soups and stews to help with healing her. in hopes of giving her the strength to heal, you would often dip pieces of bread within your soups while feeding them to her. as if not wanting to worry you, she would always give you the widest smile she can manage, all while promising to you that she was feeling better and better with each passing day.

one late evening, as you were in the midst of caring for your mother, you had fallen asleep all while leaning against the tiny mattress. she moans, slowly forcing herself to sit up from bed all while staring down at your sleeping form. her coughs had become more prominent- more frequent as the unnatural pale blue hue seemed to spread across her skin. the plague was slowly taking over the entirety of her body-

her time was running out.

the woman had no one to turn to, no parents to speak of nor a partner to share her burdens with. just thinking of leaving her one and only daughter utterly alone breaks at her very heart. using every ounce of strength that she had, the woman forces herself out of bed, wrapping her arms around her frail frame as she struggled to reach the mahogany desk settled against the wall of her bedroom.

she had no parents that could possibly help her in such a dire situation, but she did have someone, a teacher whom she had always looked up to, admiring his inventions when she was younger as he gifted her something precious, keeping his promise to always help her whenever she needed him.

with a grunt, the woman settles herself against the mahogany desk, slumping back against the plush seat of her chair all while catching her breath. a series of coughs wracks through her once more, and she waits for it to subside before carefully reaching in to the confines of her drawers.

her hands were trembling, taking out a slender, mechanical bird from the confines of the mahogany desk. she settles the bird off to the side, hands shaky as she extracted the jar of ink, quill, and thick sheet of paper. it takes a herculean effort for her to write the words she desperately wanted to say against the ivory page, feeling her own tears slowly begin to fall, decorating the paper with minuscule droplets mimicking that of a gentle rain.

once she was through writing her letter, she carefully rolls it up and ties it with a ribbon before facing the mechanical bird. its beady eyes was gazing at her, and she opens its beak to safely keep the rolled up letter within the confines of its beak. holding the bird gingerly against her chest, she stands from her seat against the desk and makes her way towards the closest window. her eyes drink in the gentle scenery of the night, admiring the way the stars continued to shine and blink from above as yet another tear fell from her eyes.

she opens the window, pressing down against a button felt behind the bird's back as it automatically spread its wings. as it prepared to take flight, this was all she could manage to whisper-

"please, find geppetto."

------

thousands of miles away from the small village, living in the heart of krat was a master inventor by the name of mr. geppetto. he lived comfortably while settled in his grand mansion. thanks to his various inventions and their wide use among the city, he was wealthy beyond compare and was able to not only live comfortably, but to use his wealth to develop even more realistic and helpful tools-

but perhaps what would come to be his greatest invention was that of the mechanoids. several of his models were seen being used throughout krat, with a few companies managing to imitate his original formula as the master inventor found himself at his wits ends.

currently, he was in the midst of trying to develop the perfect mechanoid, one that appeared so perfect, so human that they could pass off as being real. so he sits within his study, his hands dirtied from how much the charcoal stains at his hands as he kept sketching, wanting to create the perfect puppet that reflected his mere visage.

yes, the puppet would have rich locks of dark brown hair and startling true blue eyes, mimicking the bright hues of ergo itself with freckles and soft, full lips. truly, his sketch was coming together quite nicely as he completes the design with krat academy's uniform. just as he was adding the finishing touches to his perfect sketch, geppetto became aware of a strange tap tap tap heard against one of his windows.

the old man sits sideways against the wooden chair settled next to his desk, running a hand across his snow white strands of hair while looking curiously out into the hallways of his manor. the tapping sounds continue, further urging him to figure out just what it was that was making such a racket whilst he was busy with his invention.

coming face to face to the window that the sound was coming from, geppetto felt his heart begin to ache at the sight of the familiar mechanical bird. the sudden smiling face of his young apprentice appears within the depths of his mind, feeling almost nostalgic when he lets out a whisper of her name.

upon realizing the bird had a rolled up letter attached to its beak, he quickly opens the window, allowing his earliest inventions to enter his home safely. the metal claws of its talons were settled on the palm of his hand as he takes the letter from its beak. carefully, he unfurls the letter all while adjusting is round glasses, doing his best to decipher the hurried scrawl:

to the man i have always looked up to-

i am in desperate need of your help. for i have become ill with the same plague that seems to be prominent within this cursed world. i was foolish to believe that such a rare disease would never befall against me, but it seems as though i am wrong.

do you remember the year i told you i had to leave, unable to continue my apprenticeship with you despite my being only 18 years old?

well, there was a reason for that. during that time, i have been carrying my child- my daughter. she is everything to me, becoming such a beacon of light during those times where i yearned for her father to comfort me. i thank the gods that she seems immune to this abhorrent disease, for my illness has not touched nor tainted her form in the slightest.

i cannot leave her alone in this world, and i know that this is selfish of me to request, but please, i beg of you-

please take care of her for me, she needs you- I NEED YOU.

attached is my address; i live in a quaint town settled just outside the outskirts of your city. it may be a long journey for you to reach us, but please, i beg of you, master, to help protect and raise my daughter, to not leave her alone in this dark world when my time has come and i will be sent to heaven. with love...

geppetto could feel his knees give way to the weight of the news he had bore witness to. his wrinkled hands were shaking, tracing at the letter as his mind begin to fill with memories pertaining to the young woman he had viewed so much as his daughter.

his pale blue eyes kept reading the letter over and over again, not stopping until he was certain he had burned the words that made up her home address within the confines of his mind, rolling up the letter while holding on to the mechanical bird gently, already making plans to visit the daughter of his long cherished mentee.

------

you had lost your mother just a few weeks later, the sounds of your mother's wheezing coughs and hoarse voice during her final moments were fresh on your mind.

in her crazed haze, with her death felt looming over her like a dark shadow, your mother takes a hold of your form. her hands remained tightly wound against your trembling shoulders as her eyes seemed to shine with perfect clarity for the briefest of moments while calling out your name. "listen to me carefully, even if i am not physically close to you, i will always remain by your side, my darling girl. so long as you think of me and keep me deep within the depths of your heart and soul, i will never, never ever be away from you."

her clammy hands were felt shakily framing at her face, "but do not fear, for i have called out to someone i trust with my life. i already alerted him of the dire situation your mother has found herself in, and he should arrive any day now. when he is here, please, go with him, live with him within the heart of krat and have a good life without me in it."

"m-mother please, i'm so scared, please don't l-leave me!" you sob, burying your face within her chest as the sobs began to wrack through the entirety of your form. she lets out a gentle coo of your name, coughing quietly here and there while drawing comforting circles behind your back.

"sssh, it's okay my love. just be brave, just be brave for your mother, alright?"

as if unable to hold on for any longer, you watch as your mother slumps back in bed, allowing the exhaustion to take over her form as her breathing became labored. through it all, you never once left her side, allowing the tears to fall freely against your face as you remained close to her.

the moment she breathed her last breath, with you witnessing the way the light slowly faded from her very eyes, you became numb. your hands gently held on to your mother's lifeless hands, all while wishing over and over again that you could join her in the afterlife-

wanting nothing more than your heart to completely cease in its beats as you lay curled up against the wooden floor of your home.

------

geppetto feels the carriage he had taken come to a complete stop, jolting his body forward as he lets out a quiet string of curses. he adjusts his bowler hat and hears the way his driver tells him that they have already arrived at their destination.

he trails his eyes forward, feeling a sense of dread coursing through him at the sight of the tiny home bathed in complete darkness. opening the door, his boots land against the dirt path, allowing his wrinkled hands to adjust at the scarf that was settled around his form. a slight breeze was felt coursing through him as he hears another set of footsteps follow him. "master geppetto, shall i accompany you?"

he looks back to see the tall young man with bright ginger locks of hair and gentle brown eyes. he had gotten off of his seat and had freed the horse's reins from his grip. the man was about to tell his driver to wait for him, but then decided against it. "alright lampwick, i'll allow you to accompany me just in case."

as they stood in the front of the quaint home, it seemed as though lampwick could feel the sense of foreboding and dread emanating from the unnaturally quiet home. "master-"

"i'll go in first." the older man gives the wooden door a series of knocks, waiting to see if anyone would answer him, already hoping to catch a glimpse of his mentee's daughter. yet the more he stood there, he was filled with a mounting concern over her wellbeing.

when he tests out the doorknob, geppetto was shocked to see that it was already unlocked, and he could hear the faint sounds of sobs, further beckoning him to open the door as he was suddenly face to face with a young woman curled up beside her mother's deathbed.

his heart aches at the sight, seeing the way your features perfectly mirror that of your mother's as the tears continued to stream down your face. lampwick seemed caught off guard by your features, remaining stilled on the spot as he took a brief moment to admire your face. but his reverie was quickly diminished when he sees the sight of a pale and unmoving woman settled within the tiny bed.

"lampwick, take her to the carriage this instance. i- i will give her mother a proper burial."

with a nod, lampwick steps forward, softly calling out to you, but you couldn't seem to respond. with a hopeless expression on his face, lampwick faces geppetto, yet he merely tells the young man to pick up your form if needed.

it was a bit of a struggle, your limp body acting very much like dead weight as lampwick carefully hoists you in his arms. despite his initial struggle, he was able to carry you successfully due to how thin you had gotten. perhaps you had stopped eating, not having much of an appetite the moment your mom had fallen ill and had left you so suddenly?

whatever the case was, lampwick follows geppetto's wishes and takes you out into the carriage, leaving the old man alone as he gazes down at his former student with a forlorn expression on his face. gently, he reaches out a wrinkled hand to her, brushing back at her cold, soft eyelids before telling her how sorry he was.

with a heavy heart, he wraps her in the blankets she had her final slumber in, the sheets acting like the skirts of a gossamer dress as he had plans to bury her within her backyard, praying that her suffering had truly ended as he made a silent oath to take care of you.

------

you were still so numb, not even aware of how the young man with bright ginger locks of hair had placed you within the confines of the carriage. the leather seat felt against your back seemed to remind you of the ache you had forced it to go through from remaining on the cold, hardwood floors for so long.

you had no clue how much time had passed, only finally coming back to reality when the carriage suddenly surges forward. your eyes suddenly widen, finally catching sight of the old man that was settled in the seat directly in front of you.

his expensive suit was covered in bits of dirt as a melancholic expression paints his features. he adjusts his glasses and lets out a sigh, "you look just like your mother, and i can see why she cherishes you so dearly."

he clears his throat before finally introducing himself to you, "my name is geppetto, and your mother sent me a letter detailing of the tragedy that had befallen of her. in her desperation to protect you and your happiness, she has made me your guardian, and i will do anything to keep you safe and sound."

it was as though his kind words had managed to break through the numbing ice that had taken over your heart. you allow the tears to freely fall once more, giving the man- your now guardian, geppetto a tiny smile, thanking him for his kindness.

even if your mother was no longer with you, you had a feeling that someday, somehow, you would find and be at peace once more.

------

three months later...

your life certainly had become far more luxurious ever since geppetto had taken you in. he was always so kind and patient with you, enrolling you in the most prestigious academy krat had to offer all while providing you with all the clothes you would need for your daily life and school life.

when living in geppetto's mansion, he has given you a bedroom that seemed bigger, and much grander than the size of your humble home. he decorates the walls of your room with a shelf that takes over one of the walls, filling them with books you could only ever dream of reading before. once every two or three weeks, you would meet with lampwick, geppetto's own personal delivery boy and driver for his horse-drawn carriage. the young man also brightened up your day with his silly antics and buck-tooth grin-

but nothing could quite fill the ache that seemed to grow from within the depths of your heart. you missed your mother so much, feeling as though a void was slowly growing with each passing day since her death.

you were still lost in thought when geppetto calls out to you, making you gasp when you finally meet his concerned gaze. "are you alright, my dear? you have hardly touched at your dinner."

you bite back your sigh, looking down at the porcelain plate filled with a healthy portion of your favorite pasta dish with a side of warm, toasted bread. "s-sorry, geppetto, i just have some things on my mind."

geppetto puts down his fork, folding his hands across the table while keeping his steady gaze on you. "are you alright? is it your classes? has the academy been giving you a difficult time?"

you shake your head upon his series of questions. "no, the academy is fine, and my classmates are lovely. it's just-" you were cut off when a sudden sob was felt being ripped from your throat, "i miss her, that's all."

geppetto watches as you take the cloth settled on your lap to wipe away your eyes with. "i'm sorry, sir, but i don't have much of an appetite. so m-may i be excused to my room?"

"but of course, you needn't ask for permission, my dear."

the old man could feel his heart break into two all over again, unable to stand the sight of your trembling form fighting back tears as you shakily made your way up the stairs. and as geppetto watches your retreating form, he could feel the surge of inspiration course through him.

his memories take him back to the fateful night he had received your mother's letter, while he was in the midst of sketching out the perfect puppet- the perfect companion, and perhaps the one thing you needed whilst you were so buried deeply within your grief.

with excitement coursing through his veins, geppetto pushes himself away from the dining table. he runs a hand across his snowy locks of hair, walking with a purpose and precision towards the basement, home to his many creations and inventions.

using only the richest and highest quality of wood, he carefully begins to carve out the features of his beloved son from memory. he continues gathering the materials he needed to bring the boy to life, hands reaching into the safe confines of his oak desk to pull out what appears to be a golden heart with several cogs seen in the midst of it with an unmoving clock settled above it. a single chain was seen trailing from beneath the mechanical heart, and geppetto knew that it was the key to bringing his son to life.

for truly, all he needed was the greatness of his mind and fingertips with just the tiniest bit of ergo to bring his precious creation to life.

------

you hadn't the slightest clue as to why geppetto had decided to lock himself from within the confines of his basement for so long. each time you wished to check on him, or call him down to share a meal with you, he would not relent and would simply tell you to eat without him.

and this morning was no different. as usual, you were dressed in your academy's uniform, meeting lampwick at the front gates of the manor as you climb into the carriage. "hey wick?"

"yes madam?" his voice was dripping with amusement, further teasing you with the nickname as you rolled your eyes in response. "ah, i just wanted to know, is it normal for geppetto to lock himself in his basement for well- you know, days?"

it was then that you heard lampwick let out a low whistle, "that's quite a good thing, actually. it usually means that he is on the brink of completing his latest creation." the young man steadily pulls at the reins of the carriage, surging it forward as he made his way towards krat academy. "you let me know when that old man completes his creation, for i'm sure it's bound to be amazing."

you simply hum in response, eyes looking out the window of your carriage while allowing the scenery to pass by. oh well, if wick was telling you it was a good thing that you hadn't seen or heard from your guardian in a while, then you suppose you could do little than to just accept that little fact.

------

you were sleeping soundly and quite deeply that night when you were suddenly roused from your slumber. you could feel a hand slowly shaking at your shoulders as a soft voice calls out your name.

"wake up, my dear, wake up."

your vision was hazy, finally waking up to see geppetto smiling down at you. there seemed to be an excitement seen swimming from against his pale blue eyes, brimming with an eagerness you had never seen before.

"geppetto, what is it?" your voice was hoarse, making you sit up in bed as you wiped the sleep away from your eyes. you trail your eyes over the grandfather clock that was settled near the corner of your room only to sigh upon seeing how late it was. "it's quite late isn't it? and i still have classes to attend to-"

geppetto was then heard letting out a huff in response. "then so be it, you may take a some time off school, for this gift i have spent countless days working on for you is well worth it."

the thought of being able to skip your classes fills you with a newfound enthusiasm for whatever surprise he had planned for you. with you tossing back the blankets of your bed, you felt the soft cotton fabric of your nightgown flow with your movements. your bare feet meets with the plush softness of the carpets with geppetto keeping a hand behind your back.

carefully, he leads you down the many steps that lead down to his basement, practically humming with excitement as well. once you were in front of the door that leads to his workshop, geppetto faces you all while pressing a finger to his lips. "my dear, i wish for your anticipation to simply grow as i show you your gift. so if you may please close your eyes for me."

you give him an eager nod, clenching your eyes shut while hearing geppetto open the door to his workshop. "alright, careful now. all you need to do is trust me as i lead you inside.

you could feel your heart pounding with anticipation, taking one step forward as geppetto slowly lead you to his gift. only when you felt the old man place his arms against your shoulders, making you fully stop in response were you finally allowed to open your eyes.

you blink away the slight blurriness that takes over your vision, only to gasp upon seeing the magnificent sight before you. settled just a few inches away from you, in a seated position, was what appeared to be a sleeping young man. he appeared very much like a prince, with rich locks of chestnut hair and full lips painted in a rosy hue. freckles were seen scattered all across his pale skin as he was dressed in your academy's uniform.

you were speechless, never before having the pleasure of basking in such beauty before in your life. as if unable to help yourself, your hands reach out to brush against his hair, gasping just the tiniest bit upon feeling how cold his skin felt against your skin.

"do you like him?"

"oh geppetto, he's magnificent." you were entranced by the mechanoid your guardian had made, unable to look away from him. you heard geppetto let out a rich chuckle before carefully taking a hold of your hand. "here, go on and put your hand in his, and you'll awaken pinocchio."

"pinocchio is his name?"

geppetto hums in confirmation, "indeed, now go on, wake him up with your touch, my dear."

your heart was felt pounding against your throat, racing so quickly that you could feel its palpitations coursing through your veins. following his directions, you place your hand on top of pinocchio's, feeling him glow a gentle, blue hue as his pale hands gently caress at yours. wanting to see what color his eyes were, you meet his gaze, feeling all the more eager as his pale eyelids open, revealing to you eyes the color of sapphires.

pinocchio blinks several times, trailing his curious eyes all across the workshop before finally meeting your gaze. the newborn mechanoid seemed frozen as well, taking in the mere sight of you before smiling at you. "hello, my fair lady."

he looks down to see the way he still held your hands in his. a gentle smile paints at his rosy lips, his curiosity seeming to grow when he touches at your soft hands. he closes his eyes before lifting your hands toward his lips, allowing them to briefly touch as you could feel your face turning warm in response.

"what is...your name?" his deep voice was heard asking you, and you were becoming so enchanted with this amazing puppet that you found yourself relinquishing the syllables that made up your own name with ease.

pinocchio repeats your name several times, smiling while standing up to his full height. you could fee your heart soaring at the mere sight of him, admiring the way he stood so tall all while framing at your own face with his own two hands.

as you basked in pinocchio's mere presence, geppetto simply stands off to the side with his arms crossed, eyes gleaming with absolute happiness and pride at what he was able to create.

for he was certain that his son would be able to bring you the light and happiness you craved for.

------

a few days have passed since geppetto had revealed pinocchio to you, and you adored spending every waking minute with him. you allowed him to spend time with you from within the sanctuary of your room. more often than not, you would fill your days with reading stories with him, wanting nothing more than for his rich voice to narrate the various fairytales you adored.

as pinocchio read to you, you would cuddle closer to him and sometimes- though you often tried to convince yourself that it was simply your mind playing mere tricks on you- you could have sworn that your handsome puppet prince was smiling at you, watching you from the periphery of his gaze.

truly, being with pinocchio filled your days with so much joy, and you found yourself nearly sharing everything with him. once the week had finally passed was when geppetto had told you how important it was that you returned back to the academy.

you were all in the midst of enjoying breakfast, with pinocchio settled close to your side as his curious hands played with the various sterling silver utensils on the dining table. as geppetto worked on placing a spread of butter against his bread, he was heard speaking to you in a bit of a solemn tone. "i contacted your teachers, and they graciously gave you the week off so that you may spend some time mourning for your mother. they were kind enough to understand your need to grieve, but you must return back at once."

you give geppetto a stiff nod, chewing down at your bottom lip when you were able to ask him in a bit of a meek voice, "i-is it okay if pinocchio accompanies me?"

pinocchio then drops the utensils in response to hearing your desire for him to join you, keeping his sapphire gaze on your form all while geppetto was gazing at the two of you with his eyebrows lifted in question. "i'm not quite sure if that's a good idea, for pinocchio has never been away from the mansion. what if he were to get lost?"

"i-i won't let that happen, geppetto! i promise, i'll keep him close to my side! i won't even let go of his hand! a-and he can sit next to me during classes."

geppetto sits back in his seat, wondering if he should just give in and allow you to take pinocchio with you. indeed, his son was truly doing wonders to your mental health and happiness. with a sigh, geppetto agrees to it, "but only for a little while, alright? keep him close to you, and pinocchio, always remember to stay by her side."

the puppet gives him an almost eager nod and tiny smile "i will, father." making geppetto narrow his gaze at the boy, somehow feeling as though he were displaying just the tiniest bit of human traits-

and he wondered why that was.

once you realized that geppetto was allowing pinocchio to join you, you scarf down the rest of your breakfast before grabbing your schoolbag. you smooth out your uniform and beckon pinocchio to follow you. yet before you left your home, you step closer to geppetto and smile down at him, embracing him while he was still settled against his chair, "thank you, so much."

filled with a warmth for you, geppetto returns your embrace before chuckling, wishing you a good day before promising to see you again once you returned home from school. with a beaming smile on your face, you call pinocchio to join you, running out of the manor as your companion remains close to your side.

------

during your ride to the academy, lampwick couldn't help but let out an awed whistle each time his eyes would land on pinocchio's form. "dear gods, he looks so real- in fact, he's kind of pissing me off with how gorgeous he looks. the puppet's got a better mug than me."

"oh come off it wick! you have your own charming traits, too!" you comfort your best friend with a grin, further giggling even more when you saw the way he waved his hand at you in a bit of a dismissive manner, "yeah yeah, i get it."

in just a few minutes, lampwick arrives at the academy, and you eagerly step out of the carriage all while wrapping your arms around pinocchio. his true blue eyes filled with the same curiosity you had found yourself growing to accustomed to. as lampwick rides away while giving you a wave, you interlock your fingertips with pinocchio's, flashing him a gentle smile, "are you ready?"

he smiles down at you, brushing back at your strands before giving you a nod. filled with an eagerness to show pinocchio to your friends, you lead him towards the academy, climbing the steps toward the grand building before entering.

as you were in the midst of the school's main foyer, you were met with eugénie's gaze first. she was smiling at you, calling out your name before stopping completely upon seeing the gorgeous sight of pinocchio standing beside you.

her gasp was all that you could hear, and you felt almost envious upon witnessing the way her face seemed to light up in a deep blush. "goodness, he is so handsome. i-is he a new student here?"

you shake her head upon hearing her question, almost tightening your hold around pinocchio's arms as you kept him close to you. "n-no. geppetto made him as a gift for me-"

"no way! he's a puppet?!" ignoring your hold on pinocchio, eugénie takes a hold of pinocchio herself, making his large and lanky frame nearly fall against the fall when you hear him let out a gasp. "h-hey! be careful with him!"

but she ignores you, and you watch with absolute disdain when even more girls began to flock towards him, all of them displaying stars within their eyes as their giggles slowly increased in an almost unbearable crescendo within your ears.

your heart was aching, reaching out to pinocchio, only to have him look back at you with an almost hopeless expression on his face. but instead of pouting or crying like you wanted to, you simply gave him a tiny smile and a wave.

feeling somewhat defeated, you watch as your 'friends' hog pinocchio to themselves. throughout class, while you were left in your usual seat, the girls had already taken a hold of pinocchio, still giggling and completely enamored with him as you felt the pinpricks of envy course through your veins.

even when your teachers had told the girls to settle down, somewhat unaware of the arrival of the new 'student', they refused to pay such heeds to their warnings. as the day went on, you felt yourself becoming even lonelier than ever.

so when the school day had finally ended, you were so eager to return home with pinocchio-

only to feel your heart sink when your beloved puppet was nowhere in sight. you call out to him, practically running across the hallways of the academy, nearly losing your breath in response. but as your running legs takes you to one of the grand windows seen within the academy, you look down to catch sight of the garden, bearing witness to something that made your heart ache-

for settled below within the courtyard of your school was eugénie and pinocchio, as you saw the girl place what looked like a flower crown atop his hair. as if sensing your gaze, pinocchio looks up towards the window, seeing your tearful expression as you let out a sob.

unable to fight back the almost irrational feelings of jealousy you felt, you run off and make your way towards the comfort of the library, unsure of what you could do to get pinocchio back-

and as you walked even deeper into the room, you felt your legs give away as you end up landing against one of the plush settees settled across the grand library. despite how you were surrounded by the comforting scents of books, you couldn't stop your heart from aching for pinocchio.

truly, you only had him for a handful of days, but already he became such a vital part of your life. just being close to him made the pain of your mother go away, even if it was just for a moment. with him by your side, you felt hopeful, you felt as though the light were brimming from within the depths of your heart once more-

and truly, perhaps you were selfish, but you didn't want to share this beautiful emotion with anyone else, not even with eugénie. so you remained in that position against the velvet couch, allowing your tears to darken the plush seat when your ears detect the sound of footsteps approaching you.

you didn't know who it was, but you did your best to silence your tears, feeling a few hiccups escape from your lips. much to your dismay, the person seems to step closer to you, not stopping until they came down to your height. it was then that you heard a deep voice calling out your name, making you gasp when you finally faced him, seeing pinocchio looking at you with a soft expression on his face.

seeing the tears drop from your eyes was enough to make the puppet reach out to catch at those crystalline droplets, wiping them away when he asks, "what's wrong? what's making you so sad?"

you look away from him, feeling selfish and silly all over again, but truly, you couldn't lie to him. unable to face the hauntingly beautiful boy, you slowly admit to him, "i...i got jealous when eugénie and the others surrounded you. i was afraid and upset that they- that they would take you away from me."

you clench your eyes shut, not wanting to hear pinocchio potentially berating you for such silly and selfish thoughts. yet, he ends up surprising you by placing his hand against your cheek, gently framing at your face when he calls out your name once more.

"you need not fear about me being taken away from you, for i told them that you are the only one i wish to make happy."

you face him again, eyes wide when pinocchio smiles at you. he allows his slender fingertips to trace at your lips, sapphire eyes shining with such mirth and amusement that you could feel your very breath be taken away.

"i...i am quite fond of you, my darling." pinocchio's husky voice was all you could focus on as you could feel yourself inching closer to him. like a moth drawn to a flame, you allow your lips with his to meet with his in a sweet kiss. pinocchio's eyes were shut as well, keeping you close to him by placing a hand behind your head, melding your lips together in a perfect kiss that made your heart soar from within the confines of your chest.

and you wouldn't trade this moment for anything else in the world...

------

geppetto was in the midst of his workshop, smoking a pipe as he allows the wisps of smoke to go up in the air. his eyes held a bit of a distant quality to them, deep in thought as he thought about the miracle that was his son.

despite how he was made to be a mere puppet to keep you happy, geppetto couldn't deny that perhaps there was a deeper magic seen with him after all. for it seemed as though the ergo that flows through him, providing his golden heart with the power it needed to function from deep within his chest made him real-

the man smiles at the thought, believing that perhaps pinocchio was far greater than any invention he had ever made.

so he decides with a newfound light within his heart that his son could not and would not be replicated-

for the boy was truly made for you and you alone.

a.n. - it has been far too long since i have written for this beloved puppet prince; i will fix any glaring errors that comes up later on, but for now please do enjoy this story 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#lies of p x reader #liesofp x reader #pinocchio x reader #.stories

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zeciex · 11 months

Text

A Vow of Blood - 41

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 41: The Illusion of Choice

AO3 - Masterlist

Warnings: rape mentions, manipulation, talks about handling trauma

“You’ve been married for four months now, no?” Lady Elys Swyft remarked, her sewing needle moving with the precision of someone trying to extract the truth. “And you’re still not with child…”

Daenera tightened her lips, briefly pausing her embroidery to lock eyes with Lady Swyft. It was neither unusual nor surprising that the ladies of court would delve into her marriage and the conspicuous absence of any news regarding pregnancy. It was almost expected she’d be with child by then. “Unfortunately not, though it is not for the lack of trying, I can assure you lady Swyft.”

A ripple of laughter and blushing swept through the younger ladies present, who couldn’t help but be tickled by the implied innuendo.

In the cozy chamber, each lady was engrossed in her own embroidery or tapestry work. Daenera, however, was grappling with the task of embroidering a black stag onto one of her husband’s doublets. She hadn’t put much effort into it, and that might explain why the stag looked as if it had tumbled down a cliff, breaking all of its legs in the process.

“I hear your husband is often away from your marriage bed,” Lady Jane Redwyne commented, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Lady Elys Swyft. It seemed that the gossiping hens had been let loose within the Keep.

Tris Caswell, seated beside Daenera, squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable with the implication these older ladies were insinuating. “Lord Boris is frequently off on hunting trips, isn’t he?”

Daenera appreciated her friend’s effort to ease the tension. “Indeed, he is.”

Lady Elys Swyft pursed her lips, a slight grimace tugging at her features in an expression of skepticism. “It does seem odd, doesn’t it? One would expect a husband to desire more time with his wife rather than gallivanting in the muck of the forest. I should think he’d focus on obtaining an heir.”

“It does raise questions,” Lady Jane Redwyn agreed as she threaded her needle.

Daenera held back a chuckle, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she unveiled her embroidery project, the clumsily stitched stag with its limbs that appeared to have suffered numerous fractures on full display. “The only thin amiss here, Lady Swyft, is my embroidery. I assure you, my marriage is quite well. My husband merely has a passion for hunting, and when he returns home… Well, that passion continues. He is quite virile .”

Kaylys Merryweather giggled with a faint blush upon her cheeks. “He is exceptionally handsome!”

To which Lady Sylvie Rosby could only add; “And has such an imposing figure.”

“I witnessed him training with Horden Penrose just the other day,” Lady Ellena Beesbury chimed in, her youthful enthusiasm in her rosy cheeks and bright eyes. “For a man of his stature, he moves with remarkable grace.”

Gracefull, was not a word she would use to describe her husband. Yes, he was undoubtedly well-trained, but his actions lacked the fluid elegance that characterized Aemond’s every step, or the swift, controlled brutality of Daemon. In comparison, Boris’s movements felt wide and forceful, like he was fighting through water rather than the fluidity of a dance.

While the ladies surrounding her continued to chatter effusively about her husband, Daenera’s delicate fingers idly plucked at a loose thread in her embroidery. Irritation gnawed at her as the stubborn thread threatened to undy her painstaking work, nearly tearing open the neck of the stag.

Over the past four months , her life had become an unrelenting cycle of conversations orbiting around her husband, her marriage, and the relentless expectation of producing an heir.

Daenera often found herself at the epicenter of thinly veiled scrutiny. The ladies of court seemed determined to nose around in her marriage, to expose it to the world. And truth to be told, the men at court were just as nosy as they made insinuations about her marriage that weren’t even thinly veiled; they were as transparent as the summer air.

Her predicament was hardly helped by Boris’s wandering attention. Although she bore no resentment for his wandering attentions themselves, she harbored a desire that he would, at the very least, exercise discretion when indulging in the allure of the establishments that lined the Street of Silk.

Daenera pulled the string and the head of the stag came off.

The chamber doors swung open, admitting Joyce into the room. Her sharp eyes scanned for her mistress amidst the room’s occupants. “Princess.”

“What is it?”

“An incident has occurred that needs your attention,” Joyce said without divulging much. By Joyce’s expression alone, she knew it was both important and urgent. The gossiping vultures perked up as well, ready to descend on a new piece of gossip.

“I apologize ladies,” Daenera said, standing from her seat, placing the embroidery on the table. “It seems that I am needed elsewhere.”

Daenera followed Joyce. “What has happened?”

“There seems to have been an incident involving Aegon,” Joyce answered, voice low, ensuring that no one else overheard. “Jelissa found her and brought her to your chambers.”

They exchanged a furtive glance, the unspoken tension palpable in the air and coiled like a snake within her gut. While Joyce hadn't been elaborate on what had happened, Daenera couldn’t help but feel that this ‘incident’ was similar to those that involved Jelissa or even herself.

As Daenera crossed the threshold into her chambers, a sense of trepidation clung to her like a shroud. Her eyes swept the room, landing on a young girl perched nervously on the settee. The girl’s hands were locked in an anxious grip, her cheeks marred by the stain of tears, and her disheveled hair spoke of turmoil as if it had been roughly tugged upon.

Startled by Daenera’s presence, the girl quickly rose and offered a shaky curtsy, voice shaking as she stammered; “P-princess.”

“Jelissa,” Daenera addressed her maid, “please find her apron and shoes and fetch Fenrick as well.”

Her gaze remained fixed on the trembling girl, who clutched herself frightenly, as if seeking refuge from an invisible storm. Daenera couldn’t ignore the torn collar of the girl’s dress, and her initial apprehension deepened into a palpable weight in her stomach.

Jelissa nodded and promptly exited the room, leaving Daenera and Joyce alone with the distressed girl.

Daenera approached the apprehensive girl, her demeanor calm and inviting. “Please, take a seat.”

The gentle suggestion appeared to bewilder the girl as her brows furrowed tightly. She glanced back hesitantly at the settee she had previously sat upon. With small movements, as if she feared she’d fall apart, she sat down.

Daenera settled onto the opposite end of the settee, providing the girl with ample space. “What is your name?”

“Cerys, if it pleases you,” the girl replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Cerys, can you tell me what happened to you?” Daenera inquired softly, her eyes filled with genuine concern. She thought about reaching out to the girl and gently hold her hand, but she didn’t want to frighten her further or invade her personal space.

“I–I–” Cerys stammered, her eyes welling up with fresh tears as she shook her head, a tremble wrecking through her entire body. “I should go. I must tend my duties.”

Daenera’s voice remained gentle but resolute. “I would rather you stay. You’re not in a state to go wandering the halls.”

Moreover, Daenera didn’t wish the girl to be intercepted by any of the Queen’s servants. Cerys continued to resist, her internal struggle evident. Her grip on the torn collar of her dress remained tight, as if it were the only thing holding her together.

“Cerys,” Daenera said, her tone reminiscent of a mother coaxing a child to heed her words. She carefully moved closer to the girl. “May I hold your hand?”

Cerys appeared perplexed by the question, her frown deepening as she struggled to grasp the situation. Daenera extended her hand and delicately removed Cerys’ grip from the fabric.

“I understand that you are afraid, but I need you to tell me what happened. In detail.” A warning came from the older maid, cautioning Daenera, but she remained focused on Cerys. She knew it was cruel to ask the girl to relay what happened, but she needed to hear it directly and clearly, leaving no room for speculation or conjecture.

“I-I can’t– please don’t make me,” Cerys stammered, shaking her head, tears making her eyes appear much larger than their usual size. “I can’t.”

“You can. I need to know the details of what happened so that I can help you.”

“Help me?” Her voice was small, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, I want to help you,” Daenera said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as if it could bring her comfort.

Cerys averted her gaze from the princess, her trembling body shaking even more as she cried. Daenera patiently allowed her the time she needed to collect herself. Her eyes flickered back and forth as thoughts seemed to whir inside her head. When Joyce draped a woolen blanket around Cerys’ shoulders, the girl flinched, clearly taken aback by the unexpected act of kindness.

Daenera and Joyce shared a glance. “Joyce, would you please prepare some tea for Cerys?”

Joyce nodded and retrieved an iron pot from beside the fireplace, suspending it over the fire with a hook. She carefully poured water into the pot, and the rhythmic process seemed to briefly distract Certs from her distress.

“Cerys.” The girl turned her eyes back to the princess. “What happened?”

Cerys swallowed, her eyes latching onto her bare feet as she spoke. “I didn’t hear him. I was just tending the fire and he… grabbed me. He tore my dress and held me down and he… I told him to stop–I really did. I tried to make him stop .”

Her red rimmed eyes found Daenera and she latched onto the princesses hand, her fingers digging into flesh and bone, gripping her tightly. “I told him to stop, you have to believe me, princess, I told him to stop. I did not want this.”

“I know,” Daenera consoled the girl, her gentle touch coaxing aside errant strands of hair that had strayed onto her tear-streaked face. Faint blotches of red marred her pallid skin, encircling her eyes and nose, as well as creeping down her neck. Daenera’s throat tightened, making her next inquiry strained. “Did he finish inside of you?”

Cerys went paler still and averted her gaze in shame.

Daenera’s eyes squeezed shut at the heart-wrenching revelation. The cruelty of it all lingered like a acrid taste at the back of her tongue. No one deserved such a horrendous ordeal, let alone a girl as young as Cerys, who was no older than Jelissa at five-and-ten. It made her blood boil, and she loathed what she knew she had to do next. Summoning her inner strength, she opened her eyes.

“I need you to name the man responsible,” she implored gently but firmly.

Cerys flinched and looked back at the princess, her eyes wide with terror and her face drained of color. She shook her head vigorously. “I can’t. I can’t. Please , I can’t reveal his name. They’ll send me away. I need this work.”

“I understand your fear,” Daenera began, her voice filled with empathy, “but you must understand that I cannot help you if you don’t tell me everything that happened and who did this to you.”

“You want to know how he forced himself inside of me? –How I can still feel him inside of me. Or how I screamed, but no one came because he put a hand over my mouth?” Cerys’s voice quivered as she recounted her torment. Anger briefly flared in her eyes, only to be douched by the weight of her trauma. Her voice fell to a whisper, barely audible. “I don’t know what to do.”

Joyce placed a cup of warm tea in front of the trembling girl before presenting Daenera with a heavy coin purse and a bottle of moon tea. Cerys clutched the warm tea with gratitude, seemingly finding solace in its comforting heat.

“This will prevent the seed from taking root,” she explained gently, setting the ornate bottle of moon tea on the table, its iron trim depicting a doe and its fawn. “I will not judge you if you choose to take it, and I will not judge you if you do not.”

The room felt laden with the gravity of their conversation, a profound sense of injustice handing in the air. Cerys faced an agonizing decision, one that she shouldn’t have had to make, but one that had to be confronted.

“You have three choices,” Daenera gently informed the girl. “First, you can leave my chambers and pretend none of this ever happened. Second, you can take the money, depart the castle, and never return.”

She allowed the weight of those options to sink in before revealing the third. “Or, you accept employment with me. I’ll arrange for you to have a position in the castle kitchen, where you will live and work. It might be that I never have need of your services, but it’s also possible that I may call upon you. If I do, I’ll expect you to follow my orders without hesitation or question.”

“What…” Cerys swallowed hard. “What would you ask of me if I serve you?”

Daenera leaned in closer, her voice hushed but steady. “You’ll be charged with preparing the food for the entire castle. Kitchen staff often go unnoticed, and you’ll have easy access to everyone. If I need you to add a little extra something to the food, I’ll expect you to do it.”

Cerys’ eyes widened. “You want me to poison their food?”

Daenera didn’t mince her words. “If it comes to that, yes. I’ll need your discretion and unwavering obedience and loyalty.

Cerys’ voice trembled as she voiced her concerns. “But what if I get caught?”

“Don’t get caught.” The response was firm.

The gravity of Daenera’s request seemed to bear down on the girl’s shoulders. It was a perilous task she was asking of her, one fraught with danger. Daenera understood the risks all too well.

“I understand if you’re not willing to take this on,” Daenera said carefully. “The risk is substantial, and the rewards might seem meager. But I might offer you the chance for some semblance of retribution.”

The intensity in the princess’s words seized Cerys’s scattered attention, causing her eyes to snap back to Daenera. Daenera couldn’t help but notice the determination in her dark eyes and how she clutched the cup of tea tightly, unwavering despite the discomfort it surely caused her, the warmth biting the skin of her palm.

“What he did to you… it’s beyond comprehension, and it’s an abhorrent act. The blame lies solely with him, and you never deserved the horrors he inflicted upon you,” Daenera’s words flowed with empathy. There was a finality within her voice, firm and honest. Tears welled up in Cerys’s eyes again. “If you choose to serve me, I want you to nurture the anger you feel. I want you to remember what he did to you– what he stole from you .”

Cerys averted her gaze, blinking away tears, and took a trembling breath. Her eyes shifted between the moon tea, the coin purse, and her reddened palms, singed by the scalding tea. Daenera allowed her to sit in contemplative silence.

Eventually, Cerys placed the cup of tea on the table. With a deep breath, she reached for the moon tea and for a brief moment, she hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her features. Then, she seemed to make her decision, swallowing the contents of the bottle, ensuring that whatever seed might have been planted within her would never have a chance to grow.

“I will serve you,” Cerys said with a quivering voice, her resolve showing through her vulnerability. “For what you’ve given me, I will serve you until my last breath.”

Daenera extended her hand towards Cerys, gently taking hold of hers again. “Give me his name.”

Cerys’ spine straightened, and something inside of her seemed to harden. “Aegon.”

Upon hearing the name, Daenera felt a surge of emotions. She knew it was Aegon all along, but having confirmation gave her both relief and dread.

“I need you to listen to me and grasp this deeply,” Daenera urged, her eyes fixed on Cerys. “You will only act as I instruct you. Do not take matters into your own hands. I may not be able to grant you the revenge you desire, but I promise you, he will suffer for his actions. ”

Cerys nodded. “I understand.”

Daenera harbored doubts about whether Cerys truly understood the gravity of her request, but she had to place her trust in the young girl. What she was asking for was no small undertaking. Cerys would need to establish herself within the kitchens, build alliances, behave as if her past had never been marred, and patiently wait for her opportunity. Daenera realized that Cerys might yearn for vengeance against Aegon, but the girl had to exercise restraint. Executing Aegon would draw attention to them all, resulting in all their heads lined up on pikes on the castle walls.

However, Daenera had every intention of making him pay for his actions.

With a heavy heart, she understood that she could only watch over Cerys and hope that the girl comprehended the precarious situation she was entering.

“Joyce will instruct you in our code and facilitate your transition to the kitchens. Once there, I expect you to maintain the facade that nothing ever transpired. You are to disavow any knowledge of me, Jelissa and Joyce. You are not one of ours. Keep your head low and perform your duties diligently.”

Cerys nodded, wiping under her nose with the back of her hand.

Joyce returned from tending to Cerys, her face etched with concern. She felt uneasy about stoking the young girl’s anger, fearing it might lead to unforeseen trouble. The older maid was even more apprehensive about how swiftly the princess saw an opportunity in this ordeal. She understood the necessity but found herself disliking it intensely.

Cerys had endured a traumatic experience, and while a flicker of anger had briefly appeared in her eyes, she had primarily worn a distant expression. The full gravity of what had occurred had not yet fully settled in, but Joyce knew that the anger would surface eventually, with the potential of spreading like wildfire, and following that the complete comprehension of what she had agreed to.

It was a substantial risk, one that Joyce did not agree with.

“Encouraging that girl’s anger is dangerous,” Joyce cautioned as she watched Daenera at her alchemy table, crushing dried seeds into powder. “If we fan the flames improperly, the fire will rage out of control.”

Daenera continued her work, her expression focused but pensive. “If she wan’t brought to be, she would have been cast away with a mere coin purse, to a life she doesn’t deserve.”

“And do you believe she deserves this life?” Joyce asked with a furrowed brow, the accusation clear in her tone.

Daenera paused, setting aside the seeds and looking up at her maid. “I gave her a choice, which is more than what they would have done.”

“Was it a genuine choice when one option led her back to the very place where this horror occurred, while the other meant fending herself on the streets or serving you?” Joyce challenged. It was a semblance of choice, a fragile illusion, where the alternatives were starkly limited. Cerys could either suppress the nightmarish memories, feigning normalcy as if the ordeal hadn’t taken something from her she would never get back, or she could commit to Daenera’s service. It was no choice at all.

Daenera’s irritation at being questioned was evident in her rising voice. “I gave her back her agency.”

“You also instructed her to remember the trauma to motivate her to serve you,” Joyce argued, her tone carrying a tinge of disappointment she couldn’t hide. Perhaps there were more of Daemon in the princess than she thought. “You told her to nurture her anger and bide her time. You promised her revenge.”

Anger was indeed a potent motivator, but it was equally challenging to control. It had a tendency to consume, leaving little room for anything else. Daenera’s belief that she could manage another person’s anger and desire for justice seemed absurdly naive.

“I said I would try,” Daenera clarified. “I never promised to get her revenge, I promised I would make Aegon suffer .”

“All she took away from your conversation was the hope of revenge,” Joyce’s frustration seeped into her words, her concern for the girl palpable. “But can you truly make Aegon suffer enough to compensate for what he did? A few weeks of discomfort, making him soil himself again, will never truly heal her. Understand, it is only human nature for her to crave his death as justice. What we do to him, will never be enough to erase the scars he’s left. You know this. –You must understand that she may long for his death, and her thirst for justice can’t be quenched.”

Daenera looked at Joyce with a weary expression on her face, and she scratched at her brow. “So, what would you have me do?”

Joyce found herself grappling with an absence of a clear answer.

She had dutifully served Princess Daenera for as long as the girl had been alive, watched as she had grown into the woman she was now. Daenera was an intricate mosaic of virtues and vices, a complex blend that both inspired pride in Joyce, and occasionally vexed her to no end.

There were times when Joyce wondered if the princess bore a striking resemblance to her uncle Daemon or even embodied the spirit of Visenya Targaryen reborn. However, she understood that Daenera was fundamentally molded by her upbringing. It was shaped by her father’s death, carved by Ser Harwin’s devotion to her mother, and the influence of Daemon during her formative years.

Daenera exhibited a unique duality–strong willed yet compassionate, at times displaying stubbornness and cunning reminiscent of the Targaryen lineage, yet also possessing a kindness that at times bordered on naive. This intricate blend often left Joyce’s mind spinning, but her trust in the princess never waivered.

She trusted the princess and her plans, even if she did not agree with them.

Daenera was the guiding head, Fenrick the protective shield, and Joyce the capable hand.

“I don’t have an answer for you,” Joyce confessed, her brows knitted in concern.

Daenera took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the array of vials and bottles that lined the shelves, occupying the spaces where books had once been. The shelves were a testament to her vast collection of oils, potions, and essences, ranging from innocuous to potentially deadly.

She turned her gaze back to Joyce, her voice tinged with both urgency and solemnity. “Keep a watchful eye on her, Joyce. Ensure she comprehends that she mustn’t take matters into her own hands. I need to be able to trust her if it comes to that.”

Joyce nodded. “I’ll look after her.”

Daenera offered a greatful, tough, weary smile. “Thank you, Joyce.”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd #hotd fanfic #A Vow of Blood

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midday0nightmares · 3 years

Photo

28 - prove it.

Previous chapter pry on the weak (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

Panicked footsteps echos over the empty hallway walls, moving closer to you.

“sera..”

It’s jaemin, his voice is unmistakable.

He crouches down in front of you, you don’t at him, “you ok? What happened?” His voices comes out shaky, maybe it’s guilt.

Your vision blurs with angry tears, his question infuriating you.

you snap when his hands touch you.. “where the hell were you?” the loaded words cut through your throat, he flinch back when you look at him..

His jacket in his hand, the once neat white button down is now torn open missing a button or two, half of it hanging outside of his trousers. His slicked back hair is now a mess, lipstick stains on the side of his neck, he reeks with a feminine perfume mixed with alcohol.. he stutters unable to speak, adding to your rage.

You stand to your feet, refusing his help, your arms warping around yourself “just open the door..” you mutter insults under your breath while wiping your tears strained checks, he press in the code and let you walk in first keeping his head down..

Once your both inside and the door is closed he calls you,

“Sera wait” he grab your arm, his hold on you is anything but firm.

“No! You left me.. you were with some other girl while I was ..” the word died in your chest leaving a bitter taste in the back of your throat, a new wave of anger washing over it.

you look down at yourself.. you cry harder, you felt sorry for yourself. he steps closer to you and dares to attempt to hug you, you push him as hard as you can, “you son of a bitch..” You throw one your shoes at him and miss due to your unclear vision..

“ooh my god you’er being crazy now!” He tries to duck down when you throw the other pair at him and you mange to hit him in the stomach, he grunts in pain.

You launch at him, punching, slapping, scratching whatever you hands can reach of him “was she worth it? Was she better?”,

“stop!” His loud voice would have scared you before, but not anymore. he mange to restrain your hands and shake you but you still keep going if not with your hands then with your mouth, you shout every curse word you know..

His eyebrow knot at your meltdown ”stop!’ he shakes you “Who did this? Who was it?” his hands squeezing hard around your wrists almost snapping them, you wince in pain “you’er hurting me! Asshole” you try to kick his leg to free your arms bur he stays unaffected, “tell me who was it?” growls, his face is turning red, veins bulging around his neck.

“oh so now you care? Fuck you!” you retort back. still feeling betrayed, you lean closer into with all the hurt and the anger you seethe “Go back to her” ..

Sudden silence falls upon you, you tow stand in each other’s face in the a the dark living room that was only lighted by the dimmed city lights, too stubborn to backdown the tension rises as angry pantings coming out of both of you while the muffled music of the soaring party plays in the background.

His hold on your arms loosens as they fall to your sides. a wise person would move away but you don’t, you still stare into his eyes with all the hatred and disgust you feel for him right now, he doesn’t look away as well, his hot breathes fan over your face..

He steps even closer, his lips almost grazing yours, his hands come to sit on his hips in a challenging stance, obviously ticked off, he shifts his weight to one foot before he speaks, “stop being a crazy jealous whore and tell me who did it?”.

a cynical smile tugs on your lips, “ a crazy jealous whore?” You repeat after him, arms crossing in front of you, not showing any signs of backing down.

You would have missed the way his eyes squinted if you weren’t that close to him, his eyes scan your face before he speaks again “Unless you wanted it.. “ you were not expecting him to step this low, the accusationary tone catching you off guard.

You can’t tell if he was being serious or he’s saying it to despise you.. non the less, it still cuts deep, deeper than any physical harm you are suffering from, thus rendering you speechless.

He continue, “Walking around like a slut in that skimpy outfit, what were expecting huh?” his voice rising with each word, his confidence was being fulled by your hurt that was showing your face.

He take one last jab at you, “you probably enjoyed it too” he scuffs and turns around, you stand frozen in your place.

As soon as you regained your ability to breath you fire back with a broken voice, “is that all you got? Quite the a man you are.. a crowd” your heart shatters and you can’t help the pathetic sob from erupting out of you, it seems to have an effect on him as he stops in his place couple of steps away from you.

“ I loved you but you’er not worth it” you don’t mean it but you force it out of you, as loud and clear as you can,” go back to your sluts that’s where you belong”.

He turns to look at you, a shiver runs down your spine,

“you loved me?” The sarcasm is evident in his voice, although he’s calmer now he’s scaring you.

He comes closer to you, you wipe your tears to clear your vision and sniffle, embracing yourself for what’s about to come, his arm reach to your face, you tried to move away but he was faster, his hand clawing your jaw, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your checks, yanking you closer to him, “you loved me?” He repeats your words to himself.

your hands desperately wrap around his arm trying ease his hold on your face. “lair” he whispers, the subtle hurt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, your heart beats so loud to the point where he could hear it too.

“you are all talk baby” he exhales out a deep breath he was holding.

you swallow the tight knot in your throat and mange a small “no..”, fresh hot tears filling your eyes as you drown in his sad brown orbs.. “I do.. I love you”.

“Prove it” he challenges you.. prove it? How would you prove love to someone? Someone who’s far beyond broken?

You hesitate to speak, baffled by his request, he sense it and in disappointment he withdraw his hand, ignoring your attempts to hold his hand, he looks away. you panic feeling like he was slipping out of your grip.

“Jaemin .. please”,

but he turns away shaking his head “get yourself clean up sera, i’ll be back” he walks out the door slamming it shut ending the intense shouting match, somehow you felt at loss, he walked out the door taking a piece of your hat with him.

Dreadful fear sets in, the world starts to crumble around you.

When he comes back less than a hour later, he calls for you but no response. He walks towards his room looking for you but a whimper catches his attention, he gasp when he sees you on the kitchen floor with a knife in your hand, he runs to you taking the sharp object out of your hand, you don’t fight him, since you were done with it.

He shudders when he sees the blood leaking out the self inflicted wounds, his names carved on your left thigh.

“What have you done?” He shout at you but this time it has no anger behind it, the knife drops to the floor as he jumps and brings the kitchen towels roll, he starts ripping them and pressing them your wound to stop the blood loss.

“why did you do it?” He asks again, his voice’s breaking, you keep your head down your body swaying back in forth in silent grief.

He asked you to prove it..

He checks your wounds, he sigh wit relief and thank the gods when he sees them superficial.

You didn’t notice before but he’s crying, he wipes his nose with his sleeve and pulls you to his chest, he wraps his arms around you tightly holding you like he was trying to glue you back together.

“don’t ever do that to yourself ever again”

“I’m sorry” you pat his back trying to reassure him.

He pulls you away just enough to look at you, he cradles your head in his hands, “no no baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it. I was being a jerk to you Im sorry, forgive me” his thumbs wiping your tears away, he kisses your face multiple times while whispering love confessions to you, “I love you, I love you”.

He brings you back into the safety of his chest, you lean your head onto his shoulder nuzzling his neck, finding solace in his arms.

“whoever did this to you will pay, I promise you”

#nct dream #nct yandere #nct mafia #nct angst #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct jaemin #na jaemin #nct reactions

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blahkugo · 4 years

Text

Rouge

Satori Tendō x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 2.5k

TW: Mafia AU, Dark themes, Blood play (an excessive amount of blood mentions in general), Knife play, Asphyxiation, Angst (?), mentions of death (no main characters), Just two psychopaths going at it tbh.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing for @the-smut-pile’s newest collab, hosted by @present-mel, @pleasantanathema, and @linestrider. Please make sure to check out the rest of the masterlist here!

Every night, the smell of bleach stings your nostrils and prayers left unsaid weigh heavy on your tongue. ‘It comes with the job,’ they had warned you, had urged a ‘pretty little thing like you,’ not to take a position you couldn’t stomach. You didn't listen, of course.

Because death isn’t a stranger in your life, nor an old acquaintance you catch up with once every few years. It’s a friend that phones daily, a lover you scurry into bed with—the chill down your spine when you walk home alone in eerie silence.

As a doctor you saw it everyday, with every patient that prayed for pity when the pain became all too much. Cries of the sick plagued your every waking moment; who were you to deny them release? Their suffering ended the moment you injected the drugs.

But you’ve never seen death like this before.

“Daydreaming again, angel?” Tendō swipes a disinfectant across the cold metal counter, rubbing until pools of pomegranate red match his long, messy hair. Despite the dreariness of the task, an impish smile remains plastered across his face, the glint in his eyes unscathed by the scene you’d both just witnessed.

“It’s still Doctor to you.” Try as you might, your voice comes out shaky, your heart pounding so hard you’re worried it may actually jump out. That feeling never quite leaves you.

He straightens his gloves and out comes his signature laugh—that high, maniacal, chuckle that stops just short of a song. You’d rip out your car radio if it meant getting rid of it.

“You haven’t been one for a long time.”

The truth makes you shudder, but he’s right, of course. Once your license had been stripped away and you were on the run, your career had officially ended. An ‘Angel of Mercy,’ all the news stations had called you, yapping on for days when you were that week’s most wanted woman.

You don’t have the right to be called a medical professional and yet, you stand your ground. If it means getting him to quit with the dreadful pet name, you’ll say just about anything.

“Your boss calls me Doctor.”

“Because my boss can’t remember your name.” He meets your eyes, lips quirking upward at the little huff that escapes you, your furrowed brows spilling bits of frustration you so desperately attempt to keep bottled. The air hangs heavy with the shrieks of anger you wish you could unleash, all the words you don’t dare say aloud in fear of looking weaker than he already believes you are.

Instead of challenging you further, Tendō simply turns away, chucking the wipes in a bin and humming a tune far too cheery for a man who just ended a life.

When night comes, you dream of the older man who begged to see his children one last time and the laugh that sounds like a song.

—

The next day isn’t any better, because it never is. Ushijima’s moles bring in three more bodies for questioning; bodies, because you’ve been instructed to refer to them as nothing but. And they’re young this time, heavily tattooed kids that can’t be much older than nineteen—children that look so much like the thralls of young men you’ve learned to call friends, you have to avert your eyes when they send panicked glances your way.

You wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons.

“I’ll only ask once,” the gruff, even voice echoes within the small space. “Who’s your supplier?” Your boss is cold and calculated. He never wavers, never says more than he needs to. He’s everything you’d thought the leader of a crime organization would be and more.

Tendō hovers next to him, gnarled fingers twitching eagerly at the knife splayed between them. It’s his weapon of choice, because—as he mentioned your first day on the job—he can ‘take his time with them’.

The captives crack immediately, pleading helplessly for their lives as they vow they know nothing. They probably don’t, appearing to be nothing more than lowly thugs in a long hierarchy of vile men. It doesn’t stop what comes next.

As expected, Ushijima remains silent except for the soft sigh that leaves him. Tendō sighs as well, though it seems more pleased—euphoric, even—than bored. He presses a slender finger into the tip of his knife, watches as a bit of blood runs down his lean arm, paints a strip of his tattoos red, and drips onto the metal table.

“Are they ours now?” Ours. The word brings bile to your throat. Ushijima makes his way to the door, bluntly calling over his shoulder,

“Do what you must.”

You push up your glasses, Tendō grins, and the screaming begins.

—

Blood-stained lab coats are a staple of your wardrobe. No matter how hard you scrub, fingers raw and aching, the faded pinks never seem to give. You quit months ago, resorted to throwing the worst ones away instead of putting yourself through that hell.

This coat’s going straight to the bin.

Through every horrid interrogation, you’ve forced yourself to watch. You’ve never looked away, never dared allow him to smell the fear off of you. You hand him the tools, write the information on the clipboard, assist with cleanup and disposal, and answer any questions he may have—like the good little medical doctor turned mafia member you should be.

And Tendō smiles the whole way through. Even as dagger meets flesh, as pained cries shatter your eardrums, as your vision is clouded with red, red, red—Tendō smiles, humming a tune that you hear long into the next evening.

But today, when the third young man had looked you dead in the eyes and sobbed, begging you to tell his mother he loves her, you couldn’t help yourself.

Of course, the towering redhead didn’t fail to detect the misstep.

“Bad day?” He questions innocently, resting his elbows on the now spotless titanium table. His muscles ripple as he leans, boasting the thousands of dollars worth of art across his arms. It bothers you that you notice it, even more that he probably catches you gawking. He sees everything, after all. Everything but the blood still splattered across his body.

“Won’t be the last, for us at least.” Brows raise, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. If at all possible, the wicked grin on his face widens.

“You’re exactly right.” And like clockwork, he laughs. Your hands grow cold, ice corroding your veins. He swipes his tongue over his lip, leaving a slick shine on his lips. When he rises and steps toward you, you stand your ground, though you so desperately long to run. “Why so serious?”

“They didn’t know anything,” you mumble under your breath, “and you tortured them anyways.” In all your months of working with him, this is the first you’ve complained—and you immediately wish you hadn’t.

Tendō moves even closer, as though entertained by your tiny outburst. Perhaps he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to finally break your silence. When he speaks, his tone is gentler than usual, but still holds every hint of mockery and nonchalance the bastard is known for,

“It’s our job, angel face.” Another step, another tiny breath you’re holding in, worried that the slightest of sighs might shatter your perfected image of faux indifference. He tilts his head to the side, peering down at you, like you’re- a child.

And the glass breaks.

“Enough.” You splay your hands in front of you, halting him in his tracks, just as he invades your space. “Enough of the patronizing looks, and the humming, and the stupid pet name that you know bothers me!” An accusatory finger is jabbed into his chest. “Don’t you feel guilt? Fear? Empathy? You murder people.”

Your chest burns, heaving with rage. Tendō’s half-smile still sits on his face, words of ridicule ready to roll off his tongue any second. But when you look into his eyes, there seems to be something more—an emotion you can’t quite place. Anger? Understanding?

His next sentence is whispered with such sobriety, you’re unsure who it is you’re speaking to anymore,

“People like us don’t deserve those feelings.”

“There is no us!” The claim may come out crazy, hysterical even— a woman covered in warm blood shrieking within a cold, sterile room. For once, you don’t care. “I’m not like you.”

Those words may be what set him off, hand wrapping around your chin and tilting it up so that you’re unable to look away. Fingers that incite panic and enact violence, fingers you’ve feared since your first day here, clutching you ever-so casually. “Exactly. You’re not like me.”

He doesn’t wait for your rebuttal, gripping harder at your face. “I’ve made my peace with who I am, but you,” his breath fans your cheeks, “you only pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

Then, Tendō’s kissing you. And to your utter surprise, you’re kissing him back. Heat rises within you, the hairs at your neck curling as your lips meet with a ferocity. His palms graze your lab coat—no doubt staining his skin with the blood it’s drenched in—before he’s peeling it off.

When you tug at his messy locks, the butcher smiles and sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. He pulls you closer, hurriedly stripping you of your remaining clothing, until you’re left in just your panties. Hands roam at your supple skin, kneading at your hips, meshing into you wherever he can. All the while, your lips do the same, bleeding into each other until you’re unsure of where you start and he ends.

“No.” The command is stern, perhaps the most you’ve ever been with him. His eyes narrow in disappointment, limbs rapidly untangling from your body. You shove him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the table, nudge him again so that he falls against it, and grab a clean scalpel off the side counter. “No, we do deserve to feel those things.” His grin returns in full force—and he laughs.

This time, you don’t hate it.

“Deep down,” he grunts as you hitch a leg over his thighs and climb onto him, “you know that I’m right.” The scalpel’s pointed tip grazes his black tee, cutting through the material meticulously. You run a palm up his broad chest before pressing a finger to his mouth, smearing nearly dried blood across his jaw in the process.

“You talk too much,” the hushed murmur tumbling from your lips doesn’t sound like you, is foreign and twisted, and too much like him to bode well for either of you. The muscles in his thighs tense beneath you, his hard chest rumbling in a silent glee.

Your fingers brush against his cheekbones and you gasp, losing all perception of who you are. It’s absurd, but the individual you knew before, the persona you so adamantly believed you could uphold, crumbles with a single, soft touch of his skin.

And it’s unfair, really, that someone so beautiful—covered in art, blessed with hair the color of sweet wine and a laugh that sounds like music—could be so utterly fucked up.

When you nick his cheek, observing the drip of blood that trickles down, you wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons. And when you lick at it, preening at the groan that leaves him, you wonder if you’re just as fucked up as he is.

All at once, you’re flipped beneath him, back crashing against the cool metal table. He climbs down and drags his pants off, yanks you towards him with one pull of your thighs, and presses against your core. A shiver runs down your spine at the heat, crazes you for something you didn’t think you needed.

“By the way,” Tendō speaks through kisses and nips at your neck, “you are just as fucked up.” Though you hadn’t realized you’d said that aloud, you’re unable to retaliate, only wrap your legs around his middle and moan at a particularly harsh bite. He soothes every spot of broken skin with his tongue, drifting downwards until his lips meet your cotton panties. “How cute.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting thi– Ah,” your complaint is cut short when he moves them to the side and licks a long stripe up your slit. And he doesn’t stop, lapping and sucking at your soaked cunt, holding you down with one lean arm when you writhe in response to the pressure. “God, fuck.”

“Satori, but I’ll take God too,” he smirks against your mound. It’s then that he inserts a lithe finger, then two, stretching you out until you’re tugging at his long locks, goosebumps raised as the warmth of his mouth intertwines with the cold beneath your back.

You’re panting, unconcerned with time or it’s passing, only his fingers, his tongue circling your puffy bud, and your steady ascension to the edge. Just as your legs tense, breath caught mid-mewl of his name, he stops. You lean up on your elbows, rut against him, searching for more—friction, movement, anything—but he doesn’t let up.

“Fuck- why?” Your cry is loud, whiny even, but you don’t particularly care when euphoria’s been ripped away from you so suddenly.

“Tell me I’m right,” he teases, eyes peering straight through yours. You whine again, a mix between a pained groan and ‘are you fucking serious?’ before he flicks at your bud once more. “Say it.”

And you do. Because, as strongly as you've denied it, you’re every bit as perverse as he is, every bit as infatuated by the idea of power, of playing God—of holding a life between your fingertips and choosing death.

The second the words are out of your mouth, he thrusts deep into you. Your fingers scramble for purchase, nails dragging against the table, then his back, as skin slaps against skin.

There’s nothing gentle about Satori, all lean, hard muscle and jagged edges, but the pain is just as blissful as the pleasure. His fingertips rub at your clit, other hand moving to wrap around your throat and squeeze tightly.

“Satori, I- I need more,” you choke out, lightheaded. And he complies, shifting you to your side and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. Your cries melt into his, sweat soaking your skin, your hair, the table, as he pounds into you over and over again.

“That’s it baby– fuck, let go for me.” He presses the long-forgotten scalpel against your throat—and your vision goes white. Electricity sparks through your spine, your tongue lolls out, and you swear you feel tears run down your cheeks.

He doesn’t stop, working you through the orgasm as your legs bind his waist. A few more thrusts and he’s following you, holding your hips against him so tightly, he’ll probably leave deep purple bruises.

He finally stills, chest falling against yours and heaving, allowing you both to catch your breath. Flashing a set of pearly canines, his wild grin and the glint in his eyes reappear. For the first time since you’ve known him, Tendō is completely silent.

And then he laughs, lawless and untamed, the howl of a hyena that sounds like a song—and you laugh too.

#tendou satori #tendou x reader #satori tendou x reader #haikyuu smut #satori tendo x reader #hq!!#tw blood #tw knife play #tw death #tw dark themes #tw dark content #tw asphyxiation #tw blood play

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in-my-feels-probably · 3 years

Text

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Prologue - Before

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more.

INEFFABLE -- Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.)

too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of.

Prologue - Before

Elham Creed had never known what it was like to be part of a family. From a Ravkan orphanage, to the Little Palace, finally landing in Ketterdam, the Barrel, she had never felt the sense of safety and security she had longed for as far back as she could remember. She wouldn’t find it in Ketterdam.

At 13 years old, with nothing but a collapsable sword belted around her waist and the clothes on her back, she had spent the first few days in the Barrel stalking around, stealing scraps of food where she could, trying to get her bearings. The frigid air sweeping over the harbour into the edge of town at night where she slept was enough to make Elham almost miss her room at the Little Palace.

Almost.

She wouldn’t go back, not after her mentor, Baghra’s, warnings. All she could do was push forward and move on. She spent nights alone ducked away into abandoned shacks, using her powers to spark warmth and light, practicing control. Being an inferni had its perks, but Elham was special. She didn’t need a starter, or a piece of flint to create a spark she could turn into a flame. She could create the flame all on her own. She kept this and her powers a secret, however. If the Darkling had taken interest in her abilities, there’s no doubt one of the Barrel bosses would bait her into doing their bidding.

And Elham Creed would do no one's bidding. She would be no one’s puppet.

---

Elham remembered the first time she killed a man. Coincidentally, it was also the first time she met Kaz Brekker. She was now 14, making her way towards the harbour, working on one of the odd jobs she could scam her way into. She headed past the White Rose on the way, one of the most frequented brothels in Ketterdam.

She headed down the alley behind the sorry excuse for an establishment, when she heard a scream. She rounded the corner, to find a man with his hand wrapped tightly around one of the employed girls' wrists, the other hand making its way up her hip, pinning her against the wall.

It’s a shame. Maybe if he had heard her coming, he could have avoided the sword held up to his neck. He could have avoided his death.

Most men in the Barrel, as Elham had come to realize, were not good men. While the “pigeons,” as she had come to know the tourists as, would have tucked tail and ran, this man did not. He only scoffed.

“A sword?” The man had slurred at her, clearly drunk. “You do realize I could have you shot and dead in a second, and get back to this lovely girl you so rudely interrupted me from. Although, you’re a pretty thing. Exotic. Maybe I’ll have you instead,” he had said, reaching for the pistol strapped to his hip.

Big mistake.

With her eyes glossing over, and a rage building inside her, she quickly removed the sword from his throat, and ran it through his back. He sputtered, and fell to his knees, choking on his own blood, or maybe his last words, Elham didn’t take the time to figure out which. She walked around to face his front as he gazed up at her, clutching his stomach with wide eyes. She breathed heavily, eyes wild.

“Good riddance.”

She lifted her foot and sent him sprawling back against the street, blood pooling around him. She glanced back at the girl who was still frozen against the wall, and her eyes softened.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before hurrying back into the White Rose. Elham only nodded, taking a breath, before turning to head towards the harbour.

That’s when she saw him.

A boy, no older than 14, dressed in black, gloves fitted to his hands. He seemed to be analyzing her, gears turning in his head. Kaz hadn’t mastered his pokerface yet, and Elham was good at reading people. She was unsure why she didn’t feel threatened by his presence, especially since he had just witnessed her kill someone, and she had no idea what his intentions were.

“You just killed a Dime Lion.”

Elham had heard of the gang before, and their leader, Pekka Rollins. She knew she was going to regret interfering with gang business, but her head was beginning to cloud, tears forming in her eyes. But she had saved that girl, she had saved herself, it was a split second decision. Unable to form words, she met the boy's stare.

She only slowly nodded in response.

After pondering for a moment, he had offered to take her to his boss, claiming that she’d be a valuable asset to the team. He’d never admit to her that it really was because he couldn’t bear to see the Barrel swallow up and harden another innocent kid, and maybe it was the way her eyes had glazed over, or how tattered her clothes were, or simply because she didn’t look at him like he was some sort of monster, but he took her in.

It was true, Haskell had been needing a new asset to the team, someone young and quick who could take care of themselves. Bringing a girl back to the Dregs was a risk, and Kaz was in no position to make himself look weak around the gang, but he just couldn’t leave her there in the street. That part of the Rietveld in him hadn’t died yet.

To this day, Elham isn’t sure what made her accept his offer to come with him. After almost a year in Ketterdam, she trusted no one, got close to no one. She had no business getting involved with a gang, she could have walked away, continuing to the harbour for the job assigned to her. There was something about him, though. And going with him was arguably the best decision she has made, she had decided.

---

Elham had been part of the Dregs for a few months, slowly gaining a reputation for herself. Kaz had taken a liking to her, almost admiring how fast she had taken to a life of crime, to the rigidity of the Barrel. He found a secret comfort in her presence, and in the fact that her story was similar to his. She hadn’t revealed much about her past to him, just enough to keep him intrigued.

And he was, despite his brain demanding he think otherwise, intrigued. She was ambitious, and cunning. Most interestingly, however, she was ruthless.

She had killed many men since the day she met Kaz. Barrel men were not good men. Elham made it a point to seek out the men who only caused pain. Men like the first man she had killed, men like Pekka Rollins and his Dime Lions. Men like them didn’t get to cause all the pain and suffering they did, and live.

Kaz had dubbed her, “The Valkyrie,” once, while on a job. The other Dregs took a liking to it, and it stuck. She asked him many times what it meant, why he would call her that, but he only smirked to himself, amused by her new found reputation, much to her annoyance.

He finally explained it to her, the night he broke his leg. They had been paired on the job together, and it had gone disastrously. They were sprinting along a rooftop, when Kaz made a bad landing, completely breaking the bone in his leg.

It was the first time she touched him.

When she first joined the Dregs, she had quickly picked up on the fact that he didn’t want to be touched. She could sense his unease when they had to be close together on jobs in tight spaces, or when one of the drunken Dregs would pat him on the back for a job well done, or during a brawl with a rival gang. She always kept her distance, respecting his space.

But this time, she had no choice. Kaz was crying out in pain, and Elham knew she had to get him back to the Slat to get his leg reset, and out of harm's way. She clicked the button on her belt and grabbed for the hilt of her sword, and with a flick of her wrist, it unfolded into place to its full length. Kaz had pulled himself to a kneeling position, desperately trying to hide his vulnerability, eyes frantically looking for an escape. She offered the hilt of her sword to him.

“Kaz, you have to let me help you. I’m sorry, but you have to let me. Hold onto the hilt, and on three, I’m going to tug under your arm to get you standing. We’ve got to get you back to the Slat before you pass out from the pain or we get ourselves killed out here.” He only gave her a pained look, before nodding, and they slowly made their way back to the Slat, with him putting as much weight on the hilt as he could, Elham trying her best to make sure he couldn’t feel her fingers through his jacket as she dragged him along.

Hours later, while he lay unconscious on the cot in his room, Elham had anxiously waited in the chair in the corner of the room. She hadn’t realized how much she had grown to care for Kaz, for him and her life with the Dregs. She knew she would have killed for him that night if it came to it, no doubt about it in her mind. Kaz only awoke for a few minutes that night, and had mumbled a few words to her.

“Do you know what Valkyrie means? It means ‘chooser of the slain.’ It seems like you choose who lives and dies around the Barrel. Killing men, making sure I don’t die. It’s fitting, isn’t it?” He had joked to her, the faintest of grins tugging at his lips. Elham had sucked in a breath, and offered a small smile at him, standing to leave as he drifted off, knowing he was going to be alright. Broken, as she knew he would think of himself, but alright.

---

It had been a few years in the Dregs, as the Crows slowly formed. First Jesper, then Inej. The Dregs had become a force to be reckoned with in Ketterdam. Despite their ages and newness to the life of a gang, The Sharpshooter, the Wraith, the Valkyrie, and Dirtyhands were well known identities around the Barrel.

They had hardened over the years, Kaz more so than any of them, the Barrel being a quick teacher in offering harsh life lessons.

Elham remembered the first time one of them uttered the words, “no mourners, no funerals.” Inej had been interested in what Elham’s name meant, Elham meaning inspiration, Creed meaning belief or law. A particular favorite member of the Dregs, and a friend of Rotty’s, had been killed on a job. Elham took this particularly hard, he was one of the men that had made her transition into the gang easier.

They sat silently in her room together, when Jesper spoke softly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about your name. Creed. Maybe, ‘no mourners, no funerals’ could be our creed.” Elham had let a tear roll down her cheek at that, and she nodded at Jesper, letting him grab her hand, while Inej, perched on the window ledge, laid her hand on Elhams shoulder. Kaz had lifted his eyes from the floor when Jesper spoke, his eyes landing on the girl. He slowly slid his cane towards her, softly tapping the end at the base of her ankle, before returning to his original position.

It was one of Elham’s favorite memories of them. Of him.

The Crows were chaotic and an odd group, but they were Elham’s family, as close as she would ever get to one. Saint’s forbid she ever told them that, it would go straight to Jesper’s head. But they were enough for her. Her Crows were enough. And they were about to raise a little bit of hell.

---

A/N - hi everyone, omg im so excited about this book, i hope you liked the prologue, im working on the first few chapters and will have them up soon. let me know what you think so far, and thank you for the support!

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows #shadow and bone #wattpad #prologue #original character #ineffable #in_my_feels_probably

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thewriterowl · 3 years

Note

hey owl it’s me i’m in your inbox now. i politely ask your headcanons on dins reaction to finding out about all the things luke has been through but NOT from luke, could be lukes friends, random people who witnessed or even people in the squadron so i can sit here and go 🙃 about lukes trauma

Hello my dear @elloitselmo!! Oh you bet I would be so happy to share this to the world! Our favorite topic of every day:

Let's all make it clear in the fact that sweetheart Luke has SUFFERED. The boy has had so little luck in everything he has faced but has come to be a gentle, forgiving, hopeful and kind young man despite everything he has gone through. Now, whenever Din makes any inquiry about it, Luke just brushes it off as not very interesting or not very different from other's with a hard past...or he'll explain things very simply.

Luke: Yeah, I've lost family (meaning "My mother died giving birth to me, my father's soul practically died then but I just was told he died after believing he abandoned me, my aunt and uncle died and i found their bodies, my mentor who became a father-figure died and I witnessed it, my best friend and possible crush died and I heard it, my TaunTaun died in front of me, another close friend of mine died behind me and I witnessed his body then get crushed, many in my squadron died and I witnessed it, my second mentor died, and then my not-dead father died!")

Luke: Like a lot in the rebellion I went through some hard times (meaning "I am an Empath and was unaware how much I felt on people dying and how it affected me, went through loads of gruesome horrible battles, have had a lot of experiences and witnesses of death, had to go through a soul/mind/body breaking training to get prepared to face a genocidal monster who had been training almost non-stop since he was nine, found out this genocial monster was my father--so i tried to kill myself cause I sorta lost my mind for a second, had my best friend get kidnapped, went through tons of missions, was nearly drowned by someone who hated me for who my father was, been tortured, faced the Empire, was tortured again, had to carry my dying father in my arms, have my father die in my arms, burn my father alone, made sure to feel and experience death with thousands of people so they wouldn't be alone...oh and that was just after i was nineteen and up to twenty-five! I didn't cover being a kid or afterwards...I've had some mental break downs...but just little ones :D")

So Din just isn't aware. Luke always does have a layer of sadness or exhaustion even with how happy and bright and sweet he is with everyone, but nothing to make him think that Luke should be a really broken person after all that he has suffered through. He believe he has just a "normal" amount of sadness from growing up in a very broken galaxy.

Then, he learns the whole truth (maybe Anakin or Yoda or Qui-Gon comes in through a dream, cause apparently right before Luke meets Din Obi-Wan moves on into the Force so, hey!, another sad moment, Luke can't see him again) and whooo-boy...Din snaps.

So instantly, Din would just be sitting there after whoever informed him of everything leaves. He would probably be sitting for a few hours just...thinking. Stewing really. He would be unable to comprehend all that he learned about Luke and just cannot begin to really function for a while because he pretty much has PTSD listening to the years of misery Luke has gone through. He potentially gets sick or may have a moment to cry to himself because how could Luke suffer so much but still be that gentle and kind??

For a bit, Din is a bit torn. He is not one to take away a person's free will or choices...but he is terrified to realize he no longer really trusts Luke with his own well being and doing anything safely. Nor does he true the galaxy in not throwing more terrible experiences Luke's way (fic idea: we've heard of Luke having a vision of his future of the sequels--but when it Din had it?).

I think it will get Din to make a few clear decisions quickly:

1) He was to put a lot more effort and focus into being Mand'alor so he could use the connections, authority, and power to change as much as he could of Luke's life and make sure he is happy and safe.

2) He was going to find a way to marry Luke if they aren't married already.

3) Luke will be adopted as an official Mandalorian.

4) Luke will be a Mandalore citizen...and therefore needs to follow Mand'alor's rules and laws.

This means he will ensure Luke is protected, carefully tended to, and cannot just jump on his X-Wing whenever he has a vision and potentially go get himself killed because he does not value his own life like he should.

He wants to go on a mission? Well, he needs clearance for that--and to speak with the king and his advisors and just can't take off into airspace without informing anyone. If it's not approved (and it rarely would be) then, welp, Luke just has to stay put and not go get himself hurt because he feels like he must be a meat-shield for the galaxy.

Leia would be a little worried on the idea at first but, well, her brother would disappear without telling anyone and get hurt.

Then, Din would begin to talk to Luke.

He'd ask for details to get things confirmed and he'd start looking for a Space-Therapist so Luke can get some professional help in facing the horrible past he had suffered from.

Din will tell him, "No, cyar'ika...that's not normal. no, no that's not normal either. Is that...no, that is unhealthy...and that's heartbreaking and...No...holy hells, love, you'e never leaving our bedroom ever again." for everything that comes out of Luke's mouth and when he tries to play it off as nothing to worry about.

Din probably does have a few cries and/or bonks his head against Beskar to try and knock himself out to not think of any of this painful truth.

Luke, who is just sitting all confused with a mug of hot chocolate is all, "Did i tell you about the time I was nearly sold into slavery?"

Din is in agony.

#dinluke #din djarin #luke skywalker #luke suffers loads #din needs to protect #owl inbox #tw: suicide mention

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ssahotchhner · 4 years

Text

hunter, hunted

i should not be so excited about this but i just discovered that when you copy and paste text into a new post tumblr FINALLY allows italics and bolded fonts to be transferred over so I don't have to remember to go through it and do it myself again i could literally CRY rn. ANYWAY I thought it would be fun to write a oneshot like the Profiler, Profiled where Morgan is accused of murder. i created an oc for this one and I hope you love April I've spent a lot of time with her the last couple of weeks (:

words: 13.4k

pairing: hotch x oc

warnings: detailed descriptions of murder and torture and sexual assault

questions comments concerns

“Where’s the weapon, April?”

It was almost laughable. A federal agent handcuffed in an interrogation room being questioned for murder in her small town while visiting a childhood friend. She shakes her head at the detective, laughing. “I carry a gun on me at all times because, as I said, I’m a federal agent. You have it in your possession already. If you want to test it to see if I’ve fired it recently, be my guest. You won’t find anything.”

“You’re right, we won’t find anything because Brandon Perry died from blunt force trauma to the head. So I’ll ask you again, where is the weapon?”

This time, April does laugh. Of course he wasn’t shot. That would be too easy. “You know what, Detective Barnes, if you hadn’t kicked my hotel door down in the middle of the night, handcuffed me and dragged me in here, I may have cooperated with the investigation, but here we are. So I’ll tell you again: my Unit Chief is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I won’t be answering any more questions until I can speak with him.”

The middle aged man glares at her until finally getting up and leaving her alone in the interrogation room. She rested her head on the table and hoped that maybe that stupid motherfucker would listen to her this time.

***

“Hunter has been detained in Bar Harbor, Maine.” Hotch tells the team in the conference room.

JJ frowns, “Isn’t that her hometown? Why has she been arrested?”

“For murder.” Hotch says. Before the team can react, he pulls up a picture of Brandon Perry’s body, “Brandon Perry was found yesterday by a fisherman just off the docks a week after he was released from prison on parole. He had been bludgeoned to death with some sort of blunt object, the M.E. suggests a baseball bat.”

“And why do they think April did this?” Spencer asks.

Hotch clicks a button and a picture of a couple brutally murdered in their bed, a little boy who’s throat had been slashed, and a little girl with brown hair and bright green eyes, alive and well filled the screen, “Because he was serving time for the murders of Addison, Jacob, and Timothy Hunter. April’s family.”

Everyone stares at the monitor in shock, “Her whole family was murdered when she was a kid… and she never mentioned it to us?” Penelope asks, her lower lip trembling.

“April was left relatively unharmed, but she had been sexually assaulted by the assailant. She said he was tall, but he had on a ski mask so she was never able to give solid identification.” Hotch finishes.

“So how’d they connect these murders to Brandon Perry?” Rossi asks.

“He was connected to a couple other home invasions and assaults nearby so he entered a plea deal. The local police were under a lot of pressure to close the case.”

“Breaking into homes to murdering almost an entire family is a big escalation.” Morgan says.

Hotch nods, “I thought so too.”

“April was just a kid,” Prentiss says, “And to go through a trauma like that, I’m sure she believed whatever the police fed her. And to see him be released from prison like that… I hate to say it, but it could have been the trigger.”

Penelope’s shaking her head, “No, no, you guys don’t really think April did this, do you?”

Everyone’s silent for a moment and then Morgan speaks, “Baby girl, if she’s innocent, we’ll prove it. But we can’t rule out the possibility that she did this just yet.”

“I know April hasn’t been here that long,” Garcia says, “But she is still a part of this family. You can all treat her like an unsub, but I won’t.” She finishes and marches out of the conference room.

Aaron sighs, “Wheels up in thirty.” He says resolutely before leaving the room.

***

Hotch walked into the police station, the team at his back and was greeted by a man about April’s age who introduced himself as Detective Fielder. “Detective, I’d like to speak to my agent.” Hotch demanded after shaking the man’s hand.

The man shrugged, “Sorry, sir. My partner’s in there with her. She’s stubborn as hell. I went to school with her, you know it’s a shame the way her family died but… must’ve knocked a screw loose or somethin’. She ain’t ever been the same.”

Aaron thought it over, killers had made their way into the bureau before. Not like this, though. Not under the nose of his whole team. April kept to herself, but she had joined this team less than a year ago, it would be overwhelming for anyone. “You misunderstand, detective. It wasn’t a request. Bring me to my agent.”

Reluctantly, the younger detective brought Hotch to the back of the station where he could already hear another man, older by the sounds of it, screaming at April.

She was staring back at him, her posture relaxed, looking more annoyed than anything. Hotch walked in and she relaxed further, only then letting on that she had been putting on a show of being unbothered for the detective, “Thank God.” April sighs, “I thought maybe they didn’t call you.”

“Are you alright?” He asks her first, unable to explain why hearing another man scream at you had made his blood boil.

“I’m fine,” She says and directs her attention back to the older detective, “Detective Barnes won’t even get me a water, though.”

“Detective Fielder, get April some water.” Hotch demands. He can feel the two men exchange a look behind him before the younger detective leaves the room. “Detective Barnes, uncuff my agent.”

“You can’t let her go, you don’t have jurisdiction here.” He growls.

“I’m not suggesting you let her go, but even if you’re right she committed a one off crime of revenge. She’s not a threat to anyone here. Uncuff her.” The detective glared at April who only smirked at him. “Now, detective.” Aaron said, firmer this time.

With a look of disgust on his face, the detective uncuffed a smiling April as detective Fielder came back in the room with a cup of water. “Thank you, Billy.” April said as the detective placed the cup in front of her. He ignored her completely.

“I’d like to speak to her alone.”

“Like Hell.” Detective Barnes spat.

“With all due respect, detective, it doesn’t appear that you’ve gotten much out of her. You’re welcome to watch through the window, but I will be questioning her. Clear the room.” They stared at each other for another few moments before the detectives both left the room. Hotch turned back to April whose entire demeanor changed. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders and slouching over the table as she rubbed at her wrists where the cuffs had been. The antagonizing behavior Hotch had just witnessed her exhibit completely vanished.

“You don’t help when you antagonize them like that.” Hotch says.

She shrugs, “The men in this town don’t like a woman who thinks she’s his equal. They never liked my attitude. They like it even less now that I outrank them. Either I act like the superior I am, even in cuffs, or they force me into submission.”

He sits down at the table across from her, “Why didn’t you tell me about your family? It wasn’t in your file.”

“Strauss knew.” April says, immediately defensive. She hadn’t lied, the bureau knew.

“But you didn’t want me or the team knowing, why?” She doesn’t answer him, just stares at her hands. “April, I can’t help you if I don’t know.” He says gently.

Finally she looks up and sighs, “When I was twelve my entire family was brutalized and murdered in front of me, but not before the unsub raped me in front of my parents. And I didn’t react the way the people of this town wanted me to. I was twelve and I was covered in semen when he left. So I showered before calling 911. I didn’t cry even once in front of anyone and I never spoke about what happened to anyone, not even the police. Only enough to tell them that I had no idea what he looked like, but I thought he was white.” Her eyes water just slightly and she doesn’t meet his eyes, “For the six years after the murders that I stayed in this town, I know a lot of people thought I did it. That I was some kind of psychopath. So no, I didn’t want it in my file.”

“You thought maybe we’d arrive at the same decision the town did.” Hotch opens the case file, “But you were never tried or even considered a real suspect. There was no physical evidence.”

She smiles sadly, “No physical evidence means nothing to a small town who’s rarely ever seen a scandal, and certainly nothing like this.”

He stares at her for a moment, “And so when Brandon Perry was released from jail, you thought he hadn’t suffered nearly enough so you came back up here and killed him.” April laughs and Hotch can see he’s made her feel antagonistic again, “This isn’t funny, April, you’re a suspect in a homicide.”

“No, Hotch, you don’t understand. It’s funny because I don’t even believe Brandon Perry killed my family and I haven’t believed that for a long long time. Which is why it would make no goddamn sense for me to kill him.”

“That’s bullshit!” The door bursts open and detective Barnes walks in.

“Detective--” Hotch stands as if to shield her and April nearly frowns at how protective he seems to be of her right now. She had seen him this way around the rest of the team, but never her.

“You told Detective Fielder when you were fifteen that you would kill that son of bitch yourself if he ever got out of jail.”

Hotch looks at April with a bit of annoyance, he hated when others had more information than him and from the second he walked in here she kept hiding things from him, not telling him the whole truth.

She lazily rolls her eyes and stares at Billy, “I was fifteen. I was angry. He cooperated with the police so he had the opportunity to get parole after fifteen years? Get his life back after I thought he had ruined mine? Yeah, I said some stupid shit, I think any kid would have.”

“When did you start to doubt that Brandon Perry had killed your family?” Hotch asks, but she’s still shooting daggers at the other detectives, “Agent, eyes here.” He says roughly, growing impatient with her.

Her eyes snap to his, “I used to lurk on support pages for people whose loved ones had been murdered and I remember seeing that this girl described… Almost exactly what had happened to my family, but she said it happened while Brandon was on trial here. She lived a couple towns over.”

“So what did you do?”

She shrugs, “Nothing, I was seventeen, I didn’t have any resources there was nothing I could do.”

Hotch sits down across from her again, leaning over the table so he’s closer to her, “You really expect me to believe, with the conviction you just said Brandon is innocent, that you didn’t look into this further?” She stays quiet and won’t meet his eyes, “I can have Garcia search your desk and computer if you’d rather do this that way.”

She leans back in her chair, rolling her eyes, “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m not a fucking criminal.”

“Then tell me what you know.” Hotch says, voice raised.

“Fine! I started volunteering at the police station so I could get access to files. I was good with the digital databases, but no one else was so they basically gave me free reign. I was able to find three similar cases, all within a couple years of each other but in different cities. One of them, he crossed into New Hampshire. All of the local police departments either arrested someone like Brandon or dismissed it as a one off crime and let it go cold. The files are in my desk drawer at the BAU.”

“You carried them with you all this time?”

She picks at the cuticles around her thumb, something Hotch noticed weeks ago she does when she’s nervous. “I thought… I thought about asking you guys to just look at the case a million times. See if you saw what I saw. And if you didn’t then maybe I could finally move on.”

“So why didn’t you ask?”

Her eyes dart around the room, to the detectives, the one way window, and then back to Hotch, “You guys, the team, you all have… This unbreakable bond and I… I barely just got here and I thought if I’d asked…” She sighs and runs her hands through her hair, “I just… I didn’t think you’d care.”

“The whole team flew out here at the drop of hat for you and you think we wouldn’t care?”

She frowns, “The whole team is here?”

“Yes.”

April sits back in her chair, looking dazed.

“Detectives, you’ll be releasing Agent Hunter from your custody now and since we have reason to believe there’s a serial killer loose and across state lines, we’ll be staying on the case.”

“You don’t really believe anything she’s saying, do you? She’s a psychopath!” Detective Barnes fumed.

Hotch stands and steps to the detective who immediately takes a step back after noticing Hotch’s menacing stance, “She is a federal agent and is no longer a suspect, you have no physical evidence and you just lost motive. You will speak to her with respect and if you don’t think you can handle that I’ll contact your superintendent and have you removed from the case. Is that clear?”

The detective stood back and out of their way, April looking at the ground so Hotch wouldn’t have to yell at her for antagonizing them again.

“What’s the history with you and Billy?” Hotch asks as they walk out of the room.

April rolls her eyes, “He was my high school boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Hotch muses, “You can do better.”

Before she can figure out if he was joking or not, the team realizes she’s walking of her own free will and they seem to all release the tension in their bodies. JJ walks to April first, pulling her into a hug before she can react.

April slowly raises her arms to hug JJ back, “I wish you had told us sooner.” Is all she says.

“I’m sorry you guys came all the way out here.” April addresses the team when JJ moves away from her.

“That’s okay, Hunter, we’re just glad to see you aren’t a murderer.” Morgan teases.

“We might actually be staying here for a while after all.” Hotch says.

Prentiss frowns, “Is there a case here?”

April opens and closes her mouth, “I-- Maybe.”

“Why don’t you call Garcia, ask her to get those files to everyone.” Hotch says to her quietly.

April nods and walks off.

“What’s going on, Hotch?” Rossi asks.

Hotch pushes his hands in his pockets, “The reason we were able to clear Hunter is because she has no motive. She doesn’t believe Brandon Perry killed her family and she hasn’t since she was a teenager.” He pauses, “She thinks the murders may be the work of a serial killer. She found three additional cases nearby, one crosses over to New Hampshire, that she believes are the work of the same unsub.”

Prentiss slowly nods, “And you want us to see if that’s true or not.”

Hotch nods, “I’m sure April would really appreciate our support.”

Everyone on the team is already nodding when April comes back, “So, as Penelope might say… Avengers assemble?” She asks hopefully.

Thankfully, they all laugh and nod, even Hotch cracks a smile, “Great.” April sighs in relief, “Let’s go to the conference room.”

With Garcia on a laptop screen, April tells them everything she knows, which admittedly, isn’t much. However, there are overwhelming similarities between the cases.

“Every family he chose was wife, husband, two kids. The eldest was the daughter all between the ages of 11-13 and in each case the daughter was raped and kept alive.” April was speaking as if she wasn’t speaking about herself and Hotch would be lying if he said it didn’t concern him. “In each case the parents were brutally tortured with a knife, forced to watch the rape and then killed with a fatal gunshot to the head. The boy was always killed first and it was always quick.”

“A mercy kill?” Reid muses.

April sighs, “I’ve never been able to figure that part out. It’s obvious he gets off on the rape and torture of the parents and daughter, but why not leave the boy alive the way he always leaves the daughter if it’s out of mercy?”

“It could be he thinks he’s sparing the boy the pain and trauma of having to go through the after effects of watching his parents and sister tortured.” Prentiss says.

“When all is said and done the daughter suffers the most psychologically.” Hotch says, “She could be the real target, maybe a surrogate for someone he knew.”

At this point, Hotch notices the way April is staring at the table, eyes unfocused, “Hunter,” Her eyes shoot up, “You must be exhausted, let me drive you back to the hotel so you can get some rest.”

“Hotch, I’m fine, I want to help.”

“No,” He says and she frowns, “If the daughter is the true target we’re going to have to dive deeper into victimology. Why he chose you. You don’t want to be here for that.”

Everyone’s quiet and deliberately looks away from April. She sighs, “Fine, but I’m coming back first thing in the morning.” She stands and walks out of the conference room without waiting for Hotch.

“Garcia, see what you can find about April’s childhood as well as the other victims and let us know if there’s any similarities.” Hotch says.

“It feels icky, but I’ll do it.” Garcia responds.

“I’ll be back.” Hotch addresses the rest of the team before heading after April.

They ride in silence for a few minutes, Hotch glancing over to the passenger seat every few seconds. “Whatever you want to say just say it.” April says, growing tired of the constant glances.

“You don’t have to keep working on this case like it’s any other case--”

“It’s not just any other case.”

“I know,” He says gently, “I’m worried about you. I know you bottle things up, showing emotion to other people makes you feel vulnerable, which in turn makes you feel weak. And I worry that the way you’re bottling up your rage is going to lead to you taking it out on--”

“I didn’t kill Brandon.” She says.

“I know you didn’t. But if we do find the real killer, I can’t let you come with us into the field until he’s been taken into custody.”

“Hotch--”

“It’s not up for discussion. I’m sorry.”

She sat back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest and they continue on in silence for a while longer. “Do you think our unsub is also responsible for Brandon’s death?” Hotch felt guilty about upsetting her and thought maybe getting her brain back into work mode would stop her from giving him the silent treatment.

For a few moments he thinks she might continue to ignore him, but finally, she sighs, “It’s possible. If we think he gets off on the suffering of the daughters, he might be upset that I thought he had been caught. That I felt safe knowing he was behind bars. Killing Brandon after he was released could have been a message to me that he’s still out there and obviously following me.”

“You don’t feel safe anymore.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It was implied.” Hotch pauses, “I can stay at the hotel with you, work with the team remotely from the room next to yours.”

He expects her to refuse, but instead she agrees. “Okay.” She says quietly. This only worries him more as she is typically unlikely to accept help unless he insists upon it.

They walk up to the hotel room in silence and Hotch stands behind her as she unlocks her door, “Hey,” He says softly and she turns, “Anything you need, anything at all, I’ll be right there.” He nods his head to the door next to them.

“Thank you.” She says, giving him a small smile before pushing the hotel door open and then quickly closing it behind her.

He stands there for a moment, staring at the space she was just standing in before sighing and going to his own room.

“How is she doing?” Rossi asks when he calls the team from his room to let them know he’ll be staying there.

“She won’t admit it, but she’s scared. She thinks he might be following her and that Brandon Perry was a message to her that he’s still out there.”

“That would make sense if we think the girls are the real targets.” Prentiss chimes in.

Hotch stays on the phone with them a little while longer before they all decide to head back to the hotel. He stares at the wall that separates him from April and tries to get his mind to quiet enough to rest. He’s right here. Nothing will hurt her if he’s right here. He thought about how just last week Rossi had teased him for catching him staring at April. He had nearly convinced Aaron to ask her out. But she was so distant and hard to read and he didn’t want to chance rejection. Eventually, he closes his eyes and drifts off, an image of you smiling at him on the backs of his eyelids.

***

April was exhausted, but she stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Small noises that she never thought twice about now startled her. Hotch is next door. She reminded herself. She thought about the comment he made about Billy: You could do better. Had he been… Flirting? Aaron Hotchner… Flirting? It felt absurd. Shaking the thought out of her head, she got up and poured herself some water from the Brita in the mini fridge. Finally, after drinking the water, she’s able to fall asleep.

The breeze against her face wakes her. Slowly blinking her eyes into consciousness, she notices the balcony doors are open. Those were closed when I fell asleep, She thinks to herself and shoots up in bed, scrambling for her gun as her heart races. April considers yelling to Hotch, but if he’s still here she doesn’t want to scare him off.

On the wall at the foot of her bed reads “Welcome Home” in what looks like blood. Under it sits her favorite childhood teddy bear, head ripped clean off. She tightens her grip on the gun in order to stop the shaking and then glances around the room, but there’s nothing. Then she slowly opens the bathroom door. Pointing her gun at the shower, the curtain moves. She doesn’t hesitate she fires off four rounds, breathing hard. She doesn’t hear a body fall. Reaching out she pushes the curtain, but no one’s there.

Seconds later, Hotch is calling her name, but he doesn’t wait for a response before kicking down the door. “Hunter?” He calls again and she thinks she might hear fear in his voice. Fear for her?

“I’m in the bathroom. You can put down your gun, it’s clear.” He appears behind her a moment later, still staring at the shower, “I thought he was still in here.”

She walks around him and back out to where he left the message, “He came in through the balcony, I— I thought I locked it…” She trails off, looking at the glass of water on the table and realizing she can’t remember when she fell asleep.

“What is it?” Hotch asks.

“He was in here before. I think he drugged my water.”

He narrows his eyes at her, “We should go to the hospital then, I’ll have the team come here and treat this as a crime scene.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital, I’m fine—“

“We don’t know what he gave you or how much, besides, having you tested will tell us what he used faster than sending a sample of the water to Quantico.”

“Fine.” She agrees begrudgingly, he was right. She walks over to her bag of clothes and it’s only at this moment that she realizes she had worn only an oversized t-shirt to bed and Hotch was making a valiant effort not to stare at her legs.

“I’ll, um, I have to get dressed as well.” He says hurriedly, gesturing to the pajama pants he’s wearing. He leaves before she can say anything else. Under normal circumstances, April’s sure this would have made her laugh, but that teddy bear seems to be staring her down. She gets dressed and leaves the room without another glance.

***

April stares out the window of the SUV in silence while Hotch calls Rossi to fill him in on what happened so the rest of the team can start assessing her hotel room. When he hangs up, she feels his eyes darting between her and the road again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks quietly.

She’s quiet for a moment and then she takes a shaky breath, “That teddy bear went missing from my room a couple weeks before the murders. It was my favorite.” She swipes impatiently at the tears that start falling, “I blamed Timmy for it, we fought about it for hours. He felt so bad that I was mad at him he used his birthday money to buy me another one. I really thought he took it.” She tilts her head back in the headrest, trying desperately to stop the impending sobs.

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but he reaches across the car to hold her hand. To her own surprise, she lets him, the calluses on his thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the back of her hand.

***

“What do you have, Garcia?” Hotch steps out of your examination room for a moment to accept the call.

“How is she?” Penelope asks first.

“She’s… shaken up. But, like everyone else on this team does an excellent job of seeming unaffected.”

She sighs, “My poor wonder woman. Anyway, I think I found the connection between all the daughters.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it turns out that our April was a very talented child. Her parents took her to talent shows regularly, she was voted ‘Most Likely To Make It To Hollywood’ in her middle school yearbook.”

Hotch frowns and looks back at April, “We’re talking about the same federal agent, right?”

“I know, sir, not much surprises me anymore, but this did. There’s videos of her singing all over the internet, she was on the local news, quite the young star.”

“And the other victims?”

“All singers, sir. Every last one.”

“Thanks, Garcia.”

He walks back into April’s room, “You used to be a singer.” He says.

She rolls her eyes, “So?”

“So all the other daughters were singers too.” She sets her jaw and won’t meet his eyes. She’s not surprised by this information. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“You didn’t think it was relevant that there was a connection between all of the victims?”

She sighs and she feels shame at his obvious disappointment, “I’m sorry. I’ve worked really hard to block it out, sometimes I honestly forget.”

“What else aren’t you telling me?”

She bites her lip and looks down at her hands, picking at the cuticles around her thumb again, “He made me sing while… While he raped me.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No. I swear.”

He stares at her for moment and she knows he’s trying to see if she’s lying. It makes her angry at him, but also at herself. Maybe Hotch had never been as fond of her as the others, but he had never distrusted her. Just another thing the unsub had taken from her. “What song did he make you sing?”

The question is so painful to think about that she visibly flinches, “Do you really need to know that?”

“You know I do.” He says softly.

She looks away from him again, back to the cuticle on her thumb that she’s made bleed, “Like A Virgin by Madonna.”

He places his hand over hers again and she finds it almost alarming the way his touch seems to immediately calm her. “April, we won’t stop until we find him. I promise.”

She gives him a teary smile, “Will you stay with me?”

He smiles back at her, giving her a hand a slight squeeze and his smile takes her breath away, “I’ll be glued to your side until this case is over.”

***

A couple hours later they had found out that there was a classic date rape drug in April’s system: Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, or GHB. The drug is usually prescribed for narcolepsy, but it was most often obtained illegally from Mexican pharmacies which they assumed was how the unsub got it.

“I’m bringing you back to the police station so you can stay with me and the team like I promised, but you don’t have to keep working the case.” Hotch says as he drives.

“Funny that you think you can stop me from working the case.”

He smirks a bit and brings his attention back to the road.

“What do you guys have for a profile so far?” He looks over at her, frowning. “What? I know you guys have been working while I’ve been reliving my trauma so what’ve you got?”

“White male, when he murdered your family he was probably in his twenties so now we’re guessing mid thirties to early forties. The torture is consistent with a sadist. Killing an entire family is an incredibly high risk crime which suggests he’s a narcissist, but also very organized. He’s able to control four people at once without much difficulty and he’s never left a shred of physical evidence behind except on the daughters. This means he’s arrogant and--” Hotch cuts himself off.

“What?”

“You said you showered before calling 911. Why?”

“I… I told you he left… He left his semen all over me, I was just a kid, I wanted a shower--”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, that doesn’t make any sense. Yes, you were traumatized, but every kid has it hardwired in their brain that as soon as something bad happens the first thing they do is call 911.”

“Okay, well I didn’t.”

He presses some buttons on the console of the car and then Garcia’s voice is coming through the speaker, “At your service, sir.”

“Garcia, in any of the family murders, was there a rape kit done on any of the daughters?”

“Well, surely there must have been-- Oh. No, no rape kits, not on any of them.”

“Does a police report tell you why?”

“I’m checking… and…” There’s a sigh from Penelope.

“What is it, Garcia?”

“All of them showered before calling 911.”

April is already shaking her head, “No, no that can’t be right.”

“Did any of them report why they showered before calling for help?”

“Most of them, like April, just reported that they felt icky and needed to shower, but the first one, the very first victim Katie Yates, she reported that the unsub made her shower. Like, held her at gunpoint, marched her to the bathroom, and watched. Once he was satisfied with how clean she was, he left while she was still in the shower.”

“That’s not what happened,” April says quietly, her eyes closed.

“Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch says and hangs up the phone before she can respond, “April--”

“No.” She says fiercely, “I’m telling you that’s not what happened.”

“Every other aspect of the crime is controlled and calculated, he wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving DNA all over his victims--”

“I would remember that if he did--”

“No,” Hotch says gently. He had pulled into the police station now, putting the car in park, “No, because you didn’t want to remember. Just that one memory, that one you wanted so badly to believe was your own. That he wasn’t there for the shower. But he was, wasn’t he?”

“Please stop.” She said breathlessly.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere and he puts his hand over hers, “Look at me.” She doesn’t obey immediately so he reaches up to grip her chin and gently turn her face to his. Her eyes are shining and her breathing is uneven, but his eyes are soft and she has the absurd urge to rest her forehead against his. “He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

She nods and swallows. “I need you to walk me through exactly what happened after the rape.” He continues. Her lip trembles, but she nods again. “Okay, close your eyes.”

“Hotch--” She whimpers.

“I’m right here. I’ll be here the whole time. You know how this goes. Close your eyes.” She takes a shaky breath and closes her eyes. “Good. He’s on top of you still. He’s just finished. Tell me what you feel, what you hear.”

“Um. I’m crying. I can hear my parents crying. His weight on me is making it hard to breathe.” She starts panicking, her breathing quickens.

“April, focus. He’s not here. You’re safe. What about your hands, what are you touching?”

“The carpet. I’m on the floor in the basement.”

“Can you see your parents?”

“Yes,” She gulps, “But I’m trying not to look at them. It’s humiliating.”

“Okay. Now what is he doing?”

“He… He kisses my neck and whispers in my ear ‘Thank you for the show’ and then he stands up.” Her breathing quickens, “He’s walking to my parents, I don’t want to watch, he’s going to kill them, Hotch--!”

“Okay, okay, come back. Open your eyes. I’m here.” His hands come up to cradle her face. She should be startled by her boss touching her like this, but she’s oddly comforted.

Her breathing finally slows, “I’m tired.” She says softly.

“I know. We’re almost done. Close your eyes again, you can do this.” His hands stay on her face as she closes her eyes again, “Okay. Your parents are dead. What does he do now?”

“Uh, I’m screaming. He’s looking at me and laughing and then he grabs my arm and pulls me up from the floor. I struggle and he puts the gun to my head and says if I don’t calm down he’ll blow out my brains like he did my parents. And then… He walks me up the stairs to the bathroom…” Her breathing becomes rapid again, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Yes you can.” Hotch’s voice is low and soothing. He believes in you, she thinks to herself, if he thinks you can do this, you can.

“He turns on the shower. I’m already naked and once I’m in the shower he starts undressing.” Silent tears stream down her cheeks and she’s distantly aware of Hotch gently wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. “He comes in the shower. He’s touching me. I’m begging him to stop. Oh, God.”

“April, stay there. He’s undressed, he’s taken the mask off, do you recognize him?”

She’s shaking her head, “I can’t… I can’t look.”

“The water’s hitting your skin, his hands are on you--”

“Stop.”

“Look up, April.”

Despite herself, she listens. She’s in that shower, significantly smaller than she is now, and she looks up to see blue eyes looking down at her. Shaggy brown hair nearly covers them, especially now that it’s wet. He has a smirk on his face and crooked front teeth. There’s a tattoo on his right arm of a cross.

“Okay, okay that’s enough, you did it.” Hotch’s voice pulls her back out and she becomes aware of the car that’s still around them and the fact that she’s sobbing. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You did so good.” She falls forward in his arms and after a moment of hesitation he wraps his arms around her, holding her until her breathing settles. It takes him a moment to realize that anyone could look in the SUV and find him in a seemingly compromising position with his subordinate and he pulls away. To his shock, she seems to look disappointed. “You ready to go inside?”

“Yeah.” She says and without another word, she gets out of the car. Hotch can’t deny that he feels like he’s done something wrong as he watches April walk into the station.

When April walks in the station, her whole team cranes their heads to watch her, but she heads straight for the coffee without looking at anyone. Hotch files in soon after.

“Is she okay?” Reid asks, the rest of the team waits for his answer.

“I just gave her a cognitive interview, I’m sure she’s upset.”

“Did you learn anything?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” Hotch nods, “She remembers what he looks like and she identified a tattoo on his right arm.”

“We should have Garcia run that, see if we can get an ID.” Morgan says.

“Call a sketch artist as well.” Hotch looks up at where April was standing just a few moments ago to see her gone, “Excuse me.”

***

April’s hands shake so hard as she tries to pour the coffee she ends up putting it down in frustration. “Need some help?” She turns to see Billy, standing there smirking at her.

Sighing, she stands back and gestures for him to go ahead. He steps in to pour the coffee, “Pretty elaborate ruse you got going on, staging a break in at your hotel room with that teddy bear.”

She stares at him in disbelief, “You still think I did this?”

“I think,” He says, handing her a cup of coffee, “That you’re impulsive and you went to confront Brandon and you didn’t mean to kill him, but you did and now this is all to cover everything up.”

“Oh,” She scoffs and starts walking away from him, “You are delusional and a dick.”

He follows April into another room and closes the door behind them, “Open the door.” She says when she realizes she’s shut in.

“You and your stupid FBI team are making this whole police force look bad, you need to drop the investigation.”

“The cases cross state lines, we have jurisdiction.”

“Yeah, you would have jurisdiction if there was a real case, but there isn’t. You’re a pathological liar and you can’t even see it. Brandon Perry murdered your family and raped you and just can’t let it go.”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch,” She walks around him to the door, but he turns quickly and places his palm against the door, slamming it shut again. “Let me out.” She says slowly.

“I’ll let you out when you promise me that you’re going to march out there and tell them that you’ve been lying this whole time and then march your pretty ass back to D.C.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll arrest you for the murder of Brandon Perry.”

“You have no evidence.”

“Oh, April, April, April. I know you know what a coerced confession is here. And I also know that you know a jury of your peers here in Maine would send you to prison for less.”

There’s a sharp knock on the door and Billy finally steps away. When she opens it, Hotch is on the other side, “Everything okay in here?”

“Just fine, Agent Hotchner. Isn’t that right April?” Billy says and grabs a strand of her hair, twirling it around his finger and tugging, exactly like he used to when he sat behind her in middle school.

April slaps her hand on his wrist and twists his arm around until he yells. “You lay a hand on me or threaten me again, I will make sure you don’t have a career here anymore. Understood?”

“You can’t--” He starts, but she twists his arm further.

“Am I clear?” She says again.

“Alright, fine!”

She shoves him away and he stumbles, nearly falling to the floor as April storms out, Hotch still standing in the doorway, watching Billy.

“I told you,” Billy says, pushing himself to standing, “She’s a crazy bitch.”

“Detective, let me make myself very clear. If you continue to harass my agent or impede on this investigation in any way, not only will I make sure you never have a career in law enforcement again, I will arrest you for obstructing a federal investigation.”

Billy shakes his head, “She’s got you all wrapped around her finger.”

“And I think your boss has you wrapped around his finger. He’s the one who arrested Brandon Perry. Seems like he would have a lot more to lose if he was wrong than you would.”

“He wasn’t wrong.”

“Then let us conduct the investigation. If it leads back to Brandon Perry, then so be it.”

“You really think she’d accept that?”

“If the evidence led us there, she would. Now stay out of our investigation if you value your job.” Hotch leaves without giving him time to respond and then tries to find April.

“Are you alright?” He asks when he finds her. She’s sitting alone at a conference table.

“I’m fine, Billy’s just an asshole.”

“There’s more to your relationship than you told me to begin with.”

She frowns, “What are you talking about?”

“You said you came up here to visit a friend. Who were you visiting?”

“I’m tired of being interrogated--”

“The reason Billy is so sure you killed Brandon Perry is because you were with him that night and then you left suddenly, isn’t it?”

April sighs and looks down at the table, “Hotch, I appreciate everything you’re doing to help, but who I was with and what I was doing that night doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t kill Brandon so please just drop it.”

He shakes his head and he looks almost frustrated with April, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he care so much about her relationship with Billy? “I don’t understand why you would waste your time on a cop like that, look at what a mess it put you in.”

She frowns, “With all due respect, sir, it’s really not your business who I’m sleeping with.”

“Why did you leave that night if you didn’t kill Brandon?”

She scoffs, “I can’t believe this.”

“Answer the question.”

She was angry with him. Practically bursting at the seams with rage. Just like every other man, thinking he’s entitled to everything about her. They all disappointed her in the end. “Billy and I had a fight and I wanted to be alone.”

“What was the fight about?”

“He wanted to be an official couple again. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

She tilts her head to the side, “Just because I’m a good fuck doesn’t mean he gets to claim me. Like you said, he’s just a stupid cop and I could do better. Now will you leave me alone?”

April recognized that look in his eyes: He was jealous. Aaron Hotchner was jealous that she had a sexual relationship with another man. And suddenly her anger evaporated and was replaced by desire. She supposed she did always have a thing for older men which she was sure a profiler would say had to do with her dead dad. Either way, she sent a smoldering glare his way until he left her alone.

When he left, she rested her head on the table in exhaustion and didn’t notice Emily had approached until she heard the seat in front of her being pulled out. She raises her head and manages a smile, “Hi.”

“How are you doing?” She asks.

“Better now that you’re here, I’m tired of all the men around here.”

She laughs, “Good. Well, the sketch artist is here and I’m sad to report that he is a man.” April groans. “But, I will stay with you if you want and then I think we’re all going to work through the night, but Hotch was talking about bringing you back to the hotel to get some rest. It sounds like you had a rough day.”

“Yeah,” She sighs, “Cognitive interviews are the worst.”

As promised, Emily sits with her while she talks to the sketch artist and Hotch walks over not long after. When it’s finished, Emily gives your hand a squeeze and leaves with the sketch to pin to the evidence board.

“You should get some rest, I’ll take you back to the hotel now.” Hotch says, hands in his pockets. It was intriguing to her that he could act like he didn’t just ask about her sex life only an hour ago.

“I can’t sleep in that room again.”

“You can sleep in mine. I’ll sleep on the floor,” He adds quickly upon seeing the look on her face.

She sighs, “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, just don’t touch me.”

“Won’t be a problem.” And with the indifference in his tone, she thought maybe she had actually imagined everything earlier.

“Great.” She murmurs and gets up to walk out first.

Hotch stays behind for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and Rossi comes up behind him, “You picked a terrible time to start giving her hints about the way you feel, Aaron.”

“We’re trying to solve a case about her family’s murder and all I can think about is how pissed off it makes me to know that she’s been sleeping with someone else.”

“You’re human.”

Hotch just shakes his head and walks away.

***

“Daddy driving you home?”

The voice behind April makes her jump, her hand flying automatically to her gun.

“Woah, it’s just me April.” Billy laughs, leaning up against the station building, “You really are on edge, lately, huh? A sign of guilt or genuine fear?”

She could strangle him right here, she thinks. But instead, she reigns in her temper and leans against the wall next to him, “What about your daddy, huh? Haven’t seen him here all day. Is he too busy making wrongful arrests?”

Billy scoffs, “Yeah, and how’s your stupid little profile going? Did you find the real killer yet?”

She sighs, “You cops are all the same, think your old fashioned police work is better than profiling.”

Billy looks like he’s about to respond, but Hotch walks through the door just then, “There’s daddy, you better hurry up and get in the car like a good girl.”

Hotch barely registers what Billy’s said before April launches herself at him, fists flying. He immediately reacts, grabbing her arms, “Hunter, hey, hey! That’s enough! Get in the car.” He says sternly.

She shakes him off, but walks to the car all the same.

“Fucking bitch.” Billy mutters, drawing Hotch’s attention back to him.

“Detective, I thought I made myself clear that you were to stay away from my agent and out of my case.”

Billy steps up, eye to eye with Hotch, “This is my station, agent. Back off.”

Hotch stares him down for a few more moments, “The superintendent will be hearing from me tomorrow, at the very least you’ll be getting suspended. Maybe now’s a good time for you to clean out your desk.” And then he turns and walks back to the SUV, ignoring Billy’s curses behind him.

Once Hotch is in the SUV and starts driving away, he starts talking to April, “When you’re out in the field you represent me, you represent the team, and the whole bureau. You can’t just--”

“I don’t need a lecture right now.”

He’s surprised to hear tears in her voice and it softens him immediately, “April, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you today.”

“You’ve only done what you need to do to solve the case, you shouldn’t apologize.”

“No, no, I… I shouldn’t have questioned you about Billy earlier. You were right, it’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine.” She says. First indifference, now an apology. Maybe she really had imagined everything. “I just want to sleep.”

***

Hotch works for a while by the light of the lamp when you get into bed, poring over the case files again and again, trying to figure out if they had missed anything. He’s pretty sure April is actually sleeping and once he’s sure he can’t get any more work done, he turns off the lamp and gets ready for bed.

He slips in the bed as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake her, but there’s the smallest moan that escapes her lips when the mattress shifts. A moment later, she turns over, still in sleep and slings her arm over his chest, sighing contentedly as she rests her head on his chest. Hotch freezes, unsure of how to react before slowly wrapping his arms around her in return. Her shampoo smells like peaches and vanilla and he breathes it in deeply knowing in the morning she’ll pretend this never happened.

***

When April wakes up and finds herself in Hotch’s arms, legs tangled under the sheets, she does her best not to panic. With the way they were positioned, it was clear she had initiated this which was all the more embarrassing. Lucky for her though, she doesn’t have to figure out her next move because his phone rings. She pretends to be asleep as he slowly comes to wakefulness and reaches for his phone.

“Hotchner.” His voice is husky from sleep and it sends a thrill through her and she imagines for a moment what it would be like if Aaron Hotchner was hers. Then she hears Billy’s voice in her head calling him her daddy and the moment sours.

“Okay.” He says after a few moments, “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

He ends the call and sets the phone back on the nightstand, but to her surprise, he doesn’t immediately wake her. “Are you awake?” He whispers after a few moments and she tries not to balk.

“Mmm.” Is all she manages and she keeps her eyes closed, not sure she can meet his eyes like this.

“They’ve, um… Another family was killed last night.” He tries to say it as gently as possible, but she shoots up in bed anyway, “The daughter was killed as well this time.”

She’s shaking her head, “No… No, that can’t be. She has to… She can’t be dead.”

“It’s probably a message to you.” Hotch says calmly.

She scoffs, “That’s great. A whole family’s dead because of me.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Oh, like hell it isn’t.” She says, climbing out of bed and pulling on her jeans. She doesn’t fully realize who she’s getting dressed in front of until Hotch tries to subtly avert his eyes. “I should’ve solved this case years ago. I’ve known it was serial for a while. I could have saved them.”

“You know as well as I do that thinking like that isn’t helpful for anyone.” He says, following her lead and getting dressed in front of her. The fact that they’re both acting like nothing out of the ordinary has taken place between them makes everything somehow even more intimate.

She sighs, “Let’s just get over there.” And she walks into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

***

April can feel the bile rising in her throat as her team mills around the crime scene. She’s crouched next to the girl, Layla, whose throat had been slit. She had also been stabbed too many times to be counted by the naked eye. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, but April could see the fear there. He had left her here, in front of her parents’ bodies, naked. “He went through the entire ritual, even the shower, then brought her back down here and killed her.”

“He’s always been very controlled and organized, but this last kill is full of rage.” Prentiss notices.

April frowns as she looks at Layla’s throat and notices that it almost seems to be bulging, “I think there’s something in her throat.” She pulls on her latex gloves while everyone crowds around her and then gently prys the girl’s jaw open. Reaching in, her fingers brush what feels like crumpled paper at the back of her throat and April pulls it out. Heart racing, she smooths it open.

Welcome home, April. I’d like to see the woman I’ve created. Arrive alone at the place where we first met, 20:00.

Everyone was silent as April read the note over and over after reading it aloud the first time. The word “alone” had been underlined several times. There was no threat attached to it, but April knew it was one all the same.

“We’ll have to call SWAT and let them know, we’ll also have to prepare the local police--”

“No.” April cut off Hotch, “You can’t be serious, he said to come alone.”

“April, his end game is clearly to kill you, if you go there by yourself you won’t come back out. And I already told you you’re not allowed to handle the arrest.”

“This is our one shot to get him,” Her eyes water, “This family died because of me--”

“Hunter--”

“Stop.” The tears fall down her cheeks and he wants to brush them away like he had the day before. “I won’t let this happen again, I’m going to see him by myself.”

“At least go in with a wire, we’ll stay a safe distance away.” Morgan bargained.

She shifts her attention to Morgan, to her team who are all looking at her sadly. Concern dripping heavy from their limbs. “No SWAT.” She insists, “Just this team.”

Hotch sighs and rubs a hand over his face, “You’re sure you can handle this?”

She wasn’t, but she nods anyway.

“Fine.” Is all he says before walking away.

***

Aaron is conscious of her eyes on him as he helps her put the wire on, “You steer the conversation away from yourself when you’re in there. Don’t let your guard down for a second. He’s going to try to get in your head, blame you for what he’s done. Don’t let him, just feed his ego and then call us when you’ve got him. Okay?”

“Yeah.” She says quietly.

He finishes putting the wire on and leans away from her in the surveillance van, “I can go in with you.” He says, giving it one last shot.

“No.”

He nods resolutely, “Promise me you’ll walk out of there alive.” She avoids meeting his eyes, “April.”

Finally she locks her eyes to his, “I’m scared.” She says, and her voice shakes.

It’s the first time he’s heard her admit it. He’d known she felt it, but she’d never admitted it. “Listen to me.” He says firmly, “You are not the twelve year old girl he knew. You’re stronger than him. You can do this.”

She takes a deep breath and nods, moving around him to exit the van.

“Be careful.” He says one last time and he thinks maybe she’s aware of just how worried he is about her, his eyes full of concern.

She gives him a small smile before turning away and walking down the street, rounding the last block to her childhood home, the house she hadn’t entered again since the murders. The town was small and since everyone knew what had happened there, it had never been sold.

April stands just outside the house for a minute, hand hovering just above her gun, trying to get both hands to stop shaking. Hotch believes in you. She reminds herself, recalling his words in the van. She can do this.

She’d been avoiding thinking about all his touches in the last few days. The way his rough, callused fingers felt so gentle on her face when she cried. The way he’d wrapped his arms around her in sleep, almost protectively. The way when he woke to answer his phone this morning he had absently stroked her shoulder. Did they mean anything to him or was he just an overworked, touch starved man, desperate for any sort of attention, even from her.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she headed for the door, raising her gun as she approached. The door was already slightly ajar and she pushed it lightly with the pads of her fingers. Carefully, she cleared each room, heart ricocheting against her rib cage, though she already knew where he’d be waiting for her.

After they had found the last family, Garcia had been able to ID the killer based on the sketch and the tattoo as Allen Grey. He had the usual tough past, abusive father and mother, grew up in poverty. His parents died when he was still young and his older sister was left to take care of him, and she then continued the cycle of abuse, escalating to sexual assault. It explained the mercy for the young boys and torture of the eldest daughters, but April couldn’t bring herself to feel sympathy for him.

She stood at the top of the basement stairs, could already see the lights on down there and could hear Madonna’s Like a Virgin playing on vinyl. April hated the way her body reacted, the way everything in her was telling her to run. She was a federal agent for Christ’s sake, she took down killers like this one all the time. He was no different, she tried to assure herself, he was just like the rest. And then she steeled herself, brought her gun back up in front of her at eye level, and began descending the stairs.

“There you are! Welcome home, April!” Allen says cheerfully as you point the gun at him, “Now, now, come on, I don’t have a weapon,” He raises his hands, “Why don’t you holster that gun, Agent Hunter.” He had an arrogant smirk on his face.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her finger flexed on and off the trigger, wanting so bad to just pull it and be done with it. But she knew her team was listening and this was exactly why Hotch hadn’t wanted her in the field for this. She lowered her weapon and put it back in her holster.

“That’s better. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured to the worn out table and chairs, “Let’s have a drink. Talk.”

She swallowed thickly, “No thank you.” She managed.

“No, come on now, April. We have to catch up!”

“Why did you bring me here?”

He smiles at her again and comes closer to her. Slowly, he pulls a knife out of his pocket and brings it up for her to see. She balks, but he quickly grabs her from the back of her neck to keep her steady and runs the knife gently over her face. “You were always so clever, April.” She keeps eye contact with him, doing her best not to show any fear. “So pretty and smart. I only followed you, after, you know? You were… number two, I believe. I chased the high I got with you with everyone after, but none of them were the same.”

“Is that why you stopped for a while after the fourth family?”

He nods, “Like I said, you were always so smart. And then I saw how you became obsessed with people like me, went to college to study criminal justice, always thinking about me. Joined the FBI because you were so obsessed with me, weren’t you, little April?”

She wanted to spit in his face, but she remembered what Hotch said about feeding into his ego, “They say you never forget your first.” She says cooly, almost seductively.

It works, an arrogant smile twists its way up his face and he pockets the knife. “All I ever wanted was to find you,” She says, slipping into character, “See those blue eyes again. I dream about them every night.” None of these statements are lies, but the tone she takes when delivering them, the sweetness she adds to it, the act she puts on makes bile rise in her own throat.

“I knew it.” He says, looking at her with newfound desire, “We’re soulmates, you know?” His words are gentle, but he grips her by the hair again and pulls, exposing her neck. “Let’s run away together, baby.”

“Okay.” She says softly, “I’m ready.”

Hotch is already ordering the team to go in, jumping out of the back of the van with Morgan. Through his earpiece, he listens closely to you. He can hear your fear in the way you’re breathing, but he’s not sure Allen is picking it up from you.

When she agrees to go with him, he spins her and shoves her against a wall, her head painfully bouncing off the cement. He laughs as she winces and then leans in to kiss her throat, “Are you going to tell your team to leave us alone?” He reaches under her shirt where the wire is and yanks it off her. “April, April, April. My clever, clever girl. You had to know I would have expected you not to come by yourself.”

He pushes himself off her and walks to the table, reaching under it and pulling out a gun that he had taped there earlier.

April’s jaw tenses as he raises the gun to point it at her head, “You won’t kill me.” She says smoothly, though she’s not sure she believes it herself.

“No,” He cocks the gun and turns slightly to aim towards the doorway, “But if Aaron Hotchner walks through that doorway I’ll kill him.”

She does her best to betray nothing, but a muscle in her jaw jumps involuntarily and he narrows his eyes at her, “Yeah, I thought you liked him.”

“I care about everyone on my team.” She says stiffly.

He shakes his head, “No. Don’t forget April, I’ve been watching you. I know your weaknesses as I’m sure you know mine and the past few days here I’ve noticed the way you look at Agent Hotchner when you think he’s not looking. But he always notices because he’s always aware of you, even when he tries his hardest not to be. So, April, I’ll give you one chance,” He hands the wire back over to her, “Tell Aaron to back off.”

Reluctantly, she takes the wire from him. “Hotch,” She breathes, “Stand down.”

Hotch holds a hand up to the team on the outside, signaling them to stand down, though he can barely hear past the roaring in his ears.

“There,” Her voice comes in his earpiece again, “Are you happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when he hears me kill you and knows there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”

“I thought we were running away together.”

“You think I can’t tell when you’re playing me?”

“No, I know you can’t tell when I’m playing you.” Something in April had unlocked when Allen threatened Hotch. Threatened her team. And she knew Hotch could hear them and though she had told him to stand down, he was trying to figure out another way to get to her. He wouldn’t stop until she was out of there, whether it ended with both her and Allen in body bags or Allen in cuffs. But she wouldn’t let it come to that.

“Since you’ve been watching me my whole life, you know the entire town thought I killed my own family and that I lied about the whole thing. Do you know why they thought that? Because they saw in me what my team sees in people like you.” She walks up to him, and though every instinct screams to run, she instead places a hand on his chest, “That night… you made me into you. So no, Allen,” It’s the first time she uses his name and she relishes the shock that lights in his eyes, “You can’t tell when I’m playing you.” Capitalizing on his surprise, she disarms him the way Morgan has drilled into her over and over, quickly slamming his wrist into the nearest surface and catching the gun when he releases his grip. Faster, she takes a step back from him and draws her gun as well, now pointing two weapons at him, “And I think you’ve overplayed your hand, babe.”

He raises his hands and now there’s genuine fear in his eyes, “April--”

“I’d like you to very slowly remove the knife from your pocket and toss it to the floor and if you even think about launching it at me, just know that I am a very good shot and I have been dreaming about killing you every day since I was twelve, don’t tempt me.” Her voice shakes, but this time not from fear, but from anger that she’d harbored close to her chest since the man who stood in front of her stole everything from her.

As Allen slowly does as he’s told, April hears footsteps on the stairs and is relieved when she spots another gun trained on Allen in her peripheral. Morgan begins to walk to Allen, but April stops him, “No.” She says, “I want to do it.”

He nods and redraws his gun, backing away. She holsters her own weapon and hands Allen’s gun back to Hotch without looking at him. Drawing cuffs from her pocket, she walks behind Allen who has managed to get a smirk back on his face. The sight breaks something in her and she roughly shoves him against the wall, feeling satisfaction at his grunt of pain when his face collides with the cement. She tightens the cuffs a bit more than necessary and begins stating his rights to him as she marches him up the stairs.

“I’m going to be a legend, you know? They’ll make all these dateline documentaries about me and the families I’ve killed.” He’s smiling still as April shoves him in the backseat of Billy’s police car. She’s trying not to think about the fact that he showed up here.

“Prisoners don’t look too fondly on those among them who kill and rape children, Allen, and I’m going to make sure that whatever cell block you rot in knows exactly what you’ve done. Have a nice life.” And she slams the car door.

Billy’s watching her as she does so, “I’m sorry.” He says simply.

April sighs, “I don’t care.” She says without looking at him and then walks away.

Hotch is watching her, arms crossed and frowning deeply. She stops in front of him, tilting her head to the side and noticing the concern written all over his face as he sizes her up, “Thank you for backing off when I asked you to. I know that was hard for you.”

He simply pushes himself off the car that he was leaning against and pulls her to his chest. She feels surprised for a moment, but then wraps her arms around his waist in return, breathing him in, focusing on his touch rather than Allen’s. And when the sobs begin to wrack her body, he just holds her tighter. He knows the rest of the team is watching and maybe he’ll have to explain this later, the way he rests his head on top of hers to reassure himself as much as her, but he doesn’t much care. He’d been fairly certain she was going to die in there and he’d never have the chance to tell her how he really felt.

Hotch drives back to the hotel with her sleeping in the passenger seat. The medics had checked her out and concluded that she didn’t really have any injuries, but his heart had nearly shattered in his chest when April asked if there was any way they could refill her sleeping medication. They had been unable to, but decided to give her a few doses of ambien anyway, to last her until she could call her prescriber back in DC.

“You can take as much time off as you need when we get back.” He had said as they climbed in the SUV, his too big FBI jacket wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she immediately popped the ambien in her mouth.

“I don’t need to take time off.” Was all she said before she curled herself in a tiny ball, facing the car door, and fell asleep only minutes later.

Now, he pulled into the hotel parking lot, rain falling gently against the windows and debated whether he should wake her. “April.” He said softly, gently shaking her shoulder.

“Mmm.” She murmurs and her eyes flutter. Still straddling the line between sleep and wakefulness, seeing Hotch’s face above hers prompts a small smile. “Aaron.” She says softly and reaches her hand up to touch his face.

Hearing her use his first name so tenderly sends a jolt through him, but he reminds himself that she’s sedated, albeit lightly, from the ambien. “Do you think you can walk up to the hotel room?”

She nods sleepily and he quickly gets out of the car to help her out of the other side, pulling the hood of his jacket over her head to shield her from the rain. She walks slowly because of the drug, but he doesn’t mind. And when she slides her hand down to his to intertwine their fingers, he doesn’t mind that either. When they get to the hotel room she wordlessly strips down to her underwear and climbs into bed.

He stares at her for a while, unsure if she would want him in the bed or not, and decides it’ll be safest to sleep on the couch. He begins taking some cushions off the couch when he hears her voice, “Aaron?” There was his name again. He wasn’t sure why hearing her say it had him coming undone, but he wanted her to repeat it over and over again.

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you come to bed?”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple times before responding, “I was going to sleep on the couch.” She’s quiet for too long and he thinks she must’ve fallen asleep so he turns back to the couch.

“I don’t want to sleep alone.” Her voice is so quiet, he wonders if he imagined it. But when he turns back to the bed, she’s watching him, eyes full of sadness and what he thinks might also be desire. He can’t say no to her. She continues watching him as he takes off his clothes, first unbuttoning his shirt. She watches him carefully, no traces of shyness and he tries his best not to let on the way her attention affects him. He undoes his belt buckle and then pulls off his pants before walking to the bed, pushing the sheets aside, and climbing in.

She turns to him and brings their faces close enough that just another inch would have them rubbing noses together. “Why have you been so nice to me this whole case?”

It’s not what he was expecting her to say and he frowns, “It was a tough case for you that brought back a lot of trauma, why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

She shrugs, “I know you’ve never liked me the way you like the rest of the team--”

“That’s not true--”

“Aaron.” He wonders if maybe she’s caught on to the way saying his name affects him as his mouth closes immediately, “I’m not stupid, I haven’t been here nearly as long as the others and I certainly never open myself up in front of them the way the rest of you do. It’s not anyone’s fault, I’m just… Not a part of the family. But this case… You treated me the way you would treat Reid, JJ, Morgan, Prentiss… Any of them. Why?”

“The second you join this team you’re a part of this family and I’m sorry we made you feel otherwise.”

She rolls her eyes and turns her head to look at the ceiling, “Would you have shared a bed with any of them?”

Heat floods his face and he’s glad she’s not looking at him. “No.” He says and he’s sure his voice, thick with desire has betrayed him.

But April only nods, still staring at the ceiling, “Is it just because you’re lonely?”

It’s then that he realizes what she’s getting at. He hears the vulnerability in her voice, the fear there. She thinks she’s not good enough for him and it breaks his heart even further. “April, look at me.” She manages to turn her head to him and her eyes are glassy. “You have shown the last few days how incredibly resilient, intelligent, and just amazing you are. You can’t really think that the only reason I keep reaching for you is because I’m lonely.”

She smiles sadly, “You wouldn’t be the first.”

A lesser man would’ve taken this personally, perhaps groan about how she could think so little of him, but Aaron was different. He understood what she’d been through, that he could have been Superman himself and she’d still have her doubts.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to prove it to you.”

She turns her head back to him and frowns, a trace of amusement on her face, “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Hesitantly, he reaches out and strokes a thumb across her cheek, “I’d like to start by just holding you tonight, if that’s alright.”

She closes her eyes at his touch, nuzzling her face further into his palm and he melts. “I’d like that.” She says softly.

So he gently wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him. Her little sigh of contentment as she settles against his chest is almost too much for him to take. “Aaron?” She says after he's spent a few moments just listening to her heartbeat.

“Hm?”

“You’re the only man I’ve ever felt truly safe around.”

He feels her sadness then and he tightens his grip around her to convey that he’s sorry she feels that way, but he’s grateful for her trust. They fall asleep like that and neither attempt to move away from the other the entire night.

***

“So this is a date.” It had been about two months since they had gotten back from Maine and Aaron had been nothing but a gentleman to her. So much so, in fact, that at some points she thought he was no longer interested in her.

He chuckles, “It’s not a date. We’re meeting the team.”

“Yes, but you’re taking me,” April grins, linking her arm through his as they walk towards the bar, “So it’s a date.”

“If it was a date I would’ve done this--” Hotch spins her in front of him and abruptly kisses her. At first, she freezes, but when he gently nips at her bottom lip she moans slightly, kissing him back. As sudden as it began, it ends and Aaron is staring at her with a look of such arrogant satisfaction she wants to slap him.

“Okay, so it is a date.” She murmurs quietly as Aaron steps around her and walks away, “I knew it.”

When Aaron opens the door to the bar for her, he casually slips his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. He notes her questioning look from the corner of his eye, but just squeezes her hand in response. And instead of detaching herself from him when the team notes their arrival, she squeezes his hand in return, even when the relentless teasing from the team commences.

Aaron only slips away from her to go get them drinks and even then she looks back for him. It’s the most unsure of herself he’s ever seen her and it only broadens his grin.

“You finally did it, eh? Attaboy, Aaron.” Rossi’s already at the bar, a whiskey in hand and another on the bar that he slides to Aaron. He takes it and then orders April a gin and tonic.

“It’s just one date, Rossi. She’s still… hesitant.”

“She doesn’t look hesitant,” Rossi says, looking over his shoulder, “She hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked away from her.”

Aaron smirks, “Yes, well, I’ve discovered playing hard to get is very effective with her.” He tips the bartender and clinks his glass with Rossi before walking back over to April. When he hands her the drink, she seems to shrink into his side, taking larger gulps of her drink than he thought she should.

“Slow down,” He plucks the drink from her hand and places it on a nearby table, “Why are you so nervous?”

“Look at all of them just staring at us, I feel pressured.”

“Pressured into what, being with me?”

“Aaron, no,” She places a hand on his arm, sensing the insecurity rising in him, “I want to be with you.”

“Then what?”

She shrugs and reaches for her drink again, but Aaron covers her hand before she can, clearly expecting an answer from her. She sighs and looks up at him, “I feel pressure to be perfect because I can see on their faces how much they love you and I don’t want to fuck this up and then you all hate me because I wasn’t good enough for you.” It all comes out in a rush and she feels breathless after admitting it, her cheeks reddening as he lifts his hand, allowing her to reach for her drink.

“April, they like you just as much as they like me.” She rolls her eyes and he reaches out to tip her chin up gently with his fingers, “You could never mess this up.”

“I messed it up with Billy.”

He drops his hand, unable to hide the annoyance and jealousy on his face at the mention of Billy, “Billy was an immature boy who didn’t know how to treat you anyway.”

She smirks, “And you’re a big strong man who can sweep me off my feet at a moment’s notice?” He manages the smallest of smiles as a slow song starts playing, “Come on, Hotchner. Ask me to dance.”

“You want to dance in front of the team?”

“Well you brought me here to show me off, didn’t you?” He gives her a look like he’s offended she would even think so and she laughs, “Please?” She pouts, “Billy would dance with me if he were here.” She adds teasingly, her eyes glittering with mischief.

Hotch shakes his head at her, but he’s grinning, “You love causing trouble, don’t you?” And she laughs in response as he takes her hand and pulls her to the dance floor, letting his left hand rest gently on the small of her back, his other hand holding hers.

He twirls her around the room and with the whole team watching, he kisses her as the song ends. Their lips worked together to teach each other their own dance and for a moment, it’s just the two of them, until the rest of the team starts jeering and April pulls away, her face flushed. Aaron is still looking at her, smiling and she reaches up with her thumb to swipe at his mouth, “I got some lipstick on you.” She says quietly.

“Can I take you home?” He says finally and his voice is husky and full of want.

She wonders if he’s aware of how alluring the sound of his voice is. “Yeah.” She responds swallowing.

He leads her out of the bar after much protesting from the rest of the team, but all he wants and needs is to get April, April who’s smiling at him from ear to ear, home and in bed with him. They settle into their new relationship with ease, the team noting that they’d never seen either of them smile so much and all of April’s fears and insecurities melted away day by day.

As long as her unit chief quietly placed a coffee on her desk every morning with a sweet note attached to it, she figured she could overcome anything.

#mine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x oc #hotch angst #hotch fluff #hotch imagine

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nightingaelic · 3 years

Note

Fallout 4 companions respond to getting captured by Super Mutants (for optional added angst, maybe even getting turned into a super mutant). Strong not included for obvious reasons.

Ada: "Be advised: My guardian has equipped me with a tracking device in the event of my capture. You lack the privileges necessary to access their estimated time of arrival."

Ada is always matter-of-fact about her situation, even if her legs aren't functioning and she's squashed between two bags of body parts on the floor of an abandoned hospital. She's also patient, and content to wait until the sole survivor comes to retrieve her. In the meantime, she'll run escape scenario algorithms to determine the best way out of the building. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Cait: "Are you f***ing serious?! I'll tear your ears off with my bare hands and string them on a necklace! You don't know who you're messin' with, you green bastards!"

No one can match Cait in sheer viciousness when fighting to free themselves, but even she has her limits. The sole survivor would likely find her in a cage, hyperventilating and on the verge of tears. If the super mutants made the mistake of exposing her to FEV, she would tear the nest apart herself. Mutation would be another internal struggle for Cait, but I think she could successfully make peace with her new state of being if given enough time. A makeshift, giant baseball bat might help.

Codsworth: "Unhand me, you brutes! By God, the class of people I'm forced to associate with these days just keeps falling!"

Pre-war Codsworth is constantly offended by the super mutants' behavior, particularly their lack of housekeeping. He can't help bemoaning his situation for all to hear, something that would probably annoy the super mutants enough to bonk him on the dome until he shuts down. Some assembly required once the sole survivor catches up with him. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Curie: "While we are waiting, would any of you mind answering some questions for me about how you came to exist in this state? Ça vous dit?"

With a wide new world of oddities to study, Curie takes her abduction as yet another opportunity to learn. If nothing else, she can observe super mutants in their natural- or at least chosen- habitat. Prior to her synth transition, not affected by FEV for obvious reasons. Post-synth transition, however, I think Curie would take the mutation as an opportunity to study the effects that turn a person into a super mutant. I don't think she would lose her bubbly personality, similar to the way Lily the nightkin retained some of her old sense of self.

Danse: "You may have the upper hand today, but you and the other freaks of nature are fighting a losing battle." [spits]

Having lost the most to super mutants in the past, Danse fights his captors until he is completely spent. In fact, the sole survivor would have to practically carry the man home for a lengthy recovery, something his suit of power armor would definitely help with. Mutation into a super mutant is one of Danse's worst nightmares, and if exposed to FEV, he would beg the sole survivor to show him the same mercy he once showed Cutler.

Deacon: "Oh yeah, this reminds me of that summer I spent camping out on the National Mall. You even look familiar. Know anyone by the name of Uncle Leo?"

Like in every tight spot he's ever been in, Deacon masks his stress level with quick wits and quicker retorts. Most likely to slip his confines, let the sole survivor fight their way to the heart of the nest, then reveal he was free the whole time and they needn't have bothered. If exposed to FEV, Deacon would probably panic and enlist the sole survivor's help in searching for a cure, positive that a mutated countenance would irreparably damage his ability to help the Railroad. Then again, he might see it as a "new look" and use it to his advantage for a bit.

Dogmeat: [snarling]

Any super mutants that get their hands on Dogmeat are highly likely to lose fingers. Still, there's not much the canine can do if he's put in a cage, other than bark and wait for rescue. While FEV leaves many dogs as aggressive shells of their former selves, I think Dogmeat would be largely okay with his new green-and-bulky form and would still happily guard settlements and follow the sole survivor around, not unlike Gracie from Far Harbor.

Hancock: "Whoa, whoa relax. I've got time to hang out for a bit, no need to get all worked up. Don't stain the coat, I doubt you can cough up the caps to get it cleaned."

Of all the companions, Hancock is the most unbothered by becoming a super mutant captive. It's just another wasteland adventure, albeit one where the opposing cast of characters are all at least two feet taller than him. He might earn some bumps and bruises for being unable to keep his smart mouth shut, but he'll just bide his time until he spots an opening to wreak havoc and escape, or until the sole survivor comes along to wiggle him out. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

MacCready: "You know, I'm getting real sick of you green lunatics. Spent almost a decade living next door to some of your cousins, and they knew enough not to mess with me."

Upon capture, MacCready would roll his eyes and accept that he's going to have to wait for some help. He'd get more desperate the longer his wait went on though, envisioning a world where Duncan lost his dad without getting to say goodbye. Mutation wouldn't necessarily dampen his spirits at first: After all, if anyone can find a cure, it's the sole survivor.

Valentine: "Not exactly a group of masterminds, are you?"

At this point, Nick is used to getting abducted and locked up by just about every group in the Commonwealth. He knows super mutants well enough to know they don't listen to reason, but he can't resist getting in a jab or two about how he's far from edible. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Piper: "So, uh, what's say I write up a column about how super mutants are seriously misunderstood creatures and we'll call it even? No?"

Piper might have similar levels of confidence as Deacon, but hers are much more likely to waver when faced with possible death by ingestion. Her quips would be fewer and more nervous until the sole survivor arrived, at which point she would put her game face back on and cheer her rescuer along. If exposed to FEV, she would beg the sole survivor to help her find a cure for Nat's sake, and eventually weasel the information about Virgil out of them.

Preston: "I didn't need to get up close to know why you're called 'uglies,' but here we are."

While terrified at what the super mutants might do to him, Preston is the most level-headed when captured. He's already great under pressure in battle, and he's used to setting his own fears aside to find solutions for his woes. Most likely to have more people coming to his rescue than the sole survivor alone, due to his role with the Minutemen. If exposed to FEV, Preston would likely accept his fate with dignity, and make the sole survivor promise to dispatch him if he turns violent. I don't think he would, though, and the Minutemen would probably be more accepting of a super mutant officer than most.

X6-88: "I can afford to wait for field assistance, mutant. They will not make the mistakes I did."

X6-88 accepts his predicament calmly, like he accepts everything that happens to him. If unable to free himself, he will patiently wait for the Institute help he knows is coming, even if it's just the sole survivor with a pipe pistol. Regarding FEV mutation, turning into a super mutant might be the straw that breaks the camel's back for X6-88. In the Institute's eyes, the Courser is now hideous and no longer viable in the field: In X6-88's opinion, though, he is even stronger and more dangerous than he was before. I could see him finally choosing to desert his post out of a growing sense of self-preservation once transformed.

BONUS!

Gage: "Well look who's suffering from delusions of adequacy! I'd call you f***ers dumb as rocks, but at least a rock can hold a door open."

Porter Gage is great at heckling, and just good enough that he toes the line right up to where super mutants would start to understand he's insulting them. The sole survivor would likely find a gaggle of them around his confinement space, convinced he's complimenting them when he's actually being very rude. Breaking him out gives him the biggest smile. Becoming mutated himself might actually benefit Gage in the long run, as the raiders he used to be wary of would instead find themselves newly-wary of the Overboss' right-hand man.

Longfellow: "Too bad you aren't one of the more reasonable ones. Might've saved your skin."

Longfellow treats his own capture with a sense of humor, acknowledging that he's not as young as he once was and might need help now and then. Chuckles the whole time the sole survivor is fighting their way to him, and grateful upon release. If turned into a super mutant, he'd shrug, accept his fate, and ask to be escorted to live with his friend Erickson up near Far Harbor.

Maxson: "I welcome the day you and your kind meet total destruction."

If Danse is angry about being captured by his sworn enemies, Maxson is seething. Kidnapping a Brotherhood Elder is something that shouldn't even be possible in his eyes, let alone by super mutants. Once freed, he would do his best to erase the nest from the earth: Fire, missiles, tactical nukes if necessary. Also like Danse, Maxson would order the sole survivor to mercifully dispatch him if he were mutated. Additionally, he'd have them destroy any evidence of his exposure to FEV, and simply turn in his holotags with the news that he had perished in the line of duty.

Desdemona: [livid silence]

Plunks herself down, lights a cigarette if her hands are free, and waits. Eventually, the sole survivor or Glory will turn up, and she'll give them one, lingering look of disappointment before vanishing into the Commonwealth ruins. Least likely to get captured in the first place. If mutated, she would reassume her job as leader of the Railroad with no comment, and everyone else would know better than to ask.

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

Drowning 6 pretttttry please. Your writing is amazing, honest to god. Wish I had your talent. Keep writing!!!!

Thank you for the ask and lovely message ❤

Drowning Part 6

Masterlist

This one is a tad different that the other parts, some segments are in from Supervillain's POV which are very vague because they are meant have an altered state feel to them. You also learn a lot about Villain and Hero's past in this one.

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate

Warnings: unreality, wheelchair, schizophrenia, elecric shocking, hallucinations, hate towards another, possessiveness, restraints, drugged whumpee, sick whumpee

Supervillain emerged from whatever fluid contraption held him in place. His body went numb, pins and needles filling every limb, every muscle like wildfire.

But, nearly as quick as he broke the surface, he fell back in...

Falling...

His body seized up, a ringing in his ears... then he hit solid ground, his body going slack. Nearly immediately, he felt conscious of the tubes and moniters embellishing him like ornaments and garland on a Christmas tree.

His lead-filled mouth yanked open on its own free will, trying to force a scream out, but his tongue only managed a hoarse whimper.

He jerked his head about, finding it laid nearly on a pillow, but another trap locked his head in. He clenched his hands, but his body was already falling back into the sea- all feeling washed away by the waves.

Sand. He felt sand in his body, dehydrating and numbing, as consciousness was snatched away from him once again. The tubes faded, as did the traps- leaving Supervillain with an empty void.

He had a sense, but couldn't remember what happened in brief moments of waking like this. He hardly recognized the difference between unconsciousness and consciousness and if he did, it wouldn't matter. He never could escape. Never could escape the agonizing water in and around his body.

All he could do was fall.

Fall back into the water.

《~~》

"Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them," a voice spoke. Hero had given up on trying to tell apart the various differences between the countless heroes and doctors that spoke to her on a daily basis. Trying to just intoxicated her mind with a weird feeling of displeasure and annoyance that couldn't be placed. It was right in between her eyebrows, where she would have a unibrow if she didn't wax it all the time in highschool.

"Do you know who wrote that quote, Hero? Hmm?"

Hero didn't respond. Why would she? It gave her no clearance, no escape, no epic prison break that one may expect from such a person of stengths and wits. She just sat there, limbs tied to the ground by unrelenting steel, her head angled to watch the suffering man on the bed slowly fade away with persistent illness and everyday drugs.

"Bruce Lee," the speaker answered the question after quickly realizing that Hero wasn't going to.

Hero tuned out of the conversation, leaving it as background noise as she studied the scene in front of her. Supervillain was hooked up so many moniters, it was as if he was in a coma. Hero twitched her jaw. Maybe he was. The ventilation and feeding tube stuck all the way down his nose and mouth, opening it forcibly, definitely made that thought come alive.

Hero did this a lot, zoning out whenever someone tried to talk to her. Her once vibrant personality and optimism was dampered, replaced by a dull depression. Even Villain, who watched Hero daily, was getting nervous of this rapid decline in attitude- not that Hero knew of her betrayer's thoughts and emotions. To her, in this foggy hole of misery, Villain was an outcasted shadow, adding depth to the painting, but never a main topic. Heck, if she didn't concentrate, she didn't even see the light shade on the white surface.

There was only Supervillain.

But even that has changed, and not just in the extra moniters and tubes, but her whole aspect of him. He was the cause of her pain, he was the cause of the insufferable cloud that ascended over her.

There was no fondness in the way she viewed him anymore, just resentment. The deepest kind of resentment that could also be described as despising.

But even that was an understatement.

One day, a movement drew Hero out of her hate-filled thoughts and back into reality. It was Villain, playing with something by her wrist.

"Back off," she snarled, her voice sounding unnaturally deep and cracky.

"And so she speaks." The glint in his eyes revealed the sarcasm that his monotonous voice hid. "How are you Hero?"

Hero snarled, raising her lips in an animalistic manner, but didn't reply. Once her wrist was let go, the unused muscles allowed it to flop aimlessly against her equally thining thigh. She was fed yes, a vile piece of bland, moist garbage that gave her body its much needed vitamins, minerals, and nutrients, but lack of use degraded the once hefty muscle.

Villain worked on each of the restraints. Each arm fell limp as her legs splayed out, thankful for the break from the locked position they were kept in. When her head was let free, it flopped, her neck unable to keep it up.

Villain steadied her, putting his hand unceremoniously against the base of her neck. Hero squirmed, aware of her vulnerability.

"The door with the exit sign is unlocked," he whispered, so close to her ear that Hero cringed.

At first, her brain using its old habit, began to block out his words, but suddenly stopped and rewinded, shoving them back to the front of her mind.

Unlocked...

She could get out.

Villain helped her into a nearby wheelchair and was about to wheel her away when a strand of her empathetic nature fought against the newfound distant demeanor.

"What 'bout Supervillain?" She asked, her voice a weak whisper.

"This is for you," Villain replied casually grinning down at Hero, happy that she was back to somewhat normal.

Hero sunk into the plushy cushioning of the seat and looked at Supervillain's still figure and snarled. Ha, he didn't get to leave. She did. She got to escape the inhumane confines that kept her bound up like a trapped goat.

He didn't. He could now pay for his crimes.

Yet, as stubborn as this thoughts of retribution sounded, they weren't. That sympathizing portion of her protested against the new arrangement. And, being the stronger of the two opposites, it left her tongue in forms of coherent words.

"I won't leave him," she said, her heart bursting. Whether the internal explosion was due to anticipation or exaltation, it don't matter. It felt natural, like herself.

"You really don't have a choice."

"Why do you want me free?" Hero asked.

"This place is the definition of boring."

Hero was silent and contemplated Villain's statement. He really didn't care about her levels of bore and joy, never did. Any interaction or any relationship that the two once cherished was borne of platonic care of the other's well-being. Nothing too deep, and barely held any real intent. Are you alive? Are you dead? Were the only two questions that brought along any vowels of conversing.

It was weird, abnormal. Hero might've even went as far as to say suspicious.

But it was also promising. Very, very promising. It held the possibility of freedom that the chair did not.

But he was Villain. He did not have one ounce of good will or honesty in his cold veins. He was a liar, a cheat, and as much as she would've loved to call them friends, it was close to impossible. They couldn't build a relationship off of trickery as much as the two once wanted to.

This was a scheme, a lie, to get to Hero and make her mess up. Mess up and then she gets hurt.

Or worse, Supervillain does.

That thought stood out from the rush of others in her brain for it held an interesting style to it. As close as she was to the old Hero and away from the shadow that "choosing who gets hurt" made her into, she wasn't it yet.

Not yet.

"Boring, but I am alive," Hero retorted, rolling her eyes as well as the stiff rectus muscles in her eyes allowed.

"That is otherwise obvious." Villain placed a hand on the barred door that only purpose served as an aesthetic.

"Yeah, in a way I suppose, but Supervillain isn't."

"He's breathing."

"He sleeps all day and when he does manage to wake, he passes out almost immediately. I need to stay with him!"

"You do nothing but glare daggers at him. You are released dear."

"No, you are not helping me escape from this damn place!"

Villain was silent, paused in the motion of pushing the door open.

"Amidst your utter hate for him, you still have the decency to protect him; Hero there is nothing to protect. With one simple flick of a switch, he is dead," Villain pointed out, turning to Hero with tears in his icy blue eyes that Hero once found gloriously gorgeous. Ones that she used to gaze into as they fought, unable to tear herself away. She lost many fights that way by being too distracted to actually land a punch.

But the innocence of that gaze was really just hiding the fact that Villain was a scandalous bastard- only giving half-truths and fake emotions about everything.

"Then why do you give him the serum. You guys know that I won't hurt those civilians," Hero pointed out with a shrug.

Villaim remained silent and wheeled Hero out of the room.

《~~》

Supervillain seemed to always arouse when the nurses swarmed him to administer the vile liquid that plagued his veins with nauseating adrenaline. He felt the hot- not warm, but scorching hot- drug enter his veins.

But it wasn't the beginning, the actual pain of the procedure, that caused Supervillain his horrifying misery. It was afterwards and he wasn't thinking of the dizzying fatigue that usually pushed him into another deep sleep, but the memories it brought.

Some were nostalgic, others taut with grief. Others held regret while some even had remnants of agonizing torture he once endured.

Or gave.

But they were never happy, nor comforting to any degree.

So, when a reverie of kind touch swarmed Supervillain's sensations, his lethargic heart started to pump in rocket speed, motorizing the boat to accelerate...

"Go to sleep."

Hero's voice. One that brought him so much comfort. Hands scratched at his scalp and he felt his heavy eyelids drop.

"I'll be hear when you wake up," Hero lulled, humming softly as the sweet scent of vanilla hit Supervillain's scent receptors. He smiled, the tiniest of grins and nuzzled his nose into her warm, fleece sweater.

But, even delirous as he was, in the back of his head, Supervillain knew this was a vision. A hallucination. The model of schizophrenia that the drug brought upon his mind.

But it was just so real.

So he gave in, purposely allowing himself to be washed away by the unreality of the dream.

Because he loved it. He loved the touch as if it was actually real.

A warm figure slid next to his body wrapping its- her- arms around his shivering body. Phony yes, it gave stability as the fatigue pushed itself to its maximum.

As consciousness dripped away, Supervillain hummed slightly, happy with the feeling.

《~~》

Hero's hand buzzed over the door, considering the possibilities of opening it, but in the end, she blatantly refused.

"No," she said, her old self returning. "I am not going to leave Supervillain."

Villain's eyes widened, chin shaking.

"You care for him?" He asked, voice slightly elevated like a flute's pitch. Such a change from the droning audibles that usually slugged off his tongue. "Like actually."

Hero's brows crunched together as she read Villain's new face expressions. Blond hair draped down to his pointed eyebrows where it slightly curled. Tears seemed to well in his azure eyes.

"Are you crying?" Hero asked, scoffing, but in reality, she cared.

Cared a whole bunch.

"It's just," Villain stepped forward, leaning down and resting his hand on Hero's shoulder. His other hand balanced delicately against the holster of whatever weapon he carried.

Suddenly, without warning, his hand shot up and an bolt of electricity flashed through her body. Hero fell forward, screaming and withering on the floor.

Villain leaned forward, breath warm against her sweaty cheek. "You are mine Hero. I won't ever let you hold, or care for Supervillain again," he growled, bringing thr taser back to Hero's neck. "Goodnight, my love."

The electric shock came again, and the world descended into blackness.

#supervillain whumpee #hero whumpee #villain whumper #retrained #hero x supervillain #hero whumper #heros and villains #delirious whumpee #drugged whumpee #shizophrenia

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

Text

A Loki TVA / Lokane fic that snatched a tempad. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (of 6)

Shine a Light, part 4

This time around, he feels but the faintest glimmer of surprise as he steps out of the doorway and onto a busy sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan.

A few people stop dead in their tracks when the door materializes out of thin air, but the throng of commuters headed to and from Central Station is so dense, Loki’s appearance goes mainly unnoticed.

Dull resignation washes over him.

The tempad is officially broken. Its coordinates locked onto this little planet where, in his own timeline, he has known nothing but defeat.

Without bothering to look for a newsstand, he reasons there’s a strong probability it’s the year 2014. It would seem the damn gadget is slowly counting backwards, while refusing to take him anywhere else in the universe.

Above his head, a billboard flashing on the side of a high-rise building confirms his suspicions.

Incredibly though, the tempad still not out of “juice”. The battery life seems to be making a mockery of his failed attempts to direct the itinerary.

Taking a step out of the moving sea of people, Loki sees little in way of construction sites along the street.

On his timeline, this would have been two years after his attack on the city with Thanos’ army, but if that ‘highlight’ of Loki’s less than acclaimed villainous career took place in this reality as well, the mortals have effectively tidied up after him.

He tries not think of the countless faces frozen in terror that had looked up at him.

Of the lives lost because of his crazed ambition to prove himself - and to destroy something of Thor’s.

Almost if Loki had been transformed back into the chronically jealous five-year-old child who once stole his golden, annoyingly joyful, perfect brother’s favorite model toy - a grey wolf made of clay - and deliberately let it roll down the steps of the throne when their father (his NON-father) had been away.

The toy had broken into pieces and Thor had been inconsolable. Gripped by immediate remorse despite his initial intent, Loki had tried to fix it with his budging magic powers. Only for the wolf to melt to a sticky puddle on the stone floor.

Thor had wailed so loudly, a passing servant had thought him seriously injured and called for their mother, and Loki had been made to apologize, his usually pale cheeks burning scarlet. Then he had been grounded for the remains of the day.

The humiliation had stung, and so had the regret that his magic had failed him.

Not for the first time, the anger had turned, unwarranted (Loki knew then too), towards his brother.

From then on, it had just gotten slowly worse and worse and more malicious right up until that horrible moment of rage no more than a few days ago (a week?), when Loki had driven one of his daggers into Thor’s side on top of the Stark tower.

And twisted it.

The mix of bottomless sadness and shock in his brother’s blue eyes had cut through Loki’s heart with such force he might as well have sunk the blade of his other weapon into his own chest.

But instead of abandoning his pathetic scramble for power and hold Thor, instead of attempting to heal the wound with his magic that has become so formidable in adulthood, Loki had let the poison drown the remains of his sanity.

Of course, shortly afterward, the green monstrosity had effortlessly and repeatedly smashed him into the concrete floor of Stark’s living-quarters until Loki had thought he heard every bone in his supposedly immortal (right!) body break and his skull crack open.

To the outside, it had surely been a suitably entertaining show of retribution, but as he had lain there in the crater of rubble, unable to utter a moan, it was as if all the anger had been knocked out of him.

The link to Thanos’ ungodly servant had been severed and Loki had felt more like himself than he had in a long, long time.

When Thor, looking grimmer than ever, had dragged him to his feet in front of the ragtag band of ‘heroes’ and cuffed him, Loki had found himself strangely elated, on the verge of giddy.

His legs had been so shaky from the beating that Thor had had to hold him by the arm so he wouldn’t fall, and Loki had felt the heat of his brother’s huge hand penetrate the many layers of his own armour.

For a few delirious seconds, Loki had wanted nothing more than to lean against his brother’s strong frame and just close his eyes.

Instead, he had started cracking jokes until Thor had slapped the muzzle on him, as if he were some dog (that gesture had embarrassed him more than anything that had gone before). Unable to keep up his sarcastic commentary as they rode the elevator down, Loki had fleetingly wondered if he was suffering from a psychosis or actual brain damage.

Now, standing on the street so close to where it happened, the memory oozes fresh guilt.

But he redeemed himself.

In his mind, Loki goes through the TVA reel once more to remind himself of the images of his brother later in life, smiling at him.

Right before the end came.

If he is to spend the rest of eternity on Midgard - or at least until the multiverse crumbles - he will try to find solace in the good his future self managed to accomplish.

For Thor and, in another, brighter reality, for her.

The riddle of her part in his life now remains unsolved, but as hard as Loki tries to release the ghost wrapped in his arms, it merely squeezes itself closer to his chest.

He could try to find her here, on this timeline.

She will be with Thor, that much is certain, but since the reel of Loki’s fate had shown him only his own path, he knows not whether Thor and Jane shared a life on Midgard, or somewhere else, up until the brothers reunited (for lack of a better word) on Asgard.

What would Loki even say to her?

That, while at the bureau that controls all space and time, he saw her face on a roll of film of his supposed life, and now he aches for her more than anything? That on an alternate timeline a few hours ago, she kissed him?

Thor would not approve of that exchange.

Also, with Loki’s luck, Thor might be a frog in this reality.

He could still try to use the tempad to transport him to Svartalfheim and his own life’s story, seeing as he is now only year from where he feels so strongly he must go.

But finding the proper timeline is like shooting an arrow into the endless vastness of space and hoping it’ll hit the right comet.

He realizes that now.

An arrow.

Somehow, somewhere, on two timelines no less, variants of him had …

Loki’s head jerks up.

The tower.

It’s a desperate idea at best, but from the (very) little Loki knows of his character, Stark’s superior technical skills go hand in hand with an endlessly hungry, inquisitive mind. And pride.

Much like Loki, Stark is a man who needs to be the smartest man in the room. And like Loki, he probably is, most of time (in fact… no. Don’t go there).

Maybe Stark will listen.

Perhaps he can even help make sense of the tempad if Loki can somehow win his trust and appeal to his curiosity and (he winces a little) heroism.

Was it not Loki’s actions who had helped Stark “realize his best potential”, as his TVA file put it?

He spots the imposing structure further up the street, noticing the huge “A” at the top (is that new?), and sets off towards it at a brisk pace, darting in and out of the crowds on the packed sidewalk.

Here goes nothing.

As he reaches the large glass doors he briefly experiences a dizzying deja-vu, when suddenly a man’s voice calls out to him.

A frighteningly familiar, agitated voice.

… With a particular brand of anger bubbling underneath, that Loki had hoped he’d never have to witness up close ever again.

“What the hell are you doing here??”

His dark, curly hair has a few more streaks of silver. The checkered shirt is slightly crumbled, the glasses a bit askew. He clutches an armful of papers to his chest.

And he’s wearing a furious expression although, thank the Norns, a mortal complexion.

For now.

“Didn’t Tony explicitly tell you not to come here?! Are you that intent on causing everyone to lose their shit again?!”

Worry is all over Doctor Banner’s screwed up face.

“Seriously, Loki, is this funny to you? Clint is actually in the building right now and, in case Tony didn’t already inform you, he’s made it very clear that he’s quitting the team if you were to stroll through the front door!”

The Avenger has started shaking, his eyes wild (too wild).

This is heading in the wrong direction fast.

Mustering all the calm in the world despite his racing pulse and the nauseating sounds of bones breaking echoing in his head, Loki puts on his most courteous and, he dearly hopes, un-cocky charming smile.

“Bruce, please relax. I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. Not for you or anyone else.”

“Right, you just happened to be in town and wanted to stop by for coffee? Loki, this …”

Loki gently interrupts him.

“I merely came here to have a conversation with S- … Tony. Perhaps you could let him know I’m here? I promise you, I will not set foot inside. In fact - “

Loki adopts the form of one of the security guards he can see pacing inside the foyer.

“… I’m not even here.”

Bruce jumps a little and clutches his papers even tighter.

“Oh god, I hate when you do that, man. If you think showing off that trick makes anyone any less nervous around you…”

“Doctor Banner - Bruce. I have something …”

Loki searches for the words, quickly trying to decide on how much to reveal to the man-beast who’s now looking at him with urgent expectancy.

He sighs and bets it all.

“Okay. Bruce, what I’m going to say will sound mad.”

The man scoffs.

“Coming from you, I’d expect nothing less.”

Bruce shakes his head and looks to the sky in exasperation.

“Please - please - don’t tell me you’ve gone and changed your mind about the whole not conquering Earth business. Really, Loki, none of us understand how transforming you into ‘an asset’ became Tony’s pet project over this past year, or why Fury went along with it. But I’m sure both are going to be pretty damn disappointed if their new alien BFF decides to embrace his inner psycho again.”

Loki almost chuckles. It’s all too ridiculous.

“I won’t … embrace my inner ‘psycho’, I swear.”

“Then what?”

The God of Mischief draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Or rather, the security guard’s nose.

Then he surrenders to the absurdity of the situation.

“Bruce, I kindly beg of you, is Tony here? Or … (is there hope?) Thor?”

Bruce still looks at him with deep disdain, but his immediate anger seems to have subsided.

“No, Tony’s out of town. Took Pepper somewhere on holiday. They’re not to be disturbed for at least a week. Her words. And Thor … I should think you of all people know perfectly well why he’s not likely to hang around at the time being. Jeez, you guys and your endless family soap opera … I can’t even.”

Naturally, the universe again blankly refuses to extend any hands to Loki and his doomed quest. Sadly, once again, he is not surprised.

Wait - what?

“What do you mean, ‘soap opera’?”

Bruce looks like he’s about to throw his hands over his head and all the papers with them.

“Oh, come on! What is this?! You want approval? Confirmation of your little victory? Doesn’t the very lovely embodiment of that currently walk around in your apartment or wherever it is you live now? Loki, I’m done here. You have to leave. Bye.”

To hell with Stark – Loki wants to grab Bruce by his shirt collar and shake the little man till he explains what in all of Yggdrasil he’s talking about.

But he cannot afford to tempt the beast. Quite literally.

“Then … can you and I go somewhere to talk? Bruce, you’re a man of science. This is science … related.”

Loki feigns a smile.

Bruce sizes him up. No doubt considering whether to let the other guy continue the conversation.

Then his shoulders drop.

“Okay. Okay. For a creepy megalomaniac, you somehow tend to end up with some very cool people defending your case. Just know that those people are absolutely the only reason, you and I are still talking. Ugh, I’m too nice … “

Bruce casts a glance over his shoulder into the foyer, appearing to consider their options, when a man exits the glass doors – and shuffles up to them.

“Bruce! How nice to see you. You look well.”

The old man (those eyes …) grins warmly and pats Bruce on the back, then looks from him to Loki and back again.

“Everything alright out here? Is there a security issue?”

Bruce composes himself and smiles back.

“Hi, Lee, good to see you too. All fine. Earl here was just updating me on, eh, the new security procedures.”

He shoots Loki a stern look.

“Ah, yes”, Loki nods seriously. “Doctor Banner had some trouble operating the intricate open and close mechanism of the doors. The elevator doors, especially.”

He can’t help himself. It’s somehow both immensely tragic and life-affirming.

“Oh?” The old man raises an eyebrow (he looks … but he’s not quite …something is off).

“Will I have to get a new security card? I rarely come in these days, but in case …”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Lee. Because, because … like you say, you’re hardly ever here, so …”

Still smiling awkwardly, Bruce waves a dismissive hand, almost dropping the stack of papers (the man’s a terrible liar, Loki thinks).

“Speaking of”, Banner continues, “you must be enjoying retirement up there, huh, Lee? Must be nice to live by the sea. Good … air quality?”

Loki sighs inwardly.

The dog sniffing at his ankles looks up at him.

He stares down at the round, fluffy thing as if seeing it for the first time.

Which he is and he isn’t.

The old man is saying something to Bruce about the countryside, when he notices the dog wagging its tail at Loki’s feet.

“Oh, he likes you. You’re lucky, he normally doesn’t care for strangers. No, you don’t, do you Fenris”, the man coos.

Under coats of thick white fur, the animal looks eagerly from owner to Loki.

“Okay, well, I’ll be off,” the old man says, finally. “Come see me sometime, Bruce. My neighbor actually just put his house on the market, in case you’re looking for a weekend retreat…”

He nods at Bruce, then at Loki who barely notices. The dog whines unhappily at being dragged away.

It’s the same timeline.

Of course, it is. The tempad has locked itself on a sequence.

But why the different locations …?

“Yes, thank you, Lee. Take care now. Earl, shall we?” Bruce signals to Loki to follow him round the side of the building.

“We can continue our discussion about the security issue in the garage”.

“So, let’s hear it. Tell me what you came to say, so I can tell you why it’s a catastrophically bad idea.”

Bruce sits himself across the small table from Loki and dumps the stack of papers in front of him. The top sheet is covered in coffee mug rings.

They are in an anonymous, windowless office somewhere below the vast tower parking lot and numerous in-house repair shops.

The place is a gigantic maze and Loki has just shut himself in a tiny room with the very monster that turned him into ragdoll. The deep slash on his forehead has only just healed.

He does not fear many beings in the universe, but the mild-mannered doctor’s alter ego makes the hit list with the worst of them.

Ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up (why did this seem like a good idea?), Loki drops his disguise and takes a seat on the cheap plastic chair. Not much of that flashy Stark glamour down here.

“Okay.” Loki takes out the tempad and puts it in the middle of the table.

He is not quite sure where to start, so he decides to begin with the purely technical aspect.

Bruce might appreciate being given a few ‘scientific’ details before any mentions of giant smoke monsters and alligators.

In fact, the fewer magical creatures and castles in the sky, the better.

“This is called a tempad. It’s a device that makes it possible to travel anywhere in time. You type in your destination, and a doorway opens. I did not make it myself. It was, er, given to me by a large and very powerful organization … in space.”

Bruce is leaning forward to get a better look at the tempad but makes no attempt to reach for it.

As he’s says nothing, Loki continues.

“This is where it gets, uh, weird, but try to believe me when I tell you, I’m not the Loki you know. I’m from another, similar timeline and -“

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just stop, Loki.”

Bruce is leaning back on his chair again. He looks tired.

“I don’t know if you’re supremely bored of domestic bliss already, or just being your supremely annoying self, but I won’t engage. You’re not Loki but a time-traveler from space? Yeah, it’s -“

“No, Bruce, I am Loki. Trust me, I know this seems -“

“Trust? You wanna talk about trust again?” Bruce takes out his phone.

“Okay, we can do that.”

He taps a few buttons, then holds the phone to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Loki’s voice has a sharper edge to it than he intended.

The Avenger stares him down.

“Oh, I’m just calling someone. This guy I have in my contacts under God of Lies”.

Please, no …

Briefly, Loki considers whether another variant of him – the one he encountered at the house by the ocean, most likely – would actually be of more help.

Or if he, the variant, would try to kill him.

It was one thing reasoning with and trying not to get killed by Loki variants who at least understood the concept of variants, but how would he have reacted upon being confronted with a twin before the TVA?

No, not a twin … Because this variant has her.

None of the variants in the Void – the grown-up, human ones – had mentioned versions of her.

Either this variant has successfully taken out every Minute Man ever sent by the TVA to arrest him (in which case, Loki concedes, he may be the superior Loki), or this whole timeline has only just blossomed at the opening of the multiverse.

Why else would he, who apparently also gave his phone number to Bruce Banner, get to live a life so vastly different from the typical arc of a misguided Jotun prince?

Loki feels light-headed.

On one hand, he wants to know everything there is to know about his double, on the other, he fears what and who he might find.

You don’t belong here. Find your own timeline. No more Lokis.

Focus. Explain.

He raises his one hand in a placating gesture.

“Give me a little time to try and explain this, Bruce, and then, then … You can call whoever. Call everyone! But please just -“

“Oh, what do you know,” Bruce puts his phone down, “there’s no answer. What a surprise.”

He crosses his arms.

Loki inhales and tries again, speaking as evenly and as calmly as he can while his frustration mounts:

“There is no way of telling you all or any of this without it sounding utterly ludicrous, so you’ll have to hear me out. Five minutes uninterrupted from now, okay? Yes, we’re talking time travel, but compared to what’s really at stake, even time travel is a pretty basic technicality. Also, I promise you, in a few years’ time from now, the concept of time travel won’t seem all that laughable to you and Stark in particular. Provided this reality exists in a few years’ time seeing as -“

Bruce sighs dramatically.

“Yes, okay, so”, Loki continues, “Two years ago, I attacked New York, right?”

“If you’re about to roll out some outlandish excuse – another one! – I don’t care to hear it.”

The other man is narrowing his eyes as a fresh look of undistilled loathing creeps into his features.

So it did happen on this timeline as well.

“No, it’s not that. Or, I mean, let’s save that. When you captured me, in my timeline, I escaped from the lobby with the Infinity stone. I know it seems impossible from your end of events but - “

“Impossible?”

Bruce gives him a strange look Loki can’t quite interpret.

“Yes, S… Tony dropped the briefcase with the Infinity stone, and I picked it up and -“

Bruce pushes his chair back. The plastic scrapes loudly against the stone tiles of the floor.

“Loki, I can’t. I thought I had the patience to at least indulge you but turns out I don’t. I can’t tell if you’re losing your mind, but either way, you’ll have to take it – this, whatever it is – up with Tony instead when he gets back. Maybe bring that sweet lab partner of yours along if you’re going to talk time travel. With her field of expertise, I’m sure - “

“WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!”

Without thinking, Loki slams both his hands into the table. Papers go flying and Bruce staggers backwards.

Horror dawns as Loki realizes his error, but it’s already too late.

Bruce doubles over in spasms and a deep, much too deep, growling sound escapes his lips. He grips his head with his shaking hands as if trying to contain the explosion within, and Loki feels his own brain go numb with panic as one of those hands triples in size and a sickly green hue rapidly spreads.

There is no way out.

Bruce is blocking the door and soon his bulk will be taking up the entire room. He falls to his knees, arms thrashing wildly and his shirt ripping across his back. The table sails over Loki’s head, one of the chairs lodges itself in the soundproofed ceiling, causing the panels of fluorescent light to flicker madly.

Are there no security cameras?!

There are screams, but they no longer sound human.

Loki has nowhere to hide.

He has to gather his magic around him, but terror is completely scattering his focus, cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

It is a matter of seconds before the transformation will be complete and the monster attempts to tear him limb from limb. With no heroes to stop it.

Cold.

He has only consciously reached for it once before, but now the thought barely registers before ice rushes through him as if by instinct. Bruce is not the only one with an abomination lurking under the surface.

He doesn’t have the casket of his birth father, but he has strength.

There is no time to consider if it’s enough or nothing at all. No time for crippling self-loathing or shame.

In front of him, the Hulk lifts its crazed, bloodshot eyes to meet his.

The green creature cannot stand upright in the office, and the first fist goes through the ceiling with the force of a wrecking ball. The next lashes out at Loki, who dodges it just as his own skin turns a deep, brilliant blue.

Little black ridges and markings rise on his arms and face and though his sight doesn’t falter, he feels the instant his eyes go from green to bright red. The fabric of his clothes chafes his new skin and waves of adrenaline surge through his body. Multiple foreign senses come alive and drown his fear.

But he has not a breath to spare to get used to his true form before the Hulk shoves him against the wall so hard, the bricks shift against his side as if they were made of a child’s building blocks.

The impact makes him gasp for air, yet the pain … the pain he can manage.

He just has to last long enough get out of here. And the cold is crystalizing his focus to let the magic flow easily, powerfully through his hands.

His blue hands.

If he had used this when …

Loki pushes himself off the wall (out of it) and almost collides with the Hulk (there’s no space left to maneuver in) who, instead of smashing its way out, seems hell-bent on squashing the only living thing in its line of sight first.

Loki swiftly crouches down on one knee, puts his palms together and, faster than the blink of a brilliant crimson eye, conjures a rotating orb of ice and chaos energy that explodes in a blinding flash of white light as he hurls it square into the monster’s chest.

The Hulk falls back, breaking through the wall to the parking lot on the other side and crashing into a row of cars, while a sheath of ice spreads from its chest and up its neck. The being that is not Bruce howls and claws at its skin, but the smooth ice thickens and as it reaches the head of the beast, it slides right into its eye sockets – and momentarily blinds it.

It will probably only last seconds but it’s all Loki needs while the Hulk shakes its head furiously.

He makes to flee when he spots the tempad on the cracked floor.

He can’t leave it.

As Loki dives for the gadget, the Hulk simultaneously knocks itself in the face with both fists, splintering the ice into a rain of tiny spikes. With a roar to match the sound of a spaceship engine taking off, the creature lunges.

Loki’s fingers close around the tempad.

He feels a buzz.

The door appears in front of him.

He doesn’t stop to think before throwing himself through it.

The Hulk punches into empty air.

Part 5

#loki #loki series #tva loki #lokane fanfic #lokane ff #lokane #loki x jane #marvel #loki ff #loki fanfic #shine a light #plainlo inthemorning #loki laufeyson

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

No Tears Left To Cry

Summary: The hormones rage on as our favorite angsty couple tries to navigate this new layer of their relationship.

Author's note: It’s been a while but there hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of these twos and their mishaps. Summer break is getting closer for me and I truly want to continue this story for as long as possible, into their college years and adulthood and maybe even babies and all that jazz. Anyway thank you soooo much for my fighters in that sacred chat who give me nothing but positive energy and support, but special thanks to @serxeins who is always the first to comment and shower me with support. It means a lot, I can’t believe people are still reading this honestly, it feels like True Beauty ended forever ago but y’all are still here rocking with me. Now, without further ado I give you Junjin in lust and pain.

"You're in a good mood today." He tries very hard to stop the spread of the smile on his face from growing wider but it's futile completely useless, as soon as that pretty smile and those hypnotic eyes flash in his mind he's a goner. Love drunk on the mere memory of Sujin. Her lips on his own still swimming in his thoughts and shoving all other inklings to the side, there is nothing but her and her body pressed tightly against his as they devour each other. It was messy and uncoordinated but it was without a doubt the best kiss he had ever received.

He was probably her first and he can’t stop the pride that surges at that thought.

I’ll be the first and the last.

"I had a good day." He answers the new worker simply sharing none of the thoughts flooding his head, the owner of the café had finally given in and hired someone to replace Jukyeong after she had quit to pursue makeup full time. It was weird to have someone new there, but at the same time he was extremely proud of her for going after what she wanted. It was about time, he was tired of catching her watching videos on YouTube in the break room and even more tired of her trying to practice the perfect cat eye winged liner on him. Her cries of his eyes being the perfect shape falling on deaf ears. There was no way he was allowing that, he still had a reputation to uphold.

"Girlfriend?" He glances over at the younger boy, they had spoken cordially here and there since he started working here but this was deeper than they had ever gone and he wasn't sure if he was ready to share that much with someone he barely knew. Knew firsthand how damaging gossip could be.

This is between him and Sujin and nobody else.

And this thought makes him start to think critically about their relationship- how complicated and confusing it is and then he realizes with terrifying clarity that he's never officially asked her out. He's hers and he desperately wants her to be his, but beyond the kiss there has been nothing concrete, no words to turn this dream into a reality.

Will you go out with me?

Do people still ask that question or is that considered old fashioned? Does their kiss mean that they're together now? He has no idea how to bring this topic up without painfully embarrassing himself in front of Sujin and it takes a long minute for him to shake from his reprieve and notice that Dosan is still waiting for his reply.

"There's someone special." He leaves it at that and gratefully the other boy doesn't pry, humming as if he understands and cheerfully greeting a customer leaving him to zone out before he hears a familiar voice, a sneer turns the corner of his lip down completely eradicating the smile that was once there.

"I don't need coffee. I'm here to talk to him."

Without pause he tugs the apron over his head, shaking his hair back into place before folding the thick cotton and shoving it in a cubby.

He nods to Dosan briskly, "I'm taking lunch I'll be back in 20," the other boy watches him with wide curious eyes but nods in reply and he walks out of the café certain that he's being followed. He walks further turning a corner until the café is no longer in sight, then he spins around and his teeth clench from the greasy smirk he sees on that scumbag's face.

He shoves his fists in his pocket to prevent himself from driving them into that smeary face.

"You don't look happy to see me. That hurts." Baekyung tuts mockingly, his smile growing wider until he’s looking almost overjoyed and he has to hold on the thin reigns of his control.

"Why are you here?" He has an idea but he wants to confirm his suspicions, Sujin's rejection and another failed attempt to push him away fresh in his mind. The sting still bruising his heart.

"To see this. Your face after losing the thing you want most. It was only a matter of time, she's min-"

He feels when it snaps and he's brutally shoving the other boy into a wall in the alley, his arm tight across the other boys chest.

Thing.

That was what he used to refer to Sujin, as she was just a toy for them to fight over and it makes him reel with pure unaltered hatred for the boy in front of him.

After recovering from having the wind knocked out of him, Baekyung is all smiles again. He desperately wants to knock it off his face.

"Are you going to hit me?" There it is. The tone of the other boy's voice sends a chill down his back. It's enough to force him to let go, retreating far from the other boy. Baekyung sounds elated at the prospect, even rising his chin in a move that's too eager and accepting. He stares at the other boy in unbridled shock finally understanding what's going on.

He had suspected all along, that there was more to the other boy’s story.

His unexplained anger, his entitlement and almost obsessively claim on Sujin. All the times he claimed that Seojun would never understand them, the puzzle unblurs and he knows what he’s looking at now. It looked like a monster, acted like one and hurt others like one, but he can finally see clearly now. The other boy was just another victim, who had decided to hurt others instead of hurt himself. It makes the anger inside him simmer away into a vapid nothingness.

"You want me to hit you. That's why you're here." The smile finally slides off Baekyung's face, but he doesn't stop there raising his voice, "You feel bad don't you? Sujin's she's different from you and you hated that. She's ready to fight and it makes you sick because you're not that strong. You wanted her to stay complacent because it would make you feel better. She told me everything. Your words did nothing but bring us closer, she trusts me and knows she's not alone. Ever. I'm not going to hit you. This is what you deserve, I won't give you an easy way out."

The taller boy flinches at his carefully chosen words, and he nods in confirmation knowing everything he said was true.

He starts to walk away. This isn't worth his time, he already knows where Sujin wants to be and has seen that she's willing to fight for what she wants. This is beneath their bond, what they have is stronger than all obstacles they might encounter.

He's unprepared for the loud cracking cry behind him, it momentarily stops him in his tracks.

"You'll never understand! You're not like us at all you have everything, your life is perfect! You'll never understand Sujin like I do! You have a mom that loves you. What do we have?"

He can't help the rush of sympathy that swells up at the other boy's inadvertent confession. Sujin hadn't told him that, not so plainly but he had figured it out on his own. Noting all the different things the other teen had cried that he would never understand Sujin.

It's another reason why he was unable to strike the other boy. He couldn't bring himself to be anything like those cowards who bullied and tormented others.

He turns back with a sigh, "I know I'll never understand Sujin completely, I don't need that she is her own person. But have you ever asked yourself why you're trying so hard to keep her caged when you know exactly what she's going through? Why does her wanting more make you so angry? Do you even care about her happiness or do you just want someone to suffer with?"

Cold droplets drop on his forehead and by the time he's peering up a heavy sheet of rain is pouring down on them without any warning.

When he looks back Baekyung's face is wet. He chooses to believe it's from the rain but the agony on his face makes it hard to pretend. It feels wrong to be witnessing this, so without another word he turns around, walking away for good.

The café is empty when he gets back but he's not surprised, they only get a few regulars on a good day and rain is known to keep people inside.

Dosan doesn't ask any prying questions but he does shoot him a inquisitive look, he pretends not to see him once again not in the mood to bare his inner thoughts to a stranger.

Instead it drives him to do something stupid.

He sends it before he can second guess himself and then hides his phone from himself and gets back to work, wiping down takes no one will use and wondering what Sujin of doing right now and if she'll smile that cute shy smile when she gets his message.

I miss you babe.

"Mom! I'm home!" Gowoon yells out tugging her wet boots off and tumbling into her house, the smell of bean paste stew wafting through the air and making her stomach grumble in anticipation.

She makes a beeline for the kitchen, looking left and right before sneakily getting a spoon and quietly opening the steaming pot. But just as she's about to bring the spoon to her eagerly waiting lips she hears a voice, "No wonder your mom told me to watch the soup."

She almost jumps before turning around to see who is behind her.

"Unnie!" She cries flying across the kitchen to hug the other girl, smiling when her embrace is readily accepted. She only remembers after that she's wet afterwards and pulls away with apologies on her tongue, but Sujin waves them off smiling gently at her.

Sujin-unnie is so pretty, breathtakingly so. There are countless boys who like her but she never sees the girl around any of her admirers, seemingly oblivious to all the attention she's garnering. She would be jealous of the other girl's effortless beauty if she wasn't beautiful inside too. Always willing to stand up for someone and fearlessly charging into danger to protect those she seemed worthy. For some reason she was lucky enough to be on that list of people although she was a nobody. It still feels surreal that she's allowed to call the other girl by such a familiar name.

"Gowoon ah? You look a million miles away, what are you thinking about?"

Without hesitation she responds honestly, "How beautiful you are."

It's the first time she's ever seen Sujin blush and it's so cute she can't contain her squeal, smiling brightly at the older girl.

"Unnie, what are you doing here though?"

Sujin looks like a deer caught in the headlights at her innocuous question and immediately she regrets it but it's her mother's voice that answers her question in the end.

"I dragged her here after finding her in the rain. Bean paste stew tastes better when you eat it with a lot of people. Enough questions now, go wash up so we can all eat when your brother gets home." It's only then that she realizes that Sujin is wearing one her brother's old sweaters, one from the donation box that they hadn't yet got around to delivering to the local shelter. The huge sweater is paired with her skirt from school, forming an outfit that only Kang Sujin could make fashionable.

Her unnie really is the coolest.

She nods at her mom's order, bouncing off to her bedroom to change into comfortable clothes. Minutes later when she hears the front door open, she knows that it has to be Seojun, so she races out to greet him first.

"Oppa! You're finally home!" He looks taken back by her greeting, lifting an eyebrow at her in question.

"Why are you being so nice? What do you want?"

She cries in fake offense, pouting and hitting him in the chest.

He recoils in pain screaming in a most unmanly fashion, "Hey! Watch the goods, this is what keeps the girls coming back you know."

She grimaces in disgust, sticking out her tongue ready to make a rebuttal but Seojun is no longer looking at her, eyes locked over her shoulder and his face contorting through a slideshow of emotions from shock to regret all in a blink of an eye. She looks over her shoulder in confusion, catching Sujin's eyes narrowed in an unreadable emotion before it washes away.

"Your mom said to tell you both to come eat."

She expects her brother to react similarly to her, and ask the other girl what she's doing here. That question never comes thought instead he throws up his arms and starts stuttering out, "I-I was just joking! There are no girls, there are definitely no girls!"

"What?" She replies having no idea what's wrong with him but he's paying no attention to her now, trailing after Sujin who's walking back to the kitchen looking like she belongs here, with them.

Watching their retreating back she wonders if she's missing something.

Something huge.

With a nonchalant shrug she follows them into the kitchen, too hungry to play detective.

She blacked out.

That's the only way she can describe it, after running out of Suho's place her mind went blank and when she resurfaced she was outside of his apartment. With no memory of going there, her body operating on autopilot.

She hadn't even realized it was raining until suddenly the drops weren't hitting her anymore.

"You're getting wet. Come inside dear."

It was Seojun's mom.

Instantly her body was warmed at the voice and once again her body was moving without her permission, up the elevator, through the door, into a change of clothes and now sitting at the table and eating dinner with them.

She's too numb to feel the full brunt of her embarrassment.

So she slurps at the delicious soup instead, not ready to face the swirling whirlpool of her emotions at least not yet.

His eyes are heavy on her skin, had been since he followed her into the room. Her annoyance at his earlier statement had already faded away, it was hard to be jealous of some imaginary girls when she was the one here in his sweater eating with his family, with his eyes burning through her skin.

With the memory of his text message making her insides squirm.

Another nickname and she had none for him, was too awkward to get the affectionate names to even wrap around her tongue. What would she even sound like calling him baby or honey? She was too embarrassed to find out so she hadn’t replied, just took the butterflies that fluttered in her belly at his brazen message.

Then more memories assault her.

It was only hours ago that they were outside tangled and panting against the wall, his hands hot on her waist and her neck, his tongue hot in her mouth.

Stop it.

She screams at herself, scared of her own thoughts. The shock and anger of seeing her mother hasn't worn off, not the slightest. But seeing him lights a different flame and she has no clue how to deal with the warring emotions in her body.

So she drinks more soup.

Absently listening to their conversation, it's sweet and domestic and makes her ache like there's a gaping hole in her chest.

"Do you like the soup?"

She waits for someone to answer, but it's silent and only then does she lift her head and realize that the inquiry was directed at her.

Oh.

She always forgot that she was allowed to be a part of this. She wasn't just an outsider looking in.

"It's delicious." She answers, voice small.

The older woman smiles appreciatively at her before turning to her daughter and she's off the hook, or so she thinks but then she feels a hand on her naked leg and it's only years of repressing herself that stop her from jumping out of her chair.

"What are you doing?" She hisses at him, too quiet to be overhead and continuing to eat to dissuade further suspicion.

"You were trembling. I wanted to warm you up." He whispers back just as discreetly and her whole body heats up at his words, wordless at his bold declaration.

She has no reply. Nothing besides beating fire with fire.

Finding courage she wasn't aware she had, she places her own hand on his thigh higher than he dared to explore. Preening when he actually does jump and pushes away from the table, admitting defeat earlier than she had expected.

She had barely even touched him, why was he so jumpy?

Both his mother and sister look at him with large eyes and she has to stifle a giggle when he lies about forgetting to do his homework and disappears into his room.

She sips innocently at her soup. Enjoying the warmth and the savory broth.

Before she knows it, the meal is done and Gowoon is traipsing to the living room most likely to watch whatever drama has captured her attention this time.

"It's time for The Noona Next Door Who Buys Me Grilled Steak!” The girl answers her accidentally happily skipping off.

She doesn't follow the other girl, shaking her head at yet another ridiculously specific title that tells her everything she needs to know about the show.

Wordlessly she starts to clean up the table, but almost instantly a small hand halts her action.

"Don't worry about that dear, you're the guest. Junnie will take care of that when he's done ‘doing his homework.’ " She says the last part with air quotes and she tries her hardest not to react, but a bubble of laughter escapes.

The older woman smiles easily back, suddenly looking tired and reminding her that the woman was just in a hospital bed only weeks ago. Feeling selfish she implores, "Are you feeling better now?"

"I'm doing great. Thank you for asking, you don't need to worry about me."

It's already too late, she can't turn off the worrying she has for this entire family.

"I'm happy you're okay." She stills at the warm hand on her cold fingers and suddenly the day comes crushing back.

She feels exhausted.

And she has nowhere to go.

"Of course you'll stay here. It's a storm outside. You'll stay in Seojun's room."

She freezes at the offer, had she said those words out loud? She hadn't meant to.

Then she crystallizes further at the scandalous offer, heat rising under her collar until she's certain that her face is as red as a tomato.

Stay in Seojun's room.

The war rages on and suddenly images of them on his bed fill her head and she can feel his pillow beneath her head as he peers down at her, bracketing her in and slowly leaning down to kiss her, pushing his tongue into her--

"And he will sleep here on the couch."

She feels as if she's going to burst from the torrential emotional hurricane ravaging her body and instead of declining she feels her head nodding in agreement.

I'm such an idiot.

The apartment is eerily quiet, Gowoon had hugged her good night easily accepting that she was sleeping over, and then her mother had patted her on the back making her eyes water when she pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. She'd barely heard the goodnight that followed.

She doesn't know what to do now. Seojun never came back after their moment at the table, she has no clue what that means and if she should be worried. Had she done something wrong?

Leaning down onto to couch she rolls herself into a ball, tugging off the throw that hung over the back of the couch and using it to cover her, thankful that it’s big enough to sufficiently cover her body.

Fatigue finds her as soon as her head hits the cushion and this is the reason that she misses the creaking of a door opening and soft footsteps crossing the room. She almost jumps out of her skin when she feels a sudden weight on the couch right beside her feet.

"Are you staying over?" Her skin pebbles at the deep timber of his voice, the lowing sound cutting through the splatter of rain landing on the window outside.

"I can't go back to Suho's." Her mother's pathetic face stains her eyelids and force her to open her eyes. She isn't expecting him to be so close, sitting on the floor with his face right beside her own.

She wants to kiss him.

The idea is so immediate that she doesn't even know how to deal with it.

So she just decides to accept it. She needs a distraction, an escape from her reality.

She starts to lean forward, eyes locked on his lips inching closer and closer and when they're only centimeters apart she closes her eyes again.

Expecting to feel electricity shooting up and down her body. To feel the current when his lips touch hers and everything in the universe finally makes sense.

But she feels nothing. Just air. Peeling her eyes open, this time she's eye level with his knee and before she can ask him what he's doing, beg him to kiss her until her mind shuts off he's bending over, slipping his hands under her body and lifting. She's too stunned to do anything but let herself be lifted and then carried, her arms instinctively curling around his neck.

His beautiful tempting neck that's dangerously close.

She presses one hot kiss against it, inhaling deeply when he groans at the peck.

"Stop." He sounds breathless and she's tempted to do it again but she reigns herself in, feeling weightless in his strong arms as he carries her to his room, the door clicking resolutely behind them.

He hadn't meant to stay in his room for that long. Her touching him back took him to their kiss in the hallway and if he stayed any longer everybody would know that he was having impure thoughts, thus he had run like a dog with it’s tail between its legs. Once alone he'd taken a cold shower but it did nothing to stop his thoughts, images of her in his sweater and her hand on his thigh gripping him as he stood naked under the onslaught on the water pouring from the shower head.

The urge coiling in his blood. An urge he had been finding it harder and harder to resist lately.

He wanted to. So damn badly it made his head spin but he couldn't, not with her right outside.

There was no way he would be able to look her in the eyes after doing that so close to her, so he forced himself to only shower ignoring his bodily desires..

But after the shower he'd been too scared to go back out. He didn't have control of himself yet, it was too soon. Everything she did egged him on and fueled his fantasies so he decided to stay hidden, she would be gone soon enough. She had never slept over before.

Then Suho's messages shocked him into action.

Is Sujin with you?

Is she okay?

Tell her I'm sorry. I didn't think she would react that way. It's my fault. I wasn't thinking.

He didn't bother to text back instead calling the other boy to hear exactly what he'd done and what he was sorry for.

Suho was as frantic as he'd ever heard him but eventually he got the truth out of him and suddenly he felt like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. While he'd been perving on her and hiding away like a coward she'd been suffering all night and he had no idea.

He didn't even deserve to be her boyfriend.

So he goes to her and he knows what she's trying to do when she tries to kiss him and he's so tempted to just let her, maybe they both need this...

But in the end he stands up, he can't let his hormones take control. This isn't what she needs, and he refuses to be a distraction, not now when he knows he wants to be her everything.

Carrying her to his bedroom is a spur of the moment decision and he expects more of a fight, it's Sujin after all. But he's shocked when she folds into him like she's starved for his touch and is further flabbergasted when she presses a mind numbing kiss to his throat.

It takes Herculean strength to tell her to stop when his body especially one particular organ is screaming, go go go.

He eases her down onto his bed and groans because he knows he'll never get that torturous image of of his mind. Her hair spills across his pillow and he wants desperately to bury his face in it and breathe her in, he draws away before he succumbs and does just that.

"Kiss me."

She looks like sin, squirming on his sheets in his sweater her bare legs peeking out from the short skirt and he retreats quickly, but not fast enough because she's latching onto his shoulders and dragging him back to her. He tries to fight it but she's so strong and he can feel his own strength melting under her seductive stare. She tugs him down powerfully and he feels his arms collapsing but at the last moment he juts his head to the side, her lips landing on his cheeks instead.

She lets out a long suffering and impatient sigh before hissing out, "Why won't you kiss me? Why are you fighting this?"

He can detect the frustration in her voice but deeper down he can hear her fear too, the fear that he doesn't want her. Irrational and stupid. He twists out of her hold, laying beside her eyes pinned to the side of her face.

"Because I know this isn't about me. Or us. I want you. So badly. All the time."

She blushes prettily. He wants to taste it.

"Then why are you--"

"But not like this. Not when you're hurting and you just want a distraction. You know how I feel about you. Don't use that as a weapon against me okay?"

With a gasp she's turning to face him, he hides nothing and he watches as the frustration that was once there fades away and only hurt is left in its abandon.

When she opens her mouth and he can see the apologies in her eyes, he places a single digit against her lips.

"Don't say sorry. If you want to apologize let me hold you."

She stares at him like she's never seen him before, eyes wide and moist and for the first time he doesn't wait for her consent. He can't stand that lonely devastated look on her face, not when she's not alone because he will always be here beside her if she needs him.

Gentle as the wind, he wraps his arms around her pushing himself into her in lieu of dragging her to him.

I'm yours.

The move says and he hopes she can hear it too.

He starts to pat her back and lightly stroke her head, pressing his neck into her face and wrapping an arm around her waist and that's all it takes for her to start shaking in his arms. There are no tears but he can feel her sorrow in every harrowing inhale and exhale, in her fingers tightly gripping his night shirt. He rocks them back and forth, wishing he could drain all the pain from her body and absorb it into his own.

"Why can't she just disappear? Why appear in front of me when I've accepted that I don't have a mother. I have no one, I'm an orphan." Her voice is crushed ice and he wants to kiss her all over and tell her that she has him, will always have him and he loves her, loves her much that it frightens him because he's never loved anyone this much except his mother and sister but he doesn't say any of this. He can't.

This isn't about him. Or them.

This is about a girl who needs a mother and doesn't know if she'll ever have one.

He can't fix this and he won't try.

He simply holds her tight and lets her grieve.

Holding her until she falls asleep in his arms, her head on his chest. So close to that heart that already belongs to her. That is beating for her.

That is broken for her.

#true beauty #true beauty fix it #bmtl #junjin #I'm back #with more feels and more hormones #more action later this chapter was just about comfort #soft saturdays

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kiranogareru · 4 years

Text

VIOLENT BEAUTY OF LOVE

Warning: Mention of blood, death, Hanahaki disease and probably cursing, because I curse a lot, may give you the feels

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

A/n: Tried 3rd person view for this, feedback is welcome! Also, I don't know where I'm going with this, so let's take this journey together😅

Katsuki jolted up in his bed, eyes wide and holding a wild look of horror in them!

His throat feeling like it was being ripped apart from the inside, as the burning sensation of brutal scratches from within began to restrict his airflow!

'No, not again..' he thought in realization as he started coughing

He choked and gasped, desperately trying to force some air into his aching lungs! His eyes welling up and unintentionally staining his cheeks with tears

The feeling was unbearable, the agony making him subconsciously reach for his neck with both hands, in a futile attempt to somehow soothe the pain, but alas..there was nothing that could be done

Katsuki kept his condition a secret, not wanting anyone to think he's weak. He's been dealing with this for months all on his own, fighting it day in and day out and the worst part is he doesn't even know what's wrong with him!

At first it wasn't as bad, so Katsuki brushed it off as a stupid cold, but the symptoms kept worsening and no medication seemed to work

As the all-too-familiar metallic taste rose to his mouth, Katsuki knew exactly what would happen

He pushes himself up and off the bed, planning to run to the bathroom, using the last of his strength, but as soon as he stands, his legs give out and he drops to the cold, hard floor of his dorm, knees scraping upon Impact!

Katsuki is now supporting his weight with one arm and gripping at the collar of his shirt with the other,as his coughing fit continues, until his pain spills itself on the tiled surface beneath him

Y/N was so concerned about Bakugou, he had been missing several classes, he seemed disconnected and tired during most of his training sessions these past few weeks

Losing sleep and performing anything less than perfect on the battle field, isn't like him, in fact it is so uncommon that it became an instant tell that something was wrong with the normally, fierce blonde!

Though the weirdest thing ought to be the unusual aura that radiated off of him. He was mostly calm and very quiet!

Y/N is one of the few people that Bakugou has allowed into his life, he trusts her! They're personalities are very similar and that provides Katsuki with a sense of comfort and understanding!

This lead the duo to become close friends, but without realizing friendship turned to love...the one-sided kind to be exact

Y/N had just woken up to multiple messages from Eijirou, saying how Bakugou sounds sick again

Kiri: Do you mind checking on him? If any of us go he'll feel like we're looking down on him for being sick

Fuck, Eijirou was right, Katsuki would mistake the Bakusquad's concern for pity

Y/N found herself at Katsuki's door, worried at the sounds coming from the other side

She was unsure whether she should knock or simply enter and help him, but his shaky breaths and quiet sobs convinced her to do the latter!

She cracks the door open and pushes it gently, slipping into the room

What she's met with, leaves her in shock, her mind unable to form words at the sight in front of her and her gorgeous orbs prickled with building tears!

Right there on the floor, was a barely conscious Katsuki, lying in a pool of flowers, petals and what she could only assume was his own blood!

Never before had she witnessed a thing so mesmerizing, yet so damn cruel! She didn't even know such a combination could be achieved!

It made her angry that this...this violent beauty of love was possible!

Why did such tragedy, such pain have to befall the boy she loves?

Y/N kneels next to Katsuki and cradles his exhausted form, observing her dear friend closely. His vermillion eyes glassy and puffy, tear-streaked cheeks, blood and petals smeared on his lips and chin!

The saddened, soft expression she was wearing, while gently caressing his cheek, made him wish he could dissapear! As much as he loves being in her warm embrace, he despises the fact that she is there!

Bakugou never wanted her to see him like this, so vulnerable and beaten down, so- so fucking weak! He'd rather her think of him as anything, but weak!

He hated that out of all people, she had to be the one to walk in and catch him at his lowest!

His handsome face, was tainted with pain and she fucking hated that! It made her sick to her stomach, to see someone so strong, look so distraught!

Y/N carefully rested Katsuki's head on her lap, brushing some stray, spiky locks of ash blonde hair, out of his face

She couldn't help but wonder how long he's been suffering for and who could possibly be the cause of the heartbreking disease, the one of unreturned feelings, better known as Hanahaki!

How could someone that managed to win Katsuki Bakugou's heart, throw away their chance and deny his love? It just didn't make sense to her!

Some sort of awkward tension was thick in the atmosphere of the room, as silence spread between them, but she couldn't quite pinpoint why..

"Why didn't you say anything dumbass?" She asked, with a halfhearted smile on her lips, using his nickname for her, in an attempt to lighten the mood

"I can handle it on my own, I don't need these extras thinking they can surpass me just because I'm sick" He grumbled, his voice coming out strained

"You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?" Her question was clearly rhetorical, since both of them knew the answer

"So...who is it?" She finally questioned, voicing the thought that was stuck in her head

Katsuki gave her a strange look, one that implied he had no idea what the Hell she was talking about!

"Huh?" Was all that left his lips

"Who are you in love with?" She hesitantly asked

Bakugou quickly sat up, his back now facing her, as he suddenly started coughing once again, his breaths shallow and sharp!

She couldn't bare the scene that was unfolding in front of her very eyes! His body was a trembling mess, while he struggled to breath, flowers coated by his blood spattering from his mouth and hitting the floor, like some type of poetic murder scene!

She desperately wanted to help him, but didn't know how, or what she could possibly do!

As Katsuki started to calm down, Y/N went to get some wipes from his drawer

Both teens sat down, this time on Katsuki's bed. She cupped his face and begun to clean him up

"Whoever the fuck said I'm in love? And what does that even have to do with anything?" His voice was hoarse and his tone cold as he spoke

His words took her by surprise, since she was so shook up that she forgot she had even asked him something!

'Did he not know?' Y/N thought to herself

"I figured- because of..the flowers?" She stuttered out, her statement sounding more like a question if anything

"What about those damn flowers?" He spat in confusion, with a scowl on his face

"Katsuki..." She softly spoke, taking a hand of his in her own, her other resting on his cheek "do you not know why you're sick?"

He felt his chest tighten at the contact, but kept an unfazed facade, as he proceeded to lock eyes with her

"Don't look at me like that!" He suddenly snapped

"Like what?" She asked, perplexed as to what she did wrong

"I can see the fucking pity in your eyes!" He growled "It's just an illness! It's not like I'm fucking dying Y/N!" He angrily yanked her hand off of him and looked away

"Katsu you- you are dying..." Her voice cracked and trailed off, eyes brimming with tears, that were threatening to spill

"You have Hanahaki. Look around you, the plant in your lungs has grown so much, that you're coughing up fully grown-" Her words caught in her throat, as she pointed to the blossoms, picking one up to examine it closer, only to discover that these were her favourite flowers, even the colour was right!

"Hanahaki?" Bakugou looked heartbroken "I thought it wasn't real"

He'd heard stories about it ever since he was little, but never knew anyone who had actually experienced it! But apparently life has a funny way of teaching you things

It all made sense to him now! He already knew he was starting to fall for her, but now he also knew how Y/N felt and this only gave him two options!

He could either, suffer a little more as a lovesick puppy, until he dies, or get a surgery that will remove the problem from it's literal roots and risk losing all memory of the girl he loves and possibly the ability to love again!

As he was deep in thought, Y/N turned to him, flower in hand and with tears streaming from her eyes to match her broken smile

"It's not me..it can't be me" She mumbled out, gaze on the floor as she couldn't bring herself to face him

"Y/N it is you! I'm in love with you!" He confessed, his head resting against hers, those lively ruby orbs of his staring at the flower in her palm, while his hands cupped hers

"Please don't say that.." She sniffled, reaching into her pocket with her free hand and pulling something out "I don't want to be the one who did this to you"

She opened her fist, showing him petals of a flower he didn't recognize "I don't want to be the one who hurt you!"

'How could I have been so dense, so oblivious? Of course she loves someone else' Katsuki felt his heart shatter like a mirror, the pain returning, as he let out a sigh and pulled her into a tight embrace

He tried his hardest not to break down in tears, not to let the flowers suffocate him and allow this moment to be his last memory! Just her in his arms!

"Don't cry Y/N, I'll be alright! This is not your fault! I'll get the surgery and I'll be alright!" He rubbed the small of her back to soothe her

"But what if you forget about me? I don't want to lose you!" She cried

"I would never forget about you!" He told her sternly

"Do you promise?" She asked, like a line from some cheesy love story

"I promise, but only if you go into surgery too! I don't want you to end up in pain" He admitted

"Okay, I'll do it" Even though Bakugou tried to reassure her, she feels guilty and is willing to do this if it means he will be happy

As the days passed and the time for the surgery came around the teens went their separate ways, since their appointments were registered in different hospitals, or at least that's what Bakugou told Y/N

In reality he had simply asked principle Nezu if he could visit his parents that day for personal reasons and stayed with them

Mitsuki gave her son a whole lecture, but after he got fed up, he decided to tell her and Masaru the truth...or part of it anyway

Meanwhile Y/N was in another part of Musutafu, lying on an operating table

Two days later they were back to UA, trying to catch up on assignments. Y/N had no recollection of her prior love interest and Bakugou had no intention of telling her that he never went to the hospital!

"Yaho Katsuuu" She greeted, as he entered the kitchen. It was their turn to clean it today

"Huh?" He tilted his head to the side "Which extra are you again?" He asked playfully

Her shocked expression made him laugh "That's not funny!" She pouted "You scared me!" She said, before smacking him on the head

"It was funny to me dumbass" He said as he proceeded to wipe the table

Y/N was happy that everything seemed to have gone back to normal, she loved seeing him smile

But little did she know...

By the end of that same month, Bakugou was found dead in his dorm, which resembled a cursed garden of blood-soaked flowers! Some stems and thorns were coming out of his mouth, while others had pierced through his lifeless chest! The scene was gut wrenching!

Aizawa was the one who found him, after Y/N pointed out that he had never followed the rest of the class out of the dorms

The dorms were immediately sealed, so none of the students could see the traumatizing sight!

However Y/N had a feeling that she knew what had happened to the fiery hero-in-training and she couldn't help but blame herself for it

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #x reader #hanahaki #bnha #bakugou #king explosion murder #dynamight #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou angst #bnha x reader #bnha x female reader #mha x y/n #tw death #tw graphic #bnha bakugou

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love-we-write · 4 years

Text

Eccedentesiast

Character: RichyxMC (ambiguous platonic or romantic) Genre: Hurt/Comfort? Friendship/Romance? Unbeta-ed mess is for certain Words: 4,188 Summary: Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind that light. But then, you appeared in his life. Potential T/W: mentions of panic attacks A/N: Done in conjunction with the Duskwood Secret Santa event~! Dear @anatomical-myocardium, Merry Christmas to you~! Sorry this took so long to post, I swear my laptop crashes on me at the most inconvenient time sometimes. I hope I did this justice as a gift to you, and I hope you like it, just as I absolutely love your gift to me~! Have a safe and happy Christmas~! ❤️ ❤️

And with a renewed vow to write anything and everything that I want to write without minding if it’s a game, or an anime, or an anime game, or Kpop, here we go~! ❤️ ❤️

------------------------------------

Richy is most known by his friends and all the Duskwood residents for his carefree nature, and he is very much aware of this.

With his small group of friends, he has been the joker of the group longer than memory can serve, always light-hearted with that small touch of dry humor to help liven up the mood. From their weekly battle of Doodle Friends to their catch up session at Aurora’s, all seven of them look to Richy to brighten their days with his quick-witted comebacks and his lame jokes that gets even Lily - ever the serious one - to chuckle.

At his job, his bright personality makes him one of the select few who could talk to Alfie without unnerving the boy, and from greeting old ladies who pass by his shop to chatting away with his customers while he repairs their cars, everyone does not have qualms to admit that Richy’s easy-going nature is his most admirable trait, a warm relaxing ray of sunshine that comes out and give others a bit of cheer on their gloomy days.

Richy knows that his ability to not take things too seriously gives comfort to his friends.

Richy knows this, knows it in the way Jessy thanks him for being there for her when she is frustrated with how Dan is treating her affections, knows it in the way Thomas looks at him silently yet gratefully when he brought them to Aurora’s and filled them with a copious amount of beers and stupid jokes for a self-proclaimed “pity party” after Thomas’ fight with Hannah.

He knows it during the wake of Hannah’s absence when Thomas is on the verge of breaking down, and when Jessy fought with Cleo over how to handle the investigation, Lilly had reached out to him in the middle of the night, quiet words of “I feel like you’re the only one keeping this group together,” mumbled into the phone in between sniffles.

Richy knows he is most known for his easy-going personality, and he is used to it.

He is also used to that horrible feeling of uselessness constantly haunting him in the deep dark solace of his mind. That sinking in his stomach, the heaviness settling in his core as he contemplates whether he has anything worthwhile at all anything good to offer to this world, the constant feeling that he doesn’t have anything at all. It is a dark void spanning the crevasse of his mind that comes up in his solitude, whispering that he is not good enough, that he does not deserve grief and his fear is only going to burden his loved ones.

Because who is he to voice out his sadness and anguish when everybody else has so much on their plate already? Who is he to want to cry at Jessy to look at him, just LOOK AT HIM WHO HAS BEEN THERE FOR YOU when she is heartbroken herself. What right does he have to voice out his grief, his guilt at being the first one to come to Hannah’s house but still unable to save her anyway? What right does he have to say these things, when he only had lost a friend while Thomas lost a girlfriend and Lilly a sister?

What right does he have?

So, Richy does what he does best. He smiles. He jokes. And he hides. He stopped trying to figure out the line inside him where his smile ends and his fear starts. To him, they all bleed together.

Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind the light.

------------------------------------

But then, you appeared in his life. You with your contagious kindness, you who are the one person who does not have any personal stakes with Hannah in this investigation but still decided to help out of the sheer good in your heart.

Richy sometimes thought that you were highly naive when you said that them getting your number and bringing you in this group must have meant that there is something that you could do instead of just seeing it as it is; an ominous invitation from an unknown hacker. However, that thought of your naivete is blown out of the water when he witnessed your bright-eyed curiosity and your sharp perception.

‘You like Jessy, don’t you?’ you had texted him out of the blue during one of your conversations when during the first few days after you appeared in their lives.

Richy swore he almost dropped his phone in his coffee when he read your text. No one has ever picked up on his one-sided affections towards Jessy, not even their group, not even Jessy herself who has been his close friend.

He has always been wary of you when Thomas first invited you in. A stranger whose number was given to them by another stranger seemed to Richy like a well-timed disaster waiting to explode in their faces. Richy liked to think of himself as neutral when it comes to matters of your involvement; skeptical enough to not be desperate as Thomas but to the point of hostility that Lilly has shown.

But with your eagle-eyed intuition, Richy realized he had to be extra careful with himself around you.

‘Uh, gotta go. Coffee’s about ready and I need that caffeine injection for my sanity, in case some more shit happens around here, haha,’ he had typed quickly, adding in several emojis in succession for some good measure. He puts the phone face down almost immediately, as if that would help distract him from your reply, and busies himself with work.

‘That’s okay. Coffee sounds like a great idea. The next time you want to subtly avoid having uncomfortable conversations about yourself, I have a list of ideas :D,’ was your reply to him when he checked his phone during his break.

Mirth bubbles up in Richy, a feeling of familiarity and comfort fizzing up in him like downing cold soda on a hot summer day. Richy chuckles towards his phone, seeing as you really did provide him with a list of excuses to make to get out of conversation, each item sillier than the previous one.

Your entrance into his and the way Richy felt you seeing through to him feels like a breath of fresh air.

------------------------------------

‘Richy, hi.’

Richy smiles, looking at his phone vibrated on the countertop as he is pouring his third cup of coffee for the day. Seems like the weekend is as good as any for him to gather his thoughts to himself, to compartmentalize his feelings away from the crowd, but the texts from you over the days is a welcome distraction.

From asking him about Jennifer Manson, to asking him about the phone call he made on the day of Hannah’s disappearance, to random conversation about your favorite movies or music, messages from you have become something he looks forward to daily. He found himself slowly thinking more and more of you; whether you are okay, what you have been doing among other things

‘Now, what more information does my lady seek from me?’ he types quickly, anticipating as the three dots beside your name blinks back at him.

‘Good sir, is it such a crime if I just want to inquire about your day? :(’

Richy would be lying if he said that his heart did not skip a few beats over those words.

‘Our previous conversations would indicate that you always would have things to ask me after you know about how my day went, so out you go. :D’

It feels nice to see you playing along with his jokes.

‘Cleo told me you fought with your dad?’

Ah.

Not information about Hannah’s disappearance then. Which, to him, is much much easier to divulge.

‘That girl is going to get into trouble one day over how much she’s eavesdropping.’

‘I know. But more importantly, are you okay?’

Are you okay? Wow, Richy thinks as he stares at his idle phone. A simple question, but look at how he is struggling to answer. So he quickly typed in.

‘I’m okay, don’t worry, haha. Listen, the cat outside my apartment is literally meowing my window panes down, I better go check up on it before it eats itself,’ Richy began typing his response, as if him staring down the digitized letters will give him some form of epiphany over what the best course of action is.

Excuse #12 from that ridiculous list that you gave him from weeks ago. From feeding non-existent stray cats outside his house to a car needing their tires changed, it quickly became an inside understanding between the two of you that this is a signal that he does not want to talk about it.

But, inside, he wants to talk about it. Wants to talk to you about how this fight is a series of continuous disagreements between him and his father over how to run the family’s garage. Wants to talk about how this garage is not what he envisioned doing in his adult year, that he has no interest whatsoever in running the family’s business. How he had wanted to be a photographer, but was forced to run the garage by his dad to continue the family business.

And how each time his father berates him over the losses their garage suffered due to the new competing garage in town, he feels a slight vendetta to bring up that he is never interested in what happens in this garage but is only doing it for his father.

He has long perfected the art of hiding anything of him that isn’t polished and brightened, so when you picked it up immediately, he felt flustered. Flustered because he doesn’t know what to do when faced with the idea of someone perceptive as you catching his vulnerabilities that he is ashamed of. But, also flustered with the fact that he feels a small sense of comfort that someone took time to notice the small things about him, and that deep inside, he feels some small part of him wanting to reach back out.

For now, he just added a bunch of cheerful emojis for good measure and hits send.

He wants to talk about it. He wants to.

‘You know, I don’t expect you to exhaust that list so quickly. I would have thought it’d be good for at least 2-3 months.’ came your reply.

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

------------------------------------

And it is true, you are worried for him. It has been close to three weeks since you first got added into this strange group, and if truth be told, you would never have thought that you’d be as invested as you are now. You could not deny that Jessy and Richy were two of the friends you never thought that you would care for as much as you did. You know that Jake had warned you over the group, and you ARE a bit more wary of some more than others, but you did not expect your trust to go wholeheartedly to this small trio that you have formed with Jessy and Richy.

Jessy is the sweetest girl you have ever met in the world, always kind. She has this effect around people that made them feel cared for, and you are thankful how she had welcomed you and helped you out when everyone else seems to think you are the kidnapper.She wears her heart on a sleeve, and she trusts easily, but she means well. And Richy…

Richy is an enigma. On surface level, it seems that he is a bright ray of sunshine, all lighthearted jokes and wit, a perfect comedic complement to Jessy’s more emotional tendencies, but you notice the things that made Richy much more complex than he lets on.

You see his calm and composed nature when he is the one to suggest the group to think more critically in the case of your appearance and Hannah’s disappearance, how he calmed everyone down and brought their spirits up. But you also see his aversion to talking about how he himself feels.

Even though he does not show it, you know the incident with Hannah affected him just as much as it had affected everybody else. You see the sprinkle of emotions he has shown, from Jessy who told you how quiet he had been on the day his garage was spray painted with the sign of the raven, to his deprecating jokes about himself when you asked about the phone call he had made to Hannah on the day of her disappearance.

You see that sliver of fear, that glimpse of guilt over those short moments, but come any closer and you could miss it with how subtly and skillfully he averts to more cheerful topics.

But that’s the thing. You worry for him. Jessy goes to the both of you for comfort while Dan goes to Jessy. Lilly has her family, Cleo goes to Thomas and Thomas’s grief is acknowledged and heard by all of them.

But who listens to Richy? Who gives Richy their shoulder for him to grief? Who lift up his spirits the way he does to you? For now, all you can do is put your phone close to your ear, Richy’s number dialing in the background.

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

‘It gets better, I promise you. You don’t have to be alone. I’m here for you,’ you added under your previous text. It goes unanswered and your calls only gets redirected to voicemail. So all you can do is hold your phone close to you, placing your lips on its receiver, only able to hope that it goes to him, that his cheeks or his forehead feels the warmth as a sign that you are here for him.

Miles away, in Duskwood, Richy only stares in his phone longingly, wanting to call you.

‘I’m here for you.’ your text that had him feeling hopeful, comforted and flustered him all the same.

It has been a long time since someone sees through him so transparently, heck, the void in him has bled together with his façade so much that even he himself cannot see through the layers of sunshine to where his dark insecurities start. He has crafted so many walls, perfected so many smiles that it even fooled Jessy, the person most close to him here in Duskwood. Perhaps at some point, maybe he even fooled himself.

And yet, here you are. Effortlessly breaking through those walls like it’s paper, unblinded by the fake shine he puts on, and sees the darkness in him for what it is. He has to laugh at that as he leaned his forehead on his phone, somehow feeling a sense of comfort just in doing that. What have you done to him?

Perhaps one day he can begin to talk about it.

------------------------------------

That day came sooner that he thought it would be. That night in December, it snowed heavily in Duskwood. Angry snow fell down in a furious blizzard, gusts of wind wailing outside in anguish, doors and window panes shaking almost in fear. Sometimes, the wailing picks up speed and bangs on the window with a scream.

Inside, Richy is just as furious, just as anguished as the blizzard outside. The man without a face seems hell-bent in getting them to stop finding Hannah and to obtain your location. Richy would bend over backwards and go to hell twice before letting your location fall in its hands. And with the search not showing any signs of stopping, so did the threats to them.

Today, it took the threat to another level when it involved their families as well. Richy had woken up with a call from his father. He had expected the call to be his father picking up another fight with him, but the urgency in his father’s voice and the manic sobbing of his mother in the background struck a cold chord in him.

It turned out that his family house has been vandalized with the signs of the raven, only this time it is worse than the one did in the garage. The windows were splashed with red paint, with papers jammed in their mailbox full of threatening letters of ‘give me her’ and ‘Richy, you’re next’. It took him a good two hours to scrub the windows clean, and then another hour to comfort his mother that this is just a prank pulled by some reckless vandals, to clean up the papers from the mailbox and throw them in the trash.

But, deep inside he knows it. This is not a prank. This is a threat to him. To them.

Duskwood is a small town. People will talk and come tomorrow, his friends will find out. He needs time. He needs time to sort out his thoughts. Time to properly compartmentalize.

He needs time to sort out through his guilt of not being able to protect his family from being terrorized from the man without a face. There is the fury with the fact that it has been established that the man without a face is someone within their circle, given how much they know about your presence.

He needs time.

There is the fear that you, being the lynch pin to all that the man without a face wanted from them, will be burdened more. He needs time to sort through the fear that he could not protect you, and even though it is for the best interest of your safety that none of them knows where you are, you are still all alone having to pick up after these seven dysfunctional people and no one to protect you.

Then, there is the confusion, the stress, the angry sadness that this is a game that he has to continue to play with his friends. The betrayal that one of them, one of his close friends is responsible for this, that they could have the balls to laugh with him, smile with him and turn around and do this to him.

He needs time to sort through this anger and he doesn’t have the courage to face them and continue playing this game tomorrow, not when all he wanted to do is lash out at each one of them and threaten them and ohgodheneedstimeheneedstime--

In the solace of his room in his family home, Richy feels his thoughts become as white as the blizzard of snow outside. He hears his breath quickens, a voiceless wail stuck in his throat and he feels the shivers in his spine like the doors trembling in front of the wind.

Heneedstimeohgodpleasegivehimabitoftime----

And like a lifeline, his phone besides him rang and vibrated and he clutched it to him like a lifeline. Like a miracle in December, he sees that it’s your name. Somewhere in his blank white thoughts, he hears a small chuckle and how impeccable your timing is.

He answers and your voice in his ears sounded like a buoy thrown to him that is flailing about.

“Richy, I had a bad feeling about something. Is everyone okay?” and Richy hears himself laugh at that, a horrible mixture of a broken laugh and a hiccup and a helpless wail, all mixed up to become a horrible wounded noise.

Over on your side of the phone, your heart picked up pace when you heard that choked laughter from Richy. It is horrible and it is scary and you would never want to hear it from anyone again, least of all not Richy. He is having a panic attack.

“Richy, are you okay?! Richy, listen to me. Breathe with me, sweetheart. Breathe in, breathe out,” deep inside you tried to stay calm because that is what he needs, but even you feel like being on the verge of tears listening to this man - who has cheered you up so much - break down in front of you.

After he seemed to have calmed down, you tried again.

“Richy, what’s wrong? Please talk to me. You deserve to not be alone in this Richy. I see you. I see you smiling to get everyone to smile. You listened to me and you lifted up my mood when Jessy was attacked, and when I received threats over Lilly’s video. Let me do the same to you, yeah? Tell me what’s wrong?”

And to Richy, who has clutched onto your voice like a lifeline, who wants to share everything with you, just burst like a dam. Everything that he has kept secret from his friends, the sadness behind his smile, everything that he has even kept from himself and just swept under the rug and pushed into a closet at the back of his mind. Everything burst right there in front of you, from his guilt to not being able to stop Hannah’s kidnapping and Jessy’s attack, to him feeling unworthy of being sad compared to others, to his fear when he saw the sign of the raven in his garage and now on his home, his fury at knowing one of his friends are doing this, to his fear for Jessy, his fear for you.

He hated everything. He hated himself.

You told him that he is strong, that you admired him so much, but he needs to see that he deserves to be comforted just as much as he has comforted everyone else.

In that snowstorm-clad night, the winds wept and wept, but beneath its howl, you can hear the intermittent wail of a broken man as Richy cried, and cried, and cried.

As he lets out everything, the blank white fog of his mind begins to clear and gain color. It started from the reds of fury, to the blacks of fear and the blues of guilt, but then your voice came in, and slowly the pinks of comfort, the yellows of hope and the purples of peace began melting through.

------------------------------------

[EPILOGUE]

Both you and Richy sat over the phone for over 3 hours just talking about nothing and everything after his outburst.

He seems to have gained his color back, his cheerful self almost back as he cracked his lame stories about gangster seagulls eating his sandwich once in his travels. Richy feels like this time, his color - albeit still a little faded - is much more genuine than the blacks filtered from a rose-colored glass that he has shown before. Your laughter as you listen to his story and object to its credibility, slowly made those faded colors in his mind more vibrant.

“Thank you for listening to me, for um… taking care of me,” he begins a bit meekly after he finishes his story. He’s not so used to being listened to, not at this vulnerable a level and definitely he is not used to being taken care of.

“You did the same to me when Jessy was attacked. And you would have done the same for me again, I’m sure of it,” your voice sounded like a smile would, and God, would he give up everything to see that smile in person. He laughs to himself internally. How has this person made him so whipped for her in such a manner?

“I’m planning on going to Duskwood soon,” you had said out of the blue, bringing him back from his reverie.

“Absolutely not. In case you forgot my magnificent show of tears just now, the man without a face is threatening us to get to you. You coming here is the absolute worst thing to do,” Richy snorted, a mock indignant and wounded tone from him that made you chuckle.

“Well, how bad can it be? If we keep my arrival a secret from the rest of them, and spend the days, just you, me and Jessy, it wouldn’t hurt, would it? Someone needs to go there and give you a hug and take care of you,” you had replied back shortly, almost giving no thought to what you had said.

“Oh my, my lady, are you flirting with me?” Richy’s exaggerated gasp brought you back to reality, and his implication had your heart skipping beats.

“Well I mean… um…” you stuttered, and Richy swore your hesitance and stuttering made his heart soar just a little bit more in hope. But pursuing it is for another time.

“W-Well, someone needs to stop you from being such an eccedentesiast!” you had blurted out, extremely grateful that the distance makes it unable for him to see your bright red hot face.

His laughter after that sounds like the most genuine you have heard from him so far, and he might have said something along the lines of “nooo use small words, your idiot here doesn’t understand what that means,” but you couldn’t remember clearly. All you remembered was you thinking that you would give almost anything to protect that genuine tinkling laughter of his.

#duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood richy #duskwood mc

104 notes · View notes

wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Note

is it okay if you do one about the reader who is 13-14 going with Bella to save Edward and when Alec see's her, he realizes that she's his mate and tries talking to her and her being scared but after sometime they have a sweet bf/gf relationship? Thank you, and your writing is awesome, sorry if I bothered you

Hey hi hello, you most certainly have not bothered me at all 😊 You’re very sweet and I’m glad you enjoy my writing, I hope you like this piece just as much as the others!

Just as a wee reminder to yourself and others who wish to request anything Alec related from me, when I write for Alec, I do tend to write him as the 13-14 year old book version. The only time I age up Alec and Jane to the 16+ year old movie version is if I receive an NSFW request for them. I am still figuring out what I’m comfortable writing in terms of the level of explicitness, so while I figure out what sort of NSFW requests I will and won’t take please be patient and don’t be rude about it if you send me something I don’t think I can deliver, there’s plenty of other really incredibly writers out there I’ll happily link you to if I don’t think I can provide what you want.

For now, have this fluffy little piece.

Forever Yours:

Words: 5416 (oopsie) Warnings: There is some description of injuries later on and a lot of descriptions of fear and distress in the first half of this fic.

Alec was not one to dwell on things he didn’t find interesting. In his human life he had been pigeon-holed into farming, the manual labour something that would support his family and one of the few occupations he could actually get training for, since it meant sending him into a field and leaving him there to work alone most of the time. His village was not a welcoming place to people like him and Jane, and despite his vocation to be a blacksmith his dreams were shelved in order to provide for his mother and sister. The end result was an insatiably curious young teen desperate to break free of the tedious field work and explore what else the world had to offer him, a trait that had only been solidified by his transformation.

Currently he found himself fascinated by the readings surrounding physical Geography, the formation of the world brought to the forefront of his mind after passing through a village that had suffered an Earthquake on a mission not a month earlier, and studying such things was how he spent the majority of his evenings now. Then in the Cullen boy came, bedraggled and smelling like three week old garbage he was pleading for the end of an existence far greater than his human one could have ever been, and Alec’s mind was set whirring into motion once more.

He couldn’t begin to fathom the mind-readers motives for wanting to end his immortal life, not when it had offered Alec so much. Over the course of centuries, he had accrued wealth and knowledge, prestige, and authority that the boys in his village could only ever dream of given the circumstances they were born into. Immortality offered an eternity to pursue what interested you without the disruption of sickness, or fear of being left out of doing what you love due to injury; Alec never have to worry about being unable to train because he’d sprained his ankle after all.

No, no it was simply incomprehensible as to why the Cullen boy would throw away his immortal existence so readily, and when the reason why was finally revealed to them it only left Alec all the more baffled. A human? He wished to end his life because a human had done the same? Humans died everyday in droves, most of them tripping over their own feet and into their graves. They were weak, fragile, dim-witted enough that most actually deserved the cattle-like status his predatory nature accredited them. For Edward to willingly choose one as his mate had been foolish from the start and Alec had to wonder if this wasn’t some sort of cosmic ‘I told you so’. Surely a human couldn’t be the true mate of a vampire? Alec had never pondered over the mating bond before but as Demetri and Felix silently followed after the boy to see to it he did nothing foolish, he began to wonder about the nature of such bonds.

Aro and Caius had both turned their mates, as had Chelsea. They had all felt some form of affection for their mates as humans but had the bond solidified before or after their transformation? Were the red strings of fate he’d read about in varying fantasy novels real to some extent? Venom hardening them to form the strong bonds that allowed vampires to mate for life? He couldn’t imagine ever loving anyone to the point that Marcus had, where they became the only thing his world revolved around and left it collapsing once they were gone. Humans surely weren’t capable of loving anyone with that kind of depth, were they? Not with their flawed design.

“Dear Jane, please go and see what’s taking them so long?” Aro requested. Jane gave him a sugar sweet smile in response, kissed Alec’s cheek and floated gracefully down the steps and towards the door. Alec watched her go before returning to his thoughts, the conundrum still fresh in his mind, but Aro did not let him remain there, a drawn out sigh escaping him as he steepled his fingers to rest his chin on his hands.

“Something bothers you, Master?” he asked, tilting his head. Maybe he was having similar thoughts and they could brainstorm together. Aro stared at the doors ahead of them, his expression completely impassive. Alec was treated with the deference his gift and status demanded but out of them two of them, he knew Jane would always be the favourite, and he was okay with that. He would serve loyally as long as he lived, grateful for all the Masters’ had given him, but he did not need to be valued in the way Jane did.

“I hope Edward does nothing foolish. He would be a great asset to our little household.” Aro responded. Alec kept his face impassive, mind immediately turning now to the tactical advantage telepathy could offer. Edward’s gift was indeed powerful in its own way, to hear over great distances would compliment Demetri’s tracking ability well and override Felix’s tendency to impulsively use his brute strength without identifying priority targets first…

“Undoubtedly.” Alec agreed. Aro chuckled slightly.

“Your mind is preoccupied Alec, perhaps you ought focus it?” he suggested lightly. Alec forced back an eye roll, inclining his head to indicate he had heard him before stepping down from his place beside his throne. He retraced his sister’s footsteps, following the main hall along until he reached the secretary’s desk. Gianna glanced up, standing to greet him with the professionally polite smile she was obliged to give him, even though her heart was thundering in her chest.

“Have the others returned yet?” he questioned. Gianna shook her head.

“No Alec, they have yet to come back this way.” She answered. Alec hummed thoughtfully, engaging his senses and straining his ears to listen to the stumbling footsteps approaching. There were the usual graceful taps of his sister’s dainty steps, the tell-tale smoothness of vampires moving along stone, but the clumsy thudding that followed was definitely human in origin. What cause did they have to bring humans back into their home? That was Heidi’s job after all, and she would be returning home soon enough to slake their thirst.

“But Bella I don’t-“

“Just…not now.”

Bella? Isabella? The human mate? Now that perked his interest. Alec watched with keen eyes as the doors slid open to reveal his siter first, and a brigade of people behind her. Felix and Demetri brought up the rear as Gianna greeted Jane with the same professional courtesy she had him, the golden-eyed Cullen’s following along behind her. The two humans they had brought with them were corralled between them. One clung to Edward like a barnacle to the underside of a ship, spindly arms thrown around him despite her chattering teeth and goosebump riddled flesh. She was quite ordinary in appearance, plain even, yet the way Edward stood made it abundantly clear that this human was something extraordinary to him, something he would protect. The other was...oh how to describe her?

She captivated him almost immediately, Alec unable to take his eyes off of her approach. Was she always that pale or had the situation leeched the colour from her face? Was she always so wide-eyed or was it fear that had blown those (Y/E/C) irises wide open? She was smaller in stature than the other, yet similar enough looks wise it was clear they were siblings, one older one younger. She was perhaps his physical age with all the wide-eyed innocence that entailed, gangly limbs she hadn’t really grown into yet carrying her along with a bit of encouragement from Felix’s proximity, and the Cullen woman’s guiding hand.

“Sister, they send you out for one and you bring back three, such a clever girl.” He teased, Jane’s scent invading his nose and helping refocus his mind. Her eyes rolled, but she still embraced him as she always did with a trill of laughter to boot.

“They made it all to easy.” She responded. Alec could see the malice in his sister’s eyes and guessed that she was not appreciative of having to wait for the humans. It irked him more than it should, that the young girl had potentially unintentionally incurred his sister’s wrath, the mere notion that perhaps Jane’s thoughts of her were less than savoury something that made every protective instinct he had ever had for his sister flare and extend to this stranger.

“Edward, you seem in a markedly better mood.” He said, hoping to distract himself from the sudden, unnerving discovery.

“Marginally.” the mind-reader agreed, though his voice was blunt and cutting. Clearly Edward was not in the mood to talk.

“But Alice I still don’t know-“

“Shhh Y/N, not now.” Alice Cullen, the seer that Aro had raved about from the moment he had learned of her existence. Alec should have been interested in her, should have been evaluating her as a threat and a potential ally, but his mind had been thoroughly distracted by the small human once more. Y/N…it was a good name, a name that felt pleasant in his ears and rolled easily off of the tongue.

“But Alice-“ the urgency in her voice tore at his heart and Alec had the strange urge to comfort her. Did she truly know nothing? If she knew nothing of their kind she had broken no law and there was no reason to put her through any of this, it was unnecessary suffering.

“Is this the cause of all the trouble?” he asked, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice as he took in her unremarkable sibling. Isabella seemed to shiver under his stare (much to his amusement) though it was the younger girl whose reaction he was more interested in. Her head turned his way, (Y/C/H) hair swishing with the movement as wide (Y/C/E) eyes latched onto his own and refused to let go. The scent that was wafted up his nose was almost unbearably tantalising, the controlled burn in his throat flaring to a raging inferno that he almost choked on for a moment before he caught himself. Edward’s stare was penetrating, Alice Cullen tightening her grip on the young girl in her care in case he made a move. He swallowed back the fire but there was no hiding the way his eyes had melted to black, and the sweet tinge of fear in her already too appealing smell only made him want to give into his urges all the more.

He hadn’t realised he’d taken a step towards her until she flinched back from him, and for the first time in a long time Alec felt genuine pain. The fear on her face was obvious, the rampant thudding in her chest tangible proof that she was terrified, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it and he didn’t like that he didn’t like it because she was just human, flawed and breakable and pathetic so why oh why did it pain him so to see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes?

“Y-your eyes…they just – your eyes just…Bella what did you get me into?” her voice wavered and something inside him just snapped. For once, Alec didn’t feel the apathy that came with taking a life seen as less valuable than his own, he didn’t take any sort of joy in watching her be afraid of his advance. He couldn’t deny it, not when the feeling was so deeply rooted and burned so fiercely, like a flower that been laid dormant beneath the Earth suddenly bursting from the soil to bloom brightly. He was protective of this human he barely knew, and it was terrifying to feel so connected to someone he had never met before.

“I mean you no harm, I give you my word.” The promise had escaped him before he had really thought it through and he was well aware he could not keep such a promise, but she didn’t care to hear it anyway, cringing even more into Alice since Bella seemed to refuse her in that moment. It only made him angrier. He was angry with himself for suddenly losing the emotional control he had gained over a long millennium of living, angry that he was making promises he couldn’t keep, and he was angry at the stares he was receiving from those he would call friend. Jane looked the most outwardly shocked before she quickly covered, but the one person he would have hoped would react positively just didn’t. Y/N was too afraid to see sense, and he supposed given the pie-crust promise he’d just made that might be a good thing, even if it hurt. He was angry to that her sister ignored her obvious need for comfort.

He let his sister take the lead as they headed back to the throne room, trying to fight through the sudden swell of confusing emotion and sensory information. His nose seemed attuned to her scent, suspiciously close to his favourite smells of lemongrass and gooseberry, his eyes magnetised to her form to the point he turned his head to glance back at her so frequently that Demetri felt the need to motion for him to keep his head turned forward. Humans radiated heat anyway but she felt scorching, a mini-sun whose tendrils reached out and left warmth lashing down his spine. His ears were full of her heartbeat. She was so thoroughly distracting he could barely take his eyes off of her after he had taken his place by Caius, the blonde man staring with such distaste at the both of them that Alec felt a strong urge to step between them and absorb the glare himself.

He could only half pay attention as the conversation unfolded around him, because Y/N wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was the devil incarnate and it bothered him immensely. He had dealt with it his whole life, a social pariah for his links to witchcraft and someone whose gift left him with few friends since they feared the authority it gave him. He had handled it then, and he handled it now, he could deal with other people looking at him like that but not her, anyone but her.

“Alec!” Jane hissed his name and Alec snapped to attention, mist unfolding from his palms so he was ready to take down any threat that came at him. Demetri snickered loudly enough it reached his ears and Alec’s glare was so deadly it drew a soft whimper from her. He almost groaned. Could he do no right by her? Y/N had started trembling a while ago but now there were full body shakes wracking her from head to foot, her teeth grinding together so loudly he worried the teeth might snap under the strain she was putting on them. Aro’s laughter clattered through his head and he turned to face him, at a loss as to what to do for once. He didn’t honestly think that he could hurt the girl if asked.

“My dear boy it would seem you are quite distracted by young Miss Swan. Oh to be young and in love once more!” he tittered. Alec froze, every muscle locking in place as the distinct feeling of distress rose through the confusion and anger and pain he’d been desperately trying to wade through. Love? He definitely did not love the girl, it was mere curiosity and nothing else, the same curiosity he applied to his studies.

“Love?” Jane’s voice was equally as harsh and Aro seemed surprised by her reaction. Alec was not. For centuries they had had only each other, the centre of a small world where they seldomly let others join them. The very notion another might be welcomed into his heart would be not just repulsive, but very troubling for her.

“Why, don’t tell me you cannot see it? Already the bond between them has set, the thread connecting them tied at both ends. Are you not happy for your twin to have found such a rare and beautiful thing?” Aro wondered. As if Aro had perhaps waved a magic wand his mind settled. His brain had tried to fight what his body already knew, his subconcious screaming the word while his rational mind raced a million miles ahead to try and outrun the answer until it could run no more, and the two collided. The aftermath of the explosion was calm, almost wonderous, for he would finally get the chance to study something he had never studied before.

“You’re my mate.” He breathed. Even he could hear the awe in his voice, though nobody but him seemed to find it wonderful. Jane hissed, both Cullen’s tensing up while Bella recoiled from her sister like she was diseased, and Y/N…Y/N just cried. Alec’s world ground to a halt, the pain his mate spilling out and into him. He descended the stairs with every intention of stopping her tears, hoping to calm her perhaps and explain exactly what it meant to be mates, but Y/N didn’t let Bella refuse her this time and sought refuge in her sister, sobbing all the while.

“Wh-what did you do! Why d-did you bring me h-here? I d-don’t want to st-stay with him!”

The words were a hard blow, they struck him in the gut and it was the closest he’d felt to nauseous in centuries.

“I have no desire to keep you here, but if you would please-“

“Leave me alone! I w-want to go home!” she cried, not so much as turning to look at him. If he hadn’t been a vampire he would probably have missed all of the muffled words she heaved into her sisters shoulder.

“You can still go home yet-“ he had paid enough attention to know Bella was not being executed at least and as his mate Y/N was exempt of that fate to, “-all I would like is a chance to talk.” Alec’s plea fell on deaf ears, his hand shrugged off of her shoulder.

“No!”

Alec straightened, wiping his face of any and all expression, he didn’t so much as give any of them a farewell before he left the room. The sudden rejection stung worse than the fire that had once burned his flesh from his bones, and the hollow that opened in his gut grew wider and wider with every moment that passed since the second he’d left her. He put down his books, spending his nights envisioning her tear-stained face and wondering what would have made her smile instead. He craved to know every like and dislike, to hear her voice when she wasn’t consumed with horror and fear, to learn more about her life and contrast it with his own. They had all tried to talk him round in the intervening months, but Alec couldn’t find the strength to drag himself out of the numbness that had enveloped him. Not until Marcus came by to see him anyway.

“What do you require of me, Master?” he asked, staring aimlessly out of the window at the Garden’s below. Marcus seated himself at the desk across the room, the one littered with books Alec hadn’t had the heart to open since the fateful day his mate had left him.

“Didyme was not immediately drawn to me either.” He rasped. Alec’s head whipped around at that, the shock on his face obvious. Marcus had been nothing but a shell in all the time he had known him, grieving a lost love so profound Alec was sure that their story must have been the greatest romance ever known. To hear Didyme had not readily accepted him was both astounding and…it gave him hope.

“She didn’t?” he hedged. Marcus glanced to him, a wisp of smile floating from his lips before his expression fell flat again.

“She was a headstrong woman, and for a while she resented Aro for what he did to her, to me. She could not revel in her new state as we did, this world was so different from the one she had known…it took time for her to adjust before she truly opened her heart to me.” His words were like a soothing balm on the raw wound her rejection had left behind.

“I might find it more encouraging if I was sure I might yet see her again.” Alec frowned slightly as Marcus pushed to his feet.

“There will be opportunity enough to visit her yet, you might yet be surprised.” He answered, floating from the room like dust on the wind. Alec stared at the door, his mind mulling over the cryptic message before the briefest hint of a smile twitched his lips upward. Hope was a beautiful thing, and it only grew in his chest as Aro deployed them to Seattle not a day later to deal with a mess created by a gaggle of newborns. When stressed, vampires did not fidget but rather became motionless and immobile, but while he sat rigid as stone in his seat for the flight over his mind became restless. Where would he find her in this city? If Marcus’s cryptic message had been for him then surely he knew he would find Y/N here? Demetri’s hand on his arm made him pause before he stepped off of the jet.

“She’s in the city Alec, if you need a guide.” His voice was low enough nobody but him would hear him. Alec fully planned to take him up on the offer once their work for the night was done, it wasn’t often the tracker was rendered unnecessary, but Alec didn’t need Demetri’s gift to know when he had found her.

Her sobbing was ingrained in his memory after all.

The rage that built in him was blinding, his body unable to move fast enough to put himself between Y/N and the newborns dragging her mangled body from the wreckage of a car they had flipped. All around him was the screaming and snarling of newborns, the metallic screech of hardened skin coming apart as they put an end to the atrocity. His mist had exploded outward, rippling in every direction and he had only just enough sense of mind to ensure it didn’t harm his coven mates as he tore apart the newborns who had dared lay a hand on his mate. Chest heaving and throat blazing, Alec felt the blood on the ground soak his trousers as he collapsed beside her. She was screaming, body contorting in awful ways as her face turned red, veins popping in her neck as it strained. Alec placed a cool hand shakily on her forehead, beyond furious with the grotesque bitemark marring her shoulder.

“What were you thinking brother! Now that we have destroyed this group we – we…oh…oh Alec…” the rage that simmered in Jane’s voice very quickly dissipated when she saw the state he was in. His head was swimming, the appealing scent of blood hanging heavy in the air while his gut twisted and fury and terror raged war in his heart. She was turning, there was no doubt about it, the venom was leaking out of the wound with her blood. She was turning and it wasn’t his venom.

“I – I can take away the pain.” He stammered. He had wanted someone to do that for him when he burned. It was the greatest act of mercy he could think of, perhaps the greatest way for him to show his love for a girl he barely knew but wanted to oh so badly.

“You will starve yourself before she completes the transformation. There is hardly enough venom in that bite Alec.” Felix pointed out. Y/N let out another tortured shriek, body twisting. He heard the broken bones in her legs crunching at the movement and said a silent prayer to thank whatever deity was watching over her that the venom was excruciating enough she wouldn’t have to feel broken bones on top of it.

“So what do I do? Leave her like this? She’s in agony!” he snapped, “She’s in agony and I can end it!”

“It is a natural thing brother.” Jane said quietly.

“But it does not have to be endured forever.” Demetri weighed in finally, “Give her some more Alec, shorten the process and if you find yourself unable to stop…well, we will stop you.” Alec could only give her an anguished stare, loathe to cause her anymore pain but knowing Demetri was right. The longer the change dragged on for the less likely it was she would survive, but if he bit her again, gave her more of his venom to override what little was already diffusing through her blood, it would shorten the process considerably. He could already feel the acidic liquid pooling in his mouth and he hoped she could see just how apologetic he was, though he didn’t think it likely given how her eyes had rolled back into her head as she convulsed with a shout.

“Stop me Jane, forget our oath this one time and do whatever it takes to stop me.” He demanded. Jane looked horrified by the very thought but Alec didn’t wait for her to consent to his plea, cradling Y/N close and closing his eyes as he bared his teeth, ready to bite into the buttersoft sinews of her throat…

“What are you thinking about so hard?” her voice was melodic in his ears, a symphony he never grew tired of. Startled from his reverie, Alec had to pause a moment to gather his thoughts and remind himself where he was. Volterra was bathed in sunshine once more and his skin refracted it beautifully against the walls of the garden, the book in his lap long since discarded as his mind began to wonder. It had been a while, since he’d recalled that fateful night.

“You’re back,” he noted with a small smile, “I was thinking about you of course, as I always do when you’re not around.” Her smile could have lit up New York city, and Alec adored it. Y/N hadn’t been happy upon waking up in Volterra, Alec by her side as he quietly explained she had been made immortal in desperate circumstances. It had taken her many months to get over the traumatic incident but since she had started to bounce back to her old self, Alec had discovered a rather beautiful, happy person he really rather liked. Since she had been forced to spend so much time with him, letting him coach her in the new way of life she had to adopt, she had taken quite a liking to him to it seemed.

“You should be proud of me, I got to the nomad before Demetri so we all got to come home sooner. You should have seen his face!” She giggled. Alec couldn’t help but smirk, smug and proud as he pulled her down to rest between his legs, back pressed flush to his chest. Her scent dragged him under, a tranquil wave settling those restless parts of him that recognised how incomplete he felt without her around. He buried his nose in her hair to take a deep lungful of the addictive smell.

“I’m always proud of you.” He promised softly.

“Have you just been reading all the time we’ve been gone?” she wondered. Alec hummed, picking up the book he had discarded and reopening to the page he was on.

“It was the one you recommended to me. I’ve just gotten to the chapter where Sephy realises Callum is one of her kidnappers.” He revealed, and without hesitation he dropped his cheek atop her hair and began to read aloud. She melted into him, her hands mindlessly reaching for the ground every now and then while Alec focused his energy on his book, the peaceful atmosphere remaining unbroken for a chapter more before she shifted. He relinquished her immediately, knowing his mate was never one to stay still for too long, only to be surprised when she turned on her knees with a ring of daisies in her hand. Alec raised an eyebrow and she grinned.

“I hereby declare you King Alec of Castle Volterra!” she announced. The daisy crown was placed daintly atop his head, only to fall and get stuck on the bridge of his nose. Too big to be a crown but too small to be a necklace. Her face fell into a pout as Alec began to laugh, very gently rearranging the daisies so they rested at an angle and were slightly weighted down by some of his brunette hair.

“I, King Alec, declare I cannot rule without you, Queen Y/N,” he proclaimed, offering her his hand. She giggled as he pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. She was forever going to be shorter than him, just a little, and he loved that. “Now, as our first royal duty, that dye you ordered came. I decree it’s time to give our guard matching uniforms!” He was bolstered by her obvious enthusiasm, crimson eyes sparkling.

“It came? The neon green one?” she asked eagerly. Alec nodded, unable to keep his laughter at bay as she bounced up and kissed him so quickly she almost broke his teeth with the speed she moved at. He didn’t get to voice his protest because she was already dragging him by the hand back towards the castle. Before he had met her, schemes like this would have made his nose turn up in distaste. How childish these endeavours were, how wasteful of their time. Y/N had changed his perspective on a great many things, and it was rather nice now and then to give into the childish ways his physical age demanded he give in to every now and then, he had gotten so good at repressing those throughout the centuries but she seemed to bring out the playful side of him. If anything had managed to convince Jane she was a good addition to their family, it was tallying how much more Alec had smiled since she came into his life to stay.

“I can pilfer the shirts, they’re far less likely to suspect I am up to any wrong doing than if they smell you in their rooms.” Alec pointed out in hushed tones. She nodded, her head tilted up as they walked close together, co-conspirators to anyone looking in.

“Okay, you steal the shirts while I mix the-“

“Mix the what, exactly?” Demetri’s voice came from behind them and with wide eyes Y/N yelled ‘Scatter!’ before the tracker had the chance to grab either of them by the collar. Alec bolted after her down the corridor, just ever so slightly lagging behind her since she still had her newborn strength and speed. She grabbed his wrist without warning and Alec felt Demetri’s hand swipe right through his head before she tugged him straight through a wall and they began to freefall into the courtyard below. Demetri was cursing up a storm inside, her gift having turned them both immaterial long enough to allow them to pass through the walls in a way he couldn’t. Collapsing in a fit of boisterous laughter the pair lingered in the sunlight, eyes bright and smiles wide. For a moment, anyone passing them by might have forgotten their glittering skin and vibrant red eyes, mistaking them for two normal teens experiencing the euphoria of puppy love.

“Did you see his face!” she gasped. Alec could only smile at her, hand reaching to tuck a lock of stray hair behind her ear so he could have an unobstructed view of her face. Her smile faded slightly, expression growing more sheepish instead.

“I was too busy looking at yours. I think I would like to spend every day I have looking at your face over his. I love you Y/N, at least, I think this is what love feels like.” His brows furrowed, the confession falling from his tongue without his permission. He wondered if perhaps it was too soon, too big a word to label the affection they held for one another, but seeing the way her face lit up told him otherwise.

“Pinky swear it, Alec. If you don’t pinky swear it’s not real.” She said, holding out her hand. Alec rolled his eyes but looped his pinky through hers, cementing his promise with all the binding legality the pinky swear had to offer.

“I swear it Y/N. I’m forever yours.”

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