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buildmeafairytale · 3 years

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Female Reader x Male Selkie

This is my very first commission! I was commissioned by @shy-basementchild for a birthday present for her friend, @anjhope1. They’re the sweetest and I’m so glad I got to write this for them! It was fun to write and a new experience to write for someone other than myself. I hope you guys enjoy reading it and if anyone is interested in a commission or monster match, my ko-fi is here.

You leave your house in the afternoon and the cool air is nothing but a familiar comfort under the layers you have on. Like most days, the rocky beach beckons you to its shore. You manuvare the cliffs like you’ve done it a thousand times. You probably have by now. This place has been home for a while now. The town is more of a small fishing village but there’s a touristy block that has lots of shops that you frequent. It’s a cold and rainy place, but it just makes your house feel all the cozier for it.

The beach is even colder, with the chill turning your nose rosie. You breathe in the crisp air, relishing in the way it stings your lungs. You gaze out towards the rolling waves only to see what looks like a head poking out of the water. It’s foggy and far enough away that you convince yourself it’s a seal, not dwelling on it while you take your walk.

You’ve established a routine in this seaside village. You do a bit of freelance work in the mornings and leave the afternoons for your adventuring, finding the best coffee spots and shops in town. But the beach is your favorite by far. From the way the rocks crunch under your foot to the rhythmic sounds of the waves lapping the shore, this was your happy place.

The next day is quite the same. You walk your beach, picking up stray bits of trash you find. This time when you look out to the ocean, the head that pops up looks much more like a man’s than a seal. Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t tear your eyes away. He’s still so far away, bobbing along with the waves and seemingly staring right back at you. And then he’s gone, just as quickly as he was there. As you walk the hair on the back of your neck prickles. You feel like you’re being watched but every time you turn to look no one is there.

This goes on, but the next few times he seems to get closer. It takes some time to come to terms with the fact your mind isn’t playing tricks on you, but by the time he’s closer to the shore you can no longer deny it. You wave and he just tilts his head and stares. You’re confused and unsure about things, and feel a bit crazy. You wonder if the fishermen working the docks would know anything about the mysterious man in the water so you make a trip down there

The docks are several miles up the beach, and you always make a point to avoid it. It’s bustling with people going between boats emptying lobster traps and the air smells like fish. You're nervous and watching your feet, making sure you don’t misstep on the slippery wood underneath you. You feel like everyone is looking at you but hardly anyone has seemed to bat an eye at your presence, all of them too busy to worry about you. You keep scanning the crowd in hopes of finding someone to ask about your man in the water. You’re ready to give up when you lock eyes with a man. A man you would recognize anywhere, since you’ve seen him everyday floating in the waves.

He is a presence and something to behold. He sits high up on a fishing barrel and his feet are still firmly planted on the ground. Muscular legs connect to a thick middle wrapped in a classic fisherman’s sweater. Long chestnut hair is tied back from his face and he holds a knife and apple in his hands. You stare and he raises his hand in greeting. The noise of the docks retreats to a buzzing in the back of your mind and you hold your breath. Time stands still and butterflies build before you're being bumped into by busy workers. The spell is broken and you rush out apologies for being in the way. You turn and leave as quickly as you came, having even more questions than when you arrived.

The next day you’re at your beach early with a book to occupy your time. You decide to stay there until you get some answers. You’re comfortable waiting and hope maybe he’ll come say hello. The grey eyes haunt you every time you close your own and you are restless. Was he some sort of creep, watching you from the water? He certainly didn’t look like the type to spy on women. He didn’t look like the type that would have to, gosh. Not that his good looks automatically made him trustworthy, but they certainly lowered your inhibitions.

While you were lost in thought of the handsome stranger, he had materialized in the sea not a hundred feet away from you. It startled you, but you waved anyway.

“Hi!” you yell out, tired of the voiceless staring contest that has been occurring. His lips twitch and he echoes your sentiment.

“Hi there,” he calls back, bobbing in the water.

“Isn’t it a bit too cold to swim?”

“A bit too cold for you, maybe,” he observes, his voice amused and carrying without strain despite the sound of the crashing waves.

You don’t know how to respond to this and the conversation fades when he dips under the surface, popping up a few feet away from where he was. His movements in the water are graceful and he swims in little laps not far from you. His upper body is bare to you above the black water, and he is thick corded muscle under a layer of softness that makes you want to touch him. He says nothing else to you but he doesn’t protest to your eyes on him. He seems content to be in your company and it isn’t for another while that he swims away and around the side of a cliff face, waving goodbye at you. You lose sight of him and while part of you is worried, the other part of you knows he must do this often and is obviously a practiced swimmer.

He’s there before you the next day and chattier too. He tells you his name is Aegis and asks you for yours. He asks what you do for work and how you like living in the small town. You tell him about your house up on the cliff and how much you love it. For how brooding and intimidating you first had found him, he was quickly becoming a friend. The conversation flowed easily and was comfortable, the two of you bantering a bit too.

“There’s so much beach, too. I love to see the water.”

“Not much to do besides sit at the beach, yeah?”

You shrug, “I like it here, it’s quiet. Or used to be, not that I oppose the company,” you jest at him, watching him take it all in stride.

“I’d hope not,” he flashes you a grin, “can’t have my beach buddy getting sick of me so soon.”

You give him a goofy grin back, trying to tamper down the butterflies growing in your stomach. You sit closer to him and the water, finding a comfortable seat on a washed up driftwood tree. “Maybe when it warms up I’ll join you for a swim,” you speak softly, picking at shells and rocks you like. You squeal when cold water splashes you, Aegis laughing when he has your attention.

“You ass!” you squeal out, going to splash him back. He bobs under the water again to evade you, an unmistakable grin stretched across his face. Your hand goes in the water to splash him back but it’s so cold it hurts and stings at your skin. That snaps you out of your playful game, and when Aegis comes up and sees the serious look in your eyes he tilts his head.

“What’s that look for?”

“Aegis, seriously, how the hell are you okay to swim? You aren't even wearing a wetsuit!. I don’t know how you don’t get hypothermia! ” You’re concerned and can’t help but reprimand him, unsure how he manages to not even have red skin from the water.

“I guess I’m just built different, lovely,” he says with an easy smile, leaning into a backstroke.

“Oh, built to withstand freezing cold water? Yeah, you’re different all right,” you tease back, retreating out of the water’s reach.

Things go on like this for days and the two of you get familiar with each other’s schedules, seamlessly working into the other’s routine. Aegis seems down today though, and he doesn't hesitate to inform you why.

“I have to go on a charter for a few days. I won’t be back until Tuesday,” he pouts, his pillowy lips exaggerated. You try not to let them distract you too much but he smirks like he notices you looking. You play along, pouting back.

“Aw, you’re gonna miss me too much?” you tease, despite knowing the next several days without him aren’t going to be as fun.

“Desperately,” he says back, in an all too serious way that makes your heart race. He winks and grins, dispelling the intensity and turning things playful again, something he seemed greatly skilled at. He flirts in jokes but never leaves any tension or pressure lingering which you were grateful for.

The days he is gone feel as if they last forever. It’s silly, really, how fond you’ve grown of him in such a short amount of time. You avoid the beach completely while he’s gone, knowing it will just make you miss your friend even more. Despite the way the time crawls by, though, Tuesday morning eventually comes around.

Something shocking greets you when you arrive at your beach that day. Aegis is there, but is perched on a large flat boulder. Instead of the thick legs you saw filling his jeans like you did on the docks, his lower half is that of a seal. It’s longer than his legs would be and heavy with blubber. He studies your reaction and you’re fascinated. You’ve heard talk of selkies before, the legend being popular in this part of the country, but you hardly thought you would see one in real life.

You try to look less confused than you are, not wanting to hurt aegis with an adverse reaction. You can feel his eyes on you, watching you watch him.

“Uh, hi?” you say to him, getting a calculating ‘hello’ back.

You nod to yourself while looking at him, “Okay, this makes sense? This is a better explanation than I had, at least.”

“Trying to rationalize my swimming habits, lovely?”

“Trying to rationalize you, lovely.” you toss back, feeling better when the same devious grin he’s worn around you makes an appearance. It’s still Aegis, and this is who he is. Or part of him, apparently.

“I wanted to show you, but I have a rule, lovely.”

“Rule?” you ask him, confused.

“Yes, a rule. Humans have taken advantage of my kind far too many times. So if I’m showing you this, and I’m going to keep coming back to see you, I need you to listen to me,” he tells you, full intensity focused on you. He goes on to explain the history of his people, the power of the sealskin, and the way humans would steal them to control selkies. He tells you in the past someone tried to steal his sealskin, but he could feel their intentions and replaced it with a fake, catching them in the act. These stories obviously pain him, and hearing about the kind selkies being taken advantage of in such a way is enough to make your heart clench.

“Never touch my sealskin.” He says, informing you of his rule.

“I would never,” you vow, throat tight with emotion. He nods at you, and then smiles. “Well come on then, out with the questions.” He doesn’t have to ask you twice, beckoning you close. You sit by him and let the questions start. They pour out of your lips and he answers them readily with a gleam in his eyes.

You’ve never been this close to him and you really soak in his appearance. His tail is mottled with creamy spots and patches, reminding you a little of your own birthmark. His lower half looks so soft and squishy but you know it must be powerful. Hair dusts his chest and other human skin, the curls making you want to run your hands over them.

It feels like some beautiful dream. You thank him for sharing this part of him with you and head home for the day, but as soon as you’re inside you're doubting that it really happened. But it did, and you see him again and again, each time feeling less like a daydream and more like a wonderful and magical reality.

“Your hair is going to get so tangled like that,” you tell him one day as he swims, watching his hair trail after him in the water. You wince in sympathy when you imagine him picking out the knots.

He grunts, “You’re telling me, I go through so much conditioner getting the knots out,” he responds, peeved.

“Well swimming with it down would do that! Why don’t you let me braid it?” you offer, instantly regretting it. The thought of sitting that close to him, of feeling the heat off of his skin as you run your hands through his hair is enough to make you feel light headed. Say no thanks, you think, unsure how you’ll handle this. Of course, he readily agrees.

“Okay,” he smiles, and you turn to let him get out of his sealskin and cover up. He sits in front of you and his shoulders part your thick thighs. You pick up his hair and it’s a matted mess. You don’t feel like running up to your house to get any tools so you slowly part the tangles with your fingers.

“It’s a knotted mess, Aegis,” you scold, trying not to hurt his scalp. He whines and exaggerates his wincing, acting as if you’re wounding him. “Big baby,” you mutter, sectioning off chunks with your hands. By the time it’s braided and secured with your extra tie the sun is going down. He’s slumped against you, sleepy.

“It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow, pretty girl. Swim with me?” he asks, voice slurred. You’re hesitant, not because you don’t trust him, but you’re a bit embarrassed about the idea of him seeing so much of your body.

“I have a birthmark,” you mutter, not looking at him. He turns and frowns at you with his forehead scrunched.

“Okay, and? You don’t owe me anything, but you know I have a literal tail right?”

“Oh what, you showed me yours and now I show you mine?” you giggle at him.

“I don’t think I’ve shown you anything yet,” he winks at you, flirting back while he gets up. The two of you get ready to leave your beach, packing things away. Aegis grabs his sealskin, but instead of putting it on he neatly folds it. “Would you give me a ride home? If you don’t mind, I mean. All dried off and I don't want to get in again.”

“Of course, just let me get my keys.”

The drive is quiet and comfortable, and his house isn’t far. To be fair though, nothing in this town is very far. When you pull into his driveway he leans over and kisses you on the cheek, eliciting a small gasp from you.

“Goodnight, sweet girl,” he tells you, an easy smile on his face. You feel your own heat up and you mumble back a goodnight. Your cheek tingles with his kiss your whole drive home.

In the morning you’re there earlier than normal and in your bathing suit trying not to look nervous about his reaction. Your birthmark stretches across and over a great deal of your skin, and while a lot of people assure you that it is unique and beautiful, you have been ridiculed plenty for it in the past. It makes you nervous to show new people and you only reveal it to those you trust. But you trust Aegis and he obviously trusts you too.

It’s as if Aegis can sense your nerves because he doesn’t make you wait long and talks you into the water right away. He compliments you but doesn’t linger or talk about your birthmark, only pulling you in the water with him. The cold has you sucking in air and your nipples pebbling in your swimsuit but Aegis pulls you close. The heat coming off of his body works to warm you, making the swim much more doable.

“You’re not luring me out into the ocean to drown me or anything, right?” you ask, legs bumping into his tail.

“I’m a selkie, not a siren,” he tsks, “we’re much nicer, I might just dunk you a few times,” he retorts, swimming further out.

“Um, are there sharks out here?” you ask him, suddenly aware of how far you are from shore.

“I’ve never had a problem with them,” he shrugs casually, doing nothing to assuage your worries.

“Sharks eat seals, ya know,” you point out to him.

“Good thing I have you here to protect me then, huh?” he teases, curling your legs around his middle. Once you’re secure, he gives a few strong thrusts of his tail and sends the two of you back closer to shore. You play in the water most of the day and go up to your house to eat. He showers and you take him home again, only after he insists you re-braid his hair.

You spend more time together and swimming with him quickly becomes the best part of your day. He kisses your cheek every time you drop him off at home too, his lips lingering more and more. The touches shared as you swim together have gotten less and less innocent as well. You find yourself falling for him and you think he likes you too, but one day the two of you reach a breaking point. You’re having a nice picnic after a long swim when things take a turn.

You reach across Aegis’s lap for the pitcher of juice, rattling on about your day, when it slips out of your hand. It spills onto his seal skin, and you don’t think you’ve ever panicked so quickly. “I’m so sorry! Oh my gosh let me clean that,” you grab towels to try to dab up your mess, picking up his seal skin in the process. Apologies keep falling from your lips but then you notice that Aegis is just staring at you with a clenched jaw. You gasp and drop the sealskin, realizing what you’ve done. As soon as it falls from your grasp, Aegis has it in his own, finally able to move to do so. He stands and starts to walk towards the shore and already has the sealskin halfway wrapped around himself before you can belt out another apology.

He wades into the water and you run to try to catch up. You get close, begging him to wait, until he finally turns to you. “I had one rule!” he barks out at you, seething. “You’re just like everyone else! How dare you!” His words are laced with venom, and you can’t help but step back as if he’s striked you. There is a block in your throat and you don’t say anything else, you only stand there and watch him leave, taking his selkie form and swimming into the depths.

Pitiful whimpering noises start to leave you, and since you’re all alone you let yourself cry. You’re ashamed you slipped up and touched his pelt, unable to get the betrayed look on his face out of your head. You’re angry at him too for not listening or giving you the benefit of the doubt, though. Some friend he was, you pout, shakily hiking up the cliffside.

You hope that Aegis will come around. The guilt is like rolling concrete in your stomach and you try to assure yourself that things will be okay. You just go through the motions to try to make yourself feel better, showering and taking your time brushing out your hair. Everytime you blink, though, his angry eyes are there, looking so accusatory back at you. It was an accident, you know you didn’t mean to, you tell yourself, wishing you could take back your mistake.

You go back to your beach the next day, hoping he’ll be there. He isn’t, and he isn’t there the next either. Or the day after that. You’re getting fed up with him avoiding you. You just want to talk things out and have your friend back, but it seems as though he is set on being stubborn about it.

You’ve been stress cooking the last few days, and when you looked to survey the damage you realize that you made most of Aegis’s favorite foods. The plan falls together then and you package it up to bring it to him at work. This could very well be crossing some boundaries but you could deal with that if it meant Aegis would forgive you.

Traversing the docks is just as nerve racking at it was the first time, this time maybe even more so since you’re carrying a hot dish with you. You duck under the arms of the people towering over you, and you finally get to the stretch of winding docks Aegis can usually be found dwelling on. And he is there, sitting right next to his boat like you expect him to be. What you don’t expect, however, is the stunning woman sitting next to him, stroking his arm in a too familiar way. She’s almost tall as he is with a scarf tied around her hair in an effortless way. You feel your heart sink into your stomach when they both turn and see you.

All of the sudden you feel ridiculous and humiliated, standing on the docks with a tupperware of food for a man who has already apparently moved on from you. You’re a deer caught in the headlights, but the woman starts to stand and smile at you. You pivot on your feet and hurry back the way you came, maneuvering through the crowd with a level of ease provided by your small stature. The whole walk home your face is burning in embarrassment. This isn't some stubborn silent treatment after a fight. You had broken his one rule and now all the romantic gestures and sweet words meant nothing.

You know there was nothing official or set in stone, hell, the two of you hadn’t even really kissed yet, but it certainly felt like things were leading that way. Your eyes burn when you think of the way his lips lingered on your cheeks and the way he let you wrap yourself around him in the water. You think of him doing those things with another woman and feel sick to your stomach. You enjoyed life just fine before you met him, and you tell yourself you will enjoy life just the same now that he wants nothing to do with you. It was an obvious lie, especially to yourself. You cry when you reach the safety of your home, wrapping yourself in a nest of blankets you refuse to leave.

You eventually have to leave though, just to get some fresh air and try to shock yourself into feeling better. Instead of walking your shore, you end up at one of the cliffs looking down on the water. You don’t stray too close to the edge in fear of the height but it still provides you a great view of the ocean. You sit and watch the waves crash against the rocks below.

While you’re up there, you hear a car sputtering in the distance. You watch it get close and pull into your driveway and out steps one of the friends you made in town. His name is Jamie, and he works at the touristy coffee shop you frequent. “Hey!” he waves, walking over to you on gangly legs. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by, you’re always gushing about this place and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he tells you, giving you a boyish grin. He’s sweet and you don’t mind him joining you.

It feels good to reclaim your beach like this, hanging out with a new friend. Jamie is nice and genuine and has no rules to follow when it comes to your relationship with him. He feels safe and easy. After the first day he comes by, you don’t expect him to come back. But he does, he comes back again with your favorite drink order in hand. “I got your usual,” he tells you, a bright smile on his face when you open your door to him.

“Aw thanks, you didn’t have to do that!” you tell him, excited and flattered by the gesture. He just shrugs and smiles at you more, scratching at the back of his neck. “Let me just get my coat,” you say, ready for another walk on the beach. He is too, and you spend the day rattling on to one another. He’s a little awkward and it makes you feel awkward too, but it’s more endearing than anything. You can’t help that your gaze keeps wandering out to the sea, waiting to see Aegis between the waves. You don’t, though, even if you think you feel his eyes on you.

“You okay?”

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, “Sorry,” you smile, “just daydreaming a bit is all.” Daydreaming about your days here spent with Aegis, the sun shining in his ocean grey eyes. You miss him and wish things had ended differently.

Jamie sits on a rock and you follow his lead, getting comfortable and enjoying the rare moment of sunshine. Jamie suddenly clears his throat next to you, catching your attention. “Would you,” he sputters on, his cheeks pink, “would you want to go on a date sometime? I’d really love to take you on one.” Your heart is pounding and ears are ringing. This sort of thing always makes you anxious but you’re stopped before you’re able to respond.

“No.”

A firm and angry voice sounds from behind you. If you thought you were nervous before, it was nothing compared to this. Jamie’s gaze is locked above your head and he looks confused.

“Uh, I wasn’t asking you?”

“She will not be going on a date with you. I’d say sorry but I’m not,” Aegis snaps out, and you stop yourself from turning to look at him.

“Aegis, what the fuck?” The woman from before is there too then, and you finally look at them. They’re both dripping wet and carrying seal skins. The woman is a selkie too, then. Your heart drops and it makes sense he would rather be with her. She was gorgeous and surely easier to trust than a human.

“I’m so sorry for my brother’s behavior,” she scowls, “he can be a real dickhead sometimes.”

“Brother?” you ask, shock lacing your voice. Aegis and his sister snap their attention to you, then, and his face morphs from a mask of fury to one of understanding and sadness. He comes closer after a pause.

“Yes, sweet girl, my sister. You thought the worst of me, yeah?”

Jamie chimes in “Uh, sweet girl?” he asks “Oh! Oh shoot, sorry, gosh, sorry I thought you were single.” Jamie looks at you though, and sees your red cheeks and your inability to form a response and comes to your aid. “Actually, do you want to go home? You look uncomfortable.” You just nod and get your things, grateful to have a friend like him.

“Yeah, I think I should head home. Um, I’ll talk to you later Jamie. Nice to meet you, by the way,” you say, polite and looking at Aegis’s sister.

“Were you...swimming? It’s freezing!” is the last thing you hear Jamie say before you’re rushing away.

Aegis tails you to your house, pleading with you. “Please, at least let me talk to you,” he begs, desperation clear in his voice. You’re out of breath from your quick ascent up from the beach and too flustered and embarrassed to talk to him. You’re angry that he thinks he could ignore you after blowing up on you and then come back acting like he had some sort of claim on you.

“Not now,” is all you manage to say.

“Aegis! For fucks sake, leave her be!” his sister yells out, and you’re grateful for the intervening. You head inside your house and leave the rest of them outside. Jamie leaves and Aegis and his sister head back down towards the water, likely leaving the same way they came. Aegis looks back several times, catching your eye in the window. I’ll talk to him soon, you think. Just not right now, not until you sort out the mess of feelings you have.

You can’t help but be conflicted. Seeing Aegis standing there dripping wet and all possessive over you stirred your desire. You have to remind yourself to be angry and stand your ground. He needs to learn how to communicate, not just act like a neanderthal and manage to win you back based on sheer attractiveness. His words still stung and he had lots of making up to do.

As you busy yourself in your home, you see dark clouds gathering through your window. You turn on the local news and it looks like a bad storm is set to ravage your town. You’re nervous. You knew the rainy season could be bad here but the locals often discussed the occasional hurricane-eske storms that tear through. You are unsure how well your home will hold up. You try to secure what you can and get ready to hunker down for a while.

Sure enough, thunder starts to rumble. It’s deep and shakes the earth beneath you. The wind and rain howl outside and you pray your generator holds up. You entertain yourself for a bit, curled up watching a movie, but soon enough the weather is too bad to concentrate on anything else. When an especially loud bout of thunder hits you start to feel panicky. It rattles your windows and you make a point to stay away from them. They rattle so loudly that you almost miss the pounding on your door.

Almost, though. When you realize someone is knocking your heart beats even faster. You pick up the closest thing you could use as a weapon, unsure who could be here. You peek through and see Aegis standing outside, soaked to the bone. You’re relieved that it’s him, but not entirely happy he’s here. You wrench the door open and allow him in, the wind promptly slamming the door back into place. He settles onto a stool and you stay on the opposite side of the room, occupying yourself with looking outside.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he explains, and you nod. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to touch it, Aegis. I really didn’t! And you know that and still left,” you manage to get out past the knot in your throat.

“Aye, I know. I made a mistake, I got angry.” His voice gets softer, “I got scared, my sweet girl.”

You sniffle and look away, annoyed at the effect he has on you. He crumbles down your walls one word at a time.

“I was stupid and didn’t know what to do. My sister had to come talk some sense into me.”

“I didn’t think she was your sister,” you mumble and he nods, giving you a watery smile.

“I’m sorry for that, too. After I saw you with that man on the beach I was so angry. She reminded me I had no right to be, I had no claim on you. I didn’t like hearing that,” he says. He stands then, eyes locked on your own.

You are on the other side of the room, backed up against your wall. As if the space between you could stop the pull of your heart. Your eyes are wide and flooded over and you don’t care to hold your tears back anymore. He walks towards you and he holds his sealskin in his hands. The closer he gets to you, the more you can feel your knees buckling. You feel them lock right as Aegis locks an arm around your waist, wrapping his seal skin over your shoulders at the same moment. When the pelt brushes against your skin and envelops you in its warmth, you feel more at peace than you have in days. It is like Aegis’s very being is intertwining around yours. His essence permeates through your skin and curls around your cells, and you relish it and relax into his hold. You knew the sealskin had magic to it but you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.

“What-what are you doing?” you whimper out, making no move to stop him.

“I want you to know I trust you. I want you to trust me too. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, sweet girl,” he says. “After my tantrum and being away from you, I realized I’d give you my damn sealskin if it meant I could be yours.” He wipes away your stray tears and brushes your hair out of your face, gentling you. “Shhh, I’ve got you. No more crying, not because of me,” he pleads.

“O-okay,” you reply, wobbly and unsure what else to say. The euphoric feeling of his sealskin is still lingering and you know he’s speaking the truth to you.

“My love,” he cooes, “won’t you let me earn your forgiveness?”

You sniffle and nod, stretching toward him for a kiss, a real one. He obliges you, his bearch a scratchy comfort to your flushed skin, grounding you. He tastes like salt and wind, his kiss flavored by the sea. It’s chaste but perfect and when lightning strikes and sounds you break away from his lips only to curl further into his arms. A fearful noise escapes you and you bury your face into his neck. His hands rub your back and you take some deep breaths. If your house has lasted this long then it’ll be okay. You’re safe in his arms with his sealskin warm around you.

You pull back, intent on kissing him more thoroughly this time. He is eager too and pulls you flush against him. He pulls you away from the wall and shuffles you onto the couch, not allowing a centimeter space to form between your bodies. You kiss him over and over, soft moans leaving you every time his lips mould to your own. His hands find your skin under your sweater and you are eager for more, burying your own in his hair. .

“Let me lay you down,” he says, “let me show you how much I missed you.”

Heat has gathered between your legs and the tingling of the sealskin on your flesh feels as though it has concentrated itself there. You pinch them together and he notices, pulling a leg over his hip to grind into your center. You whimper into his mouth, his lips pulling into a smile. He strips you of your sweater and makes sure to plant kisses across your birthmark. You lose the rest of your clothes and as his hands wander, so do your own.

You tease his waistband, slowly slipping your hand inside. He rumbles a deep encouraging noise and you take him in hand. His cock is thick and heavy, pulsing in your grasp. It’s bigger than anything you’ve taken before and you aren’t sure that it’ll fit. You tell him as much, looking up at him with wide lust filled eyes.

“It’ll fit sweetheart,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the crease of your labia. “I’ll make sure you’re ready for me.”

He parts your folds and coats his fingers, your legs spreading to give him more room. He dips the tips of his fingers just barely inside of you, becoming familiar with your entrance. You aren’t good at being patient, though, and his cock is so close. You arch and moan, shifting further toward him and presenting yourself only for him to halt your movements. “Don’t tease,” you whimper out, only earning an amused laugh from your selkie.

“Alright then,” he kisses you with a smiling mouth, “no teasing,” he says, promptly thrusting two of his thick digits into you. A surprised moan is torn from your throat and he glides through your walls easily, aided by your arousal. He scissors and curls his fingers in and out, stretching you open for him and spreading around your wetness. His thumb finds you clit and your mouth falls open, making room for his tongue to tangle with your own in a sloppy kiss that makes your cunt tighten.

“Please,” you beg him, “I want you,”

“You beg so pretty,” he relents, fingers retreating after a final movement.

He places himself between your legs, bending to kiss you again as he does. He kisses your cheek too before rising back up. He presses and rubs himself between your lips, making sure he’s covered in your wetness. His hips stutter when the head of his cock meets your folds but you paw at his shoulders, wordlessly pleading with him to continue. As he splits you apart underneath him a shaky breath leaves his lips. He hilts himself and stays there for a moment, soaking in the feel of your velvet cunt pulsing around him. You tighten around him in an attempt to get him to move. You try to tilt your hips up but he grabs them, forcing them in place.

“Don’t move,” he gasps out, looking strung out above you. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed. He’s beautiful and all yours. The magic of his pelt connects the two of you on a deeper level that has you feeling floaty and out of control, but the stretch of his cock and feel of his hands ground you.

A whine leaves you and you clench down on him, hoping to spur him into action. “Fuck,” he sputters, pushing even harder into you. You can feel him so deeply and it’s impossible to tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

“Aegis,” you moan out, “move, please.” you cry out, nails digging into him. With a clenched jaw he follows your request. He retreats then pumps into you again, slowly but forcefully. His pace starts slow and he fully hilts himself inside of you each time. Your hips twitch up and the head of his cock notches against a spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling up into your head. He notices and makes a point to angle his hips toward it. Your legs turn to jello as he speeds up, snapping his legs against you. You reach down and rub your clit, Aegis encouraging you.

“You take me so well. Fucking made to be wrapped around me, weren’t you?” he says, “That’s right, take your pleasure,” he whispers, his hot breath on the shell of your ear. His words have a tightness building in your gut, the coil wrapping tighter and tighter until you cry out in release. With you cumming underneath him Aegis can’t hold back any longer. He drives into you with rhythmless thrusts and moans out above you, a high pornographic sound that has aftershocks running through you as he spills inside of you. Little jerks of his hips extend your pleasure as the two of you slowly sink together.

Aegis is twitching and cooing at you as the haze clears from your mind. He wraps his arms and legs around you, the heavy limbs tangling with your own. He nuzzles into you as content as can be. Sweat is cooling on your skin and he covers the two of you with a throw blanket, the storm outside long forgotten. Your face is peppered in kisses as you drift to sleep, his pelt still a comfort underneath you.

#Monster #monster x reader #monster lover #exophilia #exophilia creators #Selkie Boyfriend #selkie #selkie x reader #monster lemon #monster boyfriend #My writing #commission

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specialagentsergio · 4 years

Text

all we can do is keep breathing || chapter one

summary: He’s out of prison now, but your boyfriend is very much not okay. When he isn’t reinstated, he spirals down quickly, and you don’t know how to help him out of it. (or, spencer relapses post-prison and goes to rehab)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst (eventual happy ending)

content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, an overdose, substance use disorder, ptsd, mentions of suicide, mentions of/implied sex, references to sexual assault, description of a panic attack/ptsd episode. please read with caution; this content can be triggering.

a/n: honestly, i just wrote this for myself. but it was partially inspired by @zhuzhubii ‘s brilliant and heart wrenching fic i know what’s best for me (but i want you instead). mine takes a different turn, but theirs is amazing as well.

a/n 2: disclaimer that while i have both been a patient at a residential treatment center and currently work at one, i don’t have substance use disorder and we don’t treat it specifically at my current workplace. my experience is also all in adolescent centers rather than adult ones, so this won’t be entirely accurate.

word count: 8k

song: paralyzed by nf

fic masterlist || masterlist

Nothing’s been the same since Mexico.

You weren’t naïve. You hadn’t been expecting things to go right back to normal when he got home from prison. You were prepared for Spencer to struggle. And you were ready to do whatever it took to help him recover from this trauma.

But you had never expected that that dedication would lead you to here—sitting on the couch at 11 o’clock at night, tired but wide awake, waiting for him to return from god knows where. A few cardboard boxes filed with the last of his things are stacked neatly beside you.

Spencer’s six-year sobriety coin sits in your hand. You’d found it in the trash a few days after he got home. You had tried to talk him into keeping it—"you were drugged; it’s not your fault”—but he had refused, leading you to believe there was something he wasn’t telling you. But you hadn’t pushed him on it, as that would just be a surefire way to make him double down on keeping it to himself.

He didn’t want the coin, but you kept it, hidden from his sight, hoping he’d want it back someday.

Now, three months later, you weren’t sure that day was going to come.

He had managed to get by for six weeks. He’d been plagued by nightmares and suffered multiple panic attacks, but he’d pushed through the cravings, gone to all his mandated therapy appointments, and attended refresher courses on procedures and firearms. He did everything the bureau required to consider reinstating him.

The day of the meeting, Spencer had seemed a little nervous, but stable. He’d gotten a good night’s sleep, free of bad dreams, and he had given you a kiss goodbye that felt just like the ones he’d always given you before. Then he walked out the door, and you didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

You got the news from Emily. The bureau had decided not to reinstate him “at this time”. They recommended that he reapply in six months, but for now, he wouldn’t be getting his badge and gun back.

Your initial reaction had been relief. Although you had shown Spencer nothing but encouragement, you weren’t sure he would ever be ready to go back, let alone so soon. You didn’t even know why he was reapplying. He’d worked for them for over a decade and become a well-respected agent, but when he needed help, the bureau had abandoned him and refused to help him prove his innocence. You had been so furious you could barely speak when JJ told you their decision.

Spencer didn’t share your sentiment—or if he did, he didn’t want to face it. On some level, you understood. The BAU was his home before you were, and you could imagine that after the chaos of the last three months, he desperately wanted his life to just go back to normal. So even though you weren’t sure that this was the best decision for him to make—especially since he seemed to have barely thought about it at all—you’d supported him. Whatever he needed, right?

You tried calling him after talking to Emily, but he didn’t answer. It didn’t worry you too much at first—Spencer often needed space to process things on his own before talking about it. You wouldn’t be able to have a proper conversation until you were off work anyways.

It was around six when the anxiety kicked in. You’d tried calling him a few more times throughout the day to no avail. You hadn’t even gotten a text back. Then you started getting messages from his team, asking how he was doing and if he was okay. They hadn’t heard from him either.

When you’d gotten home, you had immediately looked to the chair Spencer always left his bag on. It was empty. You’d looked through all the rooms anyways, trying to ignore what your gut was telling you he was off doing.

It was a few more hours before he stumbled through the front door, his eyes glassy and footing unstable. You stood in front of him, putting your hands on his upper arms to keep him steady. When he had caught your eyes, he had started to cry.

He’d been more or less inconsolable for the rest of the night, blubbering out apologies as you guided him through the motions of getting into bed. He’d clung to you and you’d murmured reassurances against his skin and into his hair that you still loved him, that you didn’t think any less of him, that he would be okay. You had truly thought he would be at the time.

But he wasn’t okay, not at all. He quickly became stuck in a cycle of using, promising it was the last time, staying clean for a little while, then relapsing. You had pleaded with him to get help, but he’d become... aggressive when you suggested inpatient treatment.

“Don’t ever say that,” he’d snarled. “I’m not my mother.”

Then later that same night, he had crawled into bed next to you at 2 AM, curled up against your side, and begged in a trembling voice, “please don’t send me away.”

You haven’t had the courage to bring it up again until now.

Four days ago, you hit your breaking point. You’d come home from work and found him limp on the couch, barely breathing, a syringe and little glass vial next to him. You’d dialed 911 as you ran into the bedroom, yanked open your bedside table, and pulled out the auto injectable dose of Narcan you’d acquired a few weeks ago just in case. Thanks to that, Spencer was conscious again by the time the EMTs arrived. He resisted being taken to the ER, alternating between scowling at them and looking at you with pleading eyes.

But you didn’t give in. When he had checked himself out of the hospital an hour later (you had refused to do it for him), you had driven him home, but the entire time you were formulating a plan. You’d realized that you were padding his rock bottom, and you couldn’t do it anymore.

So now here you are, waiting on the couch. You hope it will work this time. About a month ago you had tried staging an intervention with his team, but as soon as he saw them, he’d walked right back out of the room and you hadn’t seen him again for nearly two days.

It’s another hour before he arrives home, and it takes his drug-fogged mind a full minute to process what he’s seeing. His voice is hoarse when he asks, “You’re leaving?”

“No,” you reply. “You are.”

Spencer sways slightly on his feet as he thinks. “You’re kicking me out,” he realizes.

You try to ignore the prick of tears in your eyes and focus on keeping your voice steady. “Yes. I am.”

His bottom lip starts to tremble. “You... you can’t do this,” he whispers.

“No, I can,” you say. You take a deep breath before you continue. “But more than that, I have to.”

For the first time in months, Spencer doesn’t try and hide his tears from you. He cries openly. His back hits the wall and he slides down it, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It’s unbelievably hard to watch.

You stand and approach him cautiously, almost as if he’s an animal that you don’t want to spook, reaching into your back pocket and holding out a keycard. “I booked you a room for the night at that motel a few streets over, so you can... sleep it off. But after that, you’re on your own.”

He looks up at you with those big brown eyes that you love so much, but they don’t look like they used to. Now they’re bloodshot and his pupils are pinpricks. “(Y/N), please, please don’t do this,” he whimpers. “Please, this is the last time. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

You just shake your head. His words are nothing new. “Your car is already in the parking lot there with the rest of your things.”

It’s like a switch flips, his broken expression contorting into a glare. “Fine,” he practically growls. He pushes your hand away and staggers to his feet. “I don’t want that shitty motel room. I’ll just go stay with JJ. She actually cares about me.”

You expected him to lash out like this, but the words still sting. “You really think JJ’s going to let you be around her boys like this?” you ask quietly.

The anger on his face is offset some by the tears and snot still running down it.. And you know he knows that you’re right. “So this is it, huh?” he says coldly, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “Six years together, all we’ve been through. It’s just over now.”

You retreat back to the couch, placing the keycard on top of the boxes. “That’s actually up to you.”

His laugh is derisive. “You could have fooled me!”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I don’t want this to be permanent. You can stay now, or come back, on one condition.”

Spencer folds his arms over his chest defensively. “Which is?”

“You have to agree to check into a treatment center.”

The look of betrayal on his face breaks your heart. Tears spill out of your eyes before you can stop them; you swipe them away and take a deep breath to try and hold the rest of them off.

It’s a while before he speaks again, and his voice is quiet when he does. “How can you say that.” It’s not a question.

“It’s what you need, Spencer,” you answer. “You’re not coping with what happened to you. Not just prison, everything that’s happening to your mom, too—”

“Don’t talk about my mother!”

You flinch. He’s never raised his voice at you before. It’s the drugs, you try to remind yourself. It’s just the drugs, he doesn’t really mean it.

He storms forward and you scurry out of the way on instinct. He scoffs. “What, you think I’m going to hurt you?”

“You’re scaring me right now,” you admit quietly.

Spencer tries to cover up the hurt with a scowl, but you can still see it in his eyes. “You really think that little of me?”

You open your mouth to speak, then close it again. You don’t know what to say. Spencer would never hurt you, you know that without a doubt. But the Spencer you know, the man you fell in love with... he’s not the same person when he’s using. And with how high and emotional he is right now, you don’t know what to expect. “I... I don’t know anymore, Spencer,” you answer honestly.

He shrugs. “Maybe you’re right to think that. I did some awful things in there, you know.” He says it matter-of-factly, but you recognize it as a glimpse of one of the things he’s using the drugs to escape from, one of the things he won’t talk about.

He gathers up the boxes in his arms; you pretend not to notice him pocketing the keycard. You’re worried about him carrying them safely in his current state and almost reach out to steady him before recognizing from the tension in his shoulders that touching him right now will only make things worse.

He stops at the door and you hurry to open it for him. “I really believed you loved me, you know,” he whispers, the anger falling off of his face.

The words are like a blow to the stomach; it knocks the breath out of your lungs. “I do,” you choke out. “I do love you.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head and walks out the door.

He doesn’t look back.

---

It’s been the longest two weeks of your life.

You haven’t heard from Spencer since the night he left. You weren’t expecting him to come around to the idea of rehab quickly, but you thought he might try and call you within a few days and try to talk his way out of the hole he’d found himself in.

He didn’t.

All you could do was wait, and hope that that night wasn’t going to end up being the last time you saw him alive. In a way, it was worse than it had been when he was in prison, because this time, you were the reason he was gone.

His team has mixed feelings on what you’ve done.

JJ is mad. She asks, “how could you?”, and, “you really think this will work?” You try to be patient with her—you know she’s so upset because she loves him. She already lost her older sister and now she’s scared of losing the man who’s practically her brother. But when she (perhaps unintentionally) insinuates that you did this because you’d just had enough of him, you snap, telling her she has no right to say that when you know she wouldn’t let him stay at her house while he’s using. She keeps her thoughts to herself after that.

Emily is sympathetic. She was there the first time he started using and had subsequently gotten her head bitten off when she tried to reach out and help him. “I know how hard it is to get through to him when he’s... like this. You just let me know if I can help at all.”

Luke is much the same. He’s had his own struggles with PTSD and understands the toll it takes on everyone, not just the one with it. He’s always happy to offer you some time with Roxy, because he’s right—things really do feel better when you’re petting her.

Rossi isn’t... indifferent, exactly. He just doesn’t seem to have much of an opinion one way or the other. You think it’s because he doesn’t know what an alternative would be. For all his experience in psychology, he’s unsure of how to help Spencer.

You don’t know Matt very well yet, but he’s kind to you, even going so far as to bring you a dish of his wife’s lasagna.

Penelope is an absolute angel with her warm hugs and baked goods. She keeps an eye on Spencer’s cell phone location for you, in the event that he ends up at a police precinct or hospital.

Out of everyone, you like talking to Tara the most. She’s so supportive and understanding. You feel like she’s the only one who truly knows what the past few months have been like for you. She just gets it, having lived with a partner with substance use disorder before. “You’re doing the best you can and that’s all that matters,” she tells you. She even goes to a Narcotics Anonymous family meeting with you.

It’s day fourteen without Spencer, and it doesn’t feel much different. It feels bleak. You go to work and run errands, but you only manage it because it’s habit.

You’re rinsing off your plate from dinner when there’s a knock on the door. Your heart leaps into your throat. You aren’t expecting anyone. You try—in vain—not to hope too hard as you go to answer it. It could just be someone dropping by on a whim, or, god forbid, a police officer with bad news.

Please, Spencer. Please let it be you.

When you look through the peephole, you’re unable to hold back a sob of relief. His eyes are fixed on the doormat so you can’t quite see his face, but you’d recognize that head of hair anywhere, even in its current unwashed and disheveled state. You take a few deep breaths before opening the door, for his sake. You crying all over him is likely the last thing he wants or needs.

He doesn’t look up when you open the door, and you realize he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

“Spencer,” you say softly.

It’s a few more moments before he responds. “I’ll do it,” he finally mutters; you can just barely hear him.

Your breath catches in your chest. “You’ll do what?” you ask.

He glances up then, a look of annoyance flashing across his face.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” you say, voice shaky from the effort of holding back tears. “I just... I need to hear you say it.”

He sighs and looks back down, tugging on the ends of his sleeves. “I’ll... I’ll go to... to re—rehab.”

Tension you didn’t even know you were holding in your body melts away. You step to the side. “Come in,” you whisper.

He shuffles inside. When you turn back from closing the door, he’s just standing still in the middle of the room. You get a better look at him now. His clothes are rumpled and his hair is an absolute mess, tangled and dirty. It doesn’t look like he’s had a shower or shave for at least a week—you figure he’s probably been sleeping in his car. His face is pale and his hands are trembling; as you move closer, you can see a light sheen of sweat on his face, leading you to believe that he’s currently sober and starting to experience withdrawal symptoms.

You touch his arm gently and he makes a distressed whining sound. You guide him to sit on the couch. When you sit next to him, he looks at you with teary eyes. You open your arms in an invitation and he collapses into you, bursting into tears. “’m sorry,” he stutters out between sobs. “I—I didn’ mean it. I... ‘m so s—sorry, (Y/N).”

You cry too, holding him tight against you. “I know, baby,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I know.”

---

Spencer’s mostly nonverbal for his intake process. Whether it’s by choice or not is something you’re unsure of. In a private room a few hallways away from the main ward, you’re introduced to the admissions supervisor, Susan, whose voice you recognize from the phone calls you’d made to get him into one of the beds here. You also meet Spencer’s new therapist, Lara. She has a kind face and seems to have a good sense of humor. You just hope Spencer will like her.

You’re both given paperwork to read through and sign, as he’s on your health insurance now. Naturally, he’s done with them before you’ve finished the first page. Susan is taken aback. “Oh. Um, sir, we do need you to actually read this paperwork,” she says.

Spencer folds his arms and stares down at the carpet. “I did.”

“He, uh, he can speed read,” you explain. She still looks skeptical, so you add, “I’m serious. He reread War and Peace on the drive here.”

He doesn’t talk again until everything’s in order and you’re given five minutes alone to say goodbye. “I don’t want to do this,” he whispers.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” you ask. When he nods, you pull at his arms gently until they relax and fall open, then take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I don’t want to, either. I’m so tired of being away from you. But...” You take a deep breath. “But I also don’t want to bury you. You know this is what you need, right?”

He shrugs, refusing to meet your eyes. You can’t quite tell what that means—whether he agrees but wishes that wasn’t the case, or if he’s only doing this to appease you. You hope it’s the former. While it’s a possibility that this might not work either way, you feel like that’s more likely to happen if he isn’t doing this for himself as well, if he doesn’t want to get better.

But it’s out of your hands now. All you can do is trust in the people here to take care of him and that they want what’s best for him.

You put your hand on his cheek and turn his head towards you, trying to get him to look at you. His words from that night run through your head—I really believed you loved me. When he glances up, you seize the moment.

“I love you, Spencer. So much. If there’s just one thing you can trust in right now, please let it be that,” you plead.

He sniffles and you think you see a nod from him, but you can’t be sure. And it hurts a bit—you’re not used to him not saying “I love you” back. You can’t dwell on that now, though. You’ve only got a few minutes left before you have to leave him.

You stand, pulling him up with you. “Can I hu—” you start, but you’re cut off by him lunging forward and clinging to you. You comfort him as best as you can, running one hand up and down his back and using the other to cradle the back of his head as he cries into your neck, muttering incomprehensible words against your skin.

When the door opens, his entire body tenses against you. “Spencer,” you say gently, trying to stop your voice from wavering too much. “You have to let go now.”

He doesn’t budge. If anything, he holds onto you tighter. “Baby—“ you start.

“No,” he says suddenly, his voice louder than you’ve heard it in days. “No, I can’t—I won’t—”

Before you know it, he’s twisted around to stand behind you. You open and close your mouth a few times, startled and unsure what to say. “Spencer, what—what’s wrong?”

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head. “I can’t do it again. I—I won’t.” Then he starts to rub at one of his eyes in the way you’ve seen so many times since he came home from prison and it hits you—he feels like he’s getting locked up again.

A glance at the door shows expressions of sympathy on Susan and Lara’s faces. What with the “war on drugs” sending addicts to prison, this probably isn’t the first time they’ve seen a reaction like this.

You doubt any of their previous patients were framed for murder and had their mother kidnapped by a vengeful psychopath, though.

Spencer’s entire body is trembling when you look back at him, and it’s not from the lingering withdrawal symptoms. It’s heartbreaking, but it only affirms your belief that he needs to be here. It’s clear that he can’t tolerate what he feels and what he knows without turning to self-destructive coping mechanisms.

“Take me home,” he whimpers. “Take me home, please. I want to go home.”

You swallow hard. “I can’t.”

“But they’re gonna hurt me,” he cries. “They’re gonna hurt me because I hurt them; don’t you care if I get hurt?”

You think you know what he’s talking about. You don’t know the details—Spencer wouldn’t let Emily or JJ tell you—but you do know he was hurt in prison by the other inmates. You had seen the bruises yourself. And then you’d heard that some of the inmates were poisoned. He’s a graduate chemist—you’d put it together. You don’t know why he did it, but you assume that he hadn’t had much of a choice.

“They’re not here, Spencer.” You try to stop him from scratching so hard at his eyes, but he flinches at your touch. “They’re not here; they can’t hurt you anymore,” you repeat instead.

Lara comes up to your side. “Let us take care of him, okay?”

Oh, but you don’t want to. Spencer’s so upset and you can’t bear the thought of leaving him like this, not when all you want to do is hold him and never let go. It’s what you’ve wanted since the moment he stepped out of Millburn. But isn’t this the whole point of bringing him here? You can’t help him on your own. You have to let him go.

When Lara coaxes you to take a step back, Spencer makes the most awful, wounded noise. “Don’t leave me, please,” he begs. “Don’t leave me again.”

You press the back of your hand to your mouth to hold back a sob. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” you manage to say. “And I’ll visit you as soon as I can.”

“No, it’s not o—okay,” he protests, his voice breaking. “It’s not—I—” He presses his hands into his eyes and backs up until he’s in the corner. He drops to the floor and curls up, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in them.

Susan is able to get you to take a few more steps back; Lara takes a step forward, in Spencer’s direction.

“Um, don’t—don’t touch him,” you stutter out, desperate to help somehow. “It’ll—it’ll just make it worse.”

“I won’t,” she assures you. And she doesn’t—instead she sits on the floor several feet away from him; not close enough to be threatening but not far enough that he’d be completely unaware of her presence. It makes you feel a little better, because that’s what you do for him at home.

You let Susan guide you out of the room and to the entrance. “He’ll be okay,” she tells you as you walk. “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and Lara’s fantastic. It’s actually a good opportunity to start building therapeutic rapport.”

You just nod as she talks, not quite listening to what she’s saying. You just keep thinking of his face when you took a step away from him, and how small his voice sounded. It’s a storm of emotions inside of you, but among them is... relief. You don’t have to worry about keeping him safe anymore.

Leaving him in that room, terrified, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, is one of the hardest things you’ve ever done. You just hope it will be worth it.

---

It’s Spencer’s thirty-sixth birthday. You have the day off, but the alarm still sounds early in the morning. You rub your eyes and stretch, trying to shake off the sleepiness. You were up late last night, looking through the entire apartment just one more time for anything you could have missed.

It’s something you’ve done half a dozen times since he was admitted. You haven’t found any needles or Dilaudid since the first time, but you keep doing it anyways. For some reason, when you were feeling anxious about... well, everything, it would calm you down.

You can’t stop yourself from checking once more before you leave to pick him up—though not as thoroughly since you don’t have the time. You just check his hiding places—the desk drawer with the false bottom, the pair of socks he hates that stay in the back of his sock drawer, the gun safe (he’d told you the code years ago just in case and hasn’t changed it since, more worried about you being in danger and needing it than you finding things he doesn’t want you to), and the two hollowed out books at the back of two different bookshelves.

You want to believe that even if there were anything there, he wouldn’t go looking for it anymore, but you aren’t there yet. He’s been in treatment just shy of six weeks, and it’s been up and down. Two steps forward has always seemed to be accompanied by one step back.

While he usually thrived on routine, the enforced structure of the treatment facility would remind him of Millburn multiple times a day. It took the better part of two weeks for him to adjust to it. The first time you visited him, he had curled up in your arms and cried about it, saying that he was barely sleeping because he didn’t feel safe and that he just wanted to go home.

It didn’t help that he didn’t get along with his roommate. Spencer found him to be too loud, complaining to you multiple times that he always wanted to talk during quiet time. Apparently he was also working on his GED, and would constantly ask him for answers to his homework. “I wouldn’t mind helping him, but he just wants me to give him the answers instead,” he’d told you. So Spencer had just tried to ignore him.

But his patience had finally snapped a few weeks ago when his roommate drank both his own and Spencer’s shampoo in a suicide attempt, because he’d “read somewhere that shampoo was toxic.” Spencer had yelled at him, calling him a “fucking idiot”, among other things (they were promptly separated). His roommate was fine in the end—he just threw up a lot. But he was permanently moved to a different room, to both you and Spencer’s relief.

Spencer had a meltdown the next night, though, when it was time to shower. He had been given replacement shampoo from the treatment center’s supplies, but he didn’t like the smell and couldn’t stand the texture, so he’d refused to take a shower. That then resulted in him losing points for not following the structure. (Points were given for good behavior and meeting goals, and were mainly how privileges were earned.)

Naturally, Spencer had protested that this wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have shampoo that he could use. He’d been told that these were the rules, and he wouldn’t be given an exception. In response, Spencer had thrown the shampoo across the room, thrown himself onto his bed, buried his head under his pillow, and refused to talk to anyone.

But that night ended up marking a turn for the better in his treatment. He hadn’t responded when shift change happened and one of the night staff, Matt, checked in on him—in fact, he hadn’t moved at all. When he’d said, “tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you feel better”, Spencer had had no intention of taking him up on it.

A couple of hours later, though, when everything was quiet and he couldn’t sleep because he felt sticky and dirty from not showering, he wandered out into the commons area, holding his favorite blanket from home around himself. When asked what he needed, he’d shrugged, because he didn’t know what he needed, besides his old shampoo, and there wasn’t much to be done about that at midnight.

“I heard you had a rough time this evening,” Matt had said.

Spencer nodded absently, looking at everything but the two of them sitting on the couches.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“Okay,” Matt had replied. “Well, you can sit out here with us for a little while if you want. How’s ten minutes sound?”

Spencer had shrugged again, but sat down on the corner of the couch, pulling his legs up against his chest. He pressed his nose into the fabric of the blanket and breathed in deeply. He’d held off on washing it since got here because it smelled like you. It was comforting, and he felt himself relax some. Then, without thinking about it consciously, he opened his mouth... and talked.

He started with the shampoo incident. His voice had raised an octave and hot tears stung his eyes as he talked about how much he hated the replacement shampoo and how he felt that he was being treated unfairly by people who didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. And then he had just... kept going. He didn’t talk about specifics—he said he was framed and wrongly incarcerated, then went straight to everything that had happened since he got home. He talked about losing his job and his first relapse because of that. He talked about how he couldn’t seem to stop going back. He talked about your ultimatum and his two weeks living out of his car.

When he finally stopped, he was breathing heavily and exhausted, but he felt... lighter. It was like the dam burst. The next morning, he started talking, really talking, to his therapist. When you came by that evening to bring him new shampoo, he’d told you all about what had happened, sparing no detail. To say it shocked you was an understatement—he hadn’t been so open with you since Mexico.

The two weeks since had gone well. There were a few bumps, but otherwise he was improving, and he’d been able to earn a day visit for his birthday.

Spencer looks... good when you see him. He’s fully dressed, wearing the cardigan he knows you like the best, and it no longer looks baggy on him. He’d come back from prison a little underweight, and it had only gotten worse since. But he’s been steadily gaining it back here thanks to sobriety and regular meals. He’s got his satchel across his shoulder but he isn’t clinging to it protectively and the way he rocks up on the balls of his feet appears to be excited rather than nervous. It looks like he may have even run a brush through his hair for once.

Then he sees you, and the smile that spreads across his face... he looks like himself again. Your smile back is so big that it probably looks goofy, but you don’t care.

He hugs you as soon as you’re close enough. It’s tight, but he’s not clinging to you like you’ve grown accustomed to over the past six weeks, which you think can only be a good thing—he’s not feeling insecure or unsafe anymore.

“Happy birthday,” you say. “You look really nice.”

“Really?” he asks. “Because I got up a little early to get ready, but I didn’t shave since I’d have to check out my razor and that’s a hassle, and if you don’t like it, that’s fine. I’m not really sure myself—”

“Spencer, I don’t mind the facial hair at all,” you interrupt. “You look great. I mean it.”

He glances away shyly, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

You both sign the checkout paperwork and head out. Spencer insists on holding your hand the entire time. When you get to the car and start to let go, he tightens his grip instead and pulls you closer to him. “(Y/N).”

“Yes?”

He hesitates just slightly before placing his other hand on your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.

You blink, realizing that it’s been a long while since you’ve kissed. And just like that, you’re aching for his lips on yours. “Please do.”

Spencer lets your hand go then. Cradling your head in both of his hands now, he leans in and kisses you so gently. You soak it in, feeling warm inside as something you didn’t realize you were missing returns to you. When he pulls back, he looks more at peace than you’ve seen him in months.

You just look at each other for a bit. Eventually, you place a kiss on his cheek and say, “We should go before we get in trouble for loitering.”

He wants to hold your hand whenever he can on the drive home, and you let him. He tells you how his week has been going—someone in his group therapy is graduating the program in a few days, and they’ve started a new project in art therapy. You knew about the art project already, since he’d spent half of his phone time on Monday telling you how much he didn’t want to make a pottery project because he can’t stand how the clay feels on his hands when it dries. But you’ve always loved to listen to him talk, so you don’t remind him of this.

As you’re getting off the freeway fifteen minutes later, you tap the back of his hand twice to signal that you have something to say. He pauses in his infodump about the history of pottery so you can speak. “I’ve got a few presents for you at home, but I was thinking we could go to the bookstore and you can pick out some more things?”

He makes a happy humming noise. “That sounds great! There’s something I want to read up on.”

He veers off to the nonfiction section when you enter his favorite bookstore; you idly browse your favorite section as you wait. When he returns to your side, he’s holding a stack of five books, all on the same subject.

“Horses,” you say.

He nods enthusiastically, his hair bouncing. “I’m starting an equine therapy program next week.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I hope it goes well.” You don’t know much about horse therapy—seems like that’s going to be what you read about on your phone in bed tonight while you wait for sleep to come.

Spencer’s quiet on the car ride home, content to flip through his new books. He doesn’t notice when you park the car; you have to touch his arm to get his attention.

“What?” he asks without taking his eyes off of the full color spread of a mustang in his lap.

“We’re home,” you point out. With how many times he’s told you he wants to go home in the past weeks, you expect him to be excited, but he’s not. He tenses when he looks up and sees the building in front of you. “What’s wrong, Spencer?”

“Um...” He fiddles with the book’s dust jacket. “There’s... there’s not a surprise party waiting for me inside, is there?”

“Oh. No, there’s not. Just a few balloons and little banner. You, uh...” you wince a little as something occurs to you. “You weren’t wanting one, were you?”

“Absolutely not,” he immediately replies.

You chuckle a little at his certainty. “Well, good. Because I had a hell of a time convincing Penelope not to throw you a birthday party, and I don’t know if she’d ever forgive me if it turned out I was wrong and you did, in fact, want a party.”

That gets a small laugh out of him; your heart leaps at the sound. It’s been far too long since you’ve heard that.

He seems a little apprehensive as you unlock the front door, and when he walks in, he stays standing on the living room rug for a while, his eyes traveling from one side of the room to another, looking over everything. “It looks the same,” he says eventually.

“Were you expecting it not to be?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers, running his fingers across one of the seams of his satchel. “It’s not that I thought you would change anything, it’s more like... I feel so much different than I did the last time I was here that it’s kind of strange to see that everything’s just like I remember it.”

You’re reminded of the last time he was standing still in the living room like this, stick-thin, dirty, and trembling from withdrawals. “Different in a good way, I hope,” you say, nervously fussing with the pile of presents on the coffee table.

He gives you a small smile. “Yes, in a good way,” he affirms softly. He notices the presents and scrunches his eyebrows. “I thought you said you only had a few presents here.”

“Most of these are from the team,” you explain. “Emily brought them by last night. They had to fly out this morning, but she wanted you to have them on your birthday.”

“Oh.” He raises his hand and it looks like he might rub at his eye but he presses his knuckles to his mouth instead. You can’t really tell what’s going on in his mind. You figure his feelings towards his team are complicated. On the one hand, they got him out of the prison, and he’s known some of them for over a decade. On the other, he wasn’t allowed to rejoin the BAU and the whole experience had made him feel humiliated. You think he wants to see them, but he also doesn’t; he’s stuck in the middle and can’t decide.

Either way, it doesn’t matter today. It’s his birthday and you want him to have a good one, so you redirect his attention. You sit on the couch and pat the spot next to you. “Will you show me your new books?”

The corners of his mouth turn up and he pads across the floor towards you. “Yeah. So, here’s what I’ve learned so far....”

The day continues in much the same fashion—quiet and laidback as you simply enjoy each other’s company. Once he shows you all of the books, you move on to the TV, catching up on the episodes of Doctor Who you’ve both missed (you didn’t want to watch it without him). You order his favorite takeout for dinner, after which you bring out his dessert—half a dozen chocolate frosting and sprinkles donuts arranged in a circle around two candles displaying 36.

“You know, it’s not really sanitary to blow all over food before sharing it,” he says.

You roll your eyes fondly. “We go over this every year. We kiss; I’m not worried about your mouth germs.”

“But it’s not just my “mouth germs”,” he corrects, making air quotes with his fingers. “It involves the entire respiratory track, so—”

“Spencer, as always, it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you interrupt. You’ve heard this explanation before. “Now make a wish.”

He takes a moment to ponder it, then blows the candles out. You put the plate down and hand him a napkin. “We’re not going to be able to eat all of these before I have to go back,” he says, but the way he bites eagerly into the first one nearly makes you question that.

He gets through two; you only eat one, mostly full from dinner. He wants to go lay down on the bed after, “so we have more room to cuddle”. And cuddle he does, pressing as much of his body to yours as he can. One of your hands settles in his hair automatically. “Did you have a good day?” you ask, running your fingers through it.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Obviously this situation is not ideal,” you start carefully. “But I’m just so happy that you’re still... well, around for your birthday.”

Spencer turns his head into the fabric of your shirt and breathes in deeply. “Me, too,” he says quietly on the exhale.

You lay together in silence for a while, and you savor the feeling of having him in bed next to you again. Sleeping alone wasn’t anything new in your relationship, as his job took him around the country. You’d gotten used to it for the most part, but every night he wasn’t with you because he was in prison was just plain awful. After, you had him back for six weeks, then it became sporadic again as he started using. It’s been so much easier to sleep since he went into treatment, but you still miss sharing the bed with him terribly.

You look at your phone briefly to check the time. “We’ve got about three hours until we have to start heading back. I’m happy to stay like this, but we still have time to do something else if you want to.”

All he says verbally is, “okay”, but the way he squirms against you tells you that he does have something on his mind.

“Just let me know if you do,” you say gently; you don’t want him to feel pressured into speaking. Plus you’re content to lay here playing with his hair and listening to his breathing.

“Well, there is something,” he admits after a few minutes.

He doesn’t continue, so you say, “Okay. What is it?”

He sighs and sits up. “It’s... it’s nothing bad, or—or even that big of a deal, really. At least, it shouldn’t be.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position next to him. “Well, why don’t you tell me so I can help?” you ask. “I can tell that it’s bothering you.”

“That’s exactly the point. It shouldn’t be bothering me,” Spencer complains. “Because I really want to do it. It’s just...”

You put your hand on his back and run it up and down to try and comfort him. You don’t say anything; you just give him time to get the words out.

He takes a deep breath. “I want to have sex,” he says. “I really do, I’m just... not entirely sure I’m... ready yet.”

“Oh.”

It’s not where you expected the conversation to go, because it’s something that hasn’t really been in your life at all since Mexico. He’d... taken care of you a few times during those first six weeks, but hadn’t let you return the favor. Each time he had scurried off to the bathroom and run a cold shower before you could even touch the waistband of his pants. Then on the night he came back to you, you had been helping him undress since his hands were trembling so much. When you unbuttoned his pants, he had breathed in sharply and frantically pushed your hands away.

Clearly something had happened to him, but he’d never even alluded to anything of the sort. And that was okay—you didn’t need to know. You just wished you knew how to help.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid,” he says, running his hands down his face.

“Oh, baby, no,” you soothe. “It’s not stupid at all.”

He just shakes his head. “You deserve more than this.”

“I don’t know about that. But,” you continue, pushing his hair back so you can see his face better, “I do know what I want, and what I want is you.”

Spencer chews on his bottom lip, doubt clouding his eyes. “Look at me,” you implore. He meets your gaze hesitantly and you take his face in your hands.

“I love you, Spencer Reid. And nothing is going to change that.”

His eyes grow wet. He sniffles once, then lunges forward, capturing your lips with his own. You kiss him back just as passionately, holding onto him as tight as he is to you. It may have been a long time since you kissed at all until this morning, but it’s been even longer since he’s kissed you like this.

“Love you, too, (Y/N),” he mumbles against your lips when he pulls back to take a breath.

You press your forehead to his with a happy sigh. But he’s only content to stay like that for a few moments. He bumps your nose with his and tugs slightly on your shirt, requesting permission to kiss you again. You’d love to do that, and you’d love to do more than that, too, but you don’t want him to rush into something he’s not truly ready for.

“You know what we could do?” you ask, running your hand through the curls on the back of his neck.

Spencer’s eyes keep flicking between yours and your lips. “What?”

“A good old-fashioned high school make out,” you say, smiling at him softly. “And I’ll keep my hands above your waist.”

When he visibly relaxes, you know it’s the right decision. “I’d like that,” he says quietly. “I mean, I never kissed anyone when I was in high school, but I get the idea.”

The shy look he gives you before climbing onto your lap reminds you so much of how he was when you first started dating. He’s still there, your Spencer, the Spencer you fell in love with. You never truly thought he was gone, but there were plenty of moments of doubt, moments when you wondered if he’d ever be able to pull himself out of the wreckage, out of the grip of trauma. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t do it for him.

As it turns out, he could. He can.

It’s far from over. He still has a long way to go. You both do. But for the first time since the day he came home from prison, a return to normal seems possible.

It won’t be the same as it was before. He’s always going to be a little different. But... that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing.

He kisses you, and it feels like it used to, full of respect, adoration, trust, and love. It feels like Spencer.

Despite everything, it’s still him.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading. this was very much a personal work but i decided to share it anyways because why the hell not, i'm proud of it. the next chapter will explore horse therapy, a treatment i did and loved, among other things.

i'd like to encourage you please seek this kind of help if you think need it. i see how it changes lives every day at work and it changed my own as well. there's no shame in getting the treatment you need, whatever that may be. recovery is worth it.

if you’re interested in learning more about trauma and the treatment of it, i cannot recommend the book The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk, M.D., enough. it was my favorite book i read last year and i referred back to it several times while writing this.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #angst #my fic #the shampoo incident is something that actually happened on one of my shifts last august #and yet that's not the craziest thing that's happened while i've been at work lol #don't drink shampoo kids #tw substances #tw suicide

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pride-moth · 3 years

Text

You got everything that I want

Ao3 Link

Stolas can’t recall a time where “love” wasn’t synonymous with “pain” for him.

He had loved Stella at some point, in his own weird way. Yes, it was an arranged marriage, but he had been willing to make it work like so many royal couples had made it work before them. He admired her beauty, her strength, her force of personality. He wanted to love her and so he did. He loved her as his wife, his princess, the mother to their daughter. He really… He had tried, at one point.

But after years and years of trying and compromising and acquiescing to your partner’s every wish without ever feeling them try in turn. Getting up every night to care for the child that both of you put into the world but that only one of you really cares to pay any meaningful attention to… It gets tiring and slowly, surely, all the love you once had for your partner slips through your fingers until there’s nothing left. Nothing but regret and screaming and pain.

He loves Octavia so, so fiercely. He would do anything for her, and yet he can hardly seem to be able to make her smile. And that’s the greatest pain. When you want nothing more than to see your child happy and you would do anything to make it happen, but it’s not in your hands anymore. Octavia is still a teenager but she’s growing up, wanting to do her own thing, starting to live her own life and Stolas feels like the only thing that he could do to make her happy would be to stop fighting with Stella, and that is just not within his powers. Stella will always find something to blame him for and he will always find something new to do wrong.

When Blitzo enters the picture, he and Stella already haven’t been sleeping in the same bed longer than he cares to remember. It’s a night of weakness, that first one, one where all he wants is to not live his own life anymore and Blitzo, that handsome little imp, catches him off guard, pokes right into his vulnerabilities and Stolas can’t help but take him home, sneak him in and let himself be taken apart in a way he has never experienced.

It’s a magical night, not romantic, but raw and rough and brutal in the best way. Blitzo makes him hurt exactly how he likes to hurt, gives him the kind of pleasure he could never quite convince Stella into giving him. They don’t even know each other at that point, but there is the kind blind understanding between them that Stolas always wanted to happen between him and Stella, but it never did.

Stolas is almost grateful when he realizes Blitzo has taken his grimoire with him. It’s an easy reason to stay in contact, an easy excuse to call him, set meetings, work out an exchange and get more of what Blitzo gave him that first night.

With Blitzo, it’s not love. So, there’s no pain. Stolas doesn’t let there be pain, at least not emotionally, the physical pain is something he quite enjoys. When Blitzo leaves after their monthly night together, he doesn’t allow himself to feel pain, only anticipation of the next time. He likes that there’s always a next time, even though that’s because of his active incentive more than anything else. But that’s alright, he doesn’t want Blitzo to come see him without an incentive. He deserves favors in turn for what he’s giving Stolas.

He enjoys Blitzo’s company in general. He’s funny, quick-witted, intelligent and he handles him with an ease that in any other situation would be seen as lèse-majesté for an imp. And maybe that’s what appeals to Stolas about spending time with Blitzo. That he can be himself, doesn’t have to adhere to the vague behavioral standards of royal life. He can be vulgar around him, and a blubbering mess sometimes, Blitzo doesn’t mind him being angry or frustrated or stupid, he can just… Be.

So, sometimes he’ll find an excuse to spend time with Blitzo outside of the bedroom. To just be. Because it doesn’t affect their normal arrangement and it’s better than spending time alone in that grand, beautiful, empty palace with a wife who wants his head chopped off and a daughter who makes him responsible for it. Maybe he is responsible for it, he thinks, but that doesn’t change anything, does it?

When he takes Octavia to Loo Loo Land, he wants Blitzo there as his bodyguard, not because he necessarily needs protection, but just because… He wants him there. Around. As company. Because Blitzo is good like that. And he likes watching him fully in his element because Blitzo handles his rifle with the same deft touch and confidence as he handles Stolas and that’s beautiful in a way.

When Octavia tells them to get a room, it throws him off a little because he didn’t mean to get carried away like that. He truly wanted it to be a father-daughter day, Blitzo and his employees and incidental part of the equation, but he can’t really take his eyes off Blitzo when he’s being all professional and handsome and, God, maybe this was a bad idea to begin with.

That day ends with him finding Octavia crying and she asks if he wants to run off with Blitzo and that’s… Well, he can’t fault her for getting the wrong idea. Obviously she doesn’t know that it’s just sex between them. She’s just met a man who Stolas is very clearly flirting with constantly, so obviously that would look romantic. But he would never run off with him, it’s not like that. There’s no love between them, only a deal, good sex and good company.

There’s a little thought spinning around in his head after the whole Loo Loo Land incident that he doesn’t dare act upon for a good while, but it persists. All he needed to do to convince Blitzo to come with him was offer him money. So, maybe, just maybe, if he found himself desiring his company outside of their arrangement, he could just…

“I’m not a hooker,” Blitzo says sharply when he tries it one day during a phone call.

“But I usually pay you by letting you use the book,” Stolas tries, not entirely sure why he tries breaking through the metaphorical door that has just been quite clearly slammed shut right in front of face.

“That’s different! That’s-” Blitzo lets out a frustrated sigh at the end of the line. “Just don’t try that.”

“But-”

“Shut it, Stolas, I said no. Just because you’re a Prince or whatever doesn’t mean you can get everything you want by waving some money around.”

It stings a little, that comment. He didn’t mean to… He didn’t attempt to… Maybe he did. Blitzo said no, so that’s that. No reason to get hung up about it. So, he won’t see him before the full moon. That’s okay. No pain, not about Blitzo. And if he needs to exert some force to make a smile appear on his face, that’s just because he can hear Stella throwing utensils in the kitchen again.

“No trouble at all, I didn’t mean to offend, my dear Blitzy. See you next full moon,” he says then in his usual blib tone.

Blitzo hangs up on him after mumbling something about offending his asshole.

Sometime after that, Blitzo starts sharing cigarettes with him. It’s a little thing that he doesn’t think much of the first time it happens. Blitzo just kind of offers it to him one time, wordlessly and Stolas takes it and that’s that. It’s a little gesture of familiarity that neither of them comment on, but they keep doing it from then on. He starts buying the good expensive cigarettes and keeping them in the nightstand just for that little ritual.

Stolas would never admit to himself that he has a little cruel streak. “Friendly” is his default mode of presentation even if that sometimes gets him weird looks, it being hell and all. But he still grew up here, he still knows how the game is played and he still knows how to hit people where it hurts.

So, when Stella keeps yelling at him not just about how he cheated on her, though that certainly seems to be some part of her grievance with him, not about how he’s brought the false harmony of their home into jeopardy, not about how their daughter feels about the whole thing, but about how it looks bad that he’s having sex with an imp, how that’s undignified.

“Should I have used one of your fancy dinner party friends instead?!” he yells back at her one day and she just throws another saucer at him.

“At least that would have been a proper magazine scandal instead of the semi-public embarrassment I got!”

And that’s where he can’t handle it anymore. He leaves her alone in the kitchen to scream at the walls because frankly, what left is there to say? She wants a magazine scandal, huh? Sure. She can have a magazine scandal.

Stolas feels nervous when he has to ask Blitzo to come over early, but to his surprise, it’s no problem at all.

“Is that in addition to our regularly scheduled fucking or a substitute?” is the only question he asks and when Stolas answers, “Substitute” he’s happy with it.

It’s one of their best nights yet, Blitzo ties him up so good he can’t move an inch and he fucks him and he teases him with a passion that feels entirely new. Blitzo usually isn’t one to tease, he likes getting to the point, but tonight is different, tonight he takes his time and Stolas is pudding in his fingers.

There’s warmth afterwards, just everywhere. His entire body feels warm and muted and content. And for just a moment, there is pain. And normally he can just wish it away, replace it with excitement for the next time they meet, but this time, he feels the distinct pain of not being able to experience this kind of pleasure whenever he wants. He wants to feel exactly like this, warm and exhausted and content, all the time. But he can’t.

It takes real force this time, but he shoves the thought away. He can focus on getting Stella the big scandal she so craves, and he can kill two birds with one stone here. Not literally.

He invites Blitzo to the Harvest Moon Festival. That’s easy enough, get them out together, have him and Blitzo be in one place together in public. That’s both step one of his barely thought out plan and also another way to spend time with Blitzo which is something he needs desperately. Anything to get him out of this palace, out of the endless screaming matches with his wife.

And then, he makes it his personal goal to be as obnoxious as possible. Blitzo calls him obnoxious all the time, that’s nothing new, but he can do one better, make sure everyone knows what they’re doing, knows exactly that the great Prince of Hell is consorting with an imp. He wants Stella to look at media coverage of the Harvest Moon Festival and be absolutely furious about it. She wanted this.

And it’s genuinely exciting, too, watching Blitzo compete in the Games, dominating the competition except for that weird snake man who he eventually shares a title with. Truth is, Stolas doesn’t really need to try very hard to cheer Blitzo on, part of him wants to just shout from the mountaintops how cool and powerful and handsome he is and how well he’s doing.

To his disappointment, he can’t catch Blitzo after the festival. He’s suddenly gone after the trophy ceremony and is nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day. He leaves him a suggestive voicemail, saying he would love to see Blitzo as soon as possible, but if Blitzo doesn’t feel like it, he’s simply looking forward to the next full moon.

He learns only via Stella’s highly unsubtle phone calls at the dinner table that there was an attempt on life that day. He doesn’t know for sure, Blitzo hasn’t told him, but he suspects that his little imp probably had something to do with it not succeeding and that’s just delicious, isn’t it? That the reason for Stella’s wrath would be the one to thwart her plans? He smiles at himself.

It’s a week later that Blitzo appears on his balcony without a warning one night, sweating and nervous and completely unlike himself. Stolas practically jumps up from his bed and rushes over to him, pulling him into a hug almost automatically. To his surprise, Blitzo allows it.

“What’s going on, Blitzy?” he asks softly.

Blitzo takes a shaky breath and Stolas notices several bruises on his arms. “I just… I needed to… You’re okay.” It comes out shaky and incoherent but Stolas only hugs him tighter. “You’re kind of squeezing me to death,” Blitzo croaks then and lets out a small groan that makes him sound a bit more like himself.

Stolas lets a bit looser. “Come in, tell me what happened, I’ll call for some tea,” he says as he leads Blitzo inside.

Blitzo chuckles joylessly. “It’s insane how different shit is for you, you know that? You can just ask for tea and someone will bring it to you. Anything you lift your own finger for, you do of your own volition. Nobody makes you do anything. Unimaginable.”

Stolas doesn’t have an answer to that. It’s true, kind of self-evidently so. He hasn’t even taken up the house phone yet and a servant is already knocking at the door to offer tea. He takes with a curt “thank you” and hands Blitzo his cup. Slowly they sit down on the bed, arms resting against each other comfortably.

“You know they’re just like me, right? The servants you order around here all day?” Blitzo’s voice sounds hollow, distant. It’s disconcerting to say the least.

“Well, I suppose you’re all imps, but you… you’re special.”

“What if I don’t want to be? What if I want to be just like everyone else and just be… left alone with all the bullshit that comes with being ‘special’? What if I don’t want other assassins to come and try to talk me out of my job and how I do it, what if I don’t want to be the ‘only good one’ for people who’d just trample all over me if they hadn’t randomly decided that I was special, what if…”

“Blitzy, what’s going on? Do you not want to come here anymore? We can… We can stop if you want to. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to, I can just leave you the book and you give it back when I need it and-”

“Goddammit, Stolas, that’s not it, I just… Striker just came to my office and he just doesn’t leave me alone and we fought and he… Stolas, he won’t stop before he has your head and I can’t… I can’t guarantee that I can always be there to stop him.” Blitzo doesn’t look up at him, he just keeps staring directly into his tea cup.

“Oh, Blitzy, it’ll all work itself out, everything will be okay,” Stolas says softly, tenderly caressing Blitzo’s back, but his hand quickly slapped away.

“Are you actually serious right now?!” Blitzo looks at him now, angry, yes, but also very obviously hurt. “This guy is after you. And he’s good. I’ve stopped him once, I’ll do it again, but what if he comes here while I’m in the living world? What if I’m caught in some argument with Moxxie?”

“You don’t have to look after me, Blitzy, I’ll be okay, I promise.” Stolas takes a deep breath then, unsure of his next words. “Plus, if I wasn’t here anymore, you could just take my grimoire and run, isn’t that what you want?”

Blitzo just stares at him, one, two, three seconds. “It sure would be easier,” he says then, pensively, “But I- Well. It’s just that… You know how it is, I don’t want to be responsible for the whole power vacuum that would come with your death and it’s not my style… I don’t know, I just don’t want you dead.”

Stolas can’t help but smile at him. “Oh, Blitzy, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

And finally Bitzo laughs again. Stolas so loves seeing him laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’ve also told you that you’re my pretty little bitch and you have a nice dick and beautiful tight little asshole and you’re probably the only really good sub I’ve ever had.”

Stolas pulls him into his arms, letting Blitzo lean against him and rests his chin on one of his horns. “I’m not going to die, Blitzy, not as long as you’re here. I would never forgive myself if I left you alone. I promise you, I… I can look after myself.”

Blitzo sighs. He opens his mouth to speak a few times, but ultimately stays silent.

They just sit there for minutes, silently embracing and Stolas doesn’t know what to do with that. It hurts. It hurts to hold Blitzo like that, to see him vulnerable and worried for him. It feels good to be with him, to have him be here. It’s warm and familiar and it feels natural, but it’s so, so painful.

“Blitzy?” Stolas breaks the silence finally.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”��

Blitzo doesn’t look up at him, but he nods. “I know where this is going,” he says, half-ironically but there’s no bite to it tonight.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Stolas whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Please, you’ve been head over heels in love with me since we first met,” Blitzo retorts but there’s no bite to it. It’s less a brag or a dig than a simple observation.

“I didn’t mean to, I just… I don’t want it to be like this, we have a good thing here and I don’t… I don’t want to make it all complicated and painful.”

Blitzo sighs again, but it’s a soft little sound, punctuated with a little laugh. “Stolas, you’re Goetic royalty doing completely shameless BDSM shit with an imp, it’s already complicated and painful.”

“No, I mean-” he looks at one of the paintings of him and Stella and Octavia, Blitzo follows his gaze, “I don’t want it to hurt like this again. Love always… It always hurts.”

Blitzo shrugs. “I don’t think it does. Fights and drifting apart and break ups hurt. Love itself can be fun. It’s just… hard sometimes.”

Stolas supposes that’s true. But still, is it really worth starting something when you know the end is inevitably going to be painful? And how would that even work, between them? Sure, teasing the press with an affair is one thing, but he can’t make it official. That would go beyond the realms of gossip and annoying his wife. That could potentially jeopardize his entire position and-

“Christ, you’re overthinking like crazy right now, I can practically hear you,” Blitzo breaks his train of thought. “Nothing has to change here. We have sex, we hang out sometimes, we do movie nights, I know your daughter, we’re already in more of a relationship than you and your wife.”

And that strikes Stolas like lightning. “You-? You feel the same?” he asks in utter disbelief.

“You stupid fucking bird, of course I do: You think I would have passed up and opportunity to get the book without fucking you otherwise?”

“I mean, yes, you could have just saved my life as a friend, I suppose.”

Blitzo shakes his head and grins at him. “I usually don’t fuck my friends. Nine times out of ten, I would like to, sure, but I still usually don’t. And, I sure as fuck didn’t want that either, but here we are and I literally gunned it from Imp City to here just to make sure you were still alive after I beat up Striker again and I… I think this,” he gestures between them, “is good. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever tolerated anyone that long, so… Count yourself lucky.”

Stolas smiles, as wide as he can and then he kisses him, tenderly, softly, chastely, like they never do and that seals it in a way. And for the first time in centuries, he doesn’t think about the pain that love can bring, he just thinks that holding Blitzo in his arms and kissing him feels good and he wants to keep feeling that good, so all the pain along the way, all the shit they might get into for it, might be worth it, in the end. So he pulls Blitzo a bit closer and deepens their kiss, losing himself completely in the warmth between them.

#helluva boss #stolitz #stolas x blitzo #stolas x blitz #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #tired: blitzo in denial #wired: stolas in denial #please enjoy

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justcourttee · 4 years

Note

MariJon, where Valentine's Day is coming up and both of them are trying to figure out how to ask each other out without making it weird and turn to their mutual best friend, Damian. Lots and lots of awkwardness and pining please 😊

This is so cute and so fun to write. I hope you like it!

Damian Wayne: The Love Doctor

Valentine’s Day.

It’s the day that initiates feelings of romance and longing in people across the globe. For couples, it’s a day to spoil each other and gorge on chocolates and fancy dinners. However, for the singles, it’s a day of anxiety and stress hoping that someone returns their feelings or risk sitting dejected for another year alone.

For Jon, it was the latter. This year though, he was determined for it to be different. Thanks to Damian, Jon met Marinette this year. They were always hanging out in one of the League’s hideouts and after several months of begging, Damian finally introduced him. To say it was love at first sight almost felt like an understatement.

So if he felt this way, it should be easy to step forward and hand her the box of chocolates that he had clutched in his hands as he moved to the store’s checkout. Except it wasn’t easy, after all, he had no way of knowing how she felt and Jon wasn’t sure he could handle the idea of Marinette rejecting him.

“-and that’s how I found myself here. How am I supposed to ask her out if I don’t know if she’ll say yes?”

“Yes, that does sound quite perplexing.” Damian flipped the page in his novel, his eyes glued to the words. Jon was positive he wasn’t paying attention, but he had no one else he could go to. Taking a deep breath, Jon darted forward snapping the book from his best friend’s grasp.

The look that Damian gave him would usually be enough to send Jon running leaving the book in his tracks, but he was so worried about asking out Marinette, he honestly had no value for his life at the moment.

“What is it that you think I can do for you, Jon? I myself have never been interested in relationships. They are quite meaningless if there is nothing you can obtain through the partnership.”

Jon scratched the back of his neck as his eyes clung to the ground. Damian was right. He never had a relationship and never seemed to be interested in them so for Jon to ask him advice on how to ask out Marinette, well, it wasn’t his smartest move.

“It’s just-you see-I know that but-”

“Kent, for the love of whatever being may be out there, spit out your sentence.”

“You’re my only friend Damian!”

He hadn’t meant to shout it, the volume even earning a raised eyebrow from Damian’s usually stoic face.

“I’m just-I’m just desperate. I really want this to go over well.”

Damian’s stare sent a shiver down his spine as they stared in silence for a moment and then two. Just when he was sure his friend was about to snap, he did something that surprised him even more.

“Violets.”

“Excuse me?”

Breaking their stare, Damian reached behind him tossing Jon a notebook and pen without a second look.

“You better write this down Kent because I’ll only say it once. Her favorite flowers are violets so that’s where you’re gonna start.”

Jon’s eyes widened as he scrambled to open the first page of the notebook jotting down the words that were spilling out of Damian’s mouth. By the time his friend had sent him away, Jon was almost confident that this plan could work. Maybe, just maybe, he could finally find the courage to ask out Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was barely a day later when Damian Wayne found himself cornered yet again.

He was just trying to finish the last few pages of his book when the blob curled up on the other end of the couch uttered its first noise since it collapsed.

“Damian, can I ask you a question?”

“That’s counterproductive Dupain-Cheng, you already did even though you didn’t hadn’t had my permission.”

Using his book as a shield, he was able to block the incoming pillow assault before it made contact. “I apologize. Was the correct response; what can I do for you my liege?”

This time a shoe flew toward his face, one he narrowly missed.

“Jon. Is he single by chance?”

Damian couldn’t help the smug smile that pulled at his lips.

“What’s it to you whether he’s single or not?”

The red that crept up her neck confirmed his suspicions before her blubbering even began.

“It’s nothing to me! It’s just that Jon never talks about a girlfriend and it’s not because I don’t think he can get a girlfriend, I mean he’s a very attractive guy, but not that I think he’s super attractive, that’s just stating facts that everyone knows and-”

“You’re rambling.”

Closing his book, Damian turned his attention to his red friend, who’s pout brought a smile to his face.

“Damian, I think-I think I want to ask Jon to be my Valentine.”

Damian couldn’t help the snort that escaped earning a groan from Marinette as she buried her face in her hands.

“There were nicer ways to tell me it wasn’t possible you little demon.”

“Hey now, if you start pulling out cruel nicknames like that, I won’t help you.”

Instantly her head popped up, a doubtful expression monopolizing her face.

“Why would you want to help me, huh?”

Reaching down into his bag Damian bit back the sigh as he sacrificed another notebook to his friends.

“Let’s just say, I’m very invested in the outcome of this Valentine’s Day. Now get to writing.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Two days had passed; Valentine’s Day arrived and Damian hated to admit how curious he was to if the two love-struck idiots had followed his advice.

He got his answer as he entered their favorite hangout spot only to find it covered in bouquets.

“Damian Wayne, you have some serious explaining to do.” Damian ducked on instinct as a batarang flew over his head impaling itself on the nearest wall. “If you were setting people up with the stunning Marinette Dupain-Cheng, why wasn’t I at the top of the list?”

“Sorry Steph, I didn’t think she was all that into blondes.”

“Wipe that shit-eating smirk off your face!” Damian moved to the side as Stephanie lunged at him, her fist dusting the side of his shirt. “You know good and well she used to be into blondes!”

“Jon beat you to asking.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he gently pushed her backward watching as she dramatically flung herself into the couch. “Now will you please shut up? Marinette will be here at any moment.”

As if on cue, the whirl of the Zeta tube echoed through the hangout snapping Jon’s attention into place as he fumbled with the gift bag in his hand. The soft click of Marinette’s heels confirmed her presence as Damian slapped his hand over Stephanie’s mouth.

“Oh mon Dieu, what is all this?”

Damian could feel the nerves rolling off of Jon slamming into him. It was almost as if he was begging him to swoop in and explain why the place was covered in her favorite flowers. He really was hopeless.

“Uhm, well, uh, you see, I-uh-I heard that you like violets. Which I thought was strange because your favorite color is pink but then I also heard that they are one of the few flowers you can always find inspiration from and I wanted you to have as much inspiration as you could ever need.”

It was quick like he was trying to spill his every thought in one breath, but at least he got it out of his mouth.

“That was very nice of you Jon. I’m sure I’ll never run out of inspiration now.” Marinette’s chuckle was soft and Damian was sure he could hear the blush from where he and Stephanie remained crouched. “I, uh-well-I got something for you.”

Without waiting for a response, Marinette shoved her gift box into his arms causing Jon to half chuck his gift at her as well. Their nervous laughter was too much, Damian felt like he was going to die of second-hand embarrassment for them. The sound of tearing paper and tissue flying earned enough of a curious glance from the boy.

Their gasps were in sync earning a small smirk from the boy. With the power of observation, he was able to read both of his friends like an open book.

“You made me a leather jacket? Marinette this is so cool! It looks just like Conner’s! How did you know?”

“How did I know? How did you know that I had been eyeballing this thread set? You’re amazing Jon.”

The noise died down and for a moment, Damian was worried they had reverted back to their awkward selves. Just as he was about to turn back for another look, two shadows loomed over his hiding spot.

“Holy shit! You guys are so quiet!” Stephanie fled from her spot, grasping at her chest. Damian allowed himself a second to exhale as well.

“Damiboo,” he cut his eyes at Marinette sending her a warning look, “did you perchance give both of us advice for Valentine’s day?”

“Tsk, I did no such thing.”

As if on cue, they both raised their matching notebooks, matching smirks on their faces.

“Aww, Dami does love us!” Marinette flung her arms over his shoulders, Jon followed close behind.

“Get off of me you delinquents. I only helped you so that you two would go out and let me finish reading my damn book!”

The two of them were a giggling mess as they finally released him, comparing their notes as they moved toward the zeta tubes. Damian watched precariously as his two friends slowly intertwined fingers, their laughter fading with them as the tube closed. Ensuring they would not pop right back in, Damian finally released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

Moving to the couch, Damian fished for his book that he left hidden underneath the cushions. Just twenty more pages. The end felt like it would never come. Just as he slipped the bookmark out of place, the weight on the couch shifted as Stephanie exhaled loudly.

“If you like playing Love Doctor so much, why don’t you ever set me up with anyone?”

“Perhaps it’s because I don’t hate anyone enough to set them up with you.”

Damian didn’t even bother to dodge the pillow that knocked his book from his hands. With a huff, he pulled out his final notebook making a mental note to have Alfred pick up some more.

“Here.”

The way she looked at him made him feel as though he had grown a second head, but she accepted the notebook, opening it to a fresh page.

“Who do you hate-”

“Don’t talk, just write. I really would like to finish my book today.”

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat @ladybug-182 @maskedpainter @remy-289

#marijon #maribat

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-Blue Book- (8)

Warnings: hoo boi.

Word Count: 2k

"Y/n?" Chan gently shook your shoulder. "Come on baby, you've got to wake up."

You peeled your eyes open, cheeks flushing as you noticed how close Chan's face was to yours.

"Good, you're awake. Listen...I've got to go to the airport and pick up my parents, and your mom was blowing up your phone just a few minutes ago." The corner of his lips twitched in amusement as your phone started vibrating. "Well, there she goes again. Sounds important, you should answer." He straightened up, handing you your phone and heading to the kitchen. "I’ll be making breakfast."

You smiled as he left, expression dropping as you answered your phone.

"Yes, mom...?"

"Oh! My baby! Thank god you answered, finally...I'm so sorry about last night, darling..."

"It's oka-"

"No it wasn't! I'm a terrible mother. I'm sorry, it's just, he was so hot, and I was super intoxicated. We're going to go on a second date! Whose place did you stay at, by the way? A boy answered the phone earlier." She asked, her tone dripping with suggestiveness. You could almost see her wiggling her eyebrows.

"Ew, gross, mom! He's just a friend." You said as Chan came back into the room with a plate of waffles, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure, darling, whatever you say. Although I'm certainly not opposed to you getting laid, it was long overdue anyw-"

"Haha okay, bye mom!" You cut the call, shuddering as Chan giggled, passing you the plate.

"Just a friend? Do friends kiss each other the way we did last night?"

"Shut up." You smiled, digging into your waffles.

***

You watched Chan's car leave as he left for the airport, standing there until he became a speck in the distance before turning around to enter your house.

You found your mom sitting on the couch...but this time, she wasn't passed out with drool running down her chin and clutching a bottle of beer- she was sitting with an odd sense of poise, wearing a pretty summer dress and a huge smile.

"Y/n! You're home! How was your night?" She grinned, winking. You narrowed your eyes, her cheerfulness catching you off guard. Your gaze drifted to the table, on which rested some plates and two empty wine glasses.

"Nowhere near as good as yours." You said pointedly, tearing your gaze away from the table as you moved to go upstairs.

Flopping on your bed, you scrolled through your text messages. Nothing new from Chan. You sighed, reminding yourself that there was probably no Wi-Fi at the airport.

Suddenly your phone dinged with a new text message. Oh. A response to your tutor ad. You'd put it up a long while ago and had honestly forgotten all about it. Well, you definitely needed the extra money. You replied affirmatively to the text and tossed your phone next to you on the mattress.

***

It had been a while since Chan had had dinner with the boys. The conversation was light, and he had missed his friends..however he found himself missing you more, despite having seen you that morning.

"Minho, I don't know how you get away with making out with her in the hallway. I can barely hold hands with my girlfriend without some teacher giving us detention-"

Chan looked up as Felix shoved Changbin's arm, making him stop mid-sentence. Changbin raised an eyebrow, realization dawning on him.

"Ah sorry, Chan. I didn't mean to rub it in."

"Seriously, though." Jisung rolled his eyes. "It's been weeks, and you aren't any closer to getting that book. I hate to say it bro, but I don't think Miyoung would want to be with you even if Minho breaks up with her."

Hyunjin nodded, glancing up from his phone. "I've noticed her and Y/n are really buddying it up. It's girl code not to date your friend's ex."

"Of course, you're the expert on girl code, Hyunjin."

A small squabble broke out and Chan wanted to slither onto the floor and just...stay there. He glared at his plate, deciding he’d had enough.

"Stop it!”

Jisung and Hyunjin stopped talking, staring at Chan in surprise.

"I will get that book soon. I love Miyoung, and I'll make sure she's mine, through any means possible. I don’t care about your opinions, so you guys can just shut the fuck up." He hated lying through his teeth, but there was no way he was going to tell these judgmental burdens he called his friends that he loved you- at least not yet.

Chan relished the silence as he continued eating, trying his best to ignore Minho's burning, inquisitive gaze directed right at him.

***

You sat in bed, clutching your blue book as you tapped your pencil, your head filled with thoughts of Chan. In all your 17 years of life, you'd never known what love felt like...but now you did. And as a result, you were completely consumed with the burning need to tell Chan exactly how you felt.

When you'd moved to this town, you really hadn't expected for it to one day feel like home. But it did, and you were sure it was all because of Chan. His presence somehow made you feel safe, and protected, and you hadn't felt this secure since your dad left you.

You wanted- no, you needed to know if Chan felt the same way about you. You pushed the self-doubt deep inside as you imagined telling him.

You turned red just thinking about it. Fuck it, you were too shy. You'd be a blubbering mess two words in.

Sighing, you looked back down at your book...when an idea struck in your head.

Uncapping your pen with your teeth, you placed the nib on the paper and inhaled, letting all your feelings flow out onto the page. It felt kind of cliché, writing a love letter like this, but you always did have a tendency to over-romanticize everything.

Besides; it was more of a love poem. Gah, was that worse? You hoped to god he wouldn't find it cheesy, especially since you'd bared your heart to him with these words. As you finished, your eyes ran over the last sentence.

"If you feel the same, please meet me behind the tree near the lake, where we had our first conversation, and where I started falling for you."

You shut the book and placed it on your bedside table, flicking the lamp off and rolling over. You nuzzled your pillow, your mind drifting to last night, the memory of Chan's lips and body pressed against yours still fresh.

***

It was a bit early to be having an ice cream date, but neither of you could honestly care less. As soon as you'd woken up in the morning, Chan had texted you to meet him at the ice cream parlour near his house.

"I can't believe you like salted caramel. Its such an old person flavor." He laughed, staring at you fondly.

"Like mint chocolate is any better." You rolled your eyes.

"Fine fine, let's just accept we have different tastes in ice cream."

You smiled. "That I can get on board with."

There was a comfortable silence as the two of you ate. You glanced up from time to time, your heart pounding as you psyched yourself up. Come on, this was the moment. You can do it, Y/n.

"Hey, Chan...?"

"Mm?" He asked, pausing with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Uh...are you free tonight?"

"Tonight? Oh, I'm playing soccer with the guys. You could come watch, though."

"Oh no, I have a tutoring appointment in the evening." You muttered.

Chan quirked his eyebrow. "Why'd you ask in the first place, then?"

"Uh, I just wanted to know. I mean-" You groaned, letting out an exasperated sigh. Bending down, you grabbed your bag from the floor and put it on your lap.

Confused, Chan watched as you pulled out your book, the book, swallowing. Slowly, you slid it over to him.

"I...what's this?" Chan asked as nonchalantly as he could, running a hand through his hair.

"It's...kind of my diary. I just-" you inhaled. "Look, I've bookmarked a page. When you go home- and please don't open it before then- read what I've written." You gulped, as Chan didn't make any move to take the book.

"Look, Y/n, I-"

"Please, just take it. Don't ask any questions." You looked down, trying to hide your flushed cheeks, trying to calm the beating of your heart.

Chan sighed, fingers reaching out and slowly curling over the book as he took it into his hands, tucking it into his pocket as you let yourself smile.

"Thank you."

***

Huh. This was definitely not what you'd been expecting. The house was a lot smaller than you'd imagined it to be, especially knowing how much you were charging.

You breathed in and came forward, knocking on the door and waiting. A few minutes later, a young girl opened it.

"Hi! Are you Dea?"

"How do you know that?" She asks, scrunching her nose, her hand gripping the handle tightly. "Mom says not to talk to strangers."

You shook your head quickly before she could close the door. "Sweetheart, I'm your tutor."

"Prove it."

You sighed, straightening and looking past her. "Is your mom here?"

The girl paused for a second before shaking her head, moving to slam the door closed, when a woman showed up from behind the corner.

"Oh good, it's the tutor!" The woman placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, smiling at you. "Come in, Y/n. I've actually got someplace to be, but I'll be back in two hours. I assume you'll be done by then?"

"Yeah, most probably." You smiled and let her take you in, leading you to Dea's bedroom. The girl herself followed cautiously, and you found yourself a little amused.

"Right, this is her desk." The mom ran a hand through her hair, gesturing to the table. She glanced at her watch and swore, shooting you an apologetic glance.

"In sorry Y/n, I've got to get going soon- please focus on her maths, it's really bad. We'll discuss your fees and other logistics when I get back, okay?" She smiled at you, waving at her daughter before hurrying out the door.

You watched her leave, frowning slowly as she walked away. Something was niggling away at the back of your mind. Why did she look so familiar?

Turning back to the girl, you sighed inwardly at her knitted eyebrows and scowl. She was avoiding your stare, fiddling with her pencil and muttering under her breath.

This was going to be tough.

***

Minho sighed, watching Miyoung wave from the bleachers. Fuck, it was like she was physically incapable of giving him some fucking space.

He glanced over to Chan, clad in his uniform as he chugged water from the bottle Felix handed to him. When was this asshole going to get that fucking book? He couldn't stand having to date Miyoung any longer.

As the girl blew him an exaggerated kiss, Minho decided he had had enough. Needing to be alone, he turned around and went to the locker room. Just a moment to breathe, that was all he was asking for.

As Minho entered the cool, air-conditioned locker room, he let out a sigh of relief. He went over to sit one of the benches, planning to rest in solitude for just a few minutes... until he noticed Chan's clothing lying on one.

His shirt and jeans were carelessly strewn on the seat, and Minho narrowed his eyes as a flash of blue caught his eye, almost immediately.

Peeking out from the pocket was a very familiar looking little blue book.

He came closer, slowly pulling the book out and inspecting it. Could it be? The bastard had your book all along? Opening it, he flipped through the pages with a smirk slowly growing on his face. Yup, it was yours.

It was like the gods were smiling down on him, finally.

#chan series #chan smut #chan fluff #chan angst #bang chan angst #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #minho smut #felix fluff #felix angst #minho angst #lee know angst #skz smut #skz fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #skz angst

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sanghyukstattoos · 4 years

Text

Tennis courts

Characters: Kim Seokwoo I Rowoon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut (shower sex, hints of fingering, unprotected sex)

Words: 1923

Summary: When you didn’t have anyone to urgently teach you tennis for an unexpectedly interesting adventure, Rowoon volunteered and you accepted, surprised at how much his lessons helped you. In other words, he gave you showed you a better way to spend your time.

A/N: When you said tennis, I immediately thought about Extraordinary You and the Good Guy MV

There is both fluff and smut in this (I know, Rowoon teaching the reader how to play tennis made me feel all hot and bothered, leading to the smut)

His body space was involved in yours, heat mingling and making the pleasant summer day seem as if it was the hottest of the season. "Like this" he spoke, voice fluttering to awaken your senses, paying attention to every single detail.

You turned to look at his feet, trying to mirror his stance. It looked right to you but according to him, it was slightly off and so he went to correct it. Laying his palm flat on the inner part of your thigh, he shifted your footing to the back.

You tried to compensate for the distance, moving your other foot to the back as well. You licked your lips, gulping at the heat that his palm radiated against your thigh. Hearing him step back, you furrowed your eyebrows, turning around to see where he was going.

Before you could move any further, he stopped you with a raised hand, signalling you to not move from your current position. "Spread your legs" he said and your eyes widened, asking him, "Huh?". You looked at your position and realised that you needed to spread your legs further for this to work.

His eyes raked over your body, admiring your form that he'd put you in. "This is the first rule you need to follow to play this game, got it?" he asked, to which you nodded.

He embraced you with one hand settling on your hip, thumb grazing your exposed skin while the other grasped your own that held a tennis racket. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest from how close he was at this point.

Your muscles tightened as he bought your hand back, the warmth from his hand engulfing yours. His hands were soft and large around yours, the tingling travelling throughout your body, nerves alight as they waited for a command.

Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, "You need to relax". You looked up at him with a questioning gaze and he stared back with a small smile, his doe eyes giving him away.

"What do I need to do to relax?" you asked with lips parted and wide blown eyes that made him want to do more than answer your question- that is, teach you how to relax your muscles.

"Like this" he spoke, pressing his fingers in the middle of your back to bend you over. Your short skirt didn't do you much justice but you figured that it wouldn't hurt, having woken up and felt the need to wear the shortest one in your closet.

"Now bend in a semi- circle and then come up" he said, demonstrating by the placement of his hands on your shoulders. Doing the exercise, he hummed in satisfaction saying, "Repeat it".

He made you do it over and over again, bent at ninety while his hands on your bare hips from the shirt that had ridden up, guided you. If you did it wrong, he would tighten his grip on your hips, like a warning.

"Next one" he called out as you finished the last of the set, "Bend and grab your ankles". There was command to his tone, not wanting you to be sore after this since playing a sport was like working out.

You did as he told you, bending over to grab you ankles. The only material covering you was your safety shorts as the skirt fluttered on the curve of your ass. "Stay like that for 45 seconds and don't move, I'm counting" he said, leaving the view from behind to look at you from the front, his entire focus on how you were holding up.

Narrowing his eyes, he tapped your back and you deflated, separating your legs a little more to ease the pain. He looked at his watch and at the corner of his eye, he saw a bunch of strangers peeking into the diamond shaped wires that surrounded the court.

Under the heat of the sun, he glared through his eyelashes that were threatening to close, moving to cover you from their line of vision. "Times up" straightening at his words and pulling down your top that had slid up.

"You've been prepped so that's good, are you ready?" he asked, reaching out to hand you the racket. You took it from him, nodding as he stood behind you once again. Stretching your legs, they convulsed, the intensity from being previously stretched out showing the results.

A ball flew towards the two of you from the machine opposite, his hand gripping your own and swinging it back. It may have been the extra force that he put into the hit because the ball flew far away, landing at the edge.

"I can do that" you spoke and he hummed, walking to view your progress from a distance. He stood not too far away, watching and carefully choosing the details he'd go into further detail with you next lesson.

Another one came towards you and bringing your hand back, the sound of the smacking resonated through the court. "That's good," he remarked and you turned to smile at him, bouncing to meet the incoming ball.

Another successful smack, you paused, moaning as the wind blew and soothed your aching skin. It felt good to have some cold air, a break from all the heat as you raised your hand for another hit.

‘‘Amazing′‘ he exclaimed from behind as you hit a ball hard, sending it flying all the way across the court. He was proud of you and you could see it in his eyes as you turned to smile at him.

‘‘By the way’‘ you started, pausing to raise the tennis racket and hit an incoming ball, ‘‘When do I get a break?’‘, releasing a breath you were holding in. He pondered over your question, meeting your questioning gaze with, ‘‘When I say so’‘.

Your core throbbed but you pushed the feeling aside, concentrating on the one-sided game in front of you. A sigh of frustration left you at his words and you nodded, rolling your eyes as soon as you turned your back to him.

You jumped every time you hit a ball, your skirt bouncing lightly at the movement. His joggers tightened with every move you made, keeping the desire to palm himself away.

He really meant it when he said that you’d stop when he decided, leaving you sweating while your thighs shook at the intensity. Any more of a workout and you didn’t think that you’d be able to walk for the next week.

You were still needy, the arousal dampening your panties when he had stopped you. Fingers wrapped around the racket, you gulped at the feeling of not being able to express the need for him to relieve you.

The two of you were sitting in the car, with you driving him home. His eyes drifted to your bare thighs that rested on the seat, the skirt driven up your thighs.

Neither of you were thinking but the atmosphere resembled something along the lines of his hand roaming your soaping wet, cunt right right before he pounded into your warm wells that welcomed him so gladly.

You wanted a reason for this but there weren’t any as you were held here, his member pressing against your area. Water continuously ran down your naked bodies as he slipped two fingers into your wet cunt.

Arching your back, you grinded onto his fingers that left a squelching noise every time he thrusted them harshly into you. You grunted at the force, letting a third finger accommodate your pussy without any warning.

Messy moans left your lips and so you pulled him closer to you, connecting your lips in a heated embrace. The fact that he was your mentor turned you on, knowing that he himself was eye-fucking you the entire time.

He didn’t want you to forget how much of a tease you were the whole time, building up his pent up feelings for you. Looking at you smiling in the wind made him want to fuck you senseless until you came around him multiple times.

Hot water steamed the glass and the whole place was fogged. Pulling his digits out of your pussy, you whined at the loss. The sight in front of you was hotter as he stroked his cock, lining it up at your entrance.

In one swift go, he pushed his member into you, groaning at your tightness that enveloped him. Palms on the wall, he caged you in, not giving you a chance to rest before pounding into you.

With every thrust, he bottomed out, the water and your arousal making it easier for him to fuck you. Your hands reached his shoulder and you bit your lips at the pleasure that ran through you.

‘‘If we had the court to ourselves, I would have fucked you there’‘ he muttered against your lips, hips snapping against you while his fingers tweaked your hardened nipples that longed to be touched. His hands further roamed your body, loving the way your ass cheeks moulded to his touch.

His fingers had stretched you out, the heavy make-out session at the door and all the way to the bathroom, providing him with the perfect opportunity. He was surprised to find you so wet, the bulge in his joggers prominent at the thought of your arousal soaking your panties while you continued playing, pushing the feeling away so that he could have you.

You gasped at the touch, feeling him roughly use your ass to bring you down on him. He spread your legs further, wanting you spread out for him like the good girl he knew you were.

He loved how you were already ready to be filled with his cock, stained panties giving you away.

‘‘Remind me next time, I’ll book the whole fucking court for you’‘ he said as he pulled out of you and turned you around, entering you from behind.

You tried to grasp the wall, fumbling for support as he rammed his cock into you. Tears slipped from your eyes as you felt so good, you wanted more of what he gave you.

Harshly landing on your ass cheek, the sting made you moan and clench around his cock causing him to gasp at the feeling. You were a blubbering mess at this point, whining as he landed another slap to your cheek.

Amidst the water that constantly ran along your back, you felt your coil tighten, whining at his constant pounding to let him know. Loudly moaning, the feeling built up until a snap of his hips caused you to release, painting his cock in thick, hot liquid.

Letting you subside from your own high, he pulled out of you, stroking his cock. You got down on your knees and took him in your mouth, bobbing your head as he threw his back.

He gripped your hair and stilled his hips, cum leaking from his tip as he emptied himself in your mouth. Under the water, you swallowed his cum, peering at him through your eyelashes from where you were.

You weren’t done and neither was he, switching off the shower to fuck you against the sink and every other part of the house he wanted to take you on.

Bringing you up, he fucked you over and over again, before the two of you were finally exhausted, resting on his bed. ‘’How?’’ you managed to get out, watching as your pussy swallowed his hard length once again.

#sf9 #sf9 au #sf9 imagines #sf9 scenarios #sf9 shine together #Blooming time #sf9 seokwoo #sf9 seokwoo fluff #sf9 seokwoo smut #sf9 rowoon #kim seokwoo #kim rowoon #sf9 rowoon fluff #sf9 rowoon smut #sf9 fluff #sf9 smut #sf9 fanfic #sf9 fantasy #sf9 writings

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wyofabdoms · 4 years

Text

Ten Days - Day Eight

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Javier is shot and refuses to take his antibiotic while recuperating. You get creative and make him a deal that ensures he will take his medicine everyday: one kiss for one pill. It's gonna be a long 10 days.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character injury, slow burn, mutually unrequited, angst, swearing, soft and sweet Javi, period appropriate sexism, brief mention of broken Javi

Word Count: 2484

Note: You have a bad day at work and seek out Javi to keep you company.

Read the full series on Ao3

The Friday work day ends early for you and finds you seething as you stomp up the stairs to your apartment carrying two loaded bags, one stuffed with your favorite take out food, the other clinking with multiple bottles of red wine (and one large bottle of whiskey).

It had been that kind of day.

All you wanted to do was drink yourself into a fuzzy stupor so you could forget the bullshit from today. The second you’re in your apartment, you shuck off your work clothes in the main entryway and pop open a bottle of wine in the kitchen wearing nothing but your bra and underwear. As you gulp down the first sharp taste of tart alcohol, you wander to your bedroom. By the time you’ve washed your face, put your hair up out of your face and changed into comfy shorts and a ratty tshirt, your glass is empty. It’s a good thing tomorrow’s Saturday because you can tell right now you’re probably going to have a major headache in the morning. You click on your record player and turn up your favorite Bruce Springsteen album, then snuggle into your couch with your food, another full glass and a trashy romance novel. A few bites into your meal, though, and your train of thought wanders back to your day and you lose your appetite.

How dare they! How dare they all. YOU were the one responsible for that intel. After the shit you’d had to do to track down that punk bartender and get him to talk...no one even bothered to acknowledge it. Not that you required them to stoke your ego and tell you how great you were, it wasn’t like that at all. It was when you were passed over despite your hard work and someone else completely undeserving earned the praise that infuriated you. It was always that way (most of the time, anyway). Every single male colleague you worked with always seemed to overlook the fact that, more often than not, you brought things to investigations that might not normally have happened; that you worked as hard as they did...oftentimes harder. You had to to be successful in a man’s world. You were damn good at your job. As cliche as it sounded, you often thought it as your woman’s intuition...an idea that many people scoffed at, but you knew was actually a legitimate and important trait. But today had been more than just the usual workplace sexism. Once again you had been overlooked as being an integral part of the team. It happened so often by now that you were still surprised when it stung so much. Today you had just felt like breaking. So you had left work early...not even bothering to clock out or finish your paperwork.

Fuck them!

You couldn’t stop yourself this time. Tears began to fall again (Christ, when did you become such a crybaby?!?) and you shoved your face into a throw pillow as you sobbed for several minutes, getting the anger and frustration out of your system. It was so unfair. And you knew that if you had been born with a penis and were in the same situation, it would be a different story all together. You also felt a pang of longing: if Javier hadn’t been sidelined and out of commission, you know he would have had your back today. He was the one exception to the sexism you experience (most of the time). It had taken some coaching on your part when you had first become partners; he had made his fair share of blunders that had hurt you and been unfair. But he had always listened when you had called him on his bullshit, when you had explained how the things he had done or said made you feel, explained how they were not fair solely based on the fact that you were female. Early on he had acknowledged when he was wrong. He still occasionally did or said something thoughtless, but he usually was quick to recognize when he was wrong and he had inadvertently become your champion when things like today happened. Though you hated to admit it, when he spoke up to others on your behalf, it made you feel good...although it also enraged you that a man’s voice pointing out your hard work was heard by the other men in a room rather than them all just recognizing it on their own. Javi would have stood up for you today if he had been there.

Thinking about your partner reminds you that you should probably check in with him before you get too tanked...you definitely don’t want to interact with him after you’ve had as much wine as you were planning to have...and after you’ve been reading things you know you’ll encounter in your book.

You snatch up the bottle of whiskey, not bothering to hunt down his keys and patter down the hall to his apartment, tap, tap, tapping on his door, enjoying the soft buzz the wine was making you feel on the edges of your thoughts, eager to make sure he was set for the evening so that you could get back your own apartment.

As soon as Javi opened the door you realized immediately that you had made several critical errors despite only being one glass of wine in. His eyes immediately traveled down your body, taking in your exposed neck; it was unusual for you to wear your hair up like this. They roamed further and assessed your t-shirt with hardly any elastic, the collar hanging low and dipping off one shoulder. Despite the fact that you swam in the material, it was obvious to his keen eye that you were not wearing a bra beneath it. You started to shuffle a little as his eyes traveled further and raked down your bare legs, his lips curling into a smirk when he saw your bright yellow, fuzzy socks. You rolled your eyes at his roaming gaze. My champion...you thought sarcastically.

“Hey!” You said loudly, snapping your fingers in front of his face a few times then waving your hand in front of your own face, drawing his eyes away from your exposed legs. “My eyes are up here, Peña. You don’t need to be lookin’ anywhere else.” He shot you a guilty grin, knowing he was caught and you felt some pressure leave your chest. After his apology last night and the unspoken sweet moment that followed, you were afraid things might be weird between you. Thankfully, though, things felt ok...until you see the smile drop from his face and his forehead crease in concern.

“What happened?” He asks. You pause, confused by what he means. Then you realize: you had just been sobbing into a pillow in your apartment...no doubt your face looked as puffy and red as it felt. You held up the bottle of whisky.

“I got passed over for another commendation today.” Your voice was full of false cheeriness, edged in steel and highlighted with fury. Javi’s eyebrows came together “Agent Dickhead got it instead. Want to have a celebratory shot with me?”

“Sure,” and he stepped back from the doorway to let you in.

***

Javi was appropriately outraged along with you at the injustice of the entire situation as you sat at his kitchen table. After inviting you in, he had gotten glasses for you both as well as a bowl of chips and you had poured them each a drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you had seen him glance at you to check that your back was turned and you had watched as he knocked back a pill from the bottle next to the sink, keeping his back to you, and making no mention of it. One shot had turned to two and you both went back and forth between chuckling and spitting ire over for the incompetence of the man who had wrongfully received the recognition that you deserved. After your partner poses a particularly explicit hypothetical question regarding “Agent Dickhead’s” relationship with his mother that leaves you clutching your sides in a fit of giggles, he sighs.

“Sorry I wasn’t there. I know you don’t need me or anything like that, that’s not what I mean, but…” he trails off for a moment and fiddles with his glass on the table before finishing. “...I just wish I could have said something. You don’t deserve to be treated like shit.” You sigh too and lean back in your chair.

“Thanks. I appreciate you saying that.” You sit in an amicable silence. Then you shift in your seat, stretching your legs from where you had tucked them up under you “I should go. I don’t want to keep you, I just…” your frustration from the day hits you again like a ton of bricks and in the next instant, to your utter horror you are blubbering into your hands, your shoulders shaking, trying not to sob hysterically in front of what you are sure is your mortified partner.

You hear his chair scrap across the kitchen tile and you feel more than see him kneeling next to you on the floor. Before you can react to his closeness, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his solid frame. You think for a moment that you should pull away...but you just can’t. You breath him in as you lay your head against his chest and cry into his shirt, the soft smell of soap and cigarettes giving you something else to focus on besides your hurt and rage and you feel your tears start to subside just a little. He buries his face in your hair for just a moment, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a heavy sigh, then he props his chin on top of your head, tightening his arms a little bit more around you.

You stay like that for a while, his arms cocooned around you, you letting him hold you while you cry yourself out. He’s told you before there is nothing more terrifying to a man than a woman in tears and you know how uncomfortable it makes him feel. This isn’t the first time you’ve cried in front of him; it’s happened before on a few occasions, but it has never resulted in anything quite so intimate. He usually slings an arm around your shoulders or simply sits next to you patiently, waiting until all of your tears are spent. And then there had been that one terrible, dark time when you had found him curled up in the locker room at work at two in the morning, his head clutched in his hands, shoulders shaking, silently sobbing into the wall. You had never been so frightened of anything as you had been then, seeing him so broken in front of you. You had held him and the two of you had never spoken of it again save for his grunted thanks the following day.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel safe, feel small, feel cared for, even if only for a few moments. Your breath comes in shallow stutters as your breathing begins to regulate. Reluctantly, you pull back, sniffling and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. You touch the wet front of his shirt, chuckling your apologies, embarrassed. He shakes his head and shrugs in response and you force yourself to look at him.

His eyes are full of something that makes your heart pound. The longing from previous nights, a reflection of your own hurt, and something that can only be described as adoration. He brings his hands from around you and frames your face along your jaw, his thumbs carefully tracing the trails your tears have made on your cheeks, wiping away the last of the wet streaks.

“You ok?” He gruffs softly, the question reflected in his soft, sweet brown eyes as they search yours. You can only nod, hypnotized by the incredible tenderness you see in his face. For all of the resolve you have always had that has kept you from crossing the line with this man, you have never felt so much weakness as you do in this moment. Every part of your being screams at you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him; to beg him to touch you, to make love to you. You know if you did he would oblige you. He would make you forget how hurt you are by work, make you feel like the most special person in the whole wide world, make you splinter apart under his ministrations. All you had to do was close your eyes and lean forward…

...Before you can convince yourself to act or not, Javi makes the decision for you. Cradling your head in his hands, he leans forward, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. It lacks the heat of the last time your lips touched, but strikes a perfect balance between chaste and lustful, pressing just long enough to be more than a peck, but not so long that either of you get lost in your desires. He pulls away after a few tender moments, pausing as he does just millimeters from your face, his eyes open and studying you carefully, taking a moment to breathe in the air from your exhalation, his lips hovering over yours. Your eyes remain closed, though, unable to look at him for fear of wrapping yourself around him and shoving him to the floor to ravish him. He lowers his head, his forehead brushing your mouth and he lets out a shaky sigh. He whispers your name as though casting a spell and you open your eyes, staring at his lowered head until he raises it again.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then rocks back onto his heels and pulls himself up to standing, taking you along with him. You stand a little too close to each other for just a moment, heat crackling across the small space that separates you, your palms flat on his chest, his hands resting on your elbows before they drop to his sides. He takes a small step back and the raw desire you see in him frightens you.

You mumble your thanks for the company and the drink along with an apology for losing your shit on him. He waves you off, telling you not to worry about it, never breaking eye contact. You swallow hard and blink before saying goodnight and making your way back to your own apartment, your legs suddenly feeling like they’re made of jelly and your heart pounding so hard you’re amazed he doesn’t hear it all the way down the hall.

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Nine

#javier peña x reader #javi #javier pena x female reader #narcos

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: jin x reader ft. elf!jk || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: est. 13k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: thriller, angst, fantasy || ʀᴇʟᴇᴀsᴇ: 14th December

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you and your husband jin try to enjoy a nice holiday in the North Pole, but there’s something not quite right with the elves.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, some aggressive characters, though no gore or explicit violence, this one’s kinda a dark setting though i promise the characters are still honeymoonjinᵀᴹ soft

“I don’t like this.”

You glance up from the half-eaten butterscotch pudding, finishing your caramel mouthful. “What do you mean?”

Jin glances up from the picnic table the two of you are eating at, eyeing the fellow tourists and smattering of elves wandering around the campground. The two of you had gone on a surprisingly brief tour of the North Pole's capital, Middlenog, kept in a tour bus for a ride down the main street, only stopping at a small museum and now, a campground for lunch. Oddly, your tour bus were the only guests at the site, and the booth for reception had been shut since you parked up, with no sign of opening.

“Maybe it’s off-season,” you dismiss, shoveling another spoonful of the delicious - and complimentary! - dessert in your mouth.

Jin glances back at you, brows furrowed. “It’s December,” he exclaims, “in terms of Christmas, it’s the very definition of on-season. Where are the rest of the tourists? Where are the elves taking holidays with their families and friends? I just don’t get it.”

You stare at your now-empty bowl mournfully, before pushing it to the side and looking back up at your husband. “I mean, if Christmas is busy, they probably take their vacations in the middle of the year, right? Anyway, it’s not a big- Seokjin!”

You cringe violently as the dark-haired man waves over your tour guide, a stout redhead with a friendly face and clever eyes, greeting the elf with an over-enthusiastic handshake.

“Franklyn,” he cheers jovially, though his eyes glitter in an entirely different manner, “I wanted to ask you a quick question. How do we go about booking a cabin here, perhaps for a week or so?”

The elf’s eyebrows lift slightly, and you watch as he leans his body backwards, before his arm goes taut and holds him back in place. You watch him swallow hard as he realises Seokjin isn’t letting go of his hand. “Uh, you can ask at reception, sir.”

Your husband doesn’t blink. “Reception’s closed.”

A tense smile breaks out on Franklyn’s face. “This place isn’t so well run, huh? You’d be better off vacationing in one of our luxury holiday resorts in East Cane! That’s the place we’re headed to next, it’s about an hour out of the city but it’s got reindeer riding and the Auro-”

“We prefer the city life,” Jin interrupts smoothly, finally dropping Franklyn’s hand with a flourish, wiping his palm on his jeans with a never-faltering grin. “How about you recommend us a place to stay inside Middlenog.”

“But Middlenog isn’t for-” Franklyn coughs suddenly, a tinny noise that sounds entirely artificial. “Hey, how about I fetch you folks some more dessert? Calories don’t count on a holiday, you know!”

You hum, eyeing up the buffet table they had set up, a few picnic tables pushed together and laden with food. “Actually, I wanted to try the mudca-”

“We noticed you haven’t eaten yet, sir.” You’re taken aback when it’s the elf this time, not your husband that cuts in. Franklyn has his head tilted just enough that his small, felted hat doesn’t tip off, and his smile is plastic.

Jin goes silent for a moment, jaw flexing slightly, in the way that you noticed it did whenever he was concentrating extremely hard on something. “You noticed me, did you?”

Franklyn doesn’t explain further. “The food is completely free, and if the clients don’t finish it, we have to throw it out. All those meats, breads, cakes, puddings; they were all put there for you to enjoy as a part of the tour. So go on; be naughty.” Franklyn winks at the both of you like it's an inside joke shared between friends.

You begin to feel uneasy, but Seokjin just holds his gaze. “I think I will,” he says slowly.

“Good!” Franklyn’s clear relief is shattered by the ringing of a stick of jingle bells, the driver elf standing outside the bus, waving the couples and families back inside. The redhead deflates a little, before puffing himself up and smiling down at the both of you. “Well; why don’t you take something to go? We aren’t meant to have food or drink on the bus, but I won’t tell if you don’t!”

You curl your arms inwards as they rest on the table, slipping them off the edge to hug yourself. Something about this interaction struck you as extremely unpleasant, even as Franklyn beamed down at you. Maybe it was something about the way he bared his teeth as he smiled. Perfectly pearly whites.

“Well thanks, Franklyn,” Jin cheers, moving to stand up. “I’ll go quickly browse the selection and pick out something for the ride. Give us just a minute!”

Franklyn nods happily, waiting for Jin to take you by the arm and lead you to the now-abandoned table of food. Once you reach it, some of the food still steaming lightly, Franklyn tips his hat to the two of you and runs up to the bus, mumbling something to the driver before leaning back out with his hand on the door, waiting.

“Fuck,” Jin hisses under his breath, “keep a smile on your face while you talk. He can’t get suspicious.”

You laugh and poke him playfully, though your heart pounds inside. “What’s going on?” you whisper. “I think something’s not right here.”

He reaches around you for a bread roll, lathering on some herby butter. “Listen to me very carefully, baby. We’re going to get on that bus, wait for it to pick up enough speed, and we’re going to pull the emergency door lever and jump out into the forest.”

You glance at Jin sharply, seeing Franklyn perk up at your movement. Forcing yourself to maintain a calm appearance, you let yourself freak out on the inside. “What do you mean, Jinnie? We can’t do that.”

“You feel it too, don’t you? They want us out of the city. There’s something they’re not telling us, something they’re hiding. I just know it.”

You pretend to inspect a squeeze bottle of sauce, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble as Franklyn in your blurry peripheral impatiently checks his watch. “Jinnie, I’m scared.”

“If we get caught, we say it was an accident. Trust me, honey, it’s better we leave them and their influence as soon as possible. I think they’re spiking our food.”

You gasp, catching it at the last second and letting the air bubble in your throat. “They can’t do that,” you defend reluctantly, though your stomach turns at the thought of the butterscotch pudding you had devoured just minutes before. “Do you really think so?”

“I’m convinced,” he replies shortly, picking up a paper plate stuffed full of goodies. “So take food to make it look like we’re eating, but don’t have any more, okay? I haven’t eaten any yet, so if something happens, I’ll take care of you.”

Your eyes prickle violently and your knees threaten to buckle. “Seokjinnie, I’m scared.”

“We should get back on the bus.”

“I don’t wanna get back on the bus.”

“We need to,” he instructs in a low voice, hand on the small of your back the only thing that anchors you. “We’ll get off soon, okay? Wait for my signal, then jump and roll. Don’t try and land, just roll.”

You stare as the entrance to the bus nears closer, Franklyn trying his best not to send you both a withering glare as he gestures for you to hurry up. “Okay, baby.”

Jin waits until he’s just within earshot of the tour guide before speaking up one last time. “We should’ve gone to fucking Hawaii.”

The impact jerks most of your memory from your mind. One moment the two of you are holding hands tight enough to turn the knuckles white, and the next your vision is blurred, a pounding in your head and sour copper in your mouth.

The two of you fall on grass, tumbling over each other as your momentum carries you, but it’s uneven and littered with stones from the road and snapped twigs from the forest. You spit out a mouthful of blood, stumbling to your feet with shivering limbs, and even as your ears ring, you hear your husband calling your name, tugging on your arm to pull you along towards the dense thicket of trees.

You’re blubbering, hiccuping on blood and snot and tears, but the squealing of tires drags your attention back up the road, where thick black streaks of tar lead to the bus, heads poking out the windows, and a bewildered redhead elf hopping out to stand on the road, yelling something you’re too shell-shocked to decipher. Jin tugs at your arm, jerking you forward, but it’s not until the elf, in his tan shorts and bright green short sleeved button-down, reaches up to remove his felt hat, chucking it to the side and breaking into a run, arms pumping furiously at his sides in tune to the jingling of the bells on his pointed shoes.

You cry out at the sight, finally catching your feet underneath you and sprinting as fast as you can, your husband hot on your heels. Darting through the trees, trying to watch out for uneven ground, you suck in shallow lungfuls of air, pushing and pushing as the two of you make it deeper into the forest. Soon enough, your lungs begin to burn and your legs ache, wanting nothing more than to curl up.

You halt yourself, ducking instinctively behind a tree, listening out over your panted breaths for any sign of Franklyn. As you slowly catch your breath, holding a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, you turn to face your husband, who’s pressed up against an adjacent trunk, brows furrowed in concern.

The two of you stay like that for a moment as your ears strain for sound of anyone incoming, but there is none. Tentatively, you lean out from the cover of the tree and look around. You’ve gone deep enough into the forest that light is dim here, and you can no longer see the road. In fact, no matter which way you turn, you’re faced with a bleak infinity of tall, mournful trees, silent bar from the rustling.

Your blood runs cold. Silent. It’s not just a lack of noise from Franklyn. There’s no evidence of life anywhere, no chirping of birds or flapping of wings, no scratching of squirrels climbing up the trees. Your gaze falls down to the forest floor, a thick layer of pine needles, leaves and twigs lay over barren grey dirt. From outside, from the road, the forest looked rich, vibrant, branches heavy with snow. But here, the thicket is so densely packed that all the snow hangs heavy on the upper branches, and below is a dead void, long, bland tree trunks more like skeletons that living organisms.

“I think we lost them,” you husband whispers into the expanse. “Or at least he gave up on following us. Those shoes didn’t look built for running.”

Anticipating a day of exploring, the two of you had put on sneakers for the tour that morning from your hotel, and you feel so grateful for that decision. The pair of you in basic jeans and warm sweaters and jackets would be faring far better than the elves in their kitschy uniforms, and at this point you would take any advantage you could get.

But still, the odds were against you, and in the open hollow of the forest, you felt that more than ever. “Jinnie, what are we gonna do? We’re lost and we left that food on the bus.”

“It had something in it, Y/n.”

“Getting a little high or sleepy is better than starving to death!”

Seokjin sighs in internal frustration and rubs his face. “Y/n, sit down.”

You frown, legs folding to sit cross-legged on the ground. “Seokjinnie, it’s cold,” you complain. He stares at you for a few moments as you shuffle uncomfortably, trying to smooth out the prickly debris below. You huff at him. “What?”

“Why are you sitting down?” he asks softly. “It’s the middle of winter and those jeans are your only layer on your bottom half.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Because you asked me to, assho-” You go stock still, gaze darting up to meet his in fear. “Oh god.”

Your husband’s face crumples, rushing forward to pull you back up by the arms. “They’re keeping us compliant, Y/n. Everything this tour has been showing us is a fucking lie. And if they stuff us up with free food that keeps us obedient, then we’ll go back home after the trip telling everyone how perfect and wonderful the North Pole was. I… I don’t know how long it’s going to take for the drugs to wear off, Y/n.” He pulls you into a hug suddenly, arms tight around your shoulders. His voice is shaky, thick. “If we meet someone, honey, you need to stay close to me, okay? You need to be very very careful.”

You nod, hands finding their way up to clutch at his back, breathing in his familiar scent. “Jinnie, we need to keep moving. I know it’s dangerous, but we have to find someone. We don’t know the terrain. If we don’t have anyone to help us we’re getting caught by nightfall. And besides; there’s no way we could survive this weather overnight without any supplies.”

He exhales heavily enough to ruffle the hair on the back of your head, squeezes you one last time, and pulls away. “You’re right,” he concedes with eyes bright with tears, “let’s keep going forward until we find something. Or someone.”

The walk is relatively peaceful, for a few hours. The exercise keeps your body warm, and the deeper into the forest you go, the scenery slowly begins to come to life again. After about an hour, the washed-out trunks are replaced with rich brown, stout builds with patches of moss bursting colour on the sides. The lifeless packed dirt softens and changes to soil, a spongy layer of freshly fallen leaves replacing the dry remnants that littered the outskirts.

It’s several hours before you hear anything other than your own steps. The sun slips lower and lower in the sky, a fat disc of yellow ochre that dissipates before it reaches you. Jin and you don’t speak, don’t waste the energy it would take to make conversation. The total, somber hush of the forest is broken for the first time by a high, piercing yell.

The two of you freeze suddenly, ducking behind the two nearest tree trunks like your lives depended on it. Without a visual of the action, your eyes go hazy staring back the way you came, at the deep wall of trees between you and the civilisation you ran from. You let your ears focus in instead.

There’s a solid thump, followed by the involuntary oof of someone being winded. You muffle a gasp and curl into a ball at the sound of multiple voices, jeering loudly.

“What are you gonna do now, Golden Boy? No one to defend you now. We got rid of Yoongi, and we’ll get rid of you, too.”

Another sound of impact, and the victim of the assault lets out a whine that echoes through the forest. “You’re just nasty! What did he ever do to you?”

A different, lower voice cuts in with another hit. “Oh, shut it, tinseltoes. The two of you are little rats, you don’t appreciate everything the ones in charge give you. It’s not just us; we had a request from the big guy himself to stop you from meddling.”

You and Jin share a frantic, wordless stare. He was right after all. There was something fishy going on. You can see on your husband’s face the way he reaches his decision. The emotions that play in his eyes, the doubt followed by determination. As the two separate voices continue to harass the third, Jin waves at you once to remain where you are, and jumps out from behind the tree. You gasp silently, shaking your head with wide eyes, but he’s already making his way towards the commotion.

“Hey! Stop picking on this poor elf!”

“And who the fuck do you think you are, pal?”

You cringe at the roughness of the strangers’ voices, cursing out why your husband would ever do that. Jin, however, just gets more fired up, and you hear surprised grunts, and some scuffling, like he’s shoved one or both of them.

The two begin to get louder, yelling, and the moment you hear the unmistakable sound of flesh impacting on flesh, you can’t stay in your spot any longer. Jumping out, your heart breaks at the sight of your husband cradling his cheek with a pained expression, opposite arm raised in a guarding position to protect himself.

Past him is a figure curled up on the ground, but you pay it no mind, keeping a careful eye on the two attacking elves. Both are short, but while one is scrawny, an unflattering comb-over under his felt hat, the other is stout, fist still clenched, an angry red colouring the deep lines on his face. Their attention is caught by your sudden movement, and they do a double take, glancing at Jin, then back at you.

“Wait a minute,” the taller one one growls, “what’s wrong with you two? Your faces aren’t….” He scrunches his face in disgust, spitting into the dirt thickly. “Fucking humans, aren’t you?”

The older elf narrows his eyes at you, open hatred on his face. You notice upon closer inspection that the both of them catch the light, a faint silver shimmer on their cheekbones. You wonder if this was the thing you and Jin were apparently lacking to out you as humans. “It’ll be the Sweet Adventures bus tour again. Dragging filthy mundane scum through the streets of Middlenog. You don’t belong here, got it?”

Jin sets his jaw with a wine, eyes bright with anger. “We’re the scum? You took this poor kid out into the middle of the woods just to beat him up.”

“If he had any elf-magic in him like the rest of us, he’d be able to fight back,” the older elf retorts.

The figure curled up behind Jin shifts, a head poking out from his legs. “I do-o,” he whines miserably, hiccuping a sob. Instinctively, Jin reaches down to place a hand protectively on the soft brown hair of the boy, patting comfortingly.

“Well, show us then, Golden Boy,” the brawny elf mocks. “Every other elf has enough for a little spark, so why can’t you? Do you really despise yourself that much? Fucking pathetic.”

A wet sniff comes from behind Jin’s thigh, and you watch small hands wrap themselves around his knee; even with two, his fingertips barely touch. Jin glances over at you with a pleading look, and you nod slowly. Clearly both of you had the same rising protective urge over this small elf that you hadn’t even properly seen.

Steeling your spine and hoping your stern face looks intimidating, you turn to the elves. “I bet you two haven’t visited any human cities, right?”

The smaller one curls his lip. “Why would we?”

You take a breath, willing your voice not to shake. “Then you probably don’t know much about our weapons.”

The two exchange a look. Jin tries to make eye contact with you, but you ignore him. “We know some,” the smaller one says warily.

“When I came here, I brought something to protect myself. I don’t want to have to use it, but I will.” Trying to disguise the trembling of your hands, you slip the backpack from your back. Of course the two of you hadn’t thought to pack food or water, or really anything for survival, but you do know one thing Jin insisted on bringing that just might save your asses. You reach in and pull it out, praying your husband’s look of bewilderment doesn’t ruin your bluff. “Do you know what this is?”

The elves stare wide-eyed at the can of spray-on cologne in your hand. Even the smallest ducks out from behind Jin, his wide doe eyes the first actual glimpse of his face you’ve seen thus far. The tougher elf reaches out an arm to prevent his friend from backing away when they see the spray bottle. “Is it… It’s not a gun, right?”

You grin. Thank fucking god. “That’s right,” you affirm with a nod, raising it quickly enough that they all flinch. “And if you don’t come back the way you came, I’ll have no choice but to fire. This gun is particularly effective because it can shoot at long distances. So you better watch your step all the way back home.”

The elf with the hat shrinks back, tugging at his companion, who stands there for a moment, nose flaring. Finally, he relents, not before jabbing a finger in your general direction. “The two of you will fucking pay for this, you hear me? The second we reach the town, we’re calling the Jollies on you. You may have won this time, but in the scheme of things, you’ve already lost.”

He shoots you one last glare, but you straighten your arm and tighten your finger on the trigger, and the two turn tail, rushing noisily through the trees. They glance back a few times to see if you’re still aiming at them, but you don’t let your arm fall until you can no longer make out their forms.

Once the tiny blips disappear from view, you let it drop, sinking to the ground in an anxious heap. “Jesus. Your fucking bougie cologne. After all that.”

Jin grins, but you can tell his relief from the way the tension leaves his shoulders. “You’re just lucky I have good taste, honeybun. That ‘bougie cologne’ just saved our lives.”

You hear a hiccup. “C-clone?” a small voice questions.

Your exhaustion leaves you, and instead your maternal instinct rises again. “Hey, little guy,” you coo, “are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

You see his tiny fingers scrunch up the thick fabric of Jin’s jeans as he buries his face out of sight again. “Can you put the clone gun away?” he cries out in a wavering voice. “Koo doesn’t like violence. ‘S scary.”

Jin laughs, a comforting sound to both you and the frightened elf. Ruffling his hair, Jin gently detaches the boy from his leg so that he can crouch down in front of him. “No need to be scared, buddy. It’s not a gun.”

The small figure has his knees up and his fists bunched up over his face, so that only his mussled hair shows. Slowly, though, his fingers relax. “It’s not?”

“It’s cologne. Something that makes you smell nice. Y/n was just tricking the mean men so that they’d leave us alone.”

He hums in consideration, brushing at the dust that’s collected on his overalls. In a total contrast of Franklyn and the other elves running the tour, both the two bullies and Koo were in extremely dull clothes, nothing like those TV-ready red-and-green confections that the others wore. The overalls you saw now were a washed-out green, clearly too big for him judging by the way the ankles had to be rolled up several times and the suspenders kept slipping off his shoulders. Underneath was a grey t-shirt, too thin to provide any real warmth, and his arms were prickled with goosebumps. In fact, the only real decent piece of clothing he wore were a pair of heavy-duty black boots, something you’d see in a factory. “Y/n,” the young elf repeats experimentally in a shaky voice. Your heart melts at the sound. “Y/n saved Koo?”

“Well, Jin helped too,” your husband defends immediately. “But yes. You’re safe with us, Koo.”

Finally, Koo drops his hands and lifts his face up. Eyes just as wide as before glimmer with unshed tears, wet streaks tracking over his cheeks, which are bright with a silver blush that glows from below the skin. Strange, you think. You hadn’t noticed that on Franklyn.

Jin sighs, fondly patting him on the cheek. “Listen, Koo. My wife and I jumped out of a tour bus, and we’re now pretty lost. I know you must be shaken up right now, but if you could help us, we’d really appreciate it. A place to stay, some food or water, even just directions.”

Koo rubs his button nose with the back of his hand, blinking owlishly. “You- You want my help?”

“If that’s okay.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, nose scrunched up with the effort of it, like he can’t process what your husband is telling him. Shaking his head, he opens his eyes again with a pout. “I’m not a very good elf to ask for help. I can’t even do elf-magic like everyone else. You don’t want me.”

You frown softly, shuffling closer to him. “How come you can’t do elf-magic? Were you not taught it or something?”

He rubs his eyes hastily, wiping away the tears that spring up again. “It’s not taught,” he explains in a shaky voice, “it comes from your heart. The more love you give and receive, the more magic you have. The other elves make fun of me because- because-” he jerks with a sob, burying his face in his hands again. When he talks again, it’s muffled. “Even if you’re the meanest, loneliest elf in the world, you still have a little bit of magic because of your self love. But Koo can’t even make a spark. I’m a bad elf,” he blubbers hopelessly, whole body wracked with sobs.

You stare at Jin with wide eyes, feeling yourself tear up at the confession. Without a second thought, you launch your body forward and wrap your arms around the crying elf in a tight hug, pulling him up so you can rub his back soothingly.

He freezes for a moment, but as you and Jin both coo sweet reassurances, you feel him go lax against you, arms coming up hesitantly to hug you back. You feel the pressure of his chin as he tucks it into the crook of your neck, and the wetness of his cheek on your skin. “Wh-what is this?” he questions in a weak voice.

“It’s a hug, Koo,” you explain haltingly. “Do you really not know what a hug is?”

“It’s nice,” the elf mumbles instead, wriggling slightly to snuggle in deeper.

You glance up at Jin over his shoulder. The pleading look in your eyes is probably akin to a child asking to a parent, can we keep him? but you can’t help yourself. There’s something about Koo, something about the innocent galaxies in his wide eyes, something about the way he buries himself into the warmth of a kind stranger like his life depends on it. There’s something about him that makes you want to keep him by your side, safe forever.

Judging by everything else you had seen so far, and what Koo had mentioned of the other elves, it didn’t seem like a very nice place for him to be living. When you left - that is, if you managed to leave - you wanted to take him with you.

“Koo,” you say slowly, “do you… do you have a place where we could stay for the night? We just need a night to regroup and then we’re going to try and go back home. Back to the human world. Would you like to come with us?”

You feel his chest expand in a deep breath as he regains himself. Gently, almost reluctantly, he pulls away to glance up at you, shaking his thick brunette hair from his face. Though you didn’t notice it before, it’s a lot longer than you would have expected, longer than any other elf you’d seen so far. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through it as he speaks, dislodging the twigs and leaves that are knotted up from being sprawled on the ground. He winces as a particularly matted section of hair gets caught, but his eyes are still so wide and vulnerable as they look up at you. “The human world? I- I don’t think I’d fit in there…”

Jin’s eyes soften sadly. “Do you fit in here?”

Koo drops his head, giving up on taming his disheveled locks. He shrugs solemnly in resignation. “I have a place I like to go to sometimes, when I wanna be alone. It’s not too far from here.” He lifts his head again, a small smile playing at his lips. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile. “We call it the Clubhouse. You know; like Mickey Mouse?”

Jin laughs, brushing his jeans as he stands up. “You elves have Disney Channel or something?”

Koo cranes his neck up to the elder, shuffling his feet. “We don’t have television or internet here, but one of my cousins smuggled in some tapes once. Mickey was my favorite.”

Jin’s eyes dart to you in worry at the mention of smuggling. How bad was this place? “Could you take us to the Clubhouse, Koo? If you help us now, we can help you escape from here. Please.”

Indecision is plain to see on Koo’s face. His eyes waver, he sucks bottom lip into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, hands in his lap fiddling restlessly. "Uh... Mm... I don't know..." He darts his watery gaze over to you and you give him what you hope is your most reassuring smile. That seems to do it; the tension in his body melts, and he slumps, nodding in tiny jerks. "O-okay then. But I have one condition." He's never looked more serious, more grim. "You need to help me find my brother first."

---

With poor insulation, Koo's hideout is still on the colder side, though it's still far more tolerable than outside. As the three of you trekked through the thick forest, the sun had fallen, and quickly the outdoors was inhospitable. Although elves had done a good job over time at maintaining survivable temperatures right in the centre of the North Pole, the majority of the continent was still arctic tundra, and so a lot of the heat was leached or blown away by icy winds.

The Clubhouse really wasn't more than a cleverly-secluded treehouse, one that he had to guide you how to climb, with just the branches rather than planks or handholds to aid the way. It was sturdy enough that you felt comfortable staying the night, but three persons was clearly over capacity, as you had no choice but to sit directly on your husband's lap as Koo tucked himself into the corner opposite, taking a battered hairbrush to his tangles.

You lean into your husband's warmth, part of you wishing it was just him so that the two of you could be alone, but mostly grateful that you had come across an elf like Koo in the first place rather than freezing to death outside. Jin has his arms loosely around your waist, resting on your lap, but even just their weight is enough to reassure you a little. You tip your head back onto his shoulder, almost missing the look of something akin to confusion in Koo's eyes.

"So this brother of yours," Jin begins, "he's a criminal?"

Koo flinches, face crumpling. "He's not," he defends thickly, tossing his hairbrush noisily into the cabinet of belongings he took it from. "Yoongi shouldn't be in prison, he didn't do anything wrong."

"People don't just go to prison for no reason, Koo," Seokjin retorts, not unkindly, "we aren't judging, but we need to know what we're getting into here. Was it something small like stealing or is he a murde-"

"It wasn't his fault!" Koo fires back in a weak scream, making the two of you jump. He blinks, and fat tears fall from his lashes, barely touching his cheeks as they fall to wet the floor in dark spots. "It wasn't his fault," he repeats hollowly, making no effort to wipe his running nose. He lies against the back wall, staring into space, brows furrowed with guilt. "It was me. He took the fall to protect me." He breathes shakily, taking a moment to compose himself.

"Yoongi's a good person. He's my brother. We were working in the factory together when I was fifteen. It was-"

"A factory?" you interrupt incredulously. "When you were fifteen years old? That's child labour."

Koo's taken off-guard by your exclamation. "Well, yeah. Little elves work better in the smaller factories like tinsel factory where we worked because you can fit more. How else could we make money for food?"

Your eyes prickle violently as your hand comes up to cover your mouth.

Jin's voice is calm as it comes from behind you but you can see the way his hands tremble as they rest on your thighs. "So you and this Yoongi guy were working in the factory. Are you able to finish your story, Koo?"

The elf nods, wiping away his tears with a fist before continuing. "I didn't take it seriously back then. I was stupid, showing up late and not working hard. I had two strikes, and one day I accidentally broke the stringing machine. If I had gotten caught, I would've been fired and then Yoongi and I wouldn't have had enough money for the both of us. He thought if he said it was him it would be his first strike and it would be fine." He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing out more wet tracks to run down his cheeks, and his shoulders shake. "We didn't know. The three-strike policy was only for minors. He said he was the one that broke it and they took him to prison. To Candyland."

"Koo," you make out in a garbled sob, breaking Jin's hold to rush forward and pull him into a hug. It seems Koo recognises it this time, because he reaches his arms up like a child and lets you embrace him tightly, wailing noisily in your ear, shaking like a leaf. You squeeze him even more snugly as he lets out his heartbreak.

Jin moves past you in the cramped space to rub his back, sending you a worried gaze. "Koo, buddy, how old are you now?"

The boy sniffs. "Twenty-two," his voice sounds from behind you, heaved sobs slowly reducing to weak trembles.

Jin bites his lip, cheeks puffing out at the action. "Seven years, then. I-" he breaks off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I hate to say it, Koo, but there's a good chance he's not still in the same place he was taken away to. You don't know for sure that if we go to that prison Yoongi will even still be there. We're risking everything by putting ourselves in danger's way, and we might not get anything back for it."

You glare at your husband, rubbing Koo's shoulder yourself, but the younger boy just pushes off you, sitting up and twisting around to stare at Jin.

"I know," he says somberly, "but what kind of elf would I be if I didn't even try?"

Jin returns the eye contact silently for a moment, before nodding in resignation. "We'll go first thing tomorrow."

The prison is bigger than you imagined. Rather than a simple complex of cells, it's closer to a camp, with several different concrete buildings spread across an open expanse of barren grey dirt. An endless trail of hunched over elves spill out of a bungalow furthest from the bushes you've ducked behind, single-file like ants as they make their way in tattered overalls over the lifeless land and towards a massive building, tall enough to block out the weak sun, wide enough that the far end almost disappears into the horizon, what looks like an endless, monstrous factory topped by several twisting chimneys that force up black smoke that clots the sky in smears of grey, sucking up any remaining colour.

Koo's face is stricken, looking over it. You suspect he's never actually witnessed it up close, though it was only a few hours' walk from his treehouse. Your one saving grace had been the lack of any elves out and about in the backstreets of Middlenog so early in the morning when you had rushed there, but now it seemed that luck had run out.

Regular patrols roamed the yard, easy to spot as they were the only elves in the traditional bright colours - though even then, they were closer to heavy military than friendly Christmas elves. Their uniforms were thick, tough fabric like you'd see a SWAT team wear, but they were a dark red like dried blood. The pants were tucked into solid camo-green boots, and each and every one you could spot were holding giant guns, painted over the same shade of muddy green, held in the arms or slung over a shoulder. From the ones close enough to see properly, their faces were hardset, all tough jaws and furrowed brows. Nothing like the softness of Koo's features, with his plump cheeks and delicate lips.

Speaking of the young elf, you glance back over at him in concern. His face has gone so pale that almost all of his silver glow has leached away, and his hands are shaking violently. In preparation of the risky heist, he had put his hair up off his face, two strips of ragged fabric serving as ties, one on either side, just above and behind his ears. The pigtails would be cute, were it not for the long-lived sorrow in his eyes.

"And this place is called Candyland?" Jin questions incredulously. "It's a nightmare, is what it is. Jesus."

Koo bites his lip with a shrug. "It used to just be called the Middlenog Penitentiary, I think. But when we started getting human tourists... Well, us elves aren't meant to interact with humans anyway, but just in case they got lost or something, they didn't want the humans to think we have a prison. If we just say Candyland, they assume it's nice."

Your mind whirs, your stomach turning. "It's gotta be over thirty years, right?"

Jin frowns. "Huh?"

"The North Pole has been open to tourists since, like, the eighties or something. All that time and nobody's seen how horrible it really is? When we get out, we have to say something, maybe we can- I don't know, stop it? How does nobody know about this?"

Jin opens his mouth with the beginnings of a shrug, but then freezes, mouth dropping open. "Fuck." Koo jumps a little at the curse word, worried pout deepening, but your husband's attention is fully on you, a frantic fear in his eyes that you've never seen before. "Y/n. You know all those stories on the news, tourists that went off-tour and went missing or died?"

You nod automatically, before what he's implying sinks in. "You don't think..."

Jin reaches out to grip onto your hand tightly, breathing through his nose to try and stop his voice from wobbling. "If this is what they treat their own people like, imagine what they'll do to outsiders. If we get caught, honey, I don't think it's just going to be a slap on the wrist or deportation."

Your fingers tighten around his in fear, and you glance back the way you came, debating just turning around and giving up on the whole prison-break scheme. But then you turn around again, and you see the vulnerability in Koo's eyes, the careful hope, the deep-residing guilt. You swallow hard. "Then we don't get caught."

Jin sighs out slowly. "Yeah. Okay." He shuffles a bit to adjust his crouching position, and lets go of your hand to place both on Koo's shoulders. "Listen. Do you have any information on where he'd be, how we're going to find him?"

Koo takes a stabling breath. "Um, I think, he- If he's still here, you can probably find him in the sleeping part, over there." He points, careful to keep his hand out of view of the patrol, to the bungalow where elves still pour out in a slow trudge. "It's alphabetical order, so Yoongi will still be waiting to go, I think. The beds have names too, apparently. Yoongi always told me that's how they keep track of them all, make sure every bed with a name has an elf in that night."

Jin processes this, jaw working. "So that means by tonight, they'll notice him missing?" Koo nods. "Fuck, so we need to get back to the station before then."

You feel tendrils of doubt wrap around your lungs, shortening your breath. "How are we gonna get past the security, Jinnie? I bet Franklyn's already warned them that we're missing."

"We can't think about that now," Jin brushes off, his brow furrowed with concern as he glances past the bush, out to the single-file prisoners and patrolling guards. "Okay. There's a scrawnier elf heading our way, his rifle's tucked away, I can knock him out and use the uniform. Koo; what does Yoongi look like?"

You tip your head to the side. "Jin, why doesn't Koo just g-"

"You both are staying right here," your husband swiftly interrupts, voice lowering into a hush as the guard slowly strolls closer and closer. "If anything happens to me, Koo can get you out of here. Okay?"

Your eyes widen with alarm, but you force yourself to keep to a barely-audible whisper. "No! Not okay, Jin, I'm not leaving without you."

He glances up one last time, his face relaxing into grim acceptance and determination. He ducks forward, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your forehead, just on your hairline. "I love you," he mouths almost silently.

You reach up to grip his wrist, but he reluctantly shakes you off, and shuffles to the edge of the wild patch of bushes you're hid behind. The moment the guard passes into sight, Jin jumps, slapping a had over the guard's mouth and pinching his nose shut. He pulls the smaller body down, trapping his arms with a tight embrace and pinning down his legs against the ground.

You and Koo latch onto each other muffling your mouths as the figure struggles for a few long moments, grunts slipping out from behind Jin's palm occasionally. Finally, he goes limp, and Jin holds him still for another thirty seconds or so to be sure, before releasing him and urgently stripping off the uniform, awkwardly slipping it on as he remains crouched out of sight.

Noiseless tears track down your face and over your hand at the sight, at how what had meant to be a peaceful holiday had spiralled into something so twisted and threatening.

The uniform is too small for Jin, and you see him wince as the tough hem digs into his neck, but he forces the boots on and shuffles over to the two of you one last time, patting Koo's knee.

"I need to know something," he mutters hurriedly, "something only you and Yoongi know. In case he doesn't believe me. And I need to know what he looks like."

Koo's eyes waver in thought. "Well, he has light brown hair, almost blonde, like honey. He's short. Um. He kind of looks like a cat when he gets grumpy." Koo's face softens, a wisp of a smile playing at his lips. "Actually, that's what you can tell him. When we were really young, before either of us worked in the factory, we would go play in the forest or the fields all day. He'd pretend to be a cat, and I would be a bunny, and we'd chase each other and run around for hours, acting like we were free." A sudden flood of tears fills his eyes and overflows down his cheeks. "Tell him I miss him and I can't wait to see him."

Jin manages one sad smile before he's standing up, walking further into the yard the way the guard came, letting a stern gaze harden his features. Your heart thuds as he slowly wanders towards the bungalow, fighting the urge to hurry. Once he slips past the outflow of workers, you exhale, turning your back to the prickly wall of bush that conceals you.

The moment your gaze settles back, your mouth drops open, and you have to forcibly restrain yourself from swearing out loud. Beside the unconscious body, in nothing but a pair of plain briefs and grey woolly socks, lays Jin's jeans and jacket, and further beyond that, a gun. The guard's gun, that he must have either accidentally forgot or chosen not to carry. Fuck. Your husband was going into enemy territory with nothing to defend him. Worry fills you again like a sour balloon, blocking your airways and turning your stomach.

Beside you, Koo sniffs away his tears and tentatively shuffles closer to you, his arm pressing into yours. You glance over, and tuck your arm around him to pull him into a hug. "We'll get Yoongi," you promise, "if anyone can do it, it's Jin."

Koo snuggles in, short fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly. "Y/n," he starts.

"Hm?"

"Is Jin your brother?"

You barely manage to suppress a surprised laugh, it coming out as a snort instead. Hastily, you glance back to ensure your noise didn't attract any unwanted attention, but all the patrolling guards seem to have moved away, closer to the factory entrance where the incoming stream has bottlenecked, slowing down the line all the way to the bungalow. Hopefully this buys Jin more time to find Yoongi.

Bringing your attention back to the frightened elf in your arms, you shake your head, soothingly rubbing your hand up and down his outer arm. "Jin's my husband."

"Huz-bin?"

You freeze, glancing down at the boy. "Husband," you correct. "You don't have husband and wife here? No marriage? Boyfriend, girlfriend?"

He sits up, out of your embrace. "Huh? We have friends. Well; some of us have friends, yeah. I don't understand the other words," he admits, head ducking forward so that his pigtails dip, partially covering his face.

You find yourself struggling for words. "It's- Well, it's like love. Um. You love Yoongi, right?" Koo frowns slightly, like he's not following. "There are different types of love, you know. Love between friends, and between brothers, like you and Yoongi. You can give each other hugs to show your love. Another type of love is romantic. As well as hugs, you kiss each other and... do stuff like that. God, I don't know how to- Do you know what kissing is, Koo?" He shakes his head blankly.

You rub your eyes tiredly. "Man, how wou- Oh! Just before, when Jin left us to go, he kissed me on the forehead. Do you remember that?"

Koo thinks back, eyes wandering, before nodding slowly. "Like..." He presses his lips out in a full pout and dips, the motion of Jin pressing a kiss to your forehead, although far more awkward.

Despite the entire nightmare you'd ended up in, you find yourself grinning at his jerky imitation of a kiss. "Yeah, that's it, Koo. People that love each other romantically can kiss each other in lots of different places. It's really common in the human world. When Jin and I take you and Yoongi back home with us, you'll see."

Koo nods with a grateful smile, but he can't help the tears that fill his eyes again. "I hope so," he sobs quietly. "I hope it's us four."

Your heart breaks, and you can't think to do anything but nod, throat tight. Suddenly, you hear footsteps quickly approaching, and you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth and whirling around to glance past the bush into the courtyard, melting when you see your husband, intact and unharmed, dragging a prisoner by the upper arm.

"Koo, it's them," you rush out, and the younger elf lets out a surprised whimper, clutching at your sleeve as he glances out.

The shorter figure that Jin tugs along is stumbling and flailing as if to struggle and break away, but his grime-streaked face is light with awe.

"Yoongi!" Koo squeals desperately, voice cracking, and you can see the way both Jin and Yoongi's eyes widen in fear at the noise.

You hurriedly turn and grab onto Koo, shushing him as you frantically glance around to see if any guards overheard, before turning to Jin and shaking your head. Though he keeps his inconspicuous, glacial pace, the tension in his face relaxes.

Koo's vibrating like an energizer bunny underneath you, jumping uncontrollably in his excitement, though he manages to stay quiet enough until the two men are close enough to cast their shadows over you.

You release your arms, patting Koo on the back encouragingly. "Give him a hug, baby." The pet name slips out without you noticing, but Koo is too distracted to even hear it, gasping at the idea and leaping up to take the smaller elf in his arms.

Even though Koo is smaller than the average male human, Yoongi is even tinier, barely taller than five foot. As Koo throws himself at him, burying his face into the crook of Yoongi's neck, his eyes go wide in bewilderment, a deep silver blush rising on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Even with the dirt on his face, his glow is clear to see as he's embraced by Koo, mouth falling open and delicately slanted eyes startled like a kitten. You smile warmly as you see the resemblance to a cat that Koo spoke about.

"Wh-what is this, Koo?" Yoongi's voice is lower than Koo's, but so soft, so gentle, and the younger boy whines happily and holds him even tighter.

"It's a hug, Yoonie," Koo explains, his voice muffled. "The nice humans taught me. It means I love you, hyung."

Suddenly, like he understands, Yoongi raises his arms and wraps them around Koo's back, hugging him back with a fierce protectiveness that warms your heart. "I missed you Koo, I'm so sorry I left, I'm so sorry, hyung won't leave you ever again."

Koo sobs openly, murmuring something back you can't hear, and as the two quietly exchange sweet nothings to each other, you look up plaintively at your husband, hands out to invite him closer.

With eyes brimming with love and relief, he picks you up off the ground with ease, hands shifting to cup your face tenderly.

"I was worried," you pout, feeling your heart slowly return to its normal rate now that Jin is back with you again.

"I was gone five minutes tops," he brushes off, though his body still trembles slightly with the rush of adrenaline and relief. "Anyway, we need to get a move on, honey. Let's head ba..." He trails off, staring behind you with widening eyes.

Only then do you realise that all four of you are standing, blowing cover right on the outskirts of the prison complex. Your blood runs cold as you glance out behind Jin, further into the camp. As the last of the prisoners disappear into the factory, the guards follow behind, only one or two going the other way, into the bungalows to make sure everyone's left. You relax just slightly. It seems you missed getting caught by sheer luck-

"Hands up."

You go stiff as a board when you hear the voice from behind you, and you swear internally as you remember the missing part of the equation. As Jin shoves you hastily behind him protectively, you turn around to see the guard from earlier, standing in nothing but his underwear and socks, brandishing the gun directly at the four of you.

Jin throws his hands up, you following suit instinctively, and he shuffles the two of you back to join Koo and Yoongi, who've broken apart in shock, glancing back at forth at the guard and Jin, waiting anxiously for something to happen.

"There are four of us and one of you," Jin says slowly, "so just let us go and this will be better for everyone."

The guard, a slightly tubby but still built middle-aged elf, bristles, adjusting his grip on the gun. "I'm the one that's armed here," he forces out, "so you better watch it."

Jin shrugs, arms still raised. "Even so," he says, voice somehow completely calm, "I don't think you have the balls to actually do it."

You gasp loudly, breathing out your husband's name in surprise, but he just shushes you, shifting so his broad frame covers yours completely.

Your heart thuds in alarm as the guard flushes with anger, face reddening and finger tightening on the trigger.

"I will," he insists, though his voice isn't as stable as he probably intends it to be. "Why are you two trying to save stupid elves anyway? You won't get away with this."

Something about his comment rubs you the wrong way, niggles the back of your mind, an issue you can't quite put your finger on. As your mind whirs, your hands slowly slip lower and lower. Poking your head out from around Jin's side, you take a closer look at the weapon that's pointed at your heads. The paint is flaked off in some places from wear and tear, and you frown as you glance down the barrel, at how thin the hole is down the centre. There's something, too, about how wide and rounded the place where the bullets go is. You really know nothing about guns, have never needed to inspect one up close, but you're certain it shouldn't be-

It hits you, all at once. The second you make out the writing, the raised lettering that paint concealed but couldn't hide completely. MATTEL.

Your hands fall to your sides. You think perhaps his lips moving is him yelling at you to raise them, but really you don't care.

It's a toy gun. A water gun, probably, judging by the shape of it. This whole prison is run on empty threats. There's no danger here, not really.

Perhaps you would be scared of the potential of elf-magic, that tool which you didn't fully understand, but even then you know that's not a factor.

The guard barks an order at you, waving the gun like it's anything except cheap plastic, his face colouring an aggressive red as he raises his voice, trying to attract attention. "Stupid elves," he had said.

He wasn't an elf at all.

You turn your back on him, glancing behind Yoongi and Koo as a couple of guards rush out of buildings, looking around for the source of the commotion. This one guard with a kids' toy was no threat, but there were strength in numbers.

You share a look with Jin, before each grabbing a hand of Koo and Yoongi respectively, yelling at them to run and tugging them, as fast as you could go, towards the outskirts of the town, suburbs with countless windy, abandoned alleys for the four of you to lose the guards in.

You hear Koo let out a little scream when the guard pulls the trigger at you as you all rush past him, and a lukewarm spray of water hits you, wetting stripes over your clothes and hair, getting you on the back of the neck.

You all continue to run, closer to the first line of houses, feeling the sprays of water grow more distant. As all other factors disappear, and your survival instinct kicks in, the last thing you remember hearing is a peal of joyous, hiccupy laughter as Yoongi finally breaks free from Candyland.

The walk back feels longer. Perhaps it’s the constant fear of getting caught, of guards still hot on your tail, or perhaps it’s your urgency to get back home, but several times the four of you have to stop for a break, resting your body weight on age-old tree trunks and letting your muscles ache in their reprieve.

As the weak sun grows high in the sky, filtered through lofty canopies, you’re finally stopped by Koo as he silently points upward, where an inconscpicuous tree hides the Clubhouse. You hadn’t even seen the crude wooden form as you approached, so well was it hidden between branches.

Koo lets you and your husband get up first, guiding you from the bottom with one hand, the other still firmly interlocked with Yoongi’s. They had held hands the whole way home, like even a second without physical contact could tear them apart again. You couldn’t blame them.

Koo had overgrown his older sibling over the years, and while Yoongi tried to grumble about it, there was nothing but warmth in his voice, and he couldn’t hide the silver heat that rushed to his face and the tips of his ears whenever the two locked gazes.

You and Jin had suggested bypassing the hideout entirely, knowing that it would surely be better to go straight towards the station. Yoongi, however, was quietly but firmly adamant on revisiting the treehouse him and Koo had built as children, and you tried not to grow frustrated at the delay.

The station that you had initially arrived at was somewhat like an airport, rather than a real continuing line. There was one stop in and one stop out of the North Pole. A portal sustained by a deep silver glow of elf magic had taken a busload of tourists from a small city in Denmark - the closest place to the Arctic - directly into Middlenog, where heavy lines of security monitored everyone arriving and departing. At the time, you had marvelled at how safe and well-run everything was. Now, the thought of somehow sneaking past all those people seemed impossible.

“Are you coming up?” Jin calls down from his crouched perch in the treehouse. Having left his old clothes behind, he was stuck in the unflattering milital wear of the prison guards, and you could tell the sizing was an issue, his neck bearing a red ring where the hem had dug in.

You think you hear Yoongi muttering something as he potters around the base of the tree.

Koo cranes his neck up, eyes crinkled happily. “Just a minute!”

You’ve never seen him so cheery before, the way his head bobs between Yoongi and the two of you, two bundles of hair tied on either side of his face to show an excited grin. You watch Jin visibly soften at the sight, a gentle smile smoothing out the lines in his face.

After several moments of slow rustling, you finally hear a happy gasp, and Yoongi’s form stands up again, holding a small wooden box covered in dead leaves and dirt. He brushes it off, and tucks it under one arm, awkwardly climbing the tree one-handed to sit beside you with a pleased huff, thumbing the worn corners.

“You have it, Yoonie?” Koo calls up hopefully. After receiving confirmation, he joins the three of you, pressed tightly up against his older brother, resting his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder. “After all this time, hyung.”

“What is it?” you question curiously, leaning forward to stare at the small case, eyes wide as you watch Yoongi gently flick open the two metal latches to lift the lid. The hinges are slightly rusted, and he has to put all his strength into it, but the moment it gives and swings open, a pale silver light emanates from within, and Yoongi’s face goes lax with relief.

“I can’t believe it’s still here,” Yoongi breathes. He delicately sets down the box on his lap, pushing it closed and cradling it. He turns his head to the side, where Koo’s face is inches away from his own. With a rueful smile, he reaches up and pinches the flesh of Koo’s cheek fondly. “We were gonna run away, just Koo and I. One of my old friends once told me that if you pooled enough magic, you could make your own portal, a back door of sorts. It was how we were gonna escape. Back then.”

Koo’s eyes turn mournful, and his bottom lip wobbles just slightly. “I’m so sorry, Yoonie. I tried to keep adding to it for when you could come back home, but I couldn’t make any by myself.”

Yoongi just shushes him quietly, pressing his lips together in a sad smile. “I understand, Koo. But… there are four of us now. I don’t think this is enough for all of us.”

Koo lifts his head off Yoongi’s shoulder. “What if we made some more now?”

“Closer?” Jin questions, lines of worry back on his face with the bad news.

Yoongi mulls this over, biting his lip. “I don’t know if it would be enough…” He breaks off and looks up at you and Jin. “If we got closer, past the Middlenog border, I think we’d have a clearer path to the human world. Word in Candyland was that the elves in charge are using something to suppress elf magic. None of the guys in there could even make a spark. But perhaps if we made it out in the tundra, we’d be able to. We’d risk getting caught, but it’s our best chance.”

You share a look with Jin, shrugging in defeat. “We’ve come so far,” you point out, “why not test our luck one more time?”

The doubt on Yoongi’s face isn’t eased, the small elf’s delicate mouth twisting in concern. “But… We’d have to work fast. As well as dampening magic, the Middlenog borders protect the climate too. I don’t know how long we’ll survive out in the tundra. Even if we pass the border patrol, if we get there and it doesn’t work, we’re dead.”

It’s Koo that speaks up, a quiet resolve within that speaks beyond his years. “We’re dead already, Yoongi. Do you really think they’ll risk just sending you back to Candyland?”

Yoongi’s brow crumples, but he nods shortly, grabbing the box and standing up, holding a hand out to his brother. “We need to hurry,” he explains. “I know a way to the border, but we have to make it before sunset.”

Jin stands too, bending at the waist to avoid hitting his head on the roof. “Then let’s go.”

Although the walk to the Clubhouse was stressful, the two hour trek to the border is a nightmare. Yoongi leads you through shady backstreets and abandoned suburbs, Middlenog growing more desperate the further away from the centre you go. The constant threat of being caught out keeps all of you on edge, and the only conversation shared is whispered instructions and warnings.

The way Yoongi was taking you was only a couple of hundred metres west of the more populated, touristy areas. The heavily monitored areas. It also meant that you’d be avoiding the station, instead attempting to sneak out past the city limits away from the crowds. It was risky, because, like most countries, the North Pole had strict border patrol, but your chances were certainly higher than going through the regular channels.

It surprises you, the stark difference between the city and the tundra. Even as you approach, hidden by an overrun, wild orchard, you can see the line at which dirt and concrete becomes ice, the place where calm air gives way to billowing snow drifts. Even as your anxiety rises at the thought of braving such uninhabitable wilderness, there’s also a slow building of hope. Your freedom lay there, barely thirty feet away.

“Do you know how often patrols are?” you question, staring at the free space between you and the border.

Yoongi shifts, keeping the box pressed close to him. “Pretty regularly, but it won’t take us long to make it across, and then we can open the portal straight away.” Turning back to the two of you with a serious look, he places a hand on Koo’s back protectively. “It’s important that the two of you think of home. Your house, I suppose. Do you have the same house?”

You crack a brief smile at Yoongi’s obliviousness to the concept of marriage, but sober your expression and nod. “We just picture our house?” Yoongi nods, taking another glance out at the open land in front of you. “Then how will you two picture it? You’ve never seen it before; I don’t think either of us has a photo of the house on our phones.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows at the use of the word ‘phones’, but just shrugs patiently. “My home is with Koo.”

Koo nods, a gentle expression on his face. “And my home is with hyung, of course, but… But also with you two. Maybe?”

Your smile returns, warmer this time. “Both of you have a home with us, always.” Your throat constricts, and you clear it with a harsh cough. “Okay, if the border patrol isn’t coming anytime soon, I say we just go. We’re sitting ducks just waiting.”

“Ducks?” Koo repeats in confusion.

Jin barks a short laugh, and pats Koo on the shoulder. “Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

The four of you ready yourselves - kept together a line connected by tightly-held hands - take one last glance for any patrolling elves, and then make a break for the border. Koo is in the front, Jin next, you third, and Yoongi bringing up the rear. As you sprint, you focus on the line where lifeless grey becomes luminous white, and the warmth of Jin and Yoongi’s hands in yours, fuelling your momentum.

The plunge of the Arctic grows nearer and nearer, and you feel your heart leap, marvelling at your final stroke of luck, when, just as your husband’s front foot leaps past the border, your back arm goes taut, the sudden snap back breaking your grip on his hand, and you and Yoongi go flying backwards.

You groan as you hit the cold, unforgiving dirt of Middlenog, shoving yourself up as quickly as your aching body allows to work out what happened. A yelp brings your worst fear to light, and you whirl around to see Yoongi being roughly dragged to his feet by a familiar face, a shock of red hair shining out beneath his felt cap. Franklyn.

Your eyes widen, more so when out of nowhere a burly arm wraps around you, pinning you to a solid chest. You cry out in rage, kicking, but the body the red-sleeved arm belongs to is far taller than you, and your toes barely touch the ground, placing all the pressure on your constricted chest.

On the other side, already buffetted by flakes of snow, your husband and Koo stare in horror as your group of four is violently split apart, and they rush forward, only to freeze when a third elf, one you recognise as the driver of the tour bus, lifts a sleek black revolver in their direction. Jin goes deathly pale and Koo, even in his elf-borne naivety, recognises the true danger of the loaded gun.

“What do you want?” Jin calls out, but the driver just stands silently, more of a guard dog than anyone worth negotiating with.

Franklyn, however, shifts Yoongi in his grasp, holding the struggling elf under one arm like a child as he crouches down to retrieve the fallen wooden box.

“Leave him alone, you bully!” Koo cries, stomping his foot in lieu of actually stepping forward like you can tell he’s itching to.

Franklyn laughs, craning his head as at least twenty elves, some in the same tactical uniforms Jin was in, flood out of a nondescript residential building directly beside the orchard, all carrying loaded weapons, ones a threatening gleam told you were all real. You watch in bafflement as they surround you, five or six of them taking the wooden box of magic from Franklyn, disappearing back into the building. Yoongi twists helplessly and lets out a wail as your only exit gets taken away, and you yourself feel your spirit die, going limp in the hold you were trapped in.

Franklyn passes Yoongi off to a more muscular elf, who doesn’t hesitate to rest the tip of his weapon against Yoongi’s jaw, and you hear the horrified sobs of Koo, even as his voice is whipped away by vicious winds that bring out an angry silver on his face. Jin fights back tears, nose and ears already a raw red from the cold. He gives you a mournful look, an apology that runs deeper than words, and you shake your head mutely. None of you could have known it would come to this.

“Did you really think,” Franklyn poses smugly, strolling forward to stand in front of you, a twisted grin on his face, “that you’d make it out of here? With two elves, no less? This isn’t a pet store, Miss Y/n.”

“No, it’s a fucking concentration camp,” you spit out, watching in rage as he lazily itches a spot on his collarbone, a red line rising on the surface after a few moments.

Franklyn, not an elf after all but a human like you, laughs. “It’s not our fault they’re so naive,” he deflects. With an evil glint in his eye, he runs a finger down your cheek, laughing as you squirm, and your husband yells from the other side. “It’s not our fault you are either,” he adds.

You go still. “What do you mean?”

He continues to pat your cheek patronisingly, gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on him. “It was fun, you know; watching that little red dot wander all over Middlenog. For a moment there, we thought you had actually been arrested. Imagine our surprise when the tracker came right back out.”

“Tracker,” you repeat slowly, feeling your stomach lurch.

Franklyn lets go of you, wiping his hand on the garishly festive costume he dons. “It’s a shame your darling husband didn’t enjoy any of the free food we offered. Luckily, just one of you was enough.”

You let out a shaky breath, beyond disgusted. “You guys are evil,” you snap at him, “and you won’t get away with this.”

Franklyn shrugs slowly. “I think we will, actually. First I’m going to shoot our little escaped convict here, then I’ll shoot you, and finally we’ll all sit and wait and see how long it takes the men out there to freeze to death.

You let out a sob, glancing over at your husband, who’s shivering violently, arms wrapped around the smaller body of Koo, both of them with icy tears freezing on their faces. “Fuck,” you whine, “please just me say goodbye. That’s all. Please just let me say goodbye to him.”

Franklyn sighs in resignation, dropping his head as he considers. After a moment, he nods slowly, and lifts it up again, staring you in the eye. “No.”

The foul taste of copper fills your mouth, and you realise that you’ve accidentally bitten into your lip, opening up the still-healing wounds from your fall from the tour bus earlier. It seems like years ago, even if it was only yesterday. The pain sobers you, and as fresh tears track endlessly down your face, you lean into it, poking your tongue at the rawness of it, keeping your eyes open as you watch Franklyn make his way over to Yoongi.

Finally stopping his struggle, Yoongi goes stock still in the hold of the human dressed as an elf. His feet dangle uselessly around the height of the man’s knees, and he glares at Franklyn as he approaches, taking the gun from the man to point it directly at Yoongi himself.

Yoongi’s bottom lip trembles, but he keeps his dignity, staring hard at the man who holds his life in his hand, all silver gone from his face from fear.

Past the border, you can still hear Koo’s mournful screaming, writhing and squirming in Jin’s grasp even as his voice cracks from the thin air. Franklyn ignores him, and that just makes the younger elf wail louder, kicking his legs out as he begs desperately.

The redheaded man cocks the gun, humming to himself as he aims, waving the barrel over Yoongi’s mouth, eyes, forehead, before settling under his chin, pointing up, watching as the elf fights his tears.

“This hurts me, you know,” Franklyn says with a sigh, though you see the glee in his eyes. “It hurts me to have to kill you. You’re no use to us dead. You filthy fucking elves should be grateful that we give you money for food and shelter, all in exchange for easy factory work. But no. Even after we dress up like Christmas monkeys to make you feel safe, even after we give you jobs, you’re still not grateful. So while it’s a shame that I’m wasting my resources here, I can’t deny that I’m going to enjoy this quite a bit. Come on; count down with me. Three.”

Yoongi finally lets out a sob, causing the human to laugh wickedly. You stare helplessly onwards, wanting to look away but feeling like you had to show this brave young elf support to the very end. His eyes aren’t on you, though.

“Two.”

Yoongi’s staring directly at his younger brother, directly at Koo. His eyes widen.

“One.”

Koo’s glowing.

Just as time slows down, and you see Franklyn’s finger tighten on the trigger, a sudden burst of light envelops you, and all the people around you. You shut your eyes, clenching them shut reflexively even as the blinding silver penetrates your eyelids.

You feel the grip around you vanish suddenly, and you fall to the ground without it, banging your knees and elbows on the hard dirt, pressing your hands over you eyes as a thick blanket of silence wraps around you.

When the endless silver light drops away, streaks of neon paint the black of your vision, constant starbusts that flicker when you blink. You groan, sitting up and staring in wonder at the scene that greets you.

Yoongi’s on the ground too, slowly getting up just like you. But every single human, every attacker in sight, is totally unmoving, some with arms or legs bent at awkward angles.

You and Yoongi’s eyes meet in wonder, the elf’s nose and upper lip smeared with liquid silver, drying like blood, and at the same time you look outward, towards the Arctic wilderness.

Jin’s on the ground, covered in snow, but no longer are relentless waves and buffets whipping his hair and clothes around. Instead, the air is perfectly still, like a bubble around him and Koo.

And Koo.

The youngest elf is the only one still standing, panting with wide eyes as the radiant glow beneath his skin slowly fades to a regular silver flush. The air is peaceful around him too, and once you get up off the ground you see a new line, a curve that leads out and around him, like an extension of the climate of Middlenog itself. He catches his breath quietly for a few moments, staring at the three of you and the destruction he caused to the humans.

Then, breaking the stunned silence of the group, Yoongi heaves out a relieved cry and rushes forward, taking Koo in his arms, the motion of a hug now ingrained in him as a sign of love. Koo breaks down in his grasp, and even though he’s larger, he looks so small in his older brother’s arms.

“So scared, hyung, I was so scared, they were gonna take you away again, Koo couldn’t-”

“I know,” Yoongi simply coos, rubbing his back and stroking his hair, both pigtails having long since fallen out from the wind. “But I’m still here, bunny. You saved me.”

Before you even realise he’s moving, Jin’s barreled into you full force, sweeping you off your feet in a spin, planting frantic kisses on every inch of your face. You squeal, breaking into an involuntary giggle when you feel his ice-cold lips on you, relaxing into his secure embrace.

“Fucking hell, I almost pissed myself,” Jin admits, and you laugh in a sort of delirious euphoria, throwing your arms up over his shoulders and pulling him in for a proper kiss. “I’m serious,” Jin muffles around your lips, “not even ‘cause I was scared, I just needed the warmth.”

“Stop it,” you whine with a dopey grin, “that’s not romantic at all. What about, ‘I thought I was gonna lose you, I love you so much?’”

Jin pulls back from you, cupping your cheeks tenderly and looking deep into your eyes. “I’ve never been more scared in my entire life,” he admits. “You’re my whole world, you know that? I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back reverentially. “Now let’s go home.”

When you join the other two, you see Koo’s been busy. Behind him and Yoongi is a steadily growing window of molten silver, shifting like liquid though staying in a rough oval as it gets larger and larger. Yoongi’s staring at him, eyes brimming with pride, and as he reaches out to gently grab onto Koo’s hands, the portal expands faster, blooming with their combined efforts.

You and Jin wait in awed silence until it’s done, and the two elves turn back to you, flanking your sides.

“Think of home,” Yoongi instructs. Almost shyly, he reaches out his hand for you to hold on to, and Koo does the same to your husband. A small smile plays at his lips as his eyes dart to his younger brother and back to you. “And thank you.”

With overwhelming emotion making your eyes prickle, you turn to Jin, squeeze his hand a little tighter, and step forward.

#btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #ficswithluv #thekimlinenet #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #bts x reader #jin x reader #jin fanfic #jin fluff #jin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic

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rhyolight · 4 years

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Well, I do remember one of the asks I sent. I wanted to know how the creepypastas would react to being trapped in a submarine deep in the ocean together. (probably either Jeff’s or Toby’s fault they end up there in the first place. If you’d like you can come up with how it probably happened) also can we give bloody painter some attention please -ゆう

I’m glad that this ask went through, and I’d be happy to add in the bloody painter! I hope that this is good, I realized that I have forgotten about the bloody painter quite a bit, so I tried to make him pretty important to the story. I hope you enjoy! I know that I initially thought that this would take me a day or two, but I’m not tired so I finished it now. Something that you may notice is that I did not write Toby with his tics, and while I acknowledge that they are an important part of his character, I didn’t write them as I don’t feel that I have a firm enough grasp on how to write tourettes, and I didn’t want to accidentally offend anyone if I got something very wrong I am doing my research to make sure that I can write it respectfully, but as of now I don’t think that I am fully capable of writing an accurate representation.

How did they get here? Well, it probably was Toby’s fault, or as he’d tell Tim, only 50% his fault. Because

“Jeff started it!”

According to Toby, Jeff told him that Tim wanted him to steer the submarine to the right. It was an absurd lie of course, as Toby had strictly been banned from the control room by Tim himself. So somehow the submarine had gone deeper, only to get wedged under a rocky ledge on the bottom of the ocean floor. The pressure from the depth was starting to give Tim a headache, and Toby’s blubbering certainly didn’t help. He snapped at Toby to go gather the others and bring them to the dinning room for a “meeting,” although the way he said it meant that it would mostly consist of Tim yelling. Still, Toby rushed out of the room, eager to escape Tim’s wrath, if only for a moment.

When they were all gathered together, it only became apparent how problematic this could be. Many of the pastas had been grumpy about attending the meeting, Helen complained that his paint would dry, Ben fretted that his computer would somehow break in his absence, and there was an overall air of discomfort.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we're stuck.”

Tim stated, only conforming what had been suspected. A few began to ask questions, but Tim cut them off.

“Apparently Jeff told Toby that I told him to go steer the submarine, despite him being banned from the control room unless he was the last person left alive.”

“But Jeff said it was an emergency!”

Toby burst out, but to his dismay, the others only rolled their eyes.

“And were you the last person alive?”

Tim snarled, his temper flaring,

“Well, no, but jeff said-”

“I don’t care what Jeff said the point is we're stuck!”

Toby galred at Jeff who was smirking, but he felt a twinge of satisfaction when Tim turned to Jeff.

“Why did you tell Toby to go there? What on earth made you think that would be a good idea?”

Jeff shrugged,

“I didn’t think he’d be dumb enough to do it.”

Toby stood up, about to interject, but at that point the room seemed to erupt in yelling. Everyone had something to say, and nobody wanted to wait their turn. Tim kept yelling, trying to get everyone to calm down, but it only made things worse as the situation grew more chaotic. A few of the quieter pastas, Helen, Sally, and Jack, slipped out of the room, as the noise was getting to be too much. Toby could tell that Liu was gone as well, with Sully in his place, judging by the way he was yelling. The noise was getting to be too much for Toby as well, so when he saw Brian follow the others he headed after him.

He walked through the twisting halls of the submarine, walking quietly, he didn’t want to be told to go away. He found the others in the room of a very annoyed bloody painter. Helen glared at him irritably as he walked in the door, he had clearly meant to escape the mess so he could paint in peace, but Jack and Brian were sitting on the floor, with Sally facing them on the bed. As he walked in the door, the others gave him an annoyed look, he pretended not to see it, and he sat down next to Sally, the springs in the mattress creaking under his weight.

“Do you really have to be here?”

Helen asked, swishing a paintbrush in a jar of water to clean it. Brian shrugged, and Helen turned back to his art without another word. The swishing of the brush was the only thing that filled the silence until Toby spoke up,

“So, what exactly are we going to do?”

Brian sighed, leaning his chin on his hands.

“Well, we have to get the submarine unstuck somehow, and you can’t reason with Tim when he gets like this.”

He didn’t have to elaborate. They all knew that the normally level headed Tim would not listen to reason when he lost his temper. So it was up to them. Toby wanted to help, he really did, especially since he felt responsible, but he didn’t know anything about any sort of technology, much less submarines, thus the reason he had been banned from the control room.

“Well if Toby hadn't touched the controls maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess and I could paint in peace.”

Helen snapped, breaking the silence as he slammed his paintbrush down angrily.

”I’m sorry,”

Toby whispered,

“I really didn't mean to break anything.”

“Well, the damage has been done.”

Jack pointed out,

“Arguing over who did it won’t help us now.”

Brian looked up,

“Jack’s right, and if we don;t figure out something soon we’ll be in trouble. We could run out of food, or the submarine could start to leak.”

This seemed to make Sally nervous, and her legs began to swing, hitting the sides of the bed with a thunk thunk sound. Toby reached out a hand to stop her before the noise annoyed Helen. Brian looked up and noticed the young girl’s distress.

“Sally, why don’t you go to your room? I promise we’ll get everything figured out.”

She nodded and got up slowly, then fled, clutching her bear in her hand as her feet padded down the hall. Once she was out of earshot, Brian’s expression turned grave.

“I haven’t been to see the damage myself, but from the way Tim’s yelling it’s pretty bad.”

Toby nodded in agreement, he remembers the sickening jerk as the submarine had halted, accompanied by a loud scraping sound. That was what had led Tim to investigate and discover Toby in the control room.

“Should we go inspect the damage?”

Brian asked, rising to his feet. Toby nodded as he stood, and Jack rose as well. After a bit of nagging, they persuaded Helen to come with them as well, but he insisted on grabbing his sketchbook because he worried that they would be boring.

As they walked, Toby noticed that Jack now walked with confidence. At first, he had walked around the boat making high pitched whistles and clicks as a form of echolocation, and while it had been annoying, it was impressive. Toby had tried it once, only it hadn’t worked and he’d run face first into a wall.

As they got towards the end that had gotten stuck, the temperature seemed to drop and the air grew damp.

“That’s a bad sign.”

Brian muttered under his breath, and they picked up the pace, walking quickly towards the now apparent sound of dripping water. They stepped into the room, and the others seemed to shiver. The air was significantly colder, and the source of the problem was obvious. The top was dented, and a few small cracks had appeared, just barely visible, you wouldn’t have known they were there had there not been the dripping of water slowly forming puddles on the floor.

Jack let out a chirp towards the water pooling on the floor and frowned, he obviously didn’t like whatever information he had gathered. Helen, who somehow managed to look exceedingly bored with the whole ordeal, was standing a few steps away, drawing. Toby fidgeted, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater ad Brian stepped closer, craning his neck to get a better look at the ceiling. The water kept dripping a Brian turned abruptly.

“We need to find a way to stop the leak. The rocks are wedged tightly against the side, they’re helping keep the water out, once we move the submarine who knows how much water will leak in.”

As he turned and began to leave the room, Toby and Jack following close behind, Helen held up his sketchbook for the others to see. Complex diagrams had been drawn, ones that Toby recognized from the control room, as well as a sketch of the puddles the water dripping from the ceiling. He gave the book to Jack, and Toby noticed that he had used the lead of his pencil to create ridges on the edges of the drawing. Jack ran his finger over the diagrams, but what he learned from them was a mystery to Toby. Jack nodded before silently handing the book back to Helen, who closed it and tucked it under his arm.

“Well, what do you think? You did take a few classes in engineering once, didn’t you?”

Brain asked. Jack frowned deeply thinking,

“I did, but it was a long time ago,”

he muttered.

“I’m not sure how much I’ll remember.”

“Well do your best, our lives may depend on it.”

Jack nodded, but by that point Brian was already out the door, walking swiftly down the hall towards the closet where they kept everything that they could possibly need for repairs. Ben caught up to them as they reached the door.

“Tim sent me to find you, do you think you can fix it?”

“We can try.”

Ben nodded,

“Once the submarine is patched, I’m going to try to steer us out. The computers got messed up in the crash, but I think I can hold it together if you can keep this thing watertight.”

Toby looked down at his feet guiltily as Ben raced back towards the control room. Brian rummaged along the shelves, Helen whispering to Jack, describing what there was available. At first, Toby was hopeful. Maybe Jack could fix the submarine and Ben could get them home, and once Tim calmed down all would be forgiven, but his hopes began to fade as Jack’s frown deepened. Helen seemed to be growing impatient.

“Surely there must be something here that you can use.”

He snapped.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one here?”

Luckily, Jack didn’t seem to be bothered by Helen’s comment, as he was more focused on running his hands along the materials on the shelves.

“I practice medicine, not mechanics, and while it’s true that I did take a few classes in engineering, I was never taught how to fix a submarine.”

Yet his calm,only added to the bloody painter’s annoyance. He began grabbing things and shoving them into the arms of Brian, Jack, and Toby.

“Here, duct tape and super glue. It’ll fix anything.”

He muttered. Jack didn’t look so sure, but they didn’t seem to have anything better, so they grabbed all that they could carry and took off running. Helen came a minute later with a ladder resting on his shoulder, and the group raced down the halfway, their footsteps echoing desperately. When they reached the damaged room, the puddle had nearly doubled in size. Helen sloshed through it to the center, and he began to unfold the ladder and Jack began instructing Brian on what to do.

“I’d prefer to do it myself, but this is new to me, and you can see, I can’”

Brain looked hesitant, but there was no way that they would get Helen up there, meaning Toby was the only other option, and seeing as he was the reason they were stuck, it didn’t come as a surprise when nobody asked him to help. Instead, he grabbed some tape and glue and climbed up after Brian, their footsteps clanging on the rungs. He figured that he could at least help by holding the supplies while Brian worked.

Brian took off his hoodie and began to use it to dry some of the water, more leaked in, but he got off as much as he could. Then he began to spread glue around the cracks before sealing everything with duct tape. They added on more layers, and soon the water stopped coming through.

“Do you think it will hold?”

Toby asked as he passed another roll of tape up to Brian.

“I don’t know,''

came the reply ,in a voice coated with worry.

“It’s holding up for now, but there’s no way to tell what will happen once we start moving.”

“Should we try it?”

“We might as well, I think it’s good enough for now.”

Brian sighed as he climbed down after Toby, careful not to step on his fingers. Helen ran off with a splashing sound to tell Ben that they were ready to go, leaving Brian, Toby, and Jack alone with the pool of water on the floor to keep them company.

A few minutes later, the submarine began to lurch, nearly knocking them off their feet. As alarms began to blare, Toby stumbled backwards, slipping on the damp floor and crashing into the puddle. Brian turned at the noise.

“Are you ok?”

Toby scrambled to get to his feet as the boat continued to jerk back and forth.

“I’m fine, just lost my balance.”

Brian reached out a hand and pulled Toby clear of the puddle, which was nothing like the tranquil pond it had once been, as the wild movement of the submarine had caused the water to splash, creating the illusion of a stormy sea. They retreated to the the doorway where they looked up at the ceiling, Toby head Brian sucking in a breath as the ceiling buckled. You could see the indentation the rocks were making as the horrible wine of rock on metal filled the air.

“Well I hope you did a good job,”

Jack muttered, covering his ears. Just then, Helen returned with a walkie talkie, Ben’s voice floating out of the device.

“Is everything holding up?”

Brian grabbed it and pushed the button, wincing as another shrill wine shattered the once quiet atmosphere.

“It’s holding together so far, but be careful, if we’re not gentle, we could rip another hole in the submarine.”

Ben promised to be careful, and then silence fell. They stood there, tension rising as the boat scooted backwards at an agonizingly slow pace. The noise was bordering unbearable, but after a few especially harsh and jerky movements, the submarine appeared to be drifting freely again.

Toby looked up, expecting to see water come crashing down through some hole in the ceiling, but no new cracks had emerged, and while the makeshift patch was sagging under all of the weight, it held. The boat began to rise, the pressure in their ears decreasing as they ascended until Ben announced that they had reached the surface. They cheered, and headed to the control room.

Lights were flashing everywhere, and Ben was almost transparent, half in half out of the computers as he moved from place to place, carefully guiding the damaged ship.

“We should be safe now that we’ve reached the surface,”

Tim remarked upon their entry. Toby avoided his gaze, but he didn’t seem angry any more. He’d probably been worn out from all of the stress and yelling. And although Toby knew that he would be yelled at the next day, at least he would be alive to be yelled at, and not drowned at the bottom of the ocean.

Next time, he promised himself, I won’t listen to Jeff. And maybe I should learn a thing or two about submarines, just in case this happens again. As if he could read his mind, Tim shot Toby glare, but he was too lost in his thoughts to notice.

#story #my writing #my style #request #anon request #requested #ticci toby #myMH/CPcrossover #bloody painter #tim wright #brian thomas #jeff the killer #sally williams #eyeless jack #homicidal liu #creepypasta #mrble hornets

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cosmicbug379 · 4 years

Text

Ever Northward Gaze

Guys I made myself really sad with this one. Like so sad I cried writing it at 11 last night. It’s not my normal thing, but here we are. Also the title is actually from the book of Lord of the Rings! In the book, when Boromir dies, Aragorn and Legolas sing the Lament for Boromir and it’s really sad and I’ve been listening to the version on Youtube that Karliene did (she’s one of my favorite artists honeslty and she has some really good LotR and Game of Thrones stuff so definitely check her out, she’s amazing!) and I was being sad about it so here we are. It does not have a happy ending so be warned. Also, i picked some pieces from the book, and some from the movies and I combed through the timeline of the fellowship and looked up a lot of distances and stuff so the timeline and days is as accurate as I could make it and it’s literally only mentioned like 3 times so that’s fun. I also only tagged a couple people cuz I really honestly don’t know who even wants to read this. Okay sorry for the world’s longest Author’s Note.

Fandom: Lord of the Rings

Pairing: Boromir x reader

Words: 1496

Warnings: Major character death

It had been months since you had last received a letter from Boromir, and you hated it. You understood why-the need for secrecy had been clear-but you still didn’t like it. The last letter he had sent was from Rivendell, he said he was joining a quest, a fellowship that was setting out to bring the One Ring to Mordor. You knew he left because Lord Elrond had sent word that it had been found, there had been a council called to Rivendell to discuss what to do with it. His father wanted him to bring it back to Gondor, so they could attempt to use it against Sauron, but the Ring was evil, it couldn’t be used against it’s master.

You missed Boromir terribly. He was supposed to come right back, instead it had been 241 days since he had left for Rivendell and 132 days since his last letter had arrived. He was only supposed to be gone a little over 100 days, and now it had been more than twice that since you had last seen your husband.

You had spent most of your time since Boromir’s departure in the Houses of Healing. Ioreth had taught you from a young age, and you quickly discovered you enjoyed it and you were good at it. Faramir always said you were the perfect balance to his brother. He was always the soldier, ready to fight; you always wanted to help people, heal them.

When you weren’t in the Houses of Healing, you were in the rooms you usually shared with Boromir. You enjoyed painting, and you had a balcony that overlooked Pelennor Fields and you could just see Osgiliath in the distance. You also enjoyed singing, and Boromir insisted you had the voice of an angel, even when you told him he was wrong. You were writing a song for when he finally returned to you, but you were stuck. You had been on edge for over a week now, you weren’t sure why, but you had a bad feeling about something. Your sleep had been restless and your dreams troubled when you had them.

7 nights ago you had dreamt that you saw Boromir’s body in a small boat passing down the river Anduin. You were sobbing when you woke up, and stumbled your way to Faramir’s room. He said he had the same dream, and it made you even more uneasy. You were worried. A weight had come over you, you feared you would never see your husband again.

You sat in your room now, reading over his last letter again. The ink had started to fade and the edges were worn. You read his letters often, trying to remind yourself of him, but this was your favorite.

My darling wife,

It has been too long since I last saw you, and I fear it will be even longer still. I regret to tell you this will be my last letter for some time. I have volunteered to accompany a brave young hobbit in his quest to bring Isildur’s Bane to Mordor. I hope our path will bring us close to home and I will be able to see you, but I am not so sure.

We are walking, it is best that way, horses will draw too much attention. It will be a long time before we pass into Gondor or anywhere close to the White City, but I will count the days until I can see you again.

I miss you more than I can put into words, my love. I miss sleeping beside you and waking up with you in my arms. I miss your smile and the way your eyes shine when you do. I miss the sound of you singing to me, and I miss the sound of your laugh. I even miss the way you scold me when I distract you from your work. I cannot wait to hold you again, to kiss you again. You know me better than anyone, and I think you may even know me better than Faramir does. I miss you.

I must stop now, before someone walks by and sees me becoming a blubbering mess over a letter to my wife. Watch over Faramir, father is too hard on him. Don’t let him take anything my father says to heart.

All my love,

Boromir

You weren’t sure when you had started crying, but a few tears dropped onto the fading words. It was a few moments later when you jumped, hearing the sound of a horn. The horn that signified someone was approaching the Citadel. Was Faramir back so soon?

You raced to the courtyard and saw a messenger there. He was carrying something wrapped in a cloth and he had a grim look on his face. The uneasiness you had been feeling for days crept up inside you, stronger than ever. The messenger looked at you and showed you what was wrapped in the cloth. The Horn of Gondor. Cloven in two. Boromir had taken that with him when he left for Rivendell. That means…

“I’m sorry, my lady,” the messenger said quietly.

You heard a scream of anguish, the saddest thing you had ever heard. It took you a moment to realize the sound had come from you. You weren’t sure how long you stayed there sobbing, but it was long enough that your handmaiden became worried. She and Ioreth found you and took you to your rooms, but you barely even noticed they were there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knew Gandalf had arrived in the city with a hobbit that day, and you waited outside the throne room while they spoke to Denethor. You had worn nothing but black for 6 days, since news of Boromir’s fate had reached Minas Tirith. You knew you should put on a finer dress to greet your guests, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wear anything else. All your dresses were ones Boromir had bought for you.

You looked up as Gandalf exited, followed by the halfling. He stopped when he saw you and gave you a look of sympathy.

“My lady… I wish we were meeting again in happier times,” he said quietly.

“As do I, Mithrandir,” you replied. Turning to the halfling you spoke again, “I know Gandalf, but we have not met, what is your name?”

“Pippin, my lady. You are Boromir’s wife aren’t you?”

“Yes, Boromir was my husband… I understand you are a friend of his,” you said, waving away Gandalf’s attempt to scold the hobbit.

“I like to think so... He spoke of you often. He loved you, and he was right, you are indeed beautiful, my lady,” Pippin blushed a little and looked down.

“Thank you,” you hesitated. You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer to your next question, but you had to ask. “How did he die?”

Pippin looked at Gandalf, as if asking permission. With a nod from Gandalf he turned from you again.

“He died defending me and my kinsman, Merry. We were north of here at Amon Hen, near the statues of the old kings. There were many Uruk-Hai and he fought bravely to save us. He was pierced by 3 arrows before he fell.” he said.

Your slowly cracking facade of composure finally broke. You tried not to openly sob, but you couldn’t stop the tears leaving your eyes. That sounded like your Boromir. Fighting to defend those who could not defend themselves.

“Thank you, Pippin,” you whispered. “For telling me. I am glad he was at least able to save you and your friend. I hope I get to meet Merry some day.”

“I hope we will see him again too, my lady,” he answered.

“Gandalf? Watch over this one. He is brave and he has a good heart. Boromir would be proud of him,” you said with a sad smile.

Gandalf squeezed your shoulder gently before leading Pippin away. You watched them go, trying to keep your tears at bay. Yes, you could see why Boromir loved this little hobbit. Even from the short conversation, you could see it.

You wandered to your rooms again, telling your handmaiden not to disturb you unless absolutely necessary; you wanted to be alone. You went through your wardrobe, looking for one of the shirts Boromir had left behind. When you found one, you held it close to your face. You could still smell him on it, you didn’t want to think about when you would no longer be able to.

You collapsed onto your bed, sobbing into the shirt, clutching it tightly to your chest.

Boromir was gone, and he wouldn’t be able to come back to you now. You wouldn’t kiss him again, or hold him or fall asleep next to him. You wouldn’t have children that you would raise to be healers and warriors. You would be alone now for the rest of your days, with nothing but his memory.

Tags: @rzrcrst @longitud-de-onda

#lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #boromir #boromir x reader #boromir fanfic #boromir fanfiction #get ready for sadness

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yentotajaan · 4 years

Text

Repercussions: Prey

Much to Yen’to’s chagrin, Khan was already present in tea house library, reeking of alcohol as usual, and talking with Alyona. He had hoped to have a few moments of quiet before the mission started. But... I am never that lucky, am I? He struggled to keep up between Khan’s boisterous blubbering and Aly’s rambling stream of thought. Temporary relief came with the arrival of Strega, followed shortly by Ramius. Hm... almost everyone from the first mission. I guess we are all gluttons for punishment. Without further ado, Khan slurred on with the briefing. I swear, he would die if he went longer than a bell without liqour.

A string of disappearances had begun over a sennight ago, across multiple places around Eorzea. It began with the odd farmer, begger, and street rat. However, more recently adventurers also started going missing; some while looking into the mystery yet others were simply random. The Alliance of Free Companies was stretched thin and could not spare enough effort for the investigation, and so had put out a request for adventurers discover the cause so they can then send in soldiers as needed. A bit grander than I expected, but beats trying to pretend to be a prisoner. This should be rather straightforward. The only clue was that some recent disappearances had all occurred at a remote village in the middle of nowhere - specifically a chapel where adventurers had stopped for rest. With missing person poster bills in hand, the small band headed off.

Upon arriving at the village, Yen’to noted that it was even more destitute than expected. Some building were still in ruin from the Calamity, and recovery efforts looked haphazard at best. As they wandered through the streets, most of the residents averted their gaze. The party did, however, manage to get the attention of a rambunctiously playing child. Her mother came up shortly after, a bit of bluffing from Ramius managed to squeeze out enough information that confirmed the church should be their next destination. Gods, by her demeanor one would think talking to us was almost a death sentence. Do they not expect us to stay long?

One of the nuns outside stopped the group as they approached, cautiously asking what they needed. Apparently for Strega, she needed to use the little ladies room. Seriously? That is what is important right now?! Ramius quickly course corrected, finally getting the nun to direct them inside to talk with the bishop (alongside other relief). After casually making their way inside the small church, the group let Yen’to take the lead this time while Ramius and Strega watched the door. What makes them think I am good at bluffing? My lying performance at the Castrum job was horrible! Well... can’t back out now without looking suspicious. Strega reiterated the point about needing the little ladies room.

The bishop was much less hesitant than the other townsfolk. But his words were tinged with sadness, regret, and... something else. The tone was setting Yen’to’s nerves on edge. His anxiety quickly spiked when the bishop talked of visitors in black and red uniforms delivered supplies. Wait... black and red? Aren’t those Garl—? Yen’to’s thoughts were cut short when the bishop slipped on gas filtering mask and pulled a nearby lever. He barely managed to take a few steps before collapsing to the floor in a deep stupor. Going... to.... kill... Khan...

With a start, Yen’to found himself awakened in a place that looked somewhat like the Shroud, but felt... off. The others were all there too, no worse for wear - even Strega’s bladder. Strangely for being captured, they all had their armor and equipment, and were not shackled. Grunting as he clambered noisily to his feet, Yen’to was eventually able to get a better look around. The ground was covered in spotty grass, and the trees were sparse. Wait... this is not really the Shroud. Where in the hells are we? As Yen’to looked up to the sky, instead he saw a cermet ceiling. As if in answer to his question, a voice blared over a loudspeaker. A chillingly familiar voice.

By the Twelve - is that Tribunus Lucian? From the Castrum we blew up nearly with him in it?! Aly, Strega, Yen’to, and Ramius all exchanged looks with each other, recognition occurring nearly simultaneously. Lucian claimed that the current batch of participants was poor sport, and they needed to do better or he would attend to the combat himself. Combat? What combat? The group barely had time to collect their thoughts before the answer became clear, and were under assault by a hail of arrows.

After running for the nearest cover, a voice in the distance rang out, “You lot need to hurry up and die, or we won’t get to go home!” Ramius called out to them to stand down. The men claimed to be from Ala Mhigo, and that they were all trapped here unless they killed enough others. Mad with desperation, the archer would have none of it, and ordered everyone to attack.

Ramius was the quickest to respond, shooting the archer clean through the head with his machinist rifle. Yen’to readily subdued the swordsman, knocking the man’s shield aside with his giant axe before following up with a nonfatal blow to the head that knocked him unconscious. Aly had it worst, taking a spear to her shoulder as she desperately tried talking her opponent into surrendering. Strega somehow simply convinced her opponent into giving up, and the lancer followed suit and stepped back away from Aly after seeing his allies defeated. How does she do that every time? At least only one of them was killed... none of us wanted to be fighting Ala Mhigans in a Garlean facility.

A back and forth exchange followed the cease fire, with the Ala Mhigans claiming that escape without following the rules was impossible. They had even tried teaming up with others before, but it all ended with backstabbing and betrayal as everyone eventually splintered off to fend for themselves. They almost seemed ready to join Yen’to’s not-so-merry band before a burst of magitek armor gunfire came from behind and blasted the remaining Ala Mhigans to shreds.

Upon turning around, the sight of Lucian in a flying suit magitek armor sent a chill down Yen’to’s spine. He cackled maniacally upon seeing the group, instantly recognizing them from the Castrum disaster. Rather than angry, he appeared murderously gleeful at the prospect of hunting foes who had bested him before. Ramius was not one for monologuing, and unleashed a barrage of bullets, which prompted Lucian to respond with bursts from his magitek cannon that sent Yen’to flying. Gods damn it-- every time!

Lucian did not want to end the hunt so soon, so he moved out of range and demanded they give him a good show. Almost in sync, the sound a lift engaging caught Yen’to’s ears - as well as the baying of war hounds. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the Ala Mhigans still clinging to life and murmuring something to Strega before finally passing from his wounds. Strega had an eerily neutral expression on her face as she calmly repeated the words - ‘find the waterfall and the red marks upon it’.

With a direction now in mind, the party scrambled upriver as the sounds of hounds closed in behind them. Yen’to could also make out the sounds of cannon fire and explosions. Is he.... is he hunting his own hunting dogs? The Garlean is insane! With Lucian temporarily distracted, the group managed to make their way to a small waterfall. Behind it, Ramius spotted a boulder with red markings -- blood. Working together, they managed to pull it aside and scramble into a small cave before rolling the boulder back in place just as Lucian came flying, screaming insanely about how he would eventually find them.

Yen’to and Aly collapsed onto the cold, stony floor. Strega unfurled blanket and began preparing some healing solutions while Ramius kept an eye out through a crack in the entrance. Yen’to was not paying too much attention to what Strega was going, his eyes instead wandering to take stock of their safe haven. There were strange carvings on the wall, similar to carvings around Ala Mhigo. With a yelp of pain, Yen’to was brought back into focus as Strega’s magitek contraption stabbed something into him. A little warning would have been nice! But... the pain is starting to subside. Strega treated Aly in a similar manner, closing up the wound caused earlier by the spear.

While recovering from their injuries, they heard a voice approaching their location. As it got closer, they could make out a technician making notes and observations of the artificial battlefield’s carnage. A brief and hushed discussion ensured, and they agreed on a plan to move the rock and take the technician by surprise. The boulder was moved ever so carefully out of the way, and one by one they slipped through to position themselves to ambush the Garlean.

Ramius was quickest on the draw, literally, and had the man at gunpoint before he knew what was happening. Judging from the face and sounds he just made, it is a good thing he is wearing dark pants. The man begged to be let go, that he was just doing his job and that documenting the deaths of savages was nothing personal. His choice words did not help his case, but they all managed to hold their tempers long enough to get some concessions out of him.

As was plain by now, the Garleans were to blame for the kidnappings. Tribunus Lucian was taking random subjects for testing, but also apparently to satisfy his personal desire for hunting. They delivered food and supplies to the ruined village as a front for their activities. Lucian had been both impressed and perturbed that their infiltration mission had ruined his Castrum. Aly’s enthusiastic comment about finally having a recurring villain to fight did nothing to help Yen’to’s nerves. This is not some story book! I swear to the Twelve, if I die here I am killing Khan!

They debated amongst themselves on the best course of action. Strega wanted to sabotage the place. Aly wanted to rescue everyone and Ramius wanted to blow it out of existence. Yen’to simply wanted to get out alive. In the end, they were running out of time and had little choice but to force the technician to fly them back to the village so that they could then inform the Alliance to rescue the trapped and unwilling combatants.

The scene upon arriving back at the village was.... surprising, to say the least. Khan was kicking a poor tied up Garlean soldier, demanding to know where his charges had disappeared off to. Various soldiers from the Maelstrom, Twin Adders, and Immortal Flames were interrogating other groups of tied up prisoners. Yen’to was almost impressed at Khan actually doing something responsible. So he can actually get things done. I guess that is why he is able to come across all these mission postings. Well, that, and he keeps hiring us to actually complete them for him.

The haggard, exhausted team dutifully informed Khan and the Alliance of all that occurred. They were assured that the installation would be destroyed that and all prisoners would be rescued from the cruel experiment. Relieved, but exhausted, Yen’to began the long trip back home. Strega began the search for the little ladies room.

Somehow, no matter how wrong these missions go... they are still better than my shifts on Tea Time night

https://yentotajaan.tumblr.com/post/634247844314906624/yento-arrived-at-the-long-forgotten-village-in

@tough-bit-of-fluff

@ramius-xiv

#ffxiv #Balmung #RP #shenanigans #khaaaan #storyline

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

By Dawn pt. 4 ☼ John B Routledge ☼

find the complete masterlist for “By Dawn” as well as all of my other works here!

word count - 4.0k warnings - mentions of violence tagging - @simonsbluee @parkerpetertingle @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @hopelesswritingxd @diverrdown @outerbanksbro @ponyboys-sunsets synopsis - John B meets a mysterious girl at his court ordered group therapy. After spending weeks trying to get to know her, he slowly realizes that she’s a tough nut to crack. But then one day, she leaves him a cryptic message…the night before she goes missing. With the disappearance of his father still so raw in his mind, John B refuses to lose anyone else. And he will stop at nothing until he finds her. a/n - I’m so sorry about my tagging system, I’m trying to figure the whole thing out. I’ve been fooled. I’ve been using both gifs of Indyamarie Jean and Tashi Rodriquez, so I guess Gwen can be either of them! Also, most of the gifs are from Wattpad books, so I have no idea who to credit for them.

***

“John B?” Kie whispered. “What are we doing back here?”

All four of them snuck up to the house they had visited earlier that day, John B taking the lead.

“This is her house,” he whispered back. “I just need to get inside her room .”

“We’re not breaking into someone old ladies’s house, JB!” Pope was in the back of the line, his eyebrows pinched together. He had always been the nervous type, especially when it came to breaking and entering.

“There’s got to be something in her room that’ll tell us what happened to her,” John B said.

“He’s right,” JJ huffed, not crouching like the rest of them. “You guys can stay out here and keep watch if you’re too pussy.”

“Or, ya know, just to keep watch,” John B added with a jab to his ribs with his elbow. John B pressed his back against the house just underneath the window that he knew was Gwen’s.

“What happens if the old lady walks in, huh?” Pope hissed. JJ shrugged. “What will you tell her you’re doing in her room?”

“Housekeeping?” JJ suggested with a coy smile. Pope rolled his eyes.

Looking around in the darkness one last time, John B turned around and pushed the window open.

JJ gave him a boost inside.

John B was standing in Gwen’s room, but it didn’t look like anyone was living here at all. He turned in small circles as JJ struggled to pull himself inside.

“Woah,” JJ said once he had pushed himself to his feet. “You sure-”

“This was where she was staying.” John B’s tone was harsh. He wasn’t angry with JJ, but he was more frustrated.

The room was completely bare. Nothing hanging on the walls, no books or trinkets on the bookshelf, no laundry on the floor, no make-up on the vanity. The blankets were plain with only a single pillow on the bed. There was no rug to cover the hardwood floor. There were no purses, hats, bags, or coats hung around anywhere.

There was no sign that anyone had ever lived here.

“We’ve got to look around,” John B said once the shock had passed. “She might have left something.”

JJ might have protested, but he bit his tongue and walked toward the closet. It was mostly empty, save for a few dresses and a sweater hung up in the corner. Three pairs of shoes lay in the corner.

“If she stayed here,” JJ mumbled, more to himself than John B, “Then that girl is not like one I’ve ever met before.”

John B didn’t respond.

JJ jumped to see if there was anything on the top shelf. A small shoe box was pushed as far back into the corner as it would go. He struggled to reach it, barely feeling his fingers brush against the box.

“JJ, shut up!” John B hissed as JJ grumbled and groaned trying to reach the box. Finally, JJ grabbed hold of it and pulled it down. He was expecting some kind of secret diary or a few love notes. He wasn’t ready for how heavy it would be.

He flicked off the lid and his eyes fell open.

“Hey, John B?” JJ asked, lifting the box open. “What’s your girlfriend doing with a gun?”

John B looked up from the bed, his eyebrows pinched together. He was going to ask what JJ meant, but then he saw the handgun in the box and his heart dropped into his stomach. Once John B had seen the gun, JJ took it out of the box with a smile.

“You shouldn’t touch that,” John B said, walking toward his friend. JJ’s grin grew wider.

“Why not?” He dropped the box onto the floor and stood up against the wall with the gun lifted. “Will you take a picture for me?”

John B was baffled at JJ’s antics but he couldn’t even form the word “no”.

JJ’s question was right. What was Gwen doing with a gun? Why was her room so bare? It was like she was trying to avoid any emotional attachment to this place. She told him once that she moved around a lot, but even the tourons he knew would bring momentos to their summer houses or hotel rooms. Everything about this room felt cold, unfeeling. The exact opposite of what he thought of Gwen.

“Put the gun back, JJ,” John B said, turning back toward her bed. He looked through all of the drawers of the nightstand while JJ messed around with the gun. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but there had to be something somewhere that would tell him where she went.

They searched almost every inch of the room, but there was nothing. Besides her clothes, the shoes, and the box with the gun in it, there was nothing.

“I don’t know how much longer we can be in here before she hears us,” JJ whispered, holding the gun loosely in his hand. With a heavy sigh, John B dropped into the bed, not really caring if he wrinkled the perfectly laid bed.

But, as he did so, he heard a quiet thunk. He looked up at JJ, who scowled at the sound.

“That came from-”

“-under the bed.”

They both dropped to the ground. Sitting there on the floor was a phone, Gwen’s phone.

“She must have hidden it under here,” John B said, his hands shaking as he reached out to grab it.

“Who leaves behind their phone when they go out?” JJ asked. John B turned to look at him with an eyebrow raised.

“The same person who keeps a gun in their closet and leaves mysterious voicemails.” John B pushed himself to his feet, staring at the phone in his hands. “Someone was after her, she said so in her voicemail. She’s got a gun to protect her and she hides her phone because it’s the only thing that can connect her to anyone else. Someone was after her, JJ, and whoever it was, I think they got her.”

JJ’s mouth went dry.

“Guys!” Kie called quietly from underneath the open window. “You gotta get out of there!”

“What?” JJ ran to the window.

“Someone’s coming.”

Gwen’s window was on the side of the house, openly visible to the street from across the way. If Kie was right and there was someone coming to the house, John B and JJ would have to wait until they were inside to make their break.

John B and JJ pressed themselves against the wall. John B’s heart pounded against the inside of his chest, sweat beading down his neck. They heard the front door slam open. JJ jumped, holding the gun to his chest and his eyes shut.

“Can we go now?” He whispered, his words barely audible. John B waited for the sound of pounding footsteps to near before he let out a single breath.

“Go.”

JJ didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and nearly jumped head first out the window. John B peeked outside to see Kie and Pope helping him out of the dirt.

“Is that a gun?” Kie asked, her whispered voice a few octaves higher than usual. John B crawled out after him, shutting the window and running around the building to where Kie, Pope, and JJ were hiding in the back.

“Why do you have a gun?” Pope asked hurriedly.

“We found it!” JJ tried to defend himself.

“I told you to put that back!” John B looked at JJ with wide eyes.

“Shut up all three of you!”

Kie put her hands over JJ and John B’s mouths, sending a glare at Pope to keep him quiet.

They hide behind the back of the house, hidden from the view of the street. The house was small with thin walls, which meant they could hear everything that happened inside. When they heard a strangled cry from inside, John B’s eyes went wide.

“We left the old lady,” he said, breathless.

“Shit,” JJ grumbled under his breath.

Thankfully, they didn’t hear any cries of pain, just a little bit of whimpering and some blubbering. John B pressed his forehead against the wall of the house, his fingers curling.

He knew something was wrong last night. He should have done something to help her then. But these guys, whoever they were, they were looking for Gwen or, at least, looking for something about her. If he could talk to them or get into their car, he might be able to...

Pope grabbed hold of his arm, as if he was able to read his friend’s mind.

“They know where she is,” John B said quietly, listening to them tear the house apart.

“Maybe.” Pope didn’t let him go. “Or maybe they don’t and you’ll get yourself killed going in there. How will that help Gwen?”

John B huffed out a deep breath but let his body relax.

“Where’s her phone?” A loud and rough voice shouted, echoing through the house.

“I don’t know,” the sobbing voice of the older woman followed. “She never let me in her room.”

“You’re her handler, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“Yes! But we kept out of each other’s business! For her protection and for mine.”

“And what good has that done you?”

The voices died down. The pogues waited as a silence filled the house. John B was afraid that his heartbeat was so loud that they would be able to hear it inside. JJ had his back pressed against the wall, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. Kie was shaking, her hands covering her mouth.

All four of them jumped when the front door slammed open again and they dropped to the ground. Kie pressed her hand harder against her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. John B reached back and put a hand on her elbow.

He peered around the side of the house, watching the men, two of them, storming away across the street. John B crept around the side of the house before his friends could grab him again

Pulling out his phone, he snapped as many pictures of the men and the van as he could before JJ grabbed him from behind and pulled him backward. They stayed there, JJ’s arms around John B and laying flat against the grass, until the car was tearing down the street.

“What the hell is happening?” Kie asked, her voice quivering. Pope helped both JJ and John B to their feet.

“The old lady!” JJ called out before running for the front door.

“JJ, wait!”

All three of them ran after him. The front room looked like a tornado had blown through it. John B doubted the rest of the house looked any better. Standing in the middle of it all was the old woman. Her shoulders were sagged and it looked like she might have been crying.

“Ma’am?” JJ took a small step forward. “We heard a kerfuffle and we-”

She spun around quickly, her eyes wide with fear. There was a bruise forming on her eye and blood trickled from her nose.

“You’re the boy from before,” she said, not even looking at JJ. “Do you have Gwen’s phone?”

“I thought you didn’t know Gwen.” John B crossed his arms and the old woman glowered at him.

“Do you have it or not?”

John B lifted the phone, laying it flat in his palm. The woman let out a happy sigh and smiled. The smile faded into a scowl.

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you broke into my house to steal that thing, young man. But, in doing so, I believe you may have saved my life as well as your own,” she said.

“What’s going on?” John B asked. “Where is Gwen? Who were those men? Why did she leave this?”

The woman held up her hand and John B fell silent.

“I don’t have much information,” she said. “That was part of the deal. But I will tell you what I know.”

***

Gwen lifted her head, blood trickling down her nose. She shifted her jaw and slowly opened her eyes.

“Dawn, Dawn, Dawn,” the man in front of her drawled, wiping his bloody knuckles on a rag.

“That’s not my name,” Gwen said. She wagged her head back and forth to shake the hair from her eyes.

“No?”

“No.” Gwen stretched her stiff neck. “But it would be nice to know the name of my most humble host.”

“You can call me whatever you want. But I happen to know that names have a certain...power and you don’t want to go giving that power away willy nilly.”

Gwen resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I wasn’t aware we were living in Ancient Greece,” Gwen told him. She gave a yawn, just for dramatic effect. “I know you want something from me. Just ask.”

“Where is your father?”

“I don’t know.”

“What is he doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s his next move?”

“No idea.”

“Who are his contacts in DC?”

“Gonna have to ask him about that one.”

“So, you don’t know anything?” Gwen shook her head. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”

“Look, dude,” Gwen said with a short exhale through her nose. “I don’t know anything about my dad. He sent me away when I was a kid and I haven’t seen him since.”

“That’s unfortunate. I was hoping to get some information out of you before he got here.”

Gwen’s eyes widened, her mouth going dry. Every bone in her body tensed. She tried to ease up by letting out a breath, but the air wouldn’t leave her lungs.

“My dad is...coming here?”

The man turned to look at Gwen with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.” He said it as if it was obvious and then he sighed. “We were hired by your father to collect you, but I don’t see why we can’t ask a few questions first.”

Gwen tried to collect herself, but the idea of meeting her father once again, after ten years of being away from him, was clouding her vision. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was like a desert.

Once, John B took her out surfing. She had never done it before and he wanted to teach her. She had done well when she was on the water, but as soon as her feet were back on the land, she fell flat on her face. Gwen took in a mouth full of sand as John B laughed. The feeling in her mouth now was similar as it was then.

“I told you already,” she said finally. “I don’t know anything about my father.”

“Well,” the man said with a sigh. “That’s unfortunate. Still, there’s always a chance we could unlock some deep rooted memories. Jaz?”

One of the henchmen guarding the door stepped forward, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Bring me my tools. There’s got to be some information locked away in that pretty head somewhere.” The smile the man gave her was a cruel one and it made Gwen sick to her stomach.

“You hurt me and my father will make you pay for it,” she ground out through her teeth. The man laughed, echoing through the empty warehouse room. His laugh sent shivers up Gwen’s spine.

“Your father doesn’t care about what I do to you, Dawn. He knew exactly who I was when he sent me to find you.” Shameful tears pricked in Gwen’s eyes and she looked away from him. “Yet he hired me anyway. What does that say about how much your father cares about you?”

Gwen lowered her head as a single tear trailed its way down her cheek.

***

“You really don’t know a lot, do you?” JJ grumbled holding a tea cup in his hand. Kie and the old woman, Kara was her name, both glared at him.

“I know more than you,” Kara said. JJ shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, slurping on the tea in his cup.

“So, Ms. Kara,” Pope interjected. “You said that Gwen isn’t her real name. Do you know what it is?”

Kara gave a quick shake of her head.

“I was just her handler to make sure she was safe and give her a good cover if anyone on the island came knocking,” Kara told them, tightening her grip around her chipped tea cup. “It’s like I said, all I know is that her father is some kind of high and mighty drug lord or something of the kind. He sent her away when she was young and she’s spent the rest of her life running.”

John B had his head in his hands. Everything he thought he knew about Gwen, everything he thought he knew, none of it was real. But how much did he even really know about her? He knew a fake name and a fake address and some vague story about her father and that her favorite color was yellow and her favorite number was seven. Other than that, what did he really know about her?

“You know, I imagine that girl was more Gwen than she was ever Dawn.” Kara said, observing John B’s distress. “She told me about you, boy.”

John B looked up at her, his eyes swimming with tears.

“She did?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Kara leaned back and crossed her arms over her belly. “Didn’t say very much, but she was very fond of you.”

“Don’t say ‘was’ like she’s already gone.” John B didn’t mean to be so abrupt, but the words came out of him without him meaning to. He was going to apologize, but Kara just smiled.

“You’re right, my boy. There is hope for that girl yet.”

“What can we do?” John B asked, leaning forward.

Kara pushed herself to her feet, hobbling over to where John B sat. She took his hands in her cold, wrinkled ones.

“You find that girl, John Routledge. Whatever it takes. And you bring her back here. You bring her home.”

“How? Where do we start?” Kie asked, taking a step toward them.

“That phone you got there?” Kara nodded toward John B’s hands. He tapped it against his palm. “Everything about Gwen is in there. That’s all you’ve got to go on. But she was a clever girl. There was always more to her than met the eye.”

“That I knew,” John B said with a smile. His smile fell and his face became serious as he nodded. “Thank you.”

Ms. Kara stepped away from them, looking up at the four teenagers with tears in her eyes.

“Can’t we just go to the police?” Pope asked after a moment of silence.

“God, no,” Ms. Kara scoffed. “There’s no way in hell they’d do anything for her.”

Pope sighed and lowered his head.

“You bring that girl home, you hear?” Ms. Kara said, a few of the tears falling from her eyes. “And don’t you darken my doorstep again. That’ll get us both into a world of trouble.”

For a moment, John B wondered why she was crying. They had already decided that Gwen was alive and Ms. Kara had to know he would get her back. But then it hit him. She was Gwen’s handler and Gwen had been taken in her care. The tears in her eyes were tears of guilt and shame.

All John B could do was nod.

***

“Are you sure you want to go down this path, dude?” Pope asked as they walked up to the Chateau. “I think if we go any further, there’s no coming back.”

John B let out a heavy breath, clutching Gwen’s phone in his hand. He could walk away and forget about her. Maybe it would save him a lot of pain.

But there would be no forgetting her. He could barely close his eyes without seeing her face. He couldn’t imagine lying in bed and thinking about what was happening to her.

He didn’t care what happened to him. If he could do anything to save her, then he was going to.

“You don’t have to help, but there’s no way I’m leaving her out there alone,” John B said, looking at the ground. He turned around to face his friends. “I can’t go through that again.”

For a moment, his friends said nothing. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t want their help. He needed them, but he couldn’t force them into something dangerous like this.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, man,” Pope said, taking a step forward. “Except, I’ve got to work on an essay for my scholarship, so there’s that.”

John B smiled. JJ stepped up too and crossed his arms.

“I’ve got a gun now, so I guess that makes me the sole protector of the pogues,” he said with a grin as he lifted the gun upward.

“Don’t screw around with that thing, JJ,” Kie said, giving him a light shove. “We’re all with you, John B.”

His smile grew wider. He held on tighter to Gwen’s phone.

“Let’s get working then.”

We’re coming for you, Gwen. Don’t give in. We’re coming for you.

***

Blood trickled down from her nose, soaking through her jean shorts and pooling on her bare skin. Her head swam and she tried to shake away the cloudiness.

All that her brain could come up to think about was her only friend, John Booker Routledge. Her Booker. She hoped he got her voice mail message, that it was enough to steer him away from coming after her. But even after only knowing him for the weeks that she had, Gwen knew he wasn’t the kind of guy to give up that easily.

Part of her loved that about him. His stubbornness, his tenacity, his deep passion for others. But the other part of her knew that same stubbornness could get him killed, especially if he tried to find her.

She prayed to God that he had the sense to stay away, that his friends were smart enough to keep him from following after her.

“Storm’s coming in, boss,” the henchman Jaz said, as he walked into the room. Hazily, Gwen lifted her head. More blood than before ran down her face, stemming from the split in her nose. Her fingers were curled around the arm rests of her chair, her joints locked tight as she tried to keep keep herself from screaming.

“You think the warehouse won’t survive a little storm?” The man, Boss, asked, wiping his knuckles against a wet rag to wipe away the blood.

“It’s not just a little storm.” Jaz stood at attention, his chin lifted. “It’s hurricane Agatha.”

Boss sighed and lowered his hands.

“Go get the supports up on the building. I want this place still standing by morning time,” he told Jaz, who nodded and walked away. “Looks like you’ll have a free night tonight. I’ll have to get somewhere safe, of course.”

Gwen spat blood onto the floor by his feet before looking up with a smile. Her teeth were stained red.

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Dawn, but if the storm hits hard enough, there’s a chance there isn’t going to be any power. It might delay your father’s trip here. Which means you get to spend more time with me.”

He smiled wide and sadistic. Gwen tried to match it with as much sarcastic energy as she could muster.

“Wonderful.”

#outer banks #outer banks fic #obx #obx fic #outer banks imagine #john b obx #john b routledge #john b #john b fic #john b angst #pope heyward #pope obx #kie carrera #kie obx #jj maybank #jj obx

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