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elysianslove · 3 years

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I'm so sorry, is this how you send requests? It's my first time, idk 😭 If it's okay, i would request a part 2 of yuuji sharing an s/o with sukuna, but this time the reader is like in danger! danger?! And sukuna goes like totally crazy or smth :)

the way that post blew up i am still so confused at the amount of notes it has but omg thank you so much for requesting this and i’m so sorry it’s late!!! i also wrote hc’s and i hope that’s okay :) <3

we’ve already established that it took sukuna a long time to even come to accept his feelings for you, let alone agree to be in a relationship with you, and to share you with someone.

the thing is, sukuna, although experienced with women/men, is inexperienced when it comes to relationships. he doesn’t expect to feel the way he does whenever he gets the chance to spend time with you, whenever you ask yuuji to switch with him so you could take him out on a date for a change, when there’s an accidental switch between them as you’re in the bath, and all of a sudden he finds your back pressed to his chest and you’re sighing so softly as you relax against him and his arms are wrapped around your middle and your hands are squeezing at his forearms. or whenever you’re about to head to bed and it’s usually yuuji that cuddles you when you’re sleeping since he’s the one out of the two that actually requires sleep, but you sit on your knees and cup yuuji’s face and ask him to switch. and when they do, you press a kiss to sukuna’s mouth, hands so gentle on his face, and whisper goodnight to him and it feels as if he’s in a trance.

so really, the concept of falling for someone is very foreign to him, and even more so, getting attached to a person.

the first time anything happened to you and he had found himself reacting abnormally was when you were cutting up vegetables with yuuji. sukuna lets you enjoy your time with him, especially when it comes to cooking, because personally, he would be very bored and he doesn’t have the talent for it either, opposite to yuuji, who enjoys it so much and manages to make it fun for you too. as you’re cutting up the vegetables, accidentally, you slice at your finger, and instinctively you hiss at the pain, muttering, “ow, ow, ow,” underneath your breath as you clutch at it. there’s more blood than you expected, but it’s not so deep that you’ll need stitches. but at the sound of your voice mumbling and hissing in pain, at the scent of blood from you, sukuna emerged from yuuji without a second thought, and he rushes over to you. he calls you an idiot, scrubbing away at the blood underneath the rush of water, and he seems so angry, but god, it’s not at you.

he hated even the thought of you being hurt. he’s not even sure why it bothers him as much, but he later on figured that it was all part of loving someone. no matter the cut, the bruise, the scar, the pain and the hurt, he’ll fuss over you incredibly, and he’ll seem so irritated, making it as if you were a nuisance, a burden, but you can see through it so easily, because over time, his feelings for you became more and more obvious, and it was harder and harder to hide.

it’s not until he finds out you’re in a life threatening situation does he realize that— maybe he really does love you. maybe you’re not a burden, but a blessing. maybe you’re not holding him down, holding him back, but rather pushing him forward, encouraging him. and when he realizes that you love him, you really, really do, he falls for you even more.

the situation doesn’t entirely matter honestly. yuuji had been informed of it, and even he was having trouble staying composed. the younger boy was trying his best for you, because being off the rails wouldn’t have helped you in any way, and he knew that. the moment he’d heard the words of you being in danger, he struggled so much against yuuji, trying to shift. “i’m stronger, faster, less vulnerable. let me go, idiot.” but yuuji insists against it. he can’t risk it. not with you.

but when yuuji sees you, sees the state you’re in, sees how much they’ve hurt you, the bastards standing so smugly next to you as if you were a token for them to show off. ‘look how well we can afford to hurt your lover,’ their eyes are saying, and yuuji’s resolve crumbles. he can hurt them just as bad, he can hurt them worse, but what sukuna lacks in basic morality, yuuji doesn’t, and he knows it will hold him back. besides, sukuna can hurt them much worse.

so he switches.

there’s a deafening roar the moment the markings appear on yuuji’s skin, as sukuna takes over. he sees red, and he can’t think of anything besides the fact that you’re here, in front of him, but you’re in such bad shape, so bruised and broken and battered, not the way you’re meant to be. there are tears streaming down your face, and your body shakes and trembles and flinches, your chest heaving with sobs and he hates it. he hates it so much. he hated the small cut you’d given yourself back then and he hates this now.

he doesn’t spare the men. he kills them, but not slowly, because that’d be too merciful. yuuji watches from the sidelines within sukuna, his throat closing up at the sight of the men being murdered, and he wants to feel remorse, but he can’t, not with the state you’re in. and the moment they’re gone, the moment sukuna’s ripped their limbs apart and their screams died down, it’s yuuji that falls to his knees before you, grouping you in an embrace and holding you to his chest, chanting by your ear, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”

yuuji’s hands are too shaky to bandage you up, so sukuna does it for him, cleaning at your wounds and brushing as soft as he can against your bruises and wrapping you in bandages. he scolds you the whole time, telling you you ought to be more careful, you ought to have him change you into a curse somehow, to make you less vulnerable, more invincible, but there’s a tightness to voice, a strain, a crack, and he refuses to meet your eyes, in fear of the fact that if he were to do so, he would fall apart before you. sukuna hadn’t been scared, scared for you or your life. he was determined in bringing you back home alive, determined to have you sleep in your bed and wake up and make breakfast with yuuji.

but for a moment, even if it were a split second, he had thought of what it would be like if he were to lose you. if you left him. the world was awful enough as it is, coming from a curse himself, the king of curses. he can’t imagine just how much duller it would be without you.

yuuji is the one to push you into bed, to lift a glass of water to your lips, to hold you to his chest. his hands still shake as he cradles you, as he holds you as gently as he can, and when you fall asleep, he whispers out in the dark, “i’m never going to lose you. i promise.”

and sukuna replies, “you don’t have to worry about that. never.”

and he means it.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori x reader #itadori x reader x sukuna #yuuji x reader x sukuna

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forgiveness-in-the-misery · 3 years

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Skwisgaar's Psychology

After rewatching Metalocalypse a total of three times ever since the news of the potential finale movie I kind of had a realization; I really fucking love Skwisgaar. I also started by halfway through rewatch two realized that his story and background and general psychology is really fucking fascinating to me.

So I am going to do my best to discuss his character and his psychology and how we see him progress through the show....I already did this with Toki a while back and kind of would love to do it with Murderface and maybe Pickles as well, I'd say Nathan, but he's the....least fucked up in a sense.

Skwisgaar let's start has the most dialogue in the first couple of seasons of the show and even then it isn't overwhelming compared to the other members of the band. By season four he speaks very little and rarely.

When we are introduced to him in the beginning of the show he seems to be like the rest of the group; a diva spoiled rich rocker who has been grossly wealthy for so long that he's forgotten how to function as a human.

You also with the first season especially have this running gag that isn't even a running gag that Skwisgaar or Toki will say something weird and then the other will add onto it and they just say weird shit about life and death or the violence of man, it's weird, and strangely endearing.

Which speaking of how those two play off each other brings me to the fact the pilot episode immediately establishes that these two are almost always together. The band goes to a grocery store and everybody splits up, except for Skwisgaar and Toki who go off together when in all reality that isn't remotely necessary. We also learn in that first episode that Skwisgaar gets pissed when Toki teases him and calls him a woman despite Skwisgaar calling him one like a second earlier and also that Skwisgaar is sexually attracted to elderly women.

Two things are heavily associated with Skwisgaar as a character; he is extremely sexually active and he's got his guitar with him in 99% of scenes. Skwisgaar also doesn't appear to be the most talkative, he can be bitchy and throw tantrums like the rest of his bandmates, but also seems to be more prone to crying and becoming anxious or worried for his friends and their wellbeing/safety, in terms of socializing he seems to be a bit awkward and seems the most comfortable communicating through sex and music. He's teasing and can be a dick, but there's no real edge to it. He also while seeming in some regards to be a bit....dumb to be blunt about it seems to actually be rather smart, though often seems to just keep that to himself probably because he knows who his friends are and they aren't prone to listening to people.

Season one wasted no time in introducing the band's parents and this included Skwisgaar's mother, Serveta. One thing that I do find super interesting is that he is the only member of the band who comes from a single mother, technically it isn't interesting, but the theory (probably canon) that their fathers aren't really their fathers at all and that their mothers became pregnant by the Deth Star makes it interesting. To me at least.

With Skwisgaar's mom in regards to the first season of the show we quickly learn that their relationship is strained. She's an older woman who just like Skwisgaar is very sexually active, we see her come onto Nathan's father who is married and sitting with his wife and son, Skwisgaar's reaction to this is to get upset and begin frantically playing his guitar. Skwisgaar spends a good portion of this episode drinking and at one point saying that ever since his mom got there his stomach had been hurting and he'd just been feeling like absolute shit. When we see him bonding with his mom he's brushing her hair and looking like he'd rather be dead or any place else, seeing him helping her groom is weirdly a red flag to me.

We learn by the third season of the show that his mother is intensely vain and in love with herself, she resents Skwisgaar because being pregnant with him and giving birth to him ruined her 'perfect' body and I'm sure the years where he was too young to fend for himself annoyed her because it meant she couldn't party or have men over or run off whenever she wanted, something I get the feeling that changed when he was about ten years of age. In a bonus video that comes with the first season of the show you see interviews with the band on various random topics; one of the scenes that is...uncomfortable to say the least is when family is brought up. Skwisgaar begins to say something, but trails off and becomes visibly upset before saying he's just going to shut down for a while, Toki confesses some more physical abuse before also shutting down.

I'm going to take a guess that Skwisgaar only had his mother when he was growing up and she only had him, I'm sure she has parents and maybe even siblings and aunts and uncles, but it appears that she has absolutely no relationship with them and Skwisgaar most probably never met these people.

The walls of Serveta's home sport dozens of headshots of herself and a couple of pictures of Skwisgaar as a kid thrown up by the front door almost as an after thought. It's likely and most probable that Skwisgaar was thrusted into the position of caretaker and even a husband sort of position when it came to his relationship with his mom; given the task of looking after her, holding her hair back when she pukes after a night of drinking, doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc. We know when he was about ten or thirteen years old he came home from school to find his mom having sex with two men, an event that scared him and led to him being chased by wolves and falling into a pit where if he weren't a demi-god he legit would have died. I feel like his mom reached a point with him where she stopped caring whether or not he saw her....personal life, perceiving him as an adult despite still just being a boy and also seeing him as somebody who is taking up space in her home and preventing her from having fun.

When she marries Tyr they're all over each other constantly....until Skwisgaar and Tyr become friends and begin spending time together, then she cheats on him. She was jealous that her latest man wasn't giving her constant attention and got angry at the concept of sharing him with her own child, which is super fucked up.

Skwisgaar throughout the show has a fake persona. He likes to pretend he in some way is like his mom; he likes to pretend he has his head up his own ass and doesn't need anybody but himself, he loves himself more than he could ever love another person. Which isn't true. At all.

I think that growing up with a narcissistic parent who emotionally neglected and emotionally abused him put him in a position where he had to shut down like that. He had to learn at a very young age that crying and yelling and being angry gets nothing done except maybe piss his mom off more, after finding his guitar he threw himself into music and appeared to shut himself off socially, preferring music over human interactions.

Music is something that Skwisgaar can rely on no matter what happens; he will always have a guitar, he will always be able to create music even if it is just for himself and nobody else. People come and go, people physically hurt you, people emotionally hurt you, or make you feel worthless. When we see the flashback to the night Magnus was kicked out of Dethklok Skwisgaar is faded into the background, almost like a ghost with his slumped shoulders and his hair curtaining his face as if he wants to just disappear. When they're auditioning for a replacement Skwisgaar is positive he doesn't want somebody else in the band, that they are fine just being four.

I think it comes from the fact he was terrified of repeating what just happened with Magnus, finding somebody he might think he can bond with over music only for that person to turn into a monster who makes him feel like he can't even do the thing he loves more than anything correctly....Then Toki came in and when they had their duel it quickly turned from a competition into a conversation. Because that's the one way Skwisgaar knows how to communicate, the way he is the most comfortable with; he likes to communicate through guitar and finding somebody who he could speak to through music excited him.

It's clear for obvious age related reasons that Skwisgaar has/had a care taker role where Toki is concerned. I mean he was about 15/16 when Skwisgaar took him into the band so he was a literal child, even when he's older Skwisgaar still looks out for him and is in his own sense immensely protective where he's concerned. Skwisgaar is also that way with the rest of the band even if it's more subtle. He worries about his bandmates, if they get injured or nearly killed it bothers him and he doesn't want anything to happen to them. When the band is going to break up he completely shuts down, because admit to it or not they had become the only family he ever had. I think Skwisgaar is so hard wired from his childhood to care for people that it's something he can't shake and maybe with the band he doesn't feel its a bad habit, because unlike with his mom, his bandmates arent forcing him to look after them. It's something he does because he wants to do it.

Of course in regards to his attraction to older women that definitely comes from issues relating to his mother....I don't think it's in a creepy Freud way, but more so just wanting to feel cared for back. Very obviously he can't exactly approach any of his bandmates and ask for a hug....well except maybe Toki and Pickles if he's super drunk or high, but outside of those two instances....they aren't people he could exactly just ask for validation or comfort or consolation. They aren't....good with that shit. Older women though usually have a tendency to be coddling and kind, Skwisgaar probably learned that as a teen or in his twenties, I think it's less about the sex factor and just feeling important. In terms of sex with people closer to him in age (I will die on the hill that he's bisexual, because he keeps just throwing it out there that he would blow a guy and he had multiple three ways with Melmord) I think it's a distraction for the most part, he uses sex the same way he often uses music, and honestly....He grew up seeing his mother have men over constantly.

Skwisgaar didn't grow up seeing love or healthy relationships, he saw his mom parade various men through the house and maybe she kept some of them for a while and I doubt the relationships were healthy and I'm sure he knew that his mother didn't love any man she dated or married for a short while. Even in the show he isn't fond of love or marriage, the only time he dates somebody is when he moves back to Sweden and finally starts to get his life together in a more healthy sense and that relationship didn't feel like it was based on sex. It was based on physical and emotional affection and it was the only time Skwisgaar ever looked actually happy in terms of intimacy.

Sex is a job, a chore for him; he's the God of Life so it's technically what....it's y'know his thing, creating life. As a lot of people notice....he seems far more sexually active after him and Toki's second fight in regards to music and petty bull shit. Season four is essentially the season where Salacia gets what he wanted aka the band tearing itself apart and you can see them all fall apart individually. For Skwisgaar falling apart means closing himself off, throwing himself more into his guitar and more into sex. He becomes more of a tool and an object as if that's all he wants to be, because being a person who opens yourself up and lets people in and tries to care about people ends up with you being hurt, badly.

Which does bring things back to his super complicated slightly homoerotic to the point even the show had to mention it for a hot second relationship with Toki.

We can gather from Doomstar that Toki was far more into music when he first joined Dethklok which I think worked out great for Skwisgaar, because as I said before; Skwisgaar communicates through music and this gave him somebody that he could talk to without the awkwardness of verbally conversing.

Though that changed clearly and you can feel that Skwisgaar is bothered by it, like in some weird way it feels like a minor betrayal. Toki notoriously never practices or puts in a lot of effort in terms of making music which Skwisgaar often comments on, complains about, or gets on him about. Reasonable. Guitar is part of who he is, but at the end of the day a talent that made him rich, that's what it is to Toki.....Skwisgaar on the other hand his guitar is literally an extension of himself and seeing him without a guitar in his hand for longer than a single scene gets weird.

Still despite the two of them losing the art of communicating through their music....they're close. Super fucking close. If you watch Metalocalypse and tell yourself going into the show that you're going to focus heavily on a single character or on a certain relationship you notice a ton of shit. Like you notice that Toki and Skwisgaar almost always sit together, stand together, talk over one another, finish each others weird sentences or ideas, copy each other to the point they spend an entire episode bickering like children over copying each other, and often spend their time hanging out together. Again. They're really close as if they're a single person split into two.

They're close to the point that inverse their fans just to some extent assume the two of them are fucking and madly in love and I mean I'm gonna be honest just objectively speaking here I would not be surprised to find out they have had sex before at least once or more times. Just saying.

That aside though and just sticking to the platonic here....They're close, Toki means as much to Skwisgaar as guitar does, and that's saying a lot. One big reason I want to bring up their relationship is that his relationship with Toki brings to light Skwisgaar's issues with death or more specifically death where Toki is concerned.

In season one when Toki has a bit of a breakdown and Pickles suggest they kill him, Skwisgaar looks tense and uncomfortable and says that he doesn't like the idea because it's a lot and it makes him feel not so good. In a deleted scene where the band watch Nascar together Pickles ask Toki and Skwisgaar if they were supposed to be dead or in jail or something because it's the same episode where they got shit faced and got into a high speed chase. Skwisgaar when responding about it changes the word dead/death out for sleep, stating they were supposed to be put to sleep but just had to do community service instead (Toki corrects that it was jail, not being put to sleep). In the deleted IKEA scene when Toki stressed says maybe the two of them should just kill themselves Skwisgaar immediately freaks out and later when they return to Nathan and Murderface they both look super emotionally fucked up and when Nathan ask if they had been crying Toki gets defensive and says no while Skwisgaar beginning to cry again says they had been crying. Then of course after Toki ruins Skwisgaar's reputation and becomes Magnus Jr. for a few weeks and ends up having a panic attack and making an ass of himself....Skwisgaar thinks he's having a heart attack and freaks the fuck out terrified that he's dying.

Then finally for a compilation of Skwisgaar not handling Toki dying well; in Doomstar before they go in to save Toki Skwisgaar makes the sorrowful comment that sometimes he wonders if they should have stayed a one guitar band. It isn't him being a dick, he isn't saying this isn't worth it. He's saying essentially that Toki was stabbed, kidnapped and possibly murdered and it's completely his fault; if he hadn't taken Toki in then none of this would have happened. Which immediately leads me to believe that post the funeral episode that Skwisgaar spent those months high and drunk and late at night blaming himself for Toki being taken/murdered. That's a lot of blame to put onto yourself and to say its your fault solely because a few years ago you took this kid in off the streets is honestly heart breaking.

Early on in the series there's an episode where Toki's pissed that he isn't seen as Skwisgaar's musical equal, he wants solos, and Skwisgaar turns him down. Which through the series and within that episode itself we easily learn why Skwisgaar never gives him a solo; Toki has performance anxiety and he never practices and quite honestly knows almost nothing about guitar. It's valid. Either way in this particular episode Toki gets pissed and decides he wants to take lessons, Skwisgaar offers and Toki turns him down because last time they tried...he kind of just ended up beating the shit out of Skwisgaar. (to be fair don't dump a bucket of blood on your friend's head) So he goes off and finds an elderly man to teach him how to play guitar, Murderface being a dick decides to tell Skwisgaar that Toki is super good at guitar now and.....Skwisgaar doesn't react well. He gets pissed off and has nightmares about Toki becoming better than him. He even confronts Toki and his guitar teacher and threatens to kick him out of the band. When he realizes at the end of the episode that Toki is still....really not great with music....he's chill again, everything is forgiven.

I kind of think that episode is a reason people perceived Skwisgaar as a dick or is one reason, but honestly he isn't being a dick. I mean sure, a bit, but they're all dicks. The thing is guitar is a crutch for Skwisgaar, it is super important to him and he doesn't know who he is without his guitar, without his music. So somebody else threatening to take that from him freaks him out and he reacts poorly to it.

Then we get to near the end of the show when the same issue arises except completely different. Toki again later in the series ask Skwisgaar for a solo and Skwisgaar annoyed refuses him, Toki being the mild psycho shit that he is decides to just kind of ruin his life as revenge. Again by this point in the show its kind of obvious if you actually pay attention at all that Skwisgaar keeps telling him he can't have solos because Toki never fucking practices and even in the studio Skwisgaar has to record most of the rhythm guitar parts. He's also known since Toki's audition that the kid is prone to choking up and making mistakes, so he's technically protecting him without just outright confronting him.

Toki writes a book calling out Skwisgaar as an abusive tyrant and an over dramatic bitch. Admittedly Skwisgaar is a slight diva and just like the rest of them can be a total asshole, admittedly to a lesser degree than the others. What's really fucking interesting for me personally about this episode is that Skwisgaar is catatonic and depressed for 99% of it. He doesn't speak. This starts literally the second that Toki releases his book saying that Skwisgaar abuses him, this is before Skwisgaar's career goes down the toilet, his career hadn't been impacted by this yet.

Skwisgaar falls to pieces because Toki, Toki who he's known since he was just sixteen and took in off the streets and they're always practically attached at the hip and have been since day one just released a book calling him an abusive monster.

I do have a feeling one reason this fucked him up is because he might be terrified that he's turning into Magnus without realizing it, that perhaps he has become an abusive monster and has been making Toki feel the way that Magnus made him feel towards the end of his time in Dethklok. I think there also is probably something soul crushing about the person you love platonically or otherwise referring to you very publicly as abusive. Of course all of this worsens when Skwisgaar's career begins to fall to shit, eventually towards the end when Toki is at the top of his ego trip being a prick Skwisgaar does confront him, that in itself is interesting.

Skwisgaar goes in way calmer than I would be in that situation, sure he gets pissed off as they bicker, but again he's waaayyyy fucking calmer than anybody else would be especially since Toki just yells at him through the entire conversation. Of course interestingly is that Toki perceives Skwisgaar in a way that isn't entirely true, he thinks Skwisgaar mocks him and thinks of him as nothing which isn't true at all, when he says Skwisgaar laughed at him he just responds that he never did that and he sounds slightly hurt by that. They're both hurt and none of these men are good with healthy emotions. Skwisgaar never loses his shit on him in the entire conversation, he looks like he could easily go ape shit but instead warns him that the audience will eat him alive the second he fucks up.

Which turns out to be true, Toki fucks up and people begin turning against him which leads to him having a severe panic attack. Like I mentioned before Skwisgaar thinks he's dying and tries to save him, scared out of his fucking mind at the concept of Toki dying. Which....the dude just spent several weeks treating you like garbage and calling you a monster who abuses him, if Skwisgaar was actually a shitty person then he would have laughed at him or mocked him or given him shit about this moment for years to come....but he doesn't do any of that. He is worried about saving him, probably terrified that if Toki dies then their last conversation was a fight.

Their dynamic changes a lot after this, not in a way that's overly obvious unless you watch it closely. They spend a lot less time together and what feels almost out of character initially in Dethcamp is....Skwisgaar easily going along with Murderface and bitching about Toki, because....again can't stress the Scandinavian dudes are always attached at the hip and now suddenly he's easily saying mean shit about Toki. It feels weird until you remember that not long before this they had a massive fight, Toki called him abusive and momentarily ruined his career and most likely afterwards tried to act like nothing happened at all while Skwisgaar probably wasn't capable of doing that.

Occasionally in season four Skwisgaar and Toki will sit together or stand together, still talk or have that physical closeness but it's far between and you see Toki spend a majority of his time with the toxic trio: Murderface, Rockso, and Magnus. Skwisgaar spends his time typically with Murderface and Pickles then near the end spends most of his time with Nathan.

Skwisgaar is a person who grew up in a home lacking affection and love or safety, he didn't grow up with examples of love or healthy relationships and as far as he's concerned relationships are a waste of time and energy because they all end the same.

Of course for as much as he says that, as they all say that....it's bull shit. He cares deeply about his bands and him trying to act near the end like Dethklok was just another gig it isn't, these people are his close friends and his only real family. Seeing Pickles and Nathan fall apart wrecked him and having Toki turn on him so easily gutted him. Skwisgaar is a super emotionally fragile person, he seems absolutely terrified of showing anger or aggression as if it's something he's never been comfortable with or learned when he was young gets you nowhere or perhaps there were men around who were violent and loud and it made him scared to ever be that way. He's the only one of the band we never see really lose his shit or be randomly aggressive and violent, he also strangely enough cries the most out of them canonically. People always make the assumption Toki cries a lot, but like canonically he cries waaayyyy fucking less than Skwisgaar.

I really find Skwisgaar interesting....clearly and this analysis might be a jumbled mess, but there's strangely a lot of things to unpack and things I probably didn't even touch on as much as I could have, because this is already insanely long. I have a deep appreciation of him rewatching this show now that I'm older and far more into analyzing works of fiction.

I hope that this was remotely coherent.

#metalocalypse #skwisgaar skwigelf #character analysis #character psychology

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moral-turpitudes · 3 years

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Silver Linings: Part 1

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

A/N: Excuse any of my terrible math skills and if this seems rushed. This is the best I could come up with lol, I hope you all like it though!

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Slight Fighting, Descriptions of Drug Use, Drinking, Familial Drama, Fluff, Mentions of Adoption, etc.

Word Count: 3,972

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Adopted Daughter!Reader + Michael Gray x Alfie’s Adopted Daughter!Reader

Summary: After growing tired of hiding, Y/N decides to venture out from the back of her fathers shop, not knowing she’d quite literally fall for one of her father’s enemies who happened to be lurking around the corner. But with tensions growing between the two families, one decision could change the course of their lives as they know it, for better and for worse.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | *Part 4* | Part 5

“Alright Y/N, now when you aim you gotta line yer eyes up with the sight. Take a deep breath, and on that exhale of yours yer gonna pull that little trigger right there.” Alfie said, the teenage girl only coming up to around his chest, her hands shaking slightly as she aimed the small hand gun for one of the flour sacks in the back of the shop. With a small exhale she fired, the bullet whirling through the air and into the target she’d helped draw on it the day before.

“See that’s not so hard innit?” He asked, smiling at the new light in his life.

Y/N heard her father calling for her upstairs, bringing her out of her daydreams from years ago. That was during the first week she’d lived with him after he adopted her from the nearby orphanage. She had no adoptive mother, and no other friends except their dog Cyril, seeing as she had to be practically hidden away on a daily basis. The only time she really went out was to work in her fathers shop, where she’d do her best to avoid being spotted by her fathers business partners-some of which who had strained relationships with him and his men.

Shaking the memory from her brain, she hesitantly walked up the stairs, the creaking of the wood announcing her arrival.

“There you are love. Listen...I’m having Mr. Shelby come by soon so you’ll have to work in the back alright? I know you’ll get me for it later but I’ll make up for it mmkay?” He said, looking his now 21 year old daughter in the eyes. People often found him intimidating, but over the years she grew used to him, knowing deep down he was a sweet person. With every interaction she observed, she could see the pain in his eyes over not being able to really introduce her, knowing it would put her at risk. But deep down there was a mutual understanding between them that it was going to be inevitable that someone would find out, but neither of them thought it would be so soon.

With a sigh, she reluctantly walked towards the back where the other “bakers” worked the ovens and inspected shipments. While she organized bricks of cocaine for shipment, she felt her stomach drop as she realized she’d left her gloves in the front of the shop. She often hated the texture of the bricks as she packed them away, the fabric gloves being her only solace when she was given the task.

Swallowing hard, she nervously crept around the corner, eyeing Thomas Shelby and some of the other blinders in her fathers office as she continued, not noticing the man she collided with as she stumbled back slightly.

“Oi! I’m so sorry sir...wasn’t even fuckin’ looking.” She said, brushing a stray hair from her face and tightening her apron around her waist.

“No problem love, you alright?” He asked, looking concerned as he adjusted his well tailored suit.

“Y-yeah. Just looking for my gloves. I have to go.” She said, knowing she wasn’t supposed to be out for long while the blinders were there, yet trying to not look the dashing man in the eyes.

As she walked away, his eyes followed her to her station where she usually rolled dough and decorated pastries, grabbing her gloves which were tinted white from the previous cocaine shipment she handled earlier in the morning.

“Hey...miss? Before you go...what’s your name?” He asked, a crooked smile spreading across his features as she neared him.

“Uhm...it’s Y/N. What’s yours? You don’t look like you’re from ‘round here.” She said.

“I’m Michael, Michael Gray. I’m with the blinders.” He said.

“Oh....um, well I have to get going. It was nice meeting you...Michael.” She said, awkwardly putting on the gloves as he recognized the powder falling off them.

“What do you around here anyway? I know that’s not flour on those gloves.” He said with a smirk. She swallowed hard before answering, her eyes flicking to the window of her fathers office.

“Um...I bake, and...I organize things. Listen...I really do have to go. I’ll see you ‘round sometime, yeah?” She asked. He followed her gaze to the window, noticing the nervous look on her face.

“Alright. See you around, Y/N.” He said with a wink, walking back to his lookout spot in the corner.

She smirked slightly as she passed him, reluctantly heading straight to the back, the other workers paying her no mind as she resumed packing the bricks.

As she worked, she could hear shouts coming from her fathers office, her stomach tightening in knots at the tension she could see forming in the room. Thomas and him standing close to each other, most likely mumbling threats under their breaths. A few moments later, she saw the men exit the tattered room, putting their razored caps on and storming out the door. Michael ultimately leaving with them, but catching her staring as he looked back towards the room she was in. She smiled lightly as he smirked, shutting the door behind him.

She shook her head as she turned back, getting the rest of her packing done while shaking away the thought of someone like him ever taking an interest. She knew her father dealt in dangerous business, so she wasn’t afraid of the blinders and her father doing business necessarily, but she couldn’t deny that them feuding terrified her, knowing even one slip-up could put her or her father at risk. Blowing their years-long cover.

As she was lost in thought, Alfie walked down after they left, smiling as he grabbed a bottle of rum from one of the crates and locking it back.

“You don’t have to organize all those love. How about we go call it a day aye? I know you’re probably wanting summing’ because your old man made ya work back ‘ere all day.” He said. His words annoying to her ears as of late as she grew bored of her life at the shop and at home. One question forever buzzing in the back of her mind as she continued her monotonous tasks.

“I was wondering something....” She said, taking her gloves off and turning towards him.

“Yeah? Wondering about work or what? I’m all ears now you know.” He said, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

Her stomach tightened again as she looked her loving, yet over-protective father in the eyes.

“I was uh...wondering how you would feel if I moved out?” She asked, the thought barely working its way through her anxious mind before spewing out of her mouth.

“What?” He asked, his eyes squinting as he cocked his head to the side.

“I-I just think since I’m an adult now, I’d like to have a place of my own. That way I won’t come between ya and the business as much. I’m tired of hiding, dad.” She said, throwing the gloves on the table as she sat next to him.

“What devils gotten into your bones? Have you been sniffing the snow or drinking me rum?” He asked.

“No dad....I just...I just want to be more independent that’s all.” She said.

“I’ll tell ya what...if you pack the snow for the next month I’ll up your pay so you can get you a place. I’ll chip in some too but getting it on your own will be good for ya. I taught you to shoot but I didn’t teach ya about life aye?” He said.

“No not really. But spare me the lectures. Let’s get home. I’m starving.” She said.

“Alright. Let’s get on with it then.” He said, walking with his cane as they made their way to the car.

As the next few weeks passed, she found herself going into work with a smile. Knowing she’d get to work towards her own place, and for the chance to see the dapper blinder who’d been making regular appearances lately, and to her surprise, for more than business reasons.

He’d been sent by Thomas to crunch numbers and talk bets with Alfie, knowing that he was sent to handle more of the legitimate business than the illegal stuff.

But if Y/N learned anything throughout her years, it was knowing when to make herself known.

She waited until Alfie closed his office door, watching Michael walk down the creaky steps as she did a small whistle.

He turned around and grinned, walking towards her, as was becoming their habit recently.

“Y/N, didn’t think you were here, love. Must’ve been in the back again aye?” He asked, quietly. She nodded and led him to one of the women’s lavatories.

“W-why are we in here? I haven’t even taken you on a date.” He asked, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Shh. There’s no other place right now for us to go. I haven’t told him.” She said.

“Told who?” He asked.

“My-my father. Alfie.” She said, nervously biting her lip as she removed her hand from his. Crossing her arms over her chest.

“Wait...your father is Alfie fucking Solomons?” He asked, his face hardening at the fact. His usual happy demeanor fading.

“Well, adoptive father. He uh adopted me when I was 16 from an orphanage ’round here. He wanted to protect me...from uh...people like you. I guess he’s had some bad history with the blinders and other groups so I’ve been most my life, just working here to pass the time.” She said.

“People like me? What...are you afraid of me?” He asked.

“What? No! I’ve been around dangerous men all my life. I’m just saying that your blinder cousins may not take a liking to me and neither will my father to you. I just have a bad feeling about it.” She said.

“So...what are we to do? Fucking talk in the bathroom every week or what?” He asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“We’ll do what I do best. We’ll have to hide.” She said. He looked at her with a confused expression as he put his hand on her hips.

“I get off at 4pm and my father won’t be home until late at night. I usually go straight home, but meet me at the warehouse later around 7pm, yeah?” She asked, seeing him smirk.

“Michael I’m deadly serious. If Thomas or my father finds out we’re as good as dead.” She said.

“Fine...I’ll meet you, but I want you to bring some of the snow. Can you sneak it out?” He asked.

“Yeah. Alright, now go, the workers are coming down the hall.” She said, hearing the plethora of Alfie’s men stomping down the dark hall, making it easier for Michael to slip out un-noticed.

“See you then, Y/N.” He said, pecking her cheek before he left.

She rubbed the spot, her cheeks flushing at the brief contact.

“Y/N?” Alfie’s voice rang from the hall, making her heart race as she thought of all the reasons he could be asking for her, internally praying that it wasn’t because he caught Michael leaving.

“Yeah dad?” She asked, quickly stepping out of the restroom.

“Thought ya ran off love. I was just gonna remind ya I’m working late again.” He said.

“Alright, how many nights are you working late?” She asked.

“Well, probably every day for this month. Thomas and the rest of his blinders are damn near making me lose me mind.” He said.

“Oh...ok. Well I’ll keep an eye on Cyril then. Is it ok if I go out to the shops later? Been wanting to stock up for the new place, for whenever I get it.” She said.

“I mean I’m not going to be there so I can’t stop ya can’t I? You can but remember your gun and that knife. You remember how to use it aye?” He asked.

“Yes dad, I can’t really forget stabbing a man for you, nor can I forget putting a bullet through his head.” She said, shivering slightly at the memory of when things got tense at the shop with a disgruntled employee. Alfie had beaten the man unconscious and dragged the man to the back, telling her that it would be good practice. And it was, but after it was done, she vowed to herself that she’d never use such weapons unless she had to.

“Right, well I have to go deal with some business. I’ll let you off at 4 like usual alright?” He asked.

“Okay, thanks dad. I’ll see you...I guess tomorrow depending on how late you get in.” She said giving him a hug before walking back to her station.

The last few hours dragged on as she reminisced over the past couple of weeks. Her heart skipped a beat thinking about how they’d secretly talk and make out behind the shop where her dad couldn’t see, and how on days like today she had to drag him into the restroom as her heart beat out of her chest at the rebelliousness of it all. It was nothing compared to what she planned to get away with tonight, and for hopefully weeks to come, but it was a small step towards her independence, even if they had to hide their relationship from the world.

As the clock struck 4 she headed towards the back of the building, snagging a bottle of rum from an opened crate and replacing it with one that had just came off the line for the night. Shoving the bottle in her purse as she grabbed a rather small brick of cocaine, it being one of the various runts in the pile they’d received that day.

With quick steps, she went out the door and down to the car that was waiting for her. The purse growing slightly heavy as she continued on. Her father didn’t want her walking home alone of course, and so he arranged for one of his men to routinely take her home, ultimately becoming a blessing and a curse for her independence she was so desperately trying to achieve.

“Hello Tim, I have an odd request today.” She said, counting the huge wad of cash in her purse she’d managed to save up well before asking about apartments

“What’s that Ms.Solomons?” He asked, hid old face wrinkling with a smile.

“Can we stop by the housing department? I’ve had my eye on an apartment for a few weeks. Don’t worry though, I’ve already gotten my fathers approval.” She said, pulling off her biggest lie yet.

“Alright, after that do you wish to go home? He asked.

“Yes please.” She said, watching as the streets zipped by.

Once at the housing department, she told the landlord where she’d like to stay and she followed her to the requested location. Her eyes lit up as she saw the rather grand place. It was just close enough that her father needn’t worry too much while also being just enough of a distance away from the shops she loved going to. It was a rather safe area given the town and her fathers plethora of men protecting her, but she enjoyed the new sense of independence as she gave the woman a cash deposit, along with enough for the years rent.

The woman’s eyes lit up as she saw the amount of cash, Y/N rather un-phased given her fathers business.

“Are you sure Ms.? This is so much in advance.” She said.

“Yes. When shall I move in?” She asked. Checking her watch and seeing it was just after 5pm.

“Oh I’d say ‘round any time next week. Here’s your key, just drop by before you begin moving in.” She said with a smile as she got in her car and left.

“Alright Tim, I’m ready to go home.” She said, a satisfied smile on her face.

“I’m impressed. You got this place yourself? Alfie must be proud.” He said.

“Mhmm.” Y/N said, nervously fidgeting with her hands as she remembered the lie. He’d have her neck if he knew she’d already bought the place earlier than he would’ve liked. But what could it hurt?

The minutes passed rather quickly as she was dropped off at her house, walking inside to see Cyril’s tail wagging as she came through the front door. The house was dimly lit and quiet, just as she’d left it that morning. She played with him and made sure his water bowl was filled, seeing as the maid would help feed him later, but she still loved helping wherever she could.

“Ms. Y/N, I have your dress ready. I’ll feed the dog later and make sure the house is kept before leaving. I hope you enjoy your date.” The older woman said, a genuine smile on her face.

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me these last few weeks. Here.” She said, giving her a few slips of cash from her purse.

“Just as a thank you. I’ll be moving in next week to my apartment. Dad doesn’t know though so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.” She said.

The maids eyes widened at the cash in her hand, agreeing with a small smile and a quick nod before returning to her duties. As much as she loved this house, she wanted to do things on her own terms. She wanted to meet people on her own terms, and finally not hide herself. To make more friends than just the maid. To start actually living.

With an excited smile she ran up the stairs, putting the casual dress on and doing her makeup, deciding to leave her hair as-is, then anxiously making her way outside. The purses weight tugging at her shoulder as she walked down the quiet streets, her gun in her purse and her small knife in hand.

Once she neared the warehouse, she sat around the back, taking a swig of the rum before Michael got there to calm her nerves.

She watched the sun set over Camden Town, the birds songs ending as the insects buzzed about, the air turning a bit colder as she looked at her watch. It was just after 7pm, her heart sinking in her chest as she thought he’d stood her up. But after a few moments, she heard footsteps, making her panic slightly not knowing who was behind them. She carefully drew her gun, aiming at the man as he walked closer, his hands soon up in surrender.

“Y/N? It’s me. Michael.” He said, a smirk on his face, lowering his hands.

“I figured you were ‘round back, didn’t think you’d try to shoot me though.” He said.

“Sorry. You never know out here.” She said, putting her gun away and retrieving the cocaine and rum.

“You carried all that here? I’m impressed.” He said, inspecting the cocaine as she opened the bottle, taking another swig from it. She cringed internally as the liquid burned her throat. She’d only drank a few times, not to any huge extent, but now that she was older and more capable, she figured she at least could drink how she pleased.

“How’d you score this rum?” He asked, taking a swig from the bottle as well.

“I stole it from my dads stash in the back. And that coke is one of the runts of the batch, it was too small to pack in the big crates. Figured I’d bring the whole thing since you seemed to know about it a couple weeks ago.” She said, smirking at the memory of their first awkward meeting.

“Have you tried it?” He asked, leaning back against the wall of the warehouse.

“No.” She said turning away from his gaze as she nervously brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s easy. Watch.” He said, unwrapping it and shaving off a sliver of the white substance with her knife. He sat it on top of the brick and made sure it was all crushed, forming it in a straight line.

He handed her the brick carefully as she held it up towards his face, him inhaling the powder through his nose in one fell swoop.

“You want me to shove that shit up my nose? Are you mad?” She asked, giggling as she took another swig from the rum.

“Yeah. Can’t hide from everything love.” He said, his words hitting home probably more than he realized.

“Alright, if I die, my fathers gonna have your head on a spike.” She said.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He said, preparing a smaller amount of the drug and holding it up to where she could inhale it through her nose. Her nostril burned as she did so, the foreign particles lacing their way through her system.

She laughed and shook her head, wiping her nose of any excess powder as she looked up at Michael who was chuckling slightly.

“That was so odd. I’m not doing that again. Not right now anyway.” She said, handing him the bottle of rum as she curled up next to him. It had only been about a month since they’d met, but even then, their interactions became more frequent.

Over the next few weeks, it was as if they’d known each other for years the way they got on. His aunt Polly eventually seeing a spark in his eye that wasn’t there before, and the same went for Alfie.

“You’ve met someone. I can tell.” Polly said one night, catching him coming in drunk on more than one occasion.

“Yeah I did. Tommy can’t do anything about it. It’s not his concern so don’t go telling him.” He said as he stumbled into the house.

As Michael grappled with the weight of seeing an adversaries daughter, Y/N had gradually moved things into her apartment with the help of her driver, all under her fathers nose. But she knew that once her room was more vacant, he’d catch on. Knowing if the blinders didn’t anger him enough, her leaving suddenly surely would.

One night after a drunken date with her mystery boyfriend, Alfie confronted her. Holding the small brick they’d chipped away at over the previous weeks.

“Oi! You wanna explain this? No daughter of mine is going to be sneaking drugs in me house. Do you really think I’m dumb? Cuz I guarantee you I’m not. This can’t happen. Not under my roof.” He said, lighting his cigar.

“Well if you didn’t want to pack it anyway I thought I might as well put it to good use. But uh, I’ll be sneaking it under me own roof from now on. I’ve bought a place if you couldn’t already tell from barging in my room to find that.” She said, folding her arms like she often did when she was frustrated.

Alfie stepped closer to her, his eyes not leaving hers as she barely flinched.

“I’ll find out who you’re doing all this for. Once I do, you’ll wish ya never stole a thing.” He said, walking towards his chair he usually sat on in their grand living room.

Y/N shook her head and chuckled to herself, stomping off towards her room. Her mind raced as she thought about what to do, grabbing what was left of her clothes and hurling them into her suitcases, deciding to leave the house for good in the morning.

Alfie sighed and sat back in his chair as he heard Y/N rummaging around upstairs. The sweet girl he helped raise all of a sudden wanting to leave the nest.

It seemed like everything was fine in their lives until the peaky fucking blinders waltzed into his shop. Not caring who they destroyed as long as they got their money, their rum, or their drugs.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #michael gray x female!reader #michael gray x reader #michael gray x y/n #michael gray #katiesfics #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x adopted daughter!reader

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gamergirl929 · 4 years

Text

I Love Her (Mallory Pugh x Reader)

Anonymous Request: A Mal Pugh imagine where she is dating r who is either CP or KO little sister and the team finds out? Mal deserves more love too :^)

You smile, feeling a pair of eyes on you from across the field and sure enough, when you turn you find your favorite pair of brown orbs on you, brown orbs belonging to Mallory Pugh.

You grin, glancing around to make sure no one is looking before you send her a wink, the younger girl’s cheeks flushing as she smiles bashfully.

Meeting Mallory Pugh had happened by accident when you were traded to the Washington Spirit, the two of you instantly clicking, not only on the field, but off.

Soon, the two of you were rooming together, your feelings for one another growing until eventually, it surpassed friendship and turned into something more.

Something that resulted in a surprise kiss between the two of you, that kiss throwing you headlong into the relationship you were in now.

There was just one problem.

“What's on your mind little Press?”

You jump, turning to Tobin Heath with a small smile.

That problem came in the form the one and only Christen Press, who just so happened to be your older sister.

An older sister who had NO idea that you were dating Mallory Pugh.

“Nothing.” You shrug, Tobin’s eyes narrowing.

“Christen gets that same look when she’s thinking.” She says, eyes narrowing further.

You scoff.

“My mind is blank actually.”

Emily snorts from her place nearby.

“That’s nothing new.”

You growl, Emily’s hazel orbs widening as you fire a soccer ball her way, the woman evading the shot.

Across the field, Mallory giggles, shaking her head at your antics.

Christen sighs, throwing an arm around the younger forward’s shoulders.

“Hard to believe you’re the same age.” Christen snickers as Mallory smirks, watching you and Emily playfully tussle.

Mallory shakes her head when you get Emily in a headlock, giving her what can only be described as an atomic noogie, that is until Lindsey comes to Emily’s aid.

Mallory races across field, joining the fray, Christen shaking her head as you and the forward eventually gain the upper hand on Emily and Lindsey.

Tobin throws an arm around Christen.

“Children.” She snickers and Christen nods, watching as your and Mallory’s fingers intertwine, the gears in her head turning.

“Yeah, children.”

***

Mallory giggles as your fingers dig into her sides, the forward wiggling on top of you as you tickle her mercilessly.

“Stoppppp!” She squeaks as you bury your face in her neck, laughing as the woman wiggles in your hold.

You eventually still, the woman in your arms panting as she rests her back against your front.

“I’ll get you back for that.” She says in between gasps and you grin, burying your face in her neck, kissing it over and over again, the smaller girl beaming, her cheeks flushing.

You nuzzle into the space behind her ear, sighing softly.

Mallory beams, sighing as she rests back against you.

Your heart races in your chest, those three words, you know the ones, on the tip of your tongue, but just as they’re about to escape your mouth there’s a knock on the door.

Mallory practically flies off the bed, shuffling nervously from foot to foot as you leave the bed, ducking down to kiss the top of her head before you open the door to reveal your smiling sister, with Tobin at her side.

Christen ruffles your hair, Tobin doing the same as the pair move towards Mallory, treating her with the same hair ruffles.

“What were you two up to?” Tobin asks and you shake your head innocently, though Mallory can’t help it when her cheeks flush.

“Nothing!” She squeaks and your eyes widen, as do Tobin and Christen’s.

You shrug.

“Yeah, we’re both bored.”

Tobin hums.

“We wanted to see if you both wanted to come to dinner.” She grins and you glance at Mallory, the girl smiling.

“I mean, if you don’t have any other plans.” Christen snorts and you scoff, giving her a playful shove.

“Want to go?” You ask Mallory, the woman smiling shyly when she realizes you’d just asked HER to decide if the two of you went out.

She nods.

“Sure.”

***

You’re unable to keep from blushing when Mallory’s hand finds yours beneath the table, her fingers slotting between your before she gives your hand a squeeze.

You bite your bottom lip to stave a grin, a grin that Mallory mirrors.

Meanwhile, across the table Christen’s brows furrow, the woman wondering WHY the two of you were grinning.

You lean towards Mallory, pointing to one of the meals on the menu.

“I have no idea how to say that.” You whisper and Mallory giggles, the woman mindlessly leaning against you.

“I’ll order it for you.” She whispers, your cheeks flushing as she gives you a nudge.

It’s when you see the look on Christen’s face that you realize what you’re doing, as does Mallory, the two of you leaning away from one another hastily, eyes wide and cheeks bright red.

Christen hums, watching with a small smile as Mallory orders for you, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As Mallory orders, Christen’s eyes drift to you, the woman’s brow quirked in question at the loving smile on your face as you stare at Mallory’s profile.

Christen gives her head a shake.

She couldn’t be seeing what she THOUGHT she was seeing...

Could she?

***

“Do you think something is going on between Mal and Y/N?” She asks, Tobin following her eyes across field to where the two of you are standing, the shorter forward smiling softly at you.

Tobin shrugs.

“I mean, kind of looks like it.”

A smile stretches across Christen’s face as you tuck a strand of hair behind Mallory’s ear, the forward’s cheeks flushing red.

Christen’s lips split in a grin.

“Is it bad that I’m kind of hoping they are?” She laughs and Tobin snorts.

“No, they’d make a cute couple.”

Christen watches as you’re joined by the team’s usual suspects, Emily Sonnett, Lindsey Horan, Rose Lavelle and Sam Mewis, along with of course, Kelley O’Hara.

Christen can’t help to notice, that even with the aforementioned additions, your eyes never leave Mallory.

***

Christen wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was, ATTEMPTING to catch you and Mallory together, hoping to see the two of you being coupley so you’d HAVE to tell her you were together.

Though she in no way expected to find the two of fast asleep, Mallory curled up on your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around her.

“What’s so-

Christen puts an index finger to her lips, nodding to where you and Mallory are in bed, the two of you snuggling closer to one another in your sleep, Mallory’s hand cupping one of your cheeks.

Tobin smiles as Christen tip toes into the room, pulling the blankets up and over the two of you.

Though the second she turns around to leave, she hears a raspy, familiar voice.

“Christen?” Mallory whispers, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, those eyes widening when she realizes JUST where she is, and who she’s laying on top of.

“Chris I...”

Christen shakes her head, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I knew the two of you were together.” She smirks, the smirk widening when Mallory’s cheeks flush.

“You did?” She asks, Christen’s lips splitting into a grin.

“You guys look at each other like love sick puppies.” Tobin comments from where she’s leaning against a nearby wall.

Mallory blushes with a giggle.

“I just…” Mallory glances over her shoulder at you, smiling softly.

“I love her.” She whispers, the confession so soft you have to strain your ears to hear it.

Your eyes almost immediately flash open, Mallory’s eyes widening in response, brown orbs locking with bleary Y/E/C orbs.

“Did you just say you love me?” You ask, voice rough from sleep, the fact that your sister and Tobin are in the room a shock to you, but in no way deterring you from what Mallory Pugh had just confessed.

“I...” Mallory’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she glances away bashfully.

You cup Mallory’s cheek, turning her head until her brown orbs lock with yours.

“I love you too.” You whisper, the forward grinning as she practically tackles you, her lips meeting yours in a loving kiss.

Abruptly, she pulls back when she remembers the two of you aren’t alone.

You glance up at Christen with a grin, rubbing the back of your neck as you shrug.

“Surprise?” You grin, Mallory rolling her eyes as she smacks you in the chest.

“Not really a surprise.” Tobin reaches for you, giving your head a playful, harmless shove.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowed as you take a swipe back at her, the forward snickering as she catches your hand, pulling you towards her and ruffling your hair.

“Apparently we aren’t very good at hiding it.” Mallory blushes.

You clear your throat, turning to Christen with a frown.

“I’m sorry I hid it from-

Christen shakes her head, cupping your cheeks.

“I know you were scared to tell me.” She says and you glance away.

“Come to think of it, I don’t know why I was so scared...” You shrug, your eyes widening when you see the blush on Mallory’s face.

“You weren’t the one who was scared.” She mumbles and Christen grins, wrapping her arms around the two of you.

“Why would you be scared?” She asks and Mallory grimaces.

“I mean, I am dating your little sister.”

Christen hums.

“And if you hurt her, I’ll sick Kelley and Alex on you.” Christen smirks, Mallory’s eyes wide as she pulls away from the older forward.

You pull Mallory back against your chest, your chin resting on the top of her head.

“I’ll protect you.” You grin charmingly and Mallory giggles, tilting her head back to kiss the underside of your jaw.

“I love you.” She whispers and you beam, cheeks flushed.

“I love you too.”

Christen makes her way to Tobin, the two women watching you with a grin, your lips by Mallory’s ear as you whisper softly in her ear, the shorter woman giggling.

“They’re cute together, don’t you think?” Tobin whispers, her best friend nodding with a massive grin.

“Yeah, they are.”

Tobin snorts.

“Now they just have to tell the others.”

You and Mallory fall silent, your eyes wide.

“Uh oh.”

“Fuck.” You growl.

“LANGUAGE.” Christen yells and you wince.

“Sorry Chrissy.”

#uswnt #uswnt x reader #mallory pugh #mallory pugh x reader #mallory pugh imagine

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oohnoniall · 3 years

Text

The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter One (Anastasia)

WARNINGS: cursing.

The Grisha were puppets. She could tell that from the way her father had them paraded before him. No one should be treated the way they were and yet, it was the safest they had ever been. She had not grown up in a time before the Darkling. She had only ever known him to reside over the Little Palace. He kept the Grisha safe.

That didn't stop them from having to perform great feats at the winter fete every year. She had been in attendance every year since she was six.

She still remembered that first one clearly. It had been the first time she had been presented to the court. Her mother had actually come to her room, getting her ready to be shown off like a prized horse. It was the first time she had been allowed to wear a tiara.

Nikolai had teased her for it the entire night. He still teased her for it.

"Annie," a voice hissed to her right. Her eldest brother looked proud in his jacket, his medals pinned to his chest. They showed that he had claimed something in his year of service. Even if she was certain that it was not a brain. "Get your head out of the clouds."

Vasily had never exactly been close to Anastasia. He had always been more focused on learning how to run Ravka, how to be the king that their country deserved. He had never paid much attention to her as Nikolai had. He hadn't paid Nikolai much attention either. Vasily was less their brother and more an acquaintance.

Yet he was all that she had.

Nikolai had left three years before to study and to serve in the military. Anastasia had written him daily letters for the first year, weekly the second. Now, she was lucky if she wrote him monthly. He didn't answer the letters. Too busy with his studies, with forgetting all about the life he had lived back home.

Forgetting Anastasia.

"My head is never in the clouds, Vasie," she huffed as she straightened her spine. She found it somewhat hard to breathe in her gown. Her corset was too tight, her mother had said her waist needed to be smaller and her maids had apparently agreed. Despite the lack of oxygen, there was no denying that the gown was beautiful. It was a shade of cream that matched Vasily's jacket perfectly with sky blue lace detailing on the bodice and matching blue flowers embroidered along the hemline.

It was not the prettiest gown she owned, but it was one of her favorites. If only because she liked that she stood out just a bit from her family. Her mother's gown would be plain, letting everyone focus instead on the Lantsov emerald that would rest on her left hand. Her father and brother would both be sporting their military jackets, the pins and medals gleaming in the light. If Nikolai had been there, he would have at least been the one to escort Anastasia.

Instead, her arm was linked with Vasily's. A bored smile crossed her features, taking away the seventeen-year-old's normal vibrancy. She despised the winter fete. The past three years had all been more disappointing than the last.

It had nothing to do with the Grisha. But it had everything to do with the fact that she had no one to speak with. No one to confide in or giggle with when the night grew boring. Life without her brother had become stale, boring even.

She sighed softly, trying to push out all those negative feelings as Vasily began to gently pull her out of the small antechamber. Her heart pounded in her chest. A four-eighths rhythm that seemed to skip the second beat. She wondered what it would sound like as an aria.

"Presenting His Highness Crown Prince Vasily Lantsov and Her Highness Princess Anastasia Lantsov," a booming voice announced to the waiting crowd of nobles and rich merchants that surrounded Os Alta.

A small smattering of applause greeted them, as it did every year. They were not the show though. They were merely just important guests, visitors to the show of something amazing. Something that none of them were entirely prepared for. At least, not yet.

"Mingle," Vasily murmured in her ear, not bothering to bend. The two were only mere inches apart. A fact that Vasily hated and Nikolai had found humorous. "Just don't wander far from my sight."

"And if I don't?" She did not move to raise a brow or do anything that might cause alarm. She barely moved her lips as she spoke. Speaking with Vasily just meant keeping it quiet and not allowing anyone to hear.

"Then you'll never make a friend that isn't Nikolai." Despite their lack of a relationship, he did care for his younger sister. He cared for his brother as well. Although that relationship was far more strained. Not even Vasily could ignore the rumors surrounding his siblings. Anastasia, however, would never be a threat to him getting the throne upon their father's death.

She gave a very slight nod of her head. If one happened to see it, they would merely assume she had just shifted her stance or something of that nature. They'd never realize that she had agreed to do something for him. Even if it was as simple as mingle with those who gathered with them in celebration of the second army.

Her brother released her arm, allowing her to slip free from him and into the crowd. She would not leave the room. She knew better than to cause Vasily a heart attack. Had Nikolai been there, she wouldn't have had to worry about any of it. She would have been able to do as pleased. He'd just follow after her, his charisma hiding the fact that he was threatening people or watching over the sister he'd never asked for.

Soft laughter, low tenors mixed with high sopranos, filled the air with a gentle melody. One that Anastasia could feel tingling in her bones and in her heart. The melodies of life in Ravka had always seemed to flow through the princess. She just hadn't said a word about it to anyone. Her mother had only ever been told she excelled in music lessons.

She had strived to excel in everything though. Anything to avoid being sent off like her brother.

"Princess," a tall young man stepped in front of her, blocking her from moving forward. He bowed at the waist to her, his left arm going behind his back in a sign of respect. His dark, blue-black hair fell into his face in the softest of waves. Briefly, she thought about reaching out to run her fingers through them. "I was certain we wouldn't be graced with your presence this evening."

"And why exactly is that?" Her tone was soft, lilting and pretty. If she added a bit more breath it would sound more like a song.

"There's a rumor that your parents sent you to Fjerda a week ago," he admitted as he straightened his spine. His eyes were bright, only a few shades darker than the Lantsov emerald. She wondered how many women he had enchanted with his eyes alone.

Anastasia forced a gentle laugh to leave her lips as she looked at the man. "I'm afraid I will not see Fjerda for a few more years. Although, my departure date is not to be common knowledge." Her eyes glinted in the light, matching the sky blue detailing on her dress.

"Of course, your highness," the man nodded his hand once. "Might I have this dance with you?"

She considered it for a moment. A dance didn't mean they'd be courting. Nor did it mean she would be respected. Everything was so political nowadays. If she did not do the right thing, she would create a scandal. However, most of the time it felt as though if she breathed wrong she would cause a scandal or trouble of some sort. It was all quite exhausting if she were being honest.

Slowly, Anastasia took the man's outstretched hand. "Of course."

He led her towards the small dance floor. The winter fete was not a place for dancing. But her mother had thought that it would be nice to have a bit of a dance. She was certain that it had only been in case Nikolai or Vasily had caught sight of a woman that might one day become a queen. Or at the very least it made for a good chessboard.

"What is your name?" She asked as he placed on hand on her waist. She could feel eyes on them. She was certain his family was watching closely, certain that her brother was preparing to protect her honor.

"Dima Antonov," he said as the music began to swell. He led her through an intricate waltz. One that she had danced a million times. It was practically drilled into her feet.

The music spoke to her in a way that nothing ever had before. She loved the way it made her feel as though she were floating on air. Every rest was like holding her breath, the crescendo was the beating of her heart as Dima twirled her across the floor. Her gown floating around them as though there was nothing holding her onto this plane of existence. She could fly away, farther than any bird.

"You're an incredible dancer," his voice brought her back down to the earth. Gravity pulling against her limbs and her hopes.

"Oh?" An amused smile crossed her features. "You're not so bad yourself."

A glint of something was in his eyes. She could not tell if it was amusement or something darker. She prayed to the Saints that she would not have to deal with a pining lordling with dreams of becoming king. It wasn't as though the throne would ever fall to her. Yet, some of these lordlings seemed to believe that they would inherit the throne upon marrying her. Her betrothal didn't seem to matter to any of them either.

Why would she marry a backward Fjerdan when she could have a good, honest Ravakan? Honestly, the whole thing was rather dull.

There was nothing that could be done about her marriage. Contracts had been signed long ago. Although, the Fjerdans were not holding up their end of the bargain particularly well. It seemed as if they assumed they could do whatever they wanted to the Grisha and get away with it. It seemed as though all they cared about was getting another country to trade with them. Something that her parents also wanted.

"Thank you, your highness," Dima broke her out of her thoughts as he dipped her in time with the music. Her long flowing hair nearly touched the floor as strands began to fall from the mess of braids that her maids had put it up in. Her heart skipped another beat as she stared up into his eyes.

Love was such a trivial matter to her and yet, she found it hard to not be wooed by bright eyes and a dazzling smile. She was just a girl after all. A girl with hopes, dreams, ambitions.

Dima's dazzling smile just happened to be distracting enough to keep her mind off of her ambitions.

"I've heard that the Princess of Ravka was a sight to behold, but I didn't expect the rumors to be true." He admitted as he gently pulled her back up. She found that she was pressed rather closely to the young man.

"I take it that this is your first winter fete?" One of her eyebrows rose just a fraction of a centimeter, barely enough for anyone but the man standing in front of her to notice.

"I've been spending my time with the First Army. My father is a general," he admitted as he stepped back enough to make their dance proper once more. "I've finally been allowed leave and thought I would spend my time is Os Alta."

"And this has nothing to do with our new Sun Summoner, does it?"

"Nothing at all," Dima's lips quirked in a handsome smirk. One that sent heat racing to Anastasia's cheeks. She fought down her blush, not wanting a soul to know her feelings.

Her mother had once told her that she was an open book. Her emotions were easy to read and easy to figure out. Her mother had made sure that she knew it was not a good thing. Beauty was what mattered. At least, until she had done what she needed to. Then she could worry about falling in love and being in love. Until then, she had to focus on the Fjerdan prince and providing an heir when the time came.

Anastasia's life was nothing more than a game of chess. She just didn't know if she was the pawn or the queen.

The music slowed to a stop, her heart still kept the steady beat of the waltz. If only to keep it inside of her for a few hours more. Dima stepped away from her, bowing his head politely.

"Thank you for the dance, your highness," he took her hand in his and raised it to his knuckles. He brushed his lips against it once, before he slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and out of her life.

She knew better than anyone that it was easier to dance with royalty than actually spend time with them. It was one of the reasons why Nikolai had been her only friend for so long.

Anastasia did not allow for this to keep her sedated for long. Instead, she slipped away into the crowd. Her eyes searched out Vasily, who was drinking something that was not water while flirting with a lord's daughter. One that he had been speaking with for nearly a year now. She was expecting a courting announcement any day now.

Vasily being preoccupied was a blessing to her. She could escape from his supposedly watchful gaze and find something to do that was not fawn over the Grisha and what they could do. It wasn't like she hated the Grisha. She just thought that they didn't need to be put on parade. There was no reason for them to be a sort of sideshow.

Anastasia slipped out of the throne room of the little palace. The noise of the music and the endless chatter allowed for her to be silent, despite the harsh clicking noise of her heels on the tiled floors.

She could not lose herself completely in the crowd. Others moved out of the way for her, occasional bows were thrown her way while others tried to speak with her about some piece of political jargon that she didn't particularly care about. She was certain that they were only speaking to her because they thought she had her father's ear. It would be quite a shock to them when they realized that she didn't. She had no say in anything political. She was not allowed in council meetings.

All she was was the pretty princess. The one they could trade for marriage and gain political allies through. It was quite aggravating if anyone were to ask for her opinion. Which they more than likely wouldn't. No one ever did.

She kept her head held high, her chin pointed just slightly to show she knew who she was and what power she held, as she walked down the hallways and through the crowds. She rounded a corner, her brow furrowing as she noticed something out of the ordinary.

A man in a guard's uniform. A man that she did not recognize.

Anastasia knew every guard in the palaces. She had trained with much of them under Nikolai's orders. They had treated her with respect and constantly allowed her to win while also ignoring her horrid aim. Seeing someone new at the winter fete? That was quite unlikely.

"Excuse me," her voice was soft, barely carrying above the noise of the music and idle chatter. Yet, anyone who knew the royal family would have stopped at her voice. The man kept walking for two steps before realizing his mistake.

Something was very wrong in the Little Palace. None of the guards should have continued walking. Not even the freshest of faces would have made that mistake.

She could tell that the man was cursing his mistake as he turned on his heel. There was a look in his eye. A glint of rage, of anxiety even. She would never wish to be the one that rage was directed against. His blue eyes seemed to stare into her soul, drowning her as though it were the depths of the sea or the Fold. His cheekbones were high, sharp enough that they might cut her if she were to touch them.

She ignored the thundering in her chest, her four-eighths time had become a sixteenth. Fast, quick, ready to jump into her throat.

The fact that his rage soon melted into the look of one of a new recruit did not help. His features still made him deadly, despite the innocence that he had schooled into his features. Anastasia was someone who wore a mask every day of her life. She had gotten rather good at figuring out who was faking things. She had found different ways to discern who wore a mask and who wore their true face. It was normally in the eyes, in the quirk of their lips, the slightest motion of the eyebrows. There was always a tell.

It didn't matter who wore the mask.

"Your Highness," he bowed somewhat awkwardly. It was almost as though there was something wrong with him. Like he had been hurt before or like he found it difficult to bow before anyone. Perhaps he thought himself a king in his own right. "May I help you?"

His Ravakan was somewhat harsh, the syllables not coming out as easily as they would for a native speaker. She didn't think that was a warning sign. If they had needed more guards, they would have looked to recent immigrants. They'd be too happy to work for the palace and send money back to their families. She just wondered where exactly he was from. The accent didn't seem to be anywhere she could place.

It was too prim for Kerch and too gentle for Fjerda. Maybe he was from Novi Zem, but he didn't have the air. She figured she would find out later. Now was not the time to question anything as simple as where his accent stemmed from. That would be a conversation for later.

"You're new," she said as she stepped forward. She did not step close enough to be within his personal bubble, just enough so that he could hear her without straining himself. "I haven't seen you on the grounds before." She had not sparred with him before. It was just improper for her to say so with the entirety of the court present.

He cleared his throat once, as though he was unsure how to approach her. Or maybe just the topic at hand.

”They’ve had me preparing for tonight for the last few weeks,” he said it casually, as though it were nothing but the truth. It should have been. No one would have been fool enough to break into the palaces on the one night when everyone was on high alert.

At least, that’s what they had all been led to believe. There was no telling if this was the truth or not. No telling if they were actually safe or if they were all just pawns in someone’s chess game.

Anastasia was prone to believing one over the other.

”I see,” her eyes blazed as she looked at him, not daring to back down from his soulful gaze. “Well, in any case, I like to be well acquainted with my guards, Mr?”

”Vanzin,” he said quickly. He no longer looked nervous, the name fell smoothly from his lips. “Nikolai Vanzin.”

”Nikolai?”

”My mother thought it would be lucky to name me after a prince,” his cheeks heated slightly, enough to make her believe the excuse.

”Very well then, Mr. Vanzin. I will see you later then.”

“I’ll be here all night, Your Highness.”

A small smile crossed Anastasia’s lips at that, a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with mischief and everything to do with the new handsome guard. “I expect to see you on the training field tomorrow.” She did not wait for his answer as she turned away.

Anastasia did not notice the scowl that crossed Vanzin’s face, nor did she notice as he slipped unnoticed into the crowd. Vanzin soon becoming nothing more than a ghost.

A ghost who went by the name of Kaz Brekker.

#six of crows #shadow and bone #grishaverse #kaz brekker #kaz x oc #mobster x princess #kaz x princess #kaz steals an emerald #nikolai lantsov #lantsov emerald #vasily lantsov #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #grisha netflix #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #i'm not sorry #brought over from my quotev

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Ready For You

Author: @endlessnightlock

Prompt: Black lacy lingerie. [submitted by @mrspeetamellark] (image below the cut)

Word Count: 1304

Rating: M ______________

Peeta and I are standing in front of my bedroom mirror; the light is low, leaving most of his face obscured in shadow. We’re still in our clothes, but I don’t think we will be much longer, not with the way he’s looking at me. His arms are around my waist, and he’s mostly obscured behind me. Just his broad chest and shoulders peek out on either side and, of course, that light hair of his that almost glows.

This side of him- bedroom eyes Peeta, the one who makes me feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin- I don’t know as well as I’d like to yet. What we are doing tonight is a brand new journey with a man I’ve known for years. There’s only been one heated kissing session between us, but there have been the glances I’ve caught, stolen moments of him with other women in the past.

It took too many years to realize why the idea of Peeta with anyone else made my chest ache. I don’t know why it took so long for me to realize that he should have been mine.

But the girls who weren’t me, girls who eventually grew into the women he dated, don’t matter any longer. He’s here with me now. He’s not the same boy I knew when we were younger, just as I’m not that girl. Life’s sent us both ups and downs, good times and bad. There are even laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes, and I’ve spotted more than a few threads of silver in my hair.

But none of that matters. I won’t let myself think about the time we’ve missed because we’re together, and I don’t plan on allowing Peeta out of my sight ever again.

Closing his eyes, he nuzzles beneath my hair, planting a leisurely kiss on the nape of my neck; his lips are so soft, his touch so restrained, but under the surface is heat. My knees are weak in the aftermath of a simple touch. I never want him to stop.

Tonight we had our official third date- the night that by social convention, once it’s over, ushers in the opportunity for a sexual relationship.

Peeta picked me up, and we went for drinks and dinner at a new restaurant downtown. The food was delicious, and the place’s atmosphere was lovely, even if the service was a bit slow. We decided that despite having a few kinks to work out, the restaurant was probably worth a second glance- liked it well enough to try again later. It is a decidedly ironic parallel to the new phase of our relationship.

Peeta moves his lips from my skin. He catches my eye again in the semi-darkness of my bedroom, and we silently assess each other. The dual reflection gazes back at us.

I hardly recognize the sultry look I’m wearing, and the shadows play tricks on his face, partially shading it from me. Despite the low light, I can still see the way he wants me- his eyes are heavy, lips parted, the strain of holding his desire back visible even in the set of his broad shoulders- tense with self-control- the way his breath drags along my neck.

The anticipation is delicious.

He moves closer, his chest pressing into my back. A flash of heat darts down my spine- his fingers pressing into my waist makes me forget how to breathe. We’re very close to crossing a line now that we’ve never gone over together. My heart is in my throat. I’m nervous, but I’m not allowing the fear of screwing up a perfectly good friendship to stop me from doing this.

I won’t settle for pretty good anymore. I’ve had that with Peeta, and it’s not enough. I want the best. I want all of him- his friendship, his care, his body, his heart.

I let the breath I’ve been holding out slowly, releasing some of the pressure on my lungs.

I’m ready. Peeta is more than eager.

I’m thinking of turning around to face him, to kiss him again the way we did on his couch two nights ago, and get things going because the way he’s looking at me is too intense, but his hands still me, holding my body in place.

When I secede power to him for the moment, his hand skims up my side, brushing across the side of my breast in a way that makes me want to arch into him before resting his palm flat against my chest. The collar of my dress is low enough that his long fingers are touching bare skin.

I’m on fire.

“Can we take this off?” Peeta whispers, and I’m glad that he’s asking one last time- that he’s more concerned with my comfort than he is with getting off.

I cover his hand with mine, curling my fingers into his. My lips brush against his knuckles.

The dress I have on tonight is skimpier than anything Peeta’s seen me wear in years. It’s long-sleeved midnight blue, but the skirt is short, and there’s a deep cutout in the back. I wore something sexy for him tonight because he brings the desire to please him out of me. I can’t wait to see his reaction to the lingerie underneath it.

It’s quiet in the room as he pulls the zipper down. I can hear each set of teeth separating- it’s the companion piece against the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.

Once the back of the dress is open, and the zipper is down around my waist, his hands move to my shoulders; I stand still for him, and then he’s pushing it off my body, letting the material slide down until it puddles on the floor before I step out of it. I’m left wearing a transparent black lace bra, tiny panties, and thigh-high silk stockings.

Peeta is speechless.

There’s no nervousness left now, only excitement thrumming in my veins when I turn around to face him. “What do you think?” I ask, placing my hand on his chest.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Peeta says finally, looking up from the abundance of skin on display for him.

That simple comment does more to make my confidence bloom than any other beautifully-worded thing he could’ve said.

I press my hands into his chest, giving him a light push towards the bed. “Well, it is happening,” I tell him playfully, moving towards him with each backward step he takes.

He’s happy to follow my lead, moving with my urging until the back of his knees bump my mattress. Peeta sits heavily, and before I’m aware of what he’s doing, he’s pulled me into his lap.

I’ve draped over his solid thighs, and he lowers his hands and rests them flat on the mattress. He doesn’t touch me yet, even with my breasts at eye level with him now. Instead, he stares up at me, something like adoration in his expression.

There’s a part of me that wants to dive in and go for home now, wrap myself around Peeta the way vines grow up a tree, kiss him hard and insistently. I’d rip off his clothes and just go for what I want. I don’t think he’d stop me. That’s the younger, wilder Katniss.

The older Katniss isn’t in this for quick gratification. She wants to savor him after all this time spent waiting.

I cup Peeta’s strong, square jaw and tilt his face up. We aren’t touching anywhere but my seat on his thighs, my center away from his waist. It’s beautiful when my lips meet his, gently, like a love song.

Part One- I’ll try to have the second part (the good stuff) up soon. Thanks for reading!

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #Valentine's Day #winter 2021 #endlessnightlock #submission #prompt

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kythed · 3 years

Text

synopsis: it’s a tragic case of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl has a boyfriend. [un]luckily for you, semi doesn’t play by the rules... and you don’t really want him to.

tagged: semi eita x reader, fluff, mediocre writing.

commitment level: 2,583 words.

table of contents | next chapter >>

They say young love is a rite of passage. They say it’s fresh and light, it’s wading in the shallows of a swiftly flowing river and letting the deliciously frigid water take you wherever it flows. They say young love comes easily.

But they don’t tell you youth is not a remedy for pain. They don’t tell you the cold of that water burns your skin, too — it leaves your fingertips numb and kisses your palms an angry red. They say “it’s just puppy love,” but they don’t tell you puppies grow into wolves.

You’re eighteen when you first meet Semi Eita, and he’s twenty-two. It’s not a highly significant age gap, but it’s noticeable enough.

“She’s a baby,” he says, eyes grey as the southern sea and just as unforgiving. Though he’s young, the weight of an iron giant rests on his slender shoulders.

“She’s talented, Semi,” says Akamine, tone wheedling. He fiddles with the lapels of his coat — it’s Italian, all cream silk and bronze buttons. “She’s capable.”

Twenty year old Akamine Keo is a trust-fund kid, born into the arms of an oil empire he’ll someday fall heir to. He’s charming, clever, and sweet, with distinctly expensive good looks, fine features and black hair like raven’s feathers. He also happens to be your boyfriend.

“That means nothing,” Semi says, peering into your face. An uncomfortable chill tickles the back of your neck as you fight the urge to look away. “There are toddlers who can shred Led Zeppelin, but they’re not musicians. They’re puppets controlled by overzealous tiger moms. They can’t take the heat of the real industry.”

“I can take the heat.” Your words bleed out heavy and sharp, a rough gash through the palpably thick tension. Fingernails leaving painful half-moons on your palms, you clench and unclench your fists down at your sides. “And I can sure as hell shred better than any toddler.”

For a split second, surprise flashes across Semi’s face, only to be quickly replaced by a wry smile. “Brave.”

You stare at him, lips sucked in and eyes narrowed as Akamine slings an arm over your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temples.

“See?” he says with a laugh. “She’s talented, capable, and brave.”

“Well,” says Semi, drawing the word out. He cocks his head, giving you one last hard once-over, before extending a hand for a firm shake. “We’ll see. I’ll give you two months. A trial.”

You accept this compromise, returning the shake. Semi’s still skeptical, you can tell, but you make a vow to yourself — you’re about to blow this sonuvabitch out of the water. As Akamine crows in delight, Semi’s eyes don’t leave yours.

Good luck, they seem to be saying. You’ll need it.

You smile, and he smiles back.

I won’t.

Semi’s a phenomenal bassist. When you’d first started dating Akamine and he’d just joined Semi’s band, he could scarcely shut up about it — “His name’s Semi Eita, and I swear he’s got magic in those fingers, babe.”

Well, Semi Eita’s about to be dethroned, because your fingers are magic, too.

For those two months, you’re the band’s lead guitarist, and you pass Semi’s test with flying colors. It takes a couple weeks to fall into step with the other guys — Semi on bass, Akamine on drums, and a quiet college kid called Yasuda on keys — but you’re a quick study, and soon you’re a cornerstone, expertly weaving searing arpeggios of dashed dreams and fiery hopes up and down the band’s underlying tunes.

(You should’ve seen it coming.)

You and Semi somehow become co-songwriters. He has a knack for melodies, and you have a knack for lyrics. Akamine doesn’t seem to mind the long hours you spend in Semi’s company, working in a whirlwind of messy notes and empty energy drink cans — he trusts you.

(Sometimes you feel like maybe he shouldn’t.)

“What do you think of this?” Semi says, idly twirling a pencil between his fingers. It’s 10pm on a Friday night, and you’re stretched out on his couch, inhaling chow mein from a greasy paper box. “For the second verse, I mean.”

“Lemme see,” you say around a mouthful of noodles, snatching the paper from his hand. You furrow your brow. “‘Tear me open like a scarlet letter, cruelly addressed ‘return to sender…’’ Jeez, Semi. Who hurt you?”

Semi scowls. “It’s a breakup song, isn’t it? It’s supposed to hurt.”

“You might consider being a little more… subtle,” you suggest, offering him a fortune cookie. He takes it and sets it aside.

“Heartbreak isn’t subtle,” he says, shooting you a look that speaks of throbbing phantom wounds. “It cuts deep. All the way down to the heart. Hence the name heartbreak.”

“Wow. I had no idea,” you say drily. You swing your legs over the couch and sit upright, snatching his pencil. “I just think we should tackle this with nuance, not just write another ‘eff you’ ballad.”

“This world can always use another ‘eff you’ ballad,” Semi says humorlessly, resting his chin in his hand.

You regard his suddenly silent demeanor as he stares, unseeing, out the window. It’s dark outside, and it’s a darkness that speaks less of peaceful sleep and more of emptiness.

You sigh, nudging him with your foot. “What was her name?”

“What?”

“Her name. This demon of a girl that hurt you so badly.”

For a moment, it seems he’s going to argue, to deny ever being afflicted with something so childish as lovesickness. Then he runs a defeated hand through his hair and shakes his head, laughing. “You’re too curious for your own good.”

You wait. There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence as Semi chews his lip.

“...Her name was Aiko,” he says finally, inspecting his nails with a faux nonchalance. “Smokin’ hot. Met her in music school three or so years ago, I think — she was a TA, a few years older than I was.”

“Older women, huh?” you tease. This is new territory — you’re dipping a toe into the forbidden arena of flirtation. A shadow of guilt creeps into the back of your mind as you think of Akamine, but the bright light of Semi’s crooked grin swiftly flushes it away.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to flick your leg. “I don’t date babies like you.”

“Maybe you should consider it,” you say, unthinking. Semi stares at you, eyebrow raised, and you flush, frantically backtracking. “Not me specifically. I’m just saying — well, I mean, ‘cause this Aiko chick was such a bad time and everything.”

“If you have a crush on me, just admit it,” Semi says. You’re sure it’s meant to come across jokingly, but the way he’s eyeing you twists your stomach into a pleasurable knot. Then he sighs, leaning back on his arms. “She was a great time, actually. It’s the ending that sucked ass.”

The question lingers at the tip of your tongue, hesitant like an ill-trained acrobat, but before it even attempts the leap, Semi answers.

“It burned.” He looks straight at you, and you can taste the bitterness in his words. “It burned, and not a day goes by that I can’t remember how awful it felt.”

That’s the first of the many secrets you trade with him.

Later that night, you tell Semi about your first kiss, about how the recipient smelled like Old Spice and tasted like chapstick, how he walked you to your front door and introduced himself to your mom. About how he took your virginity six months later, and how you soon realized there are some things in life you don’t get an exchange receipt for.

Semi tells you his favorite color is green, and that outer space scares him more than anything. (He doesn’t like thinking about life in other galaxies because he can hardly handle thinking about life right here.)

You tell him you like milk tea with 75% sweetness, and he promises he’ll take you to his favorite cafe sometime. (“Not a date,” he assures you, and you internally scold yourself for wishing it was one.)

He says he once accidentally kicked a stray cat while trying to find a volleyball he lost in the bushes near his house, and that’s why he considers himself a cat person now: as repentance. (He has a pet cat called Haru, and he shows you a picture — Haru is small and black with bright yellow eyes. You say he’s cute, but Semi corrects you: “Not cute. Fierce.”)

You say you used to wish life had a restart button, so you could turn back time and dance through each year without making a single mistake.

Semi says he still wishes that.

(Another thing they don’t tell you is how secrets are really currency. Secrets can’t help but pay for familiarity, and familiarity often leads to something more.)

It’s a couple weeks later when you have your first gig. It’s at a bar downtown, and Yasuda nabs fakes for you and Akamine, though you don’t plan on drinking. Not much, anyways.

(Speaking of Akamine, your relationship with him has grown strained over the past month. He’s stretched himself thin between the band and his business degree, and you — well, whenever your phone pings, you can’t stop hoping it’s from Semi.)

Five minutes before show time, Semi turns to you, eyes wide. “We don’t have a band name.”

“What?”

“We don’t have a band name.” He looks around, frantically trying to draw inspiration from something in the dimly lit bar. “Quick, think of something.”

So you think for a moment, chewing your inner cheek, before reaching out and tugging on Semi’s sleeve. “Paper.”

“Paper?”

“Paper.”

Paper is fragile, it’s thin, it’s easy to come by. But it’s also a world of potential on one sheet, a story waiting to be written.

When the bar owner walks onto the stage and introduces the band, you know you’ve made the right decision. And from the glittering smile Semi flashes you before nodding at Akamine to count you in, you know he thinks so too.

The show goes on without a hitch, and even though the bar is far from packed, you’re just as proud as you’d be playing in a stadium of screaming fans. The air smells of stale whiskey and fresh beginnings, and as your fingers dance up and down your Gibson’s fretboard, you hear colors — rich teal, smooth mahogany, creamy gold and silver brighter than the stars. Akamine keeps the rhythm like a war drum, and Semi, as always, is perfect. Yasuda, doubling as the main vocalist, sings until his voice gets wonderfully low and raspy, keyboard taking some of the heat as he grins back at you, mouthing how badly his throat hurts.

You’re sweaty when the set’s done, and Akamine buys you a drink, giving you a quick, half-hearted kiss and a tired smile.

Akamine’s always been kind to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Essay due tomorrow at ten.”

He looks so genuinely sorry to leave, you almost feel guilty.

You’re packing up your amps into the back of Semi’s van, alone in the parking lot save for the moon many miles above, hanging bright and full in a clear sky. The moon has seen all your most indulgent sins, and she’s going to see one more tonight.

“You did well.” Semi heaves the last of the equipment into his truck before turning to you, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Consider me impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you say, giving him a mock bow. “So glad I’ve finally managed to impress the Semi Eita.”

He regards you for a moment, arms crossed. A small sigh escapes his lips. It’s both a sigh of resignation and one of anticipation.

Then, in one smooth motion, he steps close, reaches out, and pulls you close by the waist.

You stare up at him, all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. His skin is burning, and his cologne is different from Akamine’s — it’s not expensive, it’s not a multilayered, deep, woody scent. It’s cheap, the sort of cologne a struggling musician can afford, but it smells of home.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he whispers, sliding a hand up your jaw to cup your face. His hair glows silver and ghostly under the streetlamps.

“And what are you about to do?” Your voice is deadly quiet, and your chest feels a deathly cold despite Semi’s proximity, refusing to thaw as you await his answer.

“Kiss you absolutely senseless.”

Semi’s never been one to make empty promises, and right now is no exception. He presses his lips to yours and you immediately melt into his arms, suddenly craving him and only him. You’re not entirely sure how you’ve managed to avoid devouring him whole up until this point, because he kisses like Eros, full of pomegranate seeds and crimson blossoms, of days spent in clandestine bliss. He kisses like a man on death row, desperate and longing, hands squeezing your waist like your body is his only anchor to life itself.

Semi Eita wants to be a rockstar, but right now he’s just a boy kissing a girl he’s bound to fall deeply, inexplicably in love with.

When he finally breaks away, you’re breathless, staring up at him like you’ve just seen an angel. Your hands are still curled in the front of his shirt, you’re still standing on tiptoe, lips just inches from his.

“Semi…” You swallow hard. “Akamine’s a good guy… I can’t.”

Semi tenses his jaw, taking a finger to lift your chin. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.”

He’s got you there.

You’re standing on a balance beam splitting two vastly different worlds. On one side there’s the known: Akamine and his bright, blue-eyed optimism, his willingness to shoulder burdens he shouldn’t have to. There’s his sweet touch and soft kisses, his firm words of reassurance and his sunny laughter shedding light on your hidden depths.

The known is comforting. It’s familiar.

But on the other side… there’s the unknown. There’s Semi Eita in all his scalded glory, his sharp tongue and headstrong determination. There’s his burning touch, his fingers leaving scorch marks on your cheek and his lips depositing glowing embers in your mouth, ready to ignite at a single inflammatory word. There’s his moonstone enigma, the shadow underlying his every sentence like smudged eyeliner.

The unknown is frightening, almost overwhelmingly so… but there’s something in you, something willful and terribly thirsty, that draws you to this unknown and the possibility of knowing it.

“Because I am.”

And you grab his face and pull it down to yours, impatient, frustrated by months of dancing around that painfully tangible attraction, that magnetism — finally, you allow yourself to fall, hurtling through a chasm of fallen stars and ancient suns, hanging on to nothing but Semi and his carefully guarded secrets.

You kiss him hard, pouring your soul into his mouth, all your youthful doubt and hope. You knot your fingers in his hair, and he pulls you into his chest, pressing your body so close it’s as if he wants to make it a part of himself.

And when you part for the second time, chest heaving, you know you’ve fallen completely, entirely, without a doubt.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #semi eita #semi eita x reader #semi eita fluff #semi eita angst #semi eita fic #semi eita imagines #semi eita headcanons

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alilbihh · 4 years

Text

tomorrow (forever) | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: it's only after two of your best friends get married that you and jungkook realize maybe marriage isn't that bad of an idea at all.

words: 2.3k

genre: established relationship!au, fluff, jungkook is just! a fool in love!!

a/n: I just love him ok!!! wanna kiss his nose!!!! and i took way too long to actually finish smth for the bingo. sdjksdgkj. ty for reading

The thing is, you predicted this marriage not too long ago. Or maybe it wasn't long ago at all.

It's one thing to be there when Hoseok and Yoongi are stupidly, densely in love with each other, with exchanging looks and lingering touches and letting them cry on your shoulder because they were in love with their best friend and didn't know what that meant.

It's another thing entirely, though, to be nursing a glass of wine offered to you in a tray and a well dressed waiter, poking at the decidedly uncomfortable dress digging into your side, watching the couples dance and the group of middle aged uncles cheer and the unwilling children skirt around their mother's dresses as they urge them to say hello.

You think you're tired but the buzzing in your ears tells you you're not. Hoseok keeps going around showing off his ring finger and Yoongi keeps kissing his knuckles and Jimin won't stop crying from even before the vows were said and it's all very dramatic and emotional and you can't stop smiling.

Jungkook's probably off somewhere to both charm and gain the favor of unsuspecting grannies, and when you strain your eyes to look sure enough, an older woman with too many rings and kind eyes is leading your boyfriend to a table of fruit slices and punch, probably saying something like eat, eat, you're too skinny, even though he probably has more muscle than actual flesh. You've seen this situation before.

The granny in question is shoving an entire cornucopia in his hands and watching expectantly, and you think you can pinpoint the moment he spots you watching him, eyes lighting up and his smile widening and this little bounce in his step he does when he's excited and can't quite hold it all in. You're so fond you don't think you can hold it all in, either.

He's hurriedly setting down the fruits and bowing respectfully at the granny before rushing towards you, first a walk then a jog then too-long strides that isn't quite considered a run and make him look so ridiculous you can't help but laugh. He's laughing when he reaches you, too.

Jungkook gently takes a hold of your hand, and you set down your glass of wine so he can take hold of the other, swings them around lightly,

"Y/n, hello, hello," he says, grins, clears his throat so he can push down some of the fondness leaking through his tone before finding that he doesn't need to and saying, "Did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

(Which is-- a ridiculous thing to say, really, because-- he's the one who drove you two here, and the first thing he said when he saw you was a mumbled wow and he's complimented you, like, three more times since then, and it's-- a lot. You just love him a lot.)

You pretend to think, hum lowly and say, "Huh, I can't recall. Might want to say it again."

Jungkook grins, never stopped, gently pulls you up, up, mumbles against your forehead, "Well, let me be the first to tell you that you look stunning."

You adjust his tie slightly, brush off his tux, grin something goofy and lopsided. "You look quite dashing yourself, mister Jeon. Very smart."

His hair is a bit disheveled, not quite as put together as it was when he first arrived, and when you squint you think there's a weird stain on his dark suit that's barely visible but still very much there that you're sure he, himself, has no idea of its origins. His eyes are a little wild and he's probably a bit tipsy. He's the prettiest man you've ever seen.

"Hmm," Jungkook hums something teasing, grins teasingly, too, "Will I look more smart if I start doing math problems here and now? Will it arouse you?"

You slap lightly at his chest as he laughs, "Shut up, nerd," you say but it doesn't come out nearly as menacing as you wanted it to. "Did you drink already?"

"Duh. Everyone did." As if on cue, Seokjin waltzes by in all his pink suited glory, hugging a wine bottle to his chest and whining to a nearby uncle about the extreme lack of kitchen utensils in the establishment. Someone should probably go control him.

"Where's Namjoon at a time like this?" You say, seconds before your eyes widen and you continue with a low, "Don't tell me he's drunk? Oh no. Drunk Namjoon is not a good Namjoon."

Jungkook winces, too, probably also recalling that one time Namjoon got drunk, barfed his guts out on a nearby tree, then started aggressively speaking spanish to it, in that order. You didn't know Namjoon knew spanish. Namjoon didn't know he knew spanish.

"It's.. not a good time." Is all Jungkook says.

You're both still standing in a corner by the bar, wrapped up and spewing nonsense to each other, and you think there's something you could say here, something to fill the silence, but this is nice, too. Like there's no need to fill it at all.

He's just started swaying you both to the music completely out of rhythm, something a bit slower than the upbeat song probably chosen by Hoseok, when the song abruptly cuts off, Taehyung tap, tap, tapping at the mic, someone that you think is the dj distantly yelling complaints.

"Alright, time for our dear friend Yoongi to throw the bouquet! Whoever's interested can line up, come, come, come!"

When you look over Jungkook's shoulder you see a very blushy, very displeased Yoongi and a very delighted Hoseok nudging him forward, the shorter man clutching at the blue and white flowers in his hands. Seokjin is cackling hysterically.

"Y/n-ah!" Jungkook gasps, swinging your arms around like a madman, "I wanna catch the bouquet!"

You snort, because of course he does, "Isn't that a lady thing?"

He scoffs, "That's dumb. Since when do I adhere to social norms." He's bouncing in place again, glancing from you to the dance floor and back, where a small group of women have gathered. You laugh.

"Go, go, I'll watch from here," You say and he sprints, and you watch with a laugh because--really, he stands out like a sore thumb, the tallest of them all, a black tux amidst a sea of colorful dresses. Yoongi's standing on a small podium, his back facing them all, preparing to throw the bouquet, and you think you can see everyone holding their breath in anticipation.

The whole situation is so immensely endearing, a small congregation of women with their hands already in the air, Jungkook doing little hops despite being able to easily see over all their heads.

You're so wrapped up in your thoughts, with the idea of what you'll do when Jungkook comes back all pouty and empty handed, that you don't really process when it happens; Jungkook springing into the air, clutching the bouquet to his chest like a lifeline.

He turns, grins victoriously, waving his newly acquired bouquet in the air, says something along the lines of look, look, Y/n-ah, look, I caught it, I caught the bouquet, but your brain just kind of-- short circuits.

Like yes, maybe it's just a bouquet, just a silly tradition for people to think they're meant to get married next, but that's exactly it. Jungkook caught the bouquet. That means he's meant to get married next.

By the time Jungkook reaches you, the thought marriage marriage marriage has kind of already wrapped itself around your head, echoing mercilessly. What if this were your wedding? Would you cry during your vows, like Jungkook most definitely will? What if you two were the ones to decorate the venue, to argue over its color scheme, to taste test wedding cakes until Jungkook tastes sweet sweet sweet. If every time you held hands you'd feel the smooth line of a ring, if you could look down at your ring finger and remember how much you love, love, love.

Jungkook's still looking at you expectantly when you come to.

"Um." You blink. "Congrats."

"See? I told you I could do it." He runs a finger over the petals, brows furrowed, mumbles a low what kind of flower is this, inspecting them seriously, completely unaware of your inner turmoil. And you feel kind of-- overwhelmed, maybe, of this boy, this beautiful boy, and wonder if maybe he feels the same way, maybe he'll want to spend forever with you, too.

Jungkook's still talking when you snap out of it, "...And then I was like, I'm gonna do it, and then hyung was like, don't do it, and then I was like, why can't I do it, and then he said something about it not being a good idea? I was honestly shocked. When do I not have good ideas."

"Preposterous." You say, just to have something to say.

"Absolutely preposterous." He nod nod nods, and you wonder when you both started swaying, the song already something softer and slower.

"I'm gonna," you breathe, "Gonna get a drink, I think."

"Oh! Me too, me too. Let's go," He takes a hold of your hand, which is-- devastating, really. Here you are, trying to escape the thought of marrying your boyfriend with your boyfriend following you. Devastating.

You trail behind as he leads you back to the bar, keeps holding your hand while he orders for you both, tilts his head and says whaddya want, baby? And it's, just. Devastating.

You feel a bit like how you did in your first date, just toeing over the line between friends and lovers, wondering what to do next. Feel a bit lost but not quite, feel comfortable where you are, but at the same time kind of want to be introduced as Jungkook's spouse. And kiss Jungkook's ring. And--

"Hey," Jungkook breathes into your ear, laughs when you jump, "What're you thinking so intently about?"

"About how to get you to never do that again." You stick your tongue out at him. He does the same.

"C'mon, c'mon, tell me," he says, giggling sporadically, shuffles his chair closer to yours. He looks like he wants to keep going but his eyes widen suddenly, something like the beginning of a bad idea in the glint in his eyes, "Hey, hey, I just had an idea."

"Yeah?" You grin, wave the bartender over when you see him with your drinks.

Except when he's about to set your drink down, Jungkook leans in close and--"Let's elope," and you, one: flail your arms, two: choke a little, and three: knock over your drink.

Jungkook's too busy laughing to both acknowledge and explain himself, so you're left to profusely apologize to the very confused bartender and aggressively wipe napkins over the counter. It's a mess.

"Jungkook!" You hiss once the bartender goes away, "You can't just-- why!"

"Because it's fun," he giggles, cheeks tinted rosy gold.

"What just happened?" A voice says suddenly overhead, and when you turn you see an equally confused Hoseok rightfully worried over what's going on at his wedding. This is probably the first time you've seen him away from Yoongi the whole night.

"Y/n just spilled her drink." Jungkook tattles immediately.

"I did not-"

"It just flew everywhere, all over the place. There was an avalanche of it. People were swimming in it, slipping in it, they're considering calling for a nationwide rationing of wine just to make up for—"

"Shut up, I hate you," he grins, and what you say is rendered ineffective when you let your boyfriend pull you close to kiss your temple.

Boyfriend. Because—you're not married. But maybe that's not the worst thing in the world, suddenly.

It's a few hours later, the venue growing more spacious, more empty, when you bring it up again-- Jungkook already beside you, tracing a nonsensical pattern over the back of your hand. You don't think he realizes what he's doing. The thought makes you so endlessly fond.

"Guk?" You mumble. He hums in question, head tilting to give you his full attention.

"Wha'sit, baby?" He drawls.

You breathe. There's some confetti stuck to his hair, and you laugh softly before plucking it out. He just grins and lets you, ducks his head before watching you through his lashes. You run a hand through his hair, then, the gel already having disintegrated into his skull or whatnot, fringe sticking to his forehead. He closes his eyes. Looks so pretty you might just burst.

You let in a breath. Let it out. Count to three. Say-- "That's where we're headed, right?"

It takes a second, then two. Jungkook opens his mouth, as if to say something, closes it. Looks around, and you think you can pinpoint when he realizes you're not talking about home, at least not in the literal sense.

He cracks a smile, lets out the softest laugh. "Oh, baby," he coos, kisses your knuckles once, twice, thrice, lets out the goofiest grin. "Of course, Y/n-ah, my baby. We're in this together, hm?"

(There's hints, later, too-- sometimes he'll be eating cereal and randomly say maybe yellow would be nice for our wedding, sometimes you'll walk past jewelry stores and he'll give you this soft little nudge of presence. Sometimes he'll stare a few seconds too long at your empty ring finger.

You wonder, wonder when he started saying when, when we get married, not if. Wonder when he started being so sure of it, this fiercely sure thing. Wonder when you started agreeing without much thought.

You're not engaged, not quite yet, but your heart kind of-- swells, when you think about it, that one day you will be, maybe not too far from now.

Tomorrow, though-- tomorrow. Right now, you're content as it is. You can figure out forever tomorrow.)

#btsghostie #btsghostiebingo #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic

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amberwild420 · 3 years

Text

one step back, two steps forward (pt. 8)

masterlist

family dinner

The girls chatted as they stepped out of the school. Luka and Kagami promised to meet them there so they can all go for the dinner. And true to their words they were there.

Luka! Kagami! So glad you could make it!

I wouldn’t miss our duel for anything.

Kagami slightly smiled. Since lunch, she had been looking forward to the duel. Luka merely smiled and the group walked towards Kaylan’s home.

When Kaylan told them about class and the drama that unfolded after class, they were angry but pleased when Kaylan used Bustier’s words against the class.

You seriously need to teach me how to trash talk!

Marinette laughed. All the responses and comebacks that Kaylan had used till now made her days.

I can teach you but you have to toughen up first. What they are doing is wrong and I want you to save yourself.

Marinette gave a sad smile. Luka, Kagami and Kaylan shared a look.

I trust them that they can realize the truth and everything will be back to how it was.

I don’t think so.

Kaylan fired back. She stopped, making the rest stop too. She had a blank face but her eyes were calculating.

Marinette…..*sigh*………..look I know you say that everything will be ok or that you trust them, but……but deep down you know that after what they had done, you won’t be able to trust them……………..at least not like before………you know before all this started. As for that everything will be alright……….it’s just as connected to the trust. You think it will be alright but you know that your trust and relationship will be strained. So much that slowly and sub-consciously you will cut them out.

Marinette made a face. A flash of coldness passed through her eyes. But it was gone before she mumbled,

You wouldn’t know that.

I know that. I have seen that. Or rather someone close to me had seen that and told me.

For a moment they looked vulnerable. But it was gone when Marinette nodded. She seriously needed to talk to Tikki. She was good at listening and giving advises.

Come on we don’t want to be late.

They silent moment broke and they walked towards the apartment building.

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

The woman smiled sweetly and welcomed the trio in. As soon as they settled in the woman started mothering them, hugging them tightly, asking them of their day, talking non-stop.

Mom! You are overwhelming them. Slowdown will ya!

The woman stopped abruptly and smiled sheepishly when she saw the expression of the trio.

Sorry. Sorry. I was just excited that you made so many friends in such a short time.

*sigh* this is Veronica Fox, my mother. She is a freelance psychiatrist. And yes, she is the one who made the banshee therapy for akuma prevention.

Oh! It’s nice to meet you kids. I’m so happy you made friends with my broody daughter.

I’m not broody. Batman brood. I sit back and judge……… And fight when they irritate me.

Marinette nervously laughed not knowing what was going on. The difference between the mother and daughter was like sun and moon. And judging by Kagami’s attempt to hide her smile and Luka’s quite snicker they must have thought the same.

She could feel Tikki’s amusement from her purse.

At least someone’s having fun.

She thought and sighed.

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

The small training room was cozy. Their apartment was not by any mean big and luxurious but it wasn’t too small. The two bedrooms, a living room, a guestroom, a kitchen and a spare room turned to training room was definitely not small. Kagami was attracted towards the small assortment of the blades on the wall.

A beautiful long bladed spear stood tall in the center. The shine and sharpness of the blade gave her a sense of satisfaction.

Next to it was a double bladed weapon. Marinette who stood behind Kagami looked confused.

I don’t think I had ever seen this type of weapon in your collection Kagami. What type of weapon is this?

She whispered to the Japanese girl who looked rather stunned.

A naginata! Kaylan called from behind them. Veronica left the teens to get started for the evening tea. Luka also joined the girls, giving out an impressed whistle.

It’s not easy to wield a weapon of this caliber. Not without years and years of practice.

Kagami looked impressed.

Wait were her eyes shining like all those anime characters she had seen or was Marinette hallucinating?

Kaylan looked amused. She picked up the blade in question and went in the middle of the room. The rest waiting in the side in anticipation. Kaylan stood with her eyes closed mentally preparing to do a simple trick rather then something complicated.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and spin the pole around her with a familiar ease and pointed it towards Kagami, who looked like a child in a candy store.

Smiling softly she put the weapon back to where it belonged.

It was impressive!

Kagami said with a wide smile. If it wasn’t her ability to school her emotion she would be rumbling like Marinette normally does.

I’m glad you thought so. To me it is like a fish to water. That’s why I learned to fight with this far quicker.

Uh……….. Marinette didn’t know what to ask but she shuffled around nervously before opening her mouth to ask her a question.

Is it really hard to fight with this two blade pole?

Yes. / It is.

Both girls said at the same time. They looked at each other before turning towards the designer.

Wielding a naginata requires a lot of practice. Especially for women. First because of the height and weight that requires a lot of upper body strength. This one is normal length mostly used by samurai’s. Women warriors use one smaller and lighter.

Kagami told them rather eagerly. She wanted to learn. But her affinity was with sword. But to see one here and someone to use a weapon she longed to learn right in front of her was making her warm in chest.

It’s not just the upper body strength……… Kaylan interrupted.

Normal naginata have only one blade. Mine has double blade. It makes it even more difficult to practice. You can’t get distracted. Or one of the two blades can cut you.

Kagami nodded. This is exactly what made this weapon so magnetic for her. She turned to the wall and picked up the only katana from the wall.

The beautiful white sheath with small patterns and beautifully crafted handle. Marinette subtly took out her sketch book, suddenly inspired by a sword to make a base line of her next dress.

Kagami unsheathe the sword, admiring the blade before turning to Kaylan.

I believe a duel is in order.

Kaylan only smirked before taking her sword and turning towards the sparring mat. Kagami unsheathed her own saber but was bummed out when Kaylan didn’t unsheathed her own but didn’t comment on it.

Luka who was silent all this time, stepped forward to act as referee since Marinette was in her zone.

Both girls got in position, blades pointing each other. The moment Luka signaled both clashed. Both countering the other, not letting other to take advantage of the opening.

Marinette looked at the dual fascinated. Tikki the ever loving god/Kawami was recording the dual. (She is still hiding in the purse mind you. She just doesn’t want her chosen’s friend to get into trouble when they clearly forgot about the promised video.)

It was until Kagami thrust her saber point blank and it hit Kaylan in the shoulder when she tried to block it. A moment of silence passed before Kaylan chuckled and relaxed.

Not bad, Tsurugi!

Kagami who looked rather bewildered. Apparently she didn’t thought it would actually hit. But she relaxed when Kaylan laughed. She smiled.

Not too bad yourself, Fox.

Best out of three?

I don’t mind.

And with that they positioned themselves again.

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

The next two rounds were a tie and another win for Kagami, though it was longer than any match Kagami ever participated.

I would have won if it was my trusty pole.

Kaylan said, before putting the katana back to its place. Kagami let out a hum of affirmation. No doubt there, she was good at handling it. They turned to the pair of whip coiled at the wall.

A silver whip with a small curved blade.

And another with golden handle and an arrow like blade. Both adorn the wall, with a grace of their own.

How good are you with a whip?

It was Marinette who asked this time. Her eyes were calculatingly looking at the weapon. If she is good with such weapons then giving her a miraculous with an unconventional weapon will be easy for her to use in akuma battle.

Better than sword. Almost as good as gladiator.

The trio raised an eyebrow. She smiled sheepishly before gesturing towards the naginata.

You named that thing? Kagami looked rather amused. The designer and the musician snickered when Kaylan let out a dramatic gasp.

How dare you call gladiator a thing?! He is my trustworthy ally.

The trio laughed. A whine that was more like complaining sounded. A smile rose to her lips, Veronica looked at the old picture on the fridge. It was two of them, she cried when she first held her smiling daughter. It was one of her favorite memory.

Her life hasn’t been easy. No friend. No family. But it felt nice to hear her talking to friends, laughing. Maybe it was the right decision to come here despite the emotional terrorist.

Kids, have some snacks! God forbid I can’t have any more kids with no self-care.

MOM!!!

And one again the laughter rose.

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Taking a bite of the fruit sandwich, Marinette hummed in satisfaction. Fruit tart and fruit trifle were available in bakery but……… she definitely need to get the recipe.

Kagami looked right at home. Well, considering it was from her home country. Luka, Kaylan and her mother were tending to their tea.

Now that we all are gathered……..let’s begin the interrogation.

Veronica winked at the kids making them giggle while Kaylan rolled her eyes fondly.

So I know about Marinette being the aspiring fashion designer that could give other designer a run for their money, what about two of you? I don’t think any of you was mentioned before.

That’s because we met today and I decided that are worth my time and effort. Unlike some liars and dumb sheep that share only one brain cell which could die anytime now.

Veronica lightly slapped her on the thigh, but Kaylan just shamelessly smirked. The trio exchanged knowing glances.

Yep, they were like sun and the moon. Not like mother, like daughter kind.

Kagami is a world class fencer. She had won many gold medals in every single competition and she is training for the Olympus.

Marinette excitedly started talking. The girl in question had a very tiny blush on her cheeks when her friend kept gushing about her.

I’m actually a guitarist, I was with the kitty section but now I’m going solo.

And Luka sometimes intern with Jagged Stone, he can hear the songs of the soul.

That’s nice I’m sure you wouldn’t mind telling me what type of music my soul emits?

The said boy nodded before closing his eyes and focusing while everyone else held their breath when they saw Luka frowning. It wasn’t like the unpleasant frown when he heard Lila’s song. But more like he couldn’t figure out how to tell.

It’s…………

Everyone leaned forward batting their breath waiting for him to speak.

It’s ……it’s like many different melodies mixed together. Not like a mush or anything unpleasant. More like…..orchestra? No more like a mix classic and rock band.

Veronica looked eager to learn about the mixed melody. Kagami and Marinette looked curious as well. Kaylan just calmly sipped her tea before interrupting.

Let me guess? Sharp and fast notes of violin, upbeat of a drum? That’s her alright.

here

She got another hit from her mother but she just rolled her eyes hiding her smile behind the cup.

You don’t need to hide it mom, anyone who dares to antagonize you learn about your gentle sharpness, your excitement and upbeat personality is what everyone you meet knows. What else is there to hide?

True. Luka said as his eyes turned to the woman in question.

However there is softness hiding underneath those sharp notes, your love.

Veronica looked rather pleased. She was beaming.

Oh! Oh! What about my daughter?!

I don’t want you to hear it.

She flat-out refused. A little pestering occurred but she just fondly rolled her eyes.

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Playing mortal combat, while sharing stories with each other was a good time pass. Marinette sharing her experience about being clumsy even if she could haul a 50kg bag of flour on her shoulder with ease. Kagami sharing her training and fencing experience. Luka telling them about all the melodies he had ever heard and how Marinette was the most beautiful one he ever heard (cue lots of blushing and whining and teasing). Kaylan sharing her moving around experience and difference in cultures.

Time passed quickly and it was time for dinner. It was rather pleasant. A few jokes passed around. When they left, Veronica insisted they come to their place whenever they feel like it. They were welcomed to return when they felt like it.

It would be best if you kids come around more often. I’m a therapist and I can see the amount of stress you kids are shouldering. It is not good normally but it is worse when you are emotionally hostage of a terrorist. So come by when you feel like you have to unwind. I might not be able to give a 100% solution but a better coping system will be nice. So don’t hesitate.

Kaylan looked as serious as her but didn’t say anything. They bid their farewell and left.

#One Step Back #two steps forward #miraculous ladybug #original character #marinette protection squad #Marinette deserves better #Marinette needs a hug #someone give Marinette a hug #i'm finally back

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

- Chapter 4 -

Meng Yao learned all the same things as Nie Mingjue, clearly being groomed to for position as Nie Mingjue’s counselor along with several of Nie Mingjue’s cousins – a great honor, he supposed.

Still, it meant that he knew what a Discussion Conference was, and knew to fear its imminent arrival.

Everything was going so well, after all.

His mother was dressing properly now, settling slowly into acting like a proper lady no matter that she was only a concubine – she’d even started to warm up to Nie Huaisang, taking the small child into her arms and singing to him the way she used to sing to Meng Yao, spoiling him a little out of what Meng Yao suspected might even be guilt at her initial plans for him, finally recognizing what Meng Yao had long ago realized: that he was good luck, not bad. A person, her son, and not merely a tool.

Best of all, Meng Yao’s little schemes on her behalf seemed to have been rather effective: Lao Nie had grown quite fond of buying Meng Shi little trinkets whenever he returned home from travel, burnished combs from Gusu, golden earrings from Lanling, even a hairpiece adorned with the Yunmeng pearls that Meng Yao knew she’d always envied. Her courtyard did not go unvisited, and the household begrudgingly unbent enough to let her give orders, the servants and retainers expressing through their service, through their willingness to overlook her origins, their appreciation of how her skillful playing and witty conversation helped ease the worst strains of Lao Nie’s vicious temper.

But now the time had come for the Discussion Conference to be held at Qinghe.

It was one thing when the conferences were held elsewhere, like the one in Yunping that had brought Nie Mingjue into Meng Yao’s life and Lao Nie into Meng Shi’s, because in those situations Meng Shi could be safely left behind at home – but not in Qinghe.

For the first time, Meng Yao almost wished that Lao Nie did not like his mother so much. After all, as a general rule, concubines were not allowed to host strange men, not even on their husband’s behalf, but when the concubine was favored, as Meng Shi was, when there was no first wife available to run the kitchen and do the welcoming, to greet the guests…

For anyone but Meng Shi to do it would be an affront to her dignity, and it would never occur to Lao Nie to be ashamed of her like that, even with her having been a prostitute before. It made perfect sense – and if she were anyone but herself, it would be fine.

A compliment, even; a willingness of Lao Nie’s part to show her off to his peers.

But Meng Yao knew, as Meng Shi knew, that there was a pit waiting for them.

After all, a Discussion Conference would bring in all the leaders of the major and minor sects – there was no way that Jin Guangshan, Sect Leader Jin, would miss it, and he had visited Meng Shi often enough through the years that there was no way he would fail to recognize her.

Asking Lao Nie to ignore that Meng Shi was a prostitute was one thing; men since time immemorial had taken on prostitutes as concubines, even those that had borne sons for other men. But to ask him to ignore that she had borne a son for one of his political rivals, for a man he despised as a cringing coward, for him to be exposed as raising one of what Meng Yao now knew the entire cultivation world snidely called the Jin bastards…

Meng Yao worried.

Nie Mingjue didn’t understand why Meng Yao was so worried, of course, but how could he? He’d never been told the details; Meng Yao would have said, trusting his discretion enough, but Meng Shi had stopped him each time.

And so Nie Mingjue thought it was only nervousness ahead of Meng Yao’s first Conference – he himself had skipped the last two Discussion Conferences, despite being old enough to usually have no choice but to come along, on the excuse that he had to care for Nie Huaisang, now a lively if lazy toddler whose favorite words were “da-ge”, “er-ge”, and “no”.

“If you don’t feel comfortable, you can go back to rest after the welcoming ceremony,” Nie Mingjue assured Meng Yao, earnest and well-meaning as always. “You don’t even have to stay for the banquet if you don’t want. I have to stay since I’m the heir, but that’s not applicable to you. If you’re worried about face, don’t be; you can take Huaisang with you – that’d be a good excuse, no one would question it.”

Meng Yao dredged up a smile for him. “I may do that,” he said, but knew that by that point it would be too late.

If they’d been better people, they would have warned Lao Nie of what to expect – but for all that he seemed to be a good man, he still had that unpredictable, explosive temper that was the Nie family inheritance as much as all the rest of it, and Meng Shi was determined that Meng Yao get as much of a cultivator’s education as possible before they were cast out – and she was sure they’d be cast out, no matter how well things had gone so far.

Meng Yao had argued with her that the few months extra he got weren’t worth the Nie sect’s loss of face, that they were better off telling him in private lest he be taken by surprise, that if he knew he could take measures to protect them both, but she had refused.

(Meng Yao loved his mother, but sometimes he thought all her cunning got in the way of being smart. He’d never thought that before Qinghe, before he realized there were more ways to do things, to move people, than by playing tricks – before he realized that the truth about the tricks you played coming out might cost you everything you had gained and more.)

The worst of it, though, was that he still had hope.

Hope for his own sake – hope for Jin Guangshan, hope that wouldn’t go away no matter how he tried to quash it.

It wasn’t like he was still the naïve child he’d been before, dreaming of a rescue – he’d gotten that! – but only the hope of every fatherless son that the man who sired him was worth something, that his blood was an inheritance he could be proud of.

A swiftly fading hope, given everything he learned from the teachers about the way the cultivation world worked. As a future counselor to a sect leader, he was privy to all the gossip, all the stories, the judgements on personality and proposed solutions on how to deal with them, none of which were very kind in their analysis of Jin Guangshan – and yet.

And yet.

Qinghe Nie had a tense relationship with Lanling Jin, owing both to personality clashes between their sect leaders and historical precedent, for all that they’d recently become closer allies given the aggression of Qishan Wen; Meng Yao knew that there would still inevitably a negative slant to what he learned, ancient prejudice influencing their judgment. And so he still hoped –

It was not a hope that lasted long.

Sect Leader Jin looked impressive from a distance, in his gold robes and golden adornments, but once he drew near the hints of dissipation on his face were obvious to a boy that had grown up in a brothel: the sort of man that liked women and drink too much, the sort that was a good mark because and not in spite of how inconstant he was.

His eyes skimmed over Meng Yao as if he were nothing, despite there being at least three or four points of similarity between them – Meng Yao resembled his mother more, but not entirely – and stopped at Meng Shi. A brief moment of surprise, and then his lips curled up into the disdainful smirk of knowing something that others did not; his eyes flickered over the crowd and this time landed on Meng Yao directly. Their eyes met for a moment that seemed to last forever, but in truth it was only a few heartbeats before Jin Guangshan’s smirk widened and he turned to whisper something into his aide’s ear, and then that man laughed…

Meng Yao felt a rush of shame fill him from head to toe.

It had been a while since he’d felt that familiar feeling, pain and hurt and rage all mixed together. It wasn’t that Qinghe was some paradise that forgot about birth, there were plenty of people who would sneer at a prostitute’s son, who would refuse to deal with him or call him names – fewer, since Lao Nie had started allowing Meng Shi to help run things in his name, letting her act almost as if she was the first wife – but he hadn’t felt shame about it in a while.

At the beginning, when it happened, Lao Nie told him that people would undoubtedly talk cruelly about him all his life but that good conduct would let him ignore them. It wasn’t especially helpful advice, though Nie Mingjue seemed to believe it (they had names for him too, for all that he was the heir, and not all of them appreciative), but perhaps it would be something he’d understand when he was older.

Certainly Nie Mingjue cited the folly of his youth for why he repaid each insult against Meng Yao with a beating, if the offenders were in his generation, or a beating for their sons if they were older. Folly of youth or not, though, Nie Mingjue’s beatings had reduced the incidents more than any of Lao Nie’s words and Meng Yao had been able to hold his head up high and proud.

Not so now.

In a single instant, he was no longer the second young master of Qinghe, Lao Nie’s ward; Jin Guangshan’s haughty look and laughter reduced him back to being nothing more than gutter trash, a prostitute’s mistake, the leavings of a sect master so high above him as to not even bother to redeem the mother of what, to him, was merely yet another son.

He hated it.

For the first time, it occurred to him that it might have been Jin Guangshan himself that sent his mother to Lao Nie’s bed all that time ago – that he’d been playing a nasty joke on a man he hated, a man he knew hated him in turn, by getting him so drunk that he wouldn’t be able to tell that the woman he had taken to bed was Jin Guangshan’s former lover, no matter how obviously she was throwing herself at him. It would make sense, Jin Guangshan and Wen Ruohan each wanting Lao Nie out of the way for their own reasons…

He hated it.

(He hated even more that even after this humiliation he still somehow wanted the man’s approval, wanted to show him that he was wrong about him, wanted to be taken home by him the way he should have been all along, to seen as critical and necessary and important – but how could that ever be, now that he’d already sworn loyalty to another sect?)

The welcome ceremony was quickly poisoned, whispers spreading and a growing frown on Lao Nie’s face – that explosive temper again – and Meng Yao didn’t need the pointed glance from one of the sect deputies to know it was time for him to leave, using Nie Huaisang (who was being perfectly well behaved) as an excuse for why he had to go.

Nie Mingjue gave him an encouraging nod, because of course he did, oblivious as he was to most social undercurrents, and Meng Yao wondered as he left how long it would take for the whispers to reach him – how long before Nie Mingjue knew that Meng Yao and his mother had lied to them, albeit by omission, that they’d deliberately hidden the truth and made them lose face in front of everyone.

He wondered how Nie Mingjue would react to that.

At least Nie Huaisang was too young for any of this, babbling away happily in something half intelligible and half fragmented pieces of thought that made no sense to anyone, clutching at Meng Yao’s hair as if he was considering trying to eat it again the way he had when he was younger.

In his anxiety, Meng Yao put him down for bed earlier than he would normally, and true to form Nie Huaisang woke up deep into the night crying for a snack. Meng Yao gave him some dried fruit from the stash he always kept in his pocket and promised to get him something more substantive from the kitchens, and Nie Huaisang snuggled contentedly back into bed (Meng Yao’s bed, which was probably his actual goal the entire time, the devious brat).

Even though Nie Huaisang would probably be fast asleep by the time he returned, Meng Yao still turned his feet towards the kitchens. A Nie kept his promises, no matter how small, and at least for the moment he was still a prospective junior disciple of the Nie sect, ward of the Nie sect leader and responsible for upholding his honor – even if he might not be so tomorrow.

The banquet was still going, though presumably it was finally reaching its tail end, and Meng Yao couldn’t help but wander over in that direction on his way to the kitchens to see if people were still talking about it. About him, him and his mother…

A figure stumbled out of the main hall into the unlit corridors, and two years of familiarity allowed Meng Yao to identify Nie Mingjue at once even before he staggered back against the wall for support, moonlight shining on his face. His eyes were strangely vacant, his mouth slack – was he drunk?

It seemed bizarre to even think it. For all that Qinghe Nie spoke big about how picking up your saber was the step into adulthood, no one would ever allow a boy of Nie Mingjue’s age to drink enough wine to become intoxicated, much less to such a degree. He shouldn’t have even had wine served to his place setting, and previous experiments had revealed that stealing a single cup wasn’t enough to cause any effect on Nie Mingjue’s top-rate constitution. So why..?

Meng Yao hesitated, wondering if he should go and help him. Yesterday he would have done it without thinking, but that had been before the events of the day…

A shadow covered the face of the moon, casting Nie Mingjue’s face into darkness.

No, he was wrong – it was only that there was a man in the hallway, standing now between Nie Mingjue and the open window, and he stepped forward to catch Nie Mingjue in his arms, helping him stand once more.

Someone else had gotten there first, it seemed, and Meng Yao was about to leave when the man smiled, a glint of teeth, and suddenly he recognized him, for all that he’d only seen him briefly years before.

Wen Ruohan.

Sect Leader Wen, the only thing that could make Jin Guangshan and Lao Nie forget their enmity for each other – a poisonous snake, a terrifying tyrant, a pestilence on the cultivation world that constantly tested Qinghe Nie’s borders and tried to lure away its affiliated sects, all the while smiling and denying that it was doing any such thing.

The man who had once chased Nie Mingjue into hiding himself in a brothel, and thereby changed Meng Yao’s life forever.

Meng Yao did not feel especially grateful to him for it. The scene before him suddenly took on new light: Nie Mingjue was no longer merely drunk, leaning on a friendly hand for support and making a nuisance of himself as he did – he was frowning almost as if he were having trouble realizing what was happening, trying to push Wen Ruohan’s hands away but with fingers too weak to put up much resistance, and Wen Ruohan smiling all the while. Meng Yao knew that the brothel had had drugs like that, dizzying intoxicants that sapped the body’s power and the mind’s stability; the owners used them on vulnerable women who tried to resist their offers, knowing that after they had lost their virtue once it would be easier to coax them into giving it away again.

If he’s disgraced, your brother is the heir, something deep inside him whispered, sounding almost like his mother. Lao Nie can’t cast out the mother of his heir, not the way he could a concubine and her shu son, and it’s not as if you have to do anything. You were already in bed, and no one would ever know that you saw anything –

He’d know, though. Wen Ruohan would probably be able to figure it out, too, with his high cultivation, and he could use it against him in the future.

So what? Even if you did see something, what could they expect you to do? It’s not as if you can do anything. Who do you think you are, some whore’s trash son that doesn’t even have a saber yet? You’d never be able to stop the mighty Sect Leader Wen who strikes fear even into the heart of the likes of Lao Nie. Better to just let it happen…

Nie Mingjue made a small sound, a tiny whimper that was barely audible and soon muffled by the fingers Wen Ruohan put on his tongue; the older man had pressed him against the wall, a leg pushed in between Nie Mingjue’s thighs, Nie Mingjue’s weak attempts to push him away translating as little more than gentle tugs on his robes. Using his body to keep Nie Mingjue pinned in place, Wen Ruohan’s free hand slipped down –

Meng Yao gritted his teeth and went away.

The kitchens still had lanterns lit, and skewers to carry a flame from one place to another – it hurt Meng Yao deeply to set fire to a store of rice, knowing it would have been enough to feed him and his mother for an entire season without going hungry, but it didn’t hurt as much as the thought of a future in which all those slandering tongues treated Nie Mingjue as if he’d never been anything better than Wen Ruohan’s whore.

“Fire!” he shouted once it has spread enough to be a threat. “Fire!”

One of the kitchen servants rushed in and saw, immediately joining his cry to Meng Yao’s, and soon enough everyone was rushing around frantically, more and more people drawn over by the noise. In the frenzy, Meng Yao slipped out and with a strong pinch made his eyes fill with tears.

“Da-ge!” he cried, throwing himself into Nie Mingjue’s arms the second he saw him – Wen Ruohan would never have feared discovery by a single person, easily discredited, but when all the sect leaders in the main hall had started coming over to see what was happening he had had no choice but to step away. “Da-ge, I went to get some snacks for Huaisang and there was a fire!”

Even drugged and assaulted, Nie Mingjue’s first instinct was to comfort; he awkwardly patted Meng Yao’s shoulders and back, slurring out an “it’s okay, Meng Yao” that barely sounded anything like it.

Meng Yao pulled back away from him and allowed disgust to twist his face, all the disgust and disdain and hatred that had been churning in his gut the entire evening – how dare they all judge him, those sect leaders who’d never known a day of hardship in their lives, how dare they say things about his mother, as if they knew anything about her simply because of the role she was forced to play…

“Meng Yao, is it?” Wen Ruohan said, and Meng Yao widened his eyes in a burst of panic as if he hadn’t realized anyone was there, hadn’t intended for the feelings on his face to be seen by anyone.

“Sect Leader Wen!” he said. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you there – please forgive my shixiong, I don’t know how he’s managed to get this drunk, to shame himself like this…”

“Think nothing of it. He’s still young, after all,” Wen Ruohan said generously, as if he had nothing to do with it. “You’re – the ward, yes? The concubine’s son?”

Meng Yao nodded, putting his best version of a coward’s smile on his face – the one that was gentle, the way he preferred to be, but with shades of weakness that brought out disdain and condescension in stronger men. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you any longer, Sect Leader,” he said sweetly, making it obvious that he was trying to pander. “I know you’re far too busy to be dealing with the stupidity of youth…”

Stupid, rather than foolish – meaning he thought that this reflected a judgment on Nie Mingjue’s character, rather than a momentary lapse. A cruel thing for a shidi to say, and to say that to a stranger, to Qinghe’s rival, was positively unpolitic; it would absolutely be a loss of face if it was called out.

But when such obvious weakness was displayed before a predator, it could also be seen as something else: an opportunity.

Wen Ruohan looked intrigued, as Meng Yao had hoped he would be – what would-be conqueror didn’t like the idea of recruiting a spy in another sect’s camp, especially one so highly placed? Especially one placed so near to something he wanted.

With a glance at the crowd that was growing rather than shrinking, he made his decision.

“Take him back to bed,” he told Meng Yao, who nodded eagerly. “And come see me tomorrow – you seem like a bright boy.”

“Of course!” Meng Yao chirped, looking as if he were overwhelmed by the extremity of Wen Ruohan’s favor, as if he could be bought with some pretty words and a little bit of resentment. He��d go, too, the next morning when the Unclean Realm was bustling with servants and a single shout could bring them running; he’d play up his young age, greedily gobble up the treats Wen Ruohan was sure to set out, and complain about how no one respected him, how everyone sneered at him, Jin Guangshan’s bastard – he’d whisper his fears about how Lao Nie would react – he’d puff himself up when Wen Ruohan inevitably flattered him.

It’d be easy enough to convince Wen Ruohan that he was weak, conniving, and greedy, the sort of person could be easily bought. The sort of person who would be happy to help a stranger sneak into his brother’s bed just to make himself feel better about being born the son of a whore.

If Wen Ruohan believed that that was who he was, what he was like, he would try to use Meng Yao to achieve his aims next time, and that would in turn mean that Meng Yao would be properly position next time to stop him – by accident, of course, or while trying to help him avoid notice, or whatever. Men like Wen Ruohan never really paid attention to their pawns after the initial coaxing period: once they considered someone to be theirs, once they’d judged someone too afraid to ever betray them, they got lazy and put down their wariness.

Meng Yao had met plenty such people in the brothel.

He carted Nie Mingjue off to bed – his bed, not Nie Mingjue’s, to reduce the danger – and Nie Huaisang (who was woken up by all the fuss) didn’t even notice the absence of the snack he’d been promised when it meant that he could sleep the rest of the night between his two brothers, his favorite place in the world to be.

He slept, and Nie Mingjue slept, and on the cold edge of his side of the bed, Meng Yao spent the rest of the night planning how to convince Lao Nie to let him and his mother stay. He had to stay, because if he left, if he left and Nie Mingjue had no one by his side, no one but Nie Huaisang who was too young –

Meng Yao didn’t know how long his da-ge’s carefree generosity could last in this cruel world, but he was determined to find out.

In the morning, as he’d hoped and feared, Nie Mingjue woke with no memory of the events of the night before.

It was good, because it meant that Meng Yao didn’t have to explain; bad, because who knew whether Wen Ruohan had tried a similar trick before with more success. The thought left a bitter taste in Meng Yao’s mouth, and it spilled from his mouth like poison when Nie Mingjue tried to ask him how he was feeling – “Don’t you know what they’re saying about me? All of them – my father.”

Nie Mingjue fell silent. “Meng Yao…”

“What? Can you stop their tongues? No one can change the facts of their birth, and yet I’m the one who keeps having to pay for it.”

“Meng Yao,” Nie Mingjue said, and his eyes were hurting. Good – let him hurt, let him feel one iota of what Meng Yao had always suffered, let him – “If I could make your father love you, I would.”

Meng Yao’s breath caught in his throat.

“If I could force him to honor you,” Nie Mingjue continued, voice solemn. “I would send you with him gladly, although I would miss you very much. I know it doesn’t mean anything just for me to say it, but…I would.”

It did, though. It meant quite a lot to know that the hurt in Nie Mingjue’s eyes had been for him, not from him. To know that he had heard all the stories, all the whispers, and in the end his only priority had been to think of how Meng Yao might feel.

To be angry, because Meng Yao wasn’t getting something he though Meng Yao should.

No, Meng Yao decided – no matter who he had to fight, whether Wen Ruohan or his own mother, he would find a way to stay by Nie Mingjue’s side.

(That was when he realized that he’d messed up his mother’s instructions even more than he’d meant, because he was never supposed to be the one that fell in love.)

#mdzs #nie mingjue #meng yao #jin guangyao #nieyao #nie huaisang #meng shi #lao nie #jin guangshan #my fic #my fics #super long chapter #probably should have split it in two #oh well #some disturbing content #check ao3 for warnings!#three gates

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anastasiaskarsgard · 3 years

Text

Someone asked for Roman being married but Peter joins in smut so here I go.... I tried to make it more realistic. please tell me if I’m offensive or this is bad. I haven’t written very many bi relationships but want to do them justice

WARNING smut, language, over 18 please.

His presence was like a blizzard. Everyone in the room shrunk in on themselves, huddling, shivering. Roman Godfrey was met with fear, especially by his employees.

Their job security rested on his oscillating temper.

Only one sat, unhindered when Roman stormed into this particular engineering department.

"Peter!" He barked, and the sea of heads ducked into their cubicles.

Blue eyes rolled. "What?"

“Where are those reports?" His long legs and longer strides easily carried him to his senior engineer's desk.

A brown brow arched. "Which ones? The majority of them have been sent directly to you."

"Don't smart-mouth me," Roman snarled, and he slammed Peter’s laptop closed, barely missing his fingers. "I want those updated Project Blue reports."

That skeptical brow arched even higher. "You could've emailed me."

"A vehement email would not have had the same effect as my presence," he hissed, stomping his foot in frustration.

Peter's lip twitched, and he bit back a smirk. "Of course, of course."

Roman noticed, and the glower on his face grew darker. But the heat in his eyes was contradictory to the annoyance sitting on his lips, and Peter found himself shivering for an entirely different reason than the employees working under him. "I want them. As soon as possible."

"Ask and you shall receive," Peter replied. An audible gasp could be heard from their reluctant audience, peeking at the one employee that seemed not to fear their famously unpredictable boss. Their eyes stayed locked as Peter pulled his laptop closer to him and opened it pointedly.

Then Roman’s unbelievably green eyes were focused on Peters typing fingers.

When next Roman spoke, his voice was low, but just as harsh and twice as heated. "Will you be making it tonight?"

This time, Peter couldn't hold back his smirk. Romans eyes narrowed, but those pupils dilated until only a scant ring of jade green glared into Peters grinning gaze. "Oh is your wife throwing another party or is this just a meeting? Doesn’t matter I guess. It’s not As if I have a choice."

Roman leaned down, suit jacket straining against his broad shoulders. "You always have a choice. It's simply up to you to make the best one."

"I'm not known for making the best decisions, and neither are you from time to ...”Peter said, and he cleared his throat, cutting off wherever that statement was going, when he realized his voice husked in a rather work-inappropriate manner.

"You didn't make senior engineer right out of university because I doubt your abilities," Roman said.

"That's high praise from you, Mr. Godfrey."

"Yet not the highest you've heard." A smirk, brief, graced Romans lips. The fleeting sight made Peters heart pound harder in his chest. "Not from me, at least."

“That's true."

Roman suddenly straightened, face falling into that bitter glower once again. "I expect to see you later this evening."

"Of course, Mr. Godfrey."

It was true; Roman had hired him right out of college. Well, maybe not true, because Peter had, in fact, been around in some capacity since they’d met senior year. They had their ups and downs. Couple fights over women of all things, before they’d finally figured out what their issue was...

"Harder," Roman mewled, and Peter thought heatedly about how none of those employees, shivering with fear, had heard Roman Godfrey quite like he had. Those long, slender hands gripped and tugged at the disheveled sheets and scrambled to the thumping headboard.

Peter complied, hunched over the other man, feverishly kissing at the broad shoulders he found himself constantly admiring.

Was it the long meetings?

Roman's head whipped back against Peter's shoulder, and Peters whole body ached, but he dared not slow down, not when each well-placed thrust made Roman moan so loudly, so wantonly.

"Oh god ," he cried, deep voice cracking, and Peter fisted his fingers in that thick hair, and he yanked Roman in for a heated kiss. Tongues twisting and hot breaths mixing and lips mouthing.

The late nights poring over blueprints together?

"Yeah, take it," Peter growled into Roman’s mouth. " Take it , just like that." They pushed their foreheads together, sweat-matted hair tangling. "Just like that, you sexy motherfucker ."

Roman arched back into him, pushed into the thrusts. His jaw dropped lower, lower. "Fuck, fuck, fuck , f-fuck!"

"Touch yourself," he snarled against Roman’s ear.

The tense bickering that dissolved into easy banter?

Roman collapsed forward, unable to hold himself up on one shaking arm. Petern's hand tightened in that sweaty, thick hair, and he yanked him back up, much to Roman’s delight.

Spine bowed tight, hand working himself into a frenzy, gasping too heavily to make any other sound. Roman was a mess and they were both loving every minute of it.

"C'mon, c'mon," Peter goaded, teeth clenched hard, so hard his jaw would later ache, as he staved himself off just long enough for--

A long moan, Roman’s body trembling and bucking uncontrollably before he melted beneath Peter’s hands.

Peter pinned him down, hips fluttering and head whipping back as he burst seconds later.

Maybe it was all of it and more.

Hot, panting breaths filled the room, along with the occasional grunt when one spasmed with an aftershock. The air smelled like sex and masculinity, and it was nearly enough to push Peter for another round.

Nearly.

They collapsed to the side, and Peter gingerly disengaged from the hold of the other man's body.

He rolled onto his back, basked in the feeling of sweat on his skin cooling and evaporating.

"God damn ," Roman grunted. He stretched a moment, trembling all the while.

Peter hummed in agreement.

He never thought he'd be the person to sleep with his boss. Ever.

And especially not when said boss was Roman Godfrey for fucksake.

"So, Mr. Godfrey," Peter said, rolling onto his side, head propped on his fist, held up by his elbow. "What's my performance for this quarter?"

Roman chuckled breathlessly, shifting onto his back and holding his hand up, forefinger and thumb touching. "Proficient in all categories." His hand fell heavily back to the bed.

And he especially didn't expect Roman Godfrey to take his cock like it was an art form.

Peter laughed. "I expected some more qualitative commentary," he trailed a strong hand along Roman’s pale side, "but I suppose I'll settle for 'proficient.'"

Roman leaned in, swollen lips tracing Peter’s collarbone. "Oh?" Peter could feel those lips twist into a smirk. "Well, you're a hard worker." They both chuckled a moment at the innuendo. "You're fast…" he kissed up tendons on Peter’s neck. "Efficient." He breathed hotly into His ear. "You definitely know how to put me through my paces."

Peter turned his head just lightly, until his nose was brushing Roman’s ear. "Well, what am I supposed to do, when you're so demanding in return?"

Roman only smirked, shifted for a kiss.

Peter met him eagerly, and the two fell back into the sheets, limbs tangling.

"Oh," Roman sighed when Peter continued to touch all the right places, "You also have amazing mental…" he bucked up, a challenging snarl on his lips. "... And physical endurance."

“What about your wife? Doesn’t she want her man back?”

Roman’s eyes went wide and he shot up into a sitting position. “Shit she’s in our room, waiting on us!”

“Us?”

Roman turned and gazed down into Peter’s eyes as he gently stroked his hardening member. “She wants to see who’s better at sucking you off. You know how competitive she is.”

“How do you always find these girls?”

Roman’s eyes sparkled as he flashed one of his heart shattering genuine smiles and just shrugged his shoulders.

Peter sat up and crawled off the bed as Roman followed. As he made his way up the stairs to fuck Another woman with Roman, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything he wouldn’t do for Roman Godfrey.

Shaking his head, he pushed the door to their room open and focused on the beauty laid out on the bed like a feline. He didn’t feel like thinking.

#roman godfrey #Peter and Roman #hemlock grove #smut

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hlizr50 · 3 years

Text

Revelations

Chapter 1: This is Wrong

Hawke eavesdrops on the Duke's lessons with Poppy and realizes what is happening within the walls of castle Teerman

Read on AO3

Casteel… Hawke… stared at the door as it clicked closed, the Maiden having entered the Duke’s office.

“Penellaphe, I am so incredibly disappointed in you.” Duke Teerman always sounded so haughty and condescending.

Something didn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you. I –“

The Duke cut her off, “Do you even know what you have done that has disappointed me?”

Was this why she and Tawny had been so apprehensive of the Duke’s summons? A scolding? A dressing down? It couldn’t have been just that, considering how Penellaphe had frozen before the door.

He took up a position not too close to seem suspicious to the two men standing guard. No matter. He was Atlantian, and even though he leaned against the wall a few feet from the door he could hear every word spoken in that office. He didn’t know what he should expect.

“I don’t. But I’m sure whatever it is, I’m at fault. You are never disappointed in me without cause.” Her words were measured. Careful. And careful wasn’t really her style.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t be disappointed for no reason at all. But this time I find myself blindsided by what I have been told.”

Hawke had been her guard for barely a day, but he found it hard to believe that Penellaphe would have committed a crime so egregious to blindside the Duke. Although, if her escapade to the Red Pearl was any indication maybe she had.

“Remove your veil, Penellaphe. You do not want to test my patience.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that we… we are not alone, and the Gods forbad me from showing my face.”

“The Gods will not find fault in today’s proceedings.”

They were not alone? His amber eyes narrowed slightly. Who else was there? Had he not experienced the meeting yesterday he would have also wondered why she was apparently hesitant to remove the veil. But he knew the Duke likely wanted to take the opportunity to comment on her scars.

“Lift your eyes.”

A pause.

“You grow more beautiful each time I see you.” Hawke grimaced. His insides roiled at the thought of the Duke looking at her with those deep, empty eyes.

“Thank you, your Grace.”

The Duke made a cluck with his tongue. “Such a shame. What do you think Bran?”

It was Lord Brandole Mazeen, then. Gods above, what was he doing in there? His lust and depravity were well-known throughout Castle Teerman. The maids were often warned not to earn his attention, good or bad.

“As you said, such a shame.” The Lord answered.

“The other scars are easy to hide, but this? There will come a time where there will be no veil to hide this unfortunate flaw.”

How many years had Penellaphe been here? How many times had the Teermans and their lackeys taken an opportunity to cut her with those words?

“Do you know what that new guard of hers said? He said she was beautiful. Half of her is truly stunning... You look so much like your mother.”

Hawke had said that. He meant it.

“You knew her?” Penellaphe gasped.

“I did. She was… special. You do realize that the guard wouldn’t have said otherwise. Wouldn’t have spoken the truth. I suppose it’s some small blessing. The damage to your face could have been far worse.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed. It was difficult to for him to keep his expression neutral as the Duke continued to berate her. So he kept his eyes down, studying the stone floor of the hallway. It had likely once been rough and uneven, but the years of scuffing boots had smoothed the cobbles to satin.

“You do have such pretty eyes… And a well-formed mouth. Most will find your body pleasing… For some men, those things will be enough.”

He didn’t like the way the Duke paused between his backhanded compliments. Was he looking at her? Touching her?

“Priestess Annalia came to see me this morning,” Duke Teerman paused, as if waiting for a response. “Do you not have anything to add?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what Priestess Annalia would have to say. I saw her last a week ago in the second floor parlor and all seemed fine.” Penellaphe sounded confused.

“I’m sure it did, since you only spent half an hour there before leaving unexpectedly. I was advised you didn’t once pick up your embroidery set, nor did you engage in any conversation with the priestesses.”

So… this was the crime? She hadn’t completed any of her needlework? Penellaphe had sounded confused, and Hawke had to admit that he was, as well. With all honesty and due respect (which was none, if he was being honest), who the fuck cared?

“My mind was occupied with my upcoming Rite. I must have been daydreaming.”

“I’m sure you’re very excited about the Rite, and if this had been just one situation I would have easily overlooked your poor conduct. But I’ve learned that you were just in the atrium.”

“Yes, I was. I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to be. I don’t go often, but –“ she was interrupted again.

“Spending time in the atrium is not the issue and you’re smart enough to know that. Don’t play coy with me. You were speaking with two of the ladies in wait. You know that is not allowed.”

She had barely spoken two sentences to them! Who had run so quickly to report her to the Duke for that? The ladies had been too busy trying to get Hawke’s attention. He grinned at that, recalling the spilled rhinestones and fainting young women. But Penellaphe, who was not to have any interaction with, well, anyone… she had been in the atrium before anyone was there. The ladies had chosen to sit at the same table. Was she just supposed to just stand up and leave?

“Do you have nothing to say?”

“Such a demure Maiden.” Lord Mazeen’s words dripped like acid against Hawke’s skin. He did not have to know the Lord well to know that he would get an inordinate amount of pleasure in killing him. He felt ill knowing that Penellaphe was alone in that room, with those two beasts.

“I’m sorry. I should have left when they entered, but I didn’t.” He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone apologize so much in his life. What had happened to the woman from the Red Pearl? That Penellaphe was so full of heart and fire. The girl on the other side of that door was…

Defeated.

“And why not?” The Duke prodded.

“I was… curious. They were talking about the upcoming Rite.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that. You were always an active child with a curious mind that flicked from one thing to the next: something I’ve warned the Duchess you wouldn’t grow out of easily. Priestess Annalia has also informed me that she fears your relationship with your lady’s maid has become far too familiar.”

Good Gods, how many imaginary transgressions could there be? How was she not supposed to be familiar with someone who had literally been tasked to be at her side at all times?

“Tawny has been a wonderful lady’s maid, and if my kindness and gratefulness has been mistaken for anything else then I apologize.”

Hawke knew that had struck a nerve. Penellaphe and Tawny were close, and the Maiden was allowed so little in the way of… of anything that made life bearable.

“I know it may be hard to keep boundaries with someone you spend so much time with, but a Maiden does not seek intimacies of the heart or the mind with those who serve them. Not even those who are to become members of the court. You must never forget that you are not like them. You were chosen by the Gods at birth, and they are chosen at their Rite. You will never be equals. You will never be friends.”

He inwardly scoffed.

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. You were chosen at birth, Penellaphe. Only one other has ever been chosen by the Gods. It was why the Dark One sent the Craven after your family. It was why your parents were slaughtered. That hurts, doesn’t it? But it’s the truth. That should have been the only lesson you ever needed,” Duke Teerman had a talent for cutting words, Hawke noted. “But between your lack of awareness regarding overstepping boundaries, your lack of attention with Priestess Annalia, your blatant disregard today for what is expected of you, aaaaand the attitude you displayed yesterday toward me. What? You thought I wouldn’t address your behavior while we discussed Ryan’s replacement? You stared back at me as if you wished to do me physical harm.”

The Duke chuckled then. “The meeting would have ended vastly different if others had not been present, and we weren’t there to discuss Hawke replacing Ryan-“

“Rylan! His name is Rylan, not Ryan!”

There she was, that spirited woman that had so intrigued him.

“THERE it is! Not so demure now!” Lord Mazeen sounded… almost gleeful.

“You mean, his name was Rylan. And does it really matter? He was just a royal guard. He would have been honored that I even thought of him. Either way, you just proved that I must double my attempts to strengthen my commitment to make you more than ready for your Ascension. Apparently I’ve been too easy on you. Unfortunately, that means you require another lesson. Hopefully it will be your last, but somehow I doubt it.”

“Yes. Hopefully.”

Hawke sighed inwardly in relief. How long had been here listening to the Duke ramble on about imaginary transgressions and basic human interactions painted as crimes. They should be finished soon.

“I believe four lashes should suffice.”

He froze.

Lashes.

Hawke could barely breathe. This was no mere dressing down, no raised-voice scolding with some hurtful words.

“Are you sure that’s enough? I wouldn’t want you to feel as if you haven’t done enough.” Gods, Penellaphe’s fire roared to life at the worst possible moment.

“How does seven sound? I see that number agrees with you. What do you think, Bran?”

“I think that is sufficient.”

This was no “lesson”.

“You know where to go,” the Duke directed.

This was abuse.

“You’re not ready, Penellaphe. You should know better by this point.”

Hawke strained to hear. It was far too quiet. The Duke was waiting for something. Could he hear the soft rustle of fabric? His restraint was thinning by the second.

This was torture.

“This is for your own good. This is a necessary lesson, Penellaphe, to ensure that you take your preparations seriously and are committed to them, so you do not dishonor the Gods.”

This is wrong. This is wrong.

“Brace yourself, Penellaphe.”

He heard the faint whistle… then a crack… it had to be a cane that the Duke was using on her.

A cane. Sweet merciless, sleeping Gods.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Two. Was this the fitting punishment for not touching her embroidery set? For speaking a word to a lady in wait who needed to be put in her place?

Swoosh. CRACK.

Three. Was this the fitting punishment for daring to have a friend? For not cowering when the Duke had hoped to humiliate her the day before?

Swoosh. CRACK.

Four. His eyes were wide, but when he looked to the guards at the door they avoided his questioning glare, acting blissfully unaware.

This… this travesty…

It was as if…

As if this happened all the time.

Swoosh. CRACK

Five. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He was back there… in Carsadonia. In his cage. Made to bleed. Made to feed. Forced to take and be taken.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Six. The Blood Queen took pleasure from his pain. For decades. He couldn’t understand how any living being could be so monstrous.

Swoosh. CRACK.

Seven.

He let out an unsteady breath. It was over.

Penellaphe hadn’t made a sound.

How?

“I truly hope, Penellaphe, that this lesson… sinks in.”

His rage was white hot behind his eyes. He had to keep them closed. The guards would have been… disturbed… if they saw how they glowed with his ire.

Duke Teerman had signed his death warrant. And it was not going to be quick and painless.

Breathe. You have to breathe. You have to get ahold of yourself. This is not the time and place.

Hawke took a few measured breaths, and his heart began to slow. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he’d just witnessed.

The door clicked and his head whipped up, amber gaze falling on the veiled woman who gingerly pulled the door closed behind her. She looked up and saw him, and Hawke could see her entire body tense. He just stared at her, willing her to meet his gaze behind the veil. He could tell that she avoided it. Penellaphe then straightened slowly and did her best to walk toward him, past him, as if nothing had happened.

But it had.

Her breathing was labored and he could tell that every step she took caused her pain. He followed her down the hall, cursing to himself when the effort became too much for her and she started whimpering softly with each pace. They made it to the narrow spiral staircase that would lead them down to the main floor. He opened the door for her to enter, and she dared not look at him as she passed.

She was already attempting the first step, grunting with effort to lower her body down through clenched teeth, when he closed the door behind him.

“Penellaphe,” his voice was low. Cold. Raw.

She continued to work on the next step, acting oblivious to his call.

“Penellaphe.”

She stopped.

“How long?”

“What?” she tried to sound surprised, but he could only hear the pain lacing the word.

“How long. How long has the Duke been doing this to you?”

Silence. It hung heavy over him. He felt like he was being smothered, waiting for an answer that he knew would likely ruin him. He could hear her pain-laden breaths sawing in and out. It had taken such effort for her to go down two steps. He watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep, calming breath.

“Since Ian returned to the Capitol.”

Gods, why weren’t they somewhere with something he could break? Blood red rage roared in his blood. Hawke could feel himself trembling.

“That’s… that’s been years,” he whispered.

“It has.”

And then she began struggling down the steps again. As if that were the end of the conversation.

It wasn’t. Not even fucking close.

He practically leapt the three steps down to stand in front of her. “Is that all you have to say? Poppy this is wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t call me that. Only my friends call me that.”

“Am I not? Do your friends know about this? How have your friends helped you?” Hawke spat, clenching his quaking fists at his side. “From what I can tell, I’m the only person who seems to give a flying fuck about what just happened. Tell me how that doesn’t qualify me as your friend.”

“There’s nothing that can be done to help,” she whispered and turned her head to the side, suddenly finding the stone wall quite interesting. He uttered a curse and reached for the chains that held the veil on top of her head.

“Take this Gods-damned thing off,” he growled as he pulled it away. He couldn’t stand trying to speak with her without seeing into her eyes, seeing her face. She was a person. Her emotions and expressions mattered. But she barely even flinched, keeping her gaze fixed somewhere near his boots. Her face was flushed and her eyes lined silver.

“Look at me.” When she made no move he reached her hand to her. He lightly traced his fingers over her left cheek down to her jaw, pulling gently so her face was lifted to him. “Please, Penellaphe. Look at me.” Her emerald gaze met his, shining with pain and sorrow and shame.

“I… I used to try. I used to do everything I thought I could to fix whatever it is that I’d done that had disappointed him,” she blinked, allowing a couple stray tears fall. “But it was never enough. No matter what I did, no matter how demure I was, no matter the eggshells I walked on and the dedication I tried to show… I realized eventually that my dedication was never the point. It was never about what I did or didn’t do. It didn’t matter how hard I tried. He would find anything-“

“Like not doing your fucking cross-stitch?”

She sucked in a breath and pulled away from his fingers. “How much did you hear?” the fire-haired beauty clasped her hands in front of her heart. He held onto her gaze and her eyes roared at him with hurt.

“Everything.”

She shuddered and bowed her head. Her hands trembled as she brought them up to cover her face. Hawke could feel humiliation rolling from her in waves and saw the tension in her shoulders. She was weeping before him.

“He will find anything that could possibly be an offense. He’s punished me for walking too quickly and breathing too loudly. And I have come to realize that… he only does it because he wants to hurt and humiliate me. He knows that his words make me flinch and his touch make me want to peel the skin from my body. And he relishes that. And I hate that he has that kind of power over me.”

Hawke’s ire sharpened into something cooler, more calculating and thoughtful. He had come to Masadonia to kidnap and ransom the Maiden, a symbol to all of Solis. He’d come to send a message using their precious prize, a privileged brat that was no better than those soulless creatures who had raised her.

He took a measured breath and ran a hand over his face in realization.

She was... innocent. She was a pawn, a possession. She was a victim, kept in a cage just as he had been, albeit far more gilded. And even though there was an illusion of life and choice, she was guilted, berated, and beaten into submission.

And Gods, she was still brave and vivacious enough to risk the Duke’s ire. Reckless enough to step into a brothel and send all of Hawke’s expectations straight to hell.

There is nothing that can be done to help.

There was. He could take her away from this. He had planned to do that, in a way, but now? How could he deliver her back to the Ascended knowing that this is what her life would be? And how could he convince her of the truth? She was smart, and Hawke knew that she didn’t agree with everything the Ascended ordained. Her reactions at the council meeting had been proof of that.

He reached out to her again, taking her hands in his and pulling them away from her tear-streaked cheeks. He stroked his thumbs over her knuckles and spoke her name to draw her gaze.

“This is wrong. You hold no shame in this. He has done this to you, and that is evil and terrible and monstrous. Tell me you realize that, Penellaphe,” he urged. She nodded softly. He gave an encouraging quirk of his lips and continued. “He does these things to make you feel weak and powerless, and you are neither of those things. He knows that you are curious and full of life, and he is afraid that you will be able to see past his façade and into his own weakness if he cannot keep you squashed under his heel.”

Hawke let go of her hands and gingerly held her face between them, using his thumbs to wipe away any remaining dampness that fell there. He looked down for a moment, and then brought his eyes back up, a burning golden stare.

“I need you to make me a promise, Penellaphe. Can you do that?”

“A promise?” she whispered.

“Promise me. Promise me that you’ll trust your instincts. Question everything. You are fierce and intelligent, so think about what they do and what they say. Think about it… you are the most important person in the entire kingdom. They should be worshipping at your feet, not taking a cane to your back,” he was afraid he’d said too much; pushed too hard. Would she be suspicious? Would she balk at his request? Her gaze was green as springtime, and her eyes stared into his, trying to process what he was saying.

“Can you promise me that?”

The knight endured her gaze for a few tense moments, her face still in his palms. She closed her eyes after a sigh and placed her hands over his, dipping her chin.

“I promise, Hawke.”

Thank the Gods.

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and the Maiden inhaled sharply. Chuckling, he let her go and reached down to the discarded veil.

“I will make you a promise, as well,” he extended his hand with the soft fabric. She moved to grab it and he clenched her hand with both of his. Startled, she looked to him again.

“He will never hurt you again.”

She smiled wistfully then, and he could read in her expression that, as much as she wanted that to be true, she didn’t believe that anyone had that power. Then she pulled the veil from his hand and attempted the next step in front of her.

It would take forever to make it down the stairs.

“I have an idea,” Hawke smirked. “I think it will help. But you have to trust me.”

“I… I don’t trust you. Not when you have that look in your eye,” she laughed lightly.

“Here, if I squat down can you climb on my back?” he turned around on the step in front of her. He knew he was still much taller than she was, even on a step below. “It may be painful to get there, but if you can wrap your arms around my shoulders and your legs around my waist we could make it down much more quickly. And hopefully without too much strain on your back.”

Hawke felt a hand on her shoulder, but she hesitated. “That would be… incredibly inappropriate. What if someone sees?”

“You’re hurt. If someone opens one of the doors we’ll hear it and have enough time for me to set you down and throw that Gods-forsaken sheet over your head,” he scoffed over her shoulder. “Now wrap your arms around my neck, and I’ll grab your legs when I stand up.”

He was surprised when she didn’t argue and her forearms crossed in front of him.

“Ready?” He asked, knowing the first time he lifted her up would probably cause her some pain.

“Yes.” Her grip tightened around him. She gasped into his shoulder as he stood straight, putting his hands under her thighs. He waited a moment, listening for her breath to even out as she adjusted to the soreness.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Hawke gave her legs a light squeeze. She nodded against his shoulder, and he started gingerly making his way down the stairs. He thanked the Gods that he was Atlantian, strong and light on his feet. He knew he could practically glide down without causing her any additional discomfort.

They reached the bottom landing and he gently set her down, heart constricting when he saw her wince as she slowly lowered her arms to her sides.

“Here,” he grabbed the veil from her hand and placed it over her head. He studied the tiny chains that were supposed to hold it in place, and he had to admit that he wasn’t sure what to do with those. A giggle escaped from behind the veil.

“Give me that,” she grabbed the chains. “It’s not far to my room. We should be able to make it there without it falling off.”

Hawke grinned and pulled open the door. “After you, Milady.”

They walked down the corridor slowly and silently. He would look down at her from time to time, wondering how she could possibly have the strength to be so spirited and brave knowing the consequences that could await her. What would the Duke do if he’d known about her little trip to the Red Pearl? He frowned to himself and looked forward. That had been reckless, but he understood her need for life. For freedom. She had wanted to experience things that everyone else in the world took for granted. They said she was Chosen, privileged. But she was also alone.

Well, no she wasn’t. Not anymore.

As they stopped in front of her door he turned to her. “Are you alright? Is there anything you need?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Tawny gets an ointment from the healer. It will help, but I may not be… I may stay in my room for a while. But I heal pretty quickly, and this isn’t the worst I’ve had…”

The anger roiled through him as she trailed off. Of course it wasn’t. Of course seven lashes for not touching her embroidery set and her attitude hadn’t been the worst that he’d done to her.

“I… he…” he swallowed and took two deep breaths. “I’m going to calm myself so I don’t do anything reckless about what you just said.”

“I’m sorry,” she answered quietly.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Penellaphe. None of this is your fault. I am simply… staggered by his cruelty,” he managed a soft smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “Get some rest.” Hawke reached down and squeezed her hand before he opened the door and motioned for her to go in. He began to close the door behind her when she stopped.

“Hawke?”

“Yes?” he answered, looking for her eyes behind the veil.

“You can… please, call me Poppy,” she gave a shy grin and shuffled into the room. He pushed the door closed behind her and leaned his forehead against the wood.

He was shaking.

Breathe, Hawke. Breathe.

His ragged breaths seethed out from between his teeth. In for four counts, out for four. In… out… in… out...

After what seemed like ages of breathing exercises he pushed away from the door and stalked down the hall.

He needed to think. And talk to Kieran. He would be none-too-thrilled at the change of plans.

But plans would change.

Duke Teerman would die.

They would have to find another way to get his brother back.

Because nobody was going to hurt Poppy again.

#FBAA #fbaa fanfic #poppycas #ao3 #fanfiction #poppy x casteel #poppy balfour #what if

18 notes · View notes

downondilaudid · 4 years

Text

So...Friends with Benefits?

Spencer and reader decide to be friends with benefits, no strings attached, but will they be able to maintain the deal?

Requested: Yes

Prompts: So... friends with benefits? & I really just want to cuddle.

Word count: 3.1K

Warnings: Smut(I tried not to get too rough with it because it wasn’t specified, but I’m a slut for rough Reid) slight angst, and some fluff

Keep in mind, loosely edited XD

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” - Dr. Seuss

You fell in love with Spencer, and you fell in love fast, at first you didn’t realize it was love. You simply thought you cared for him, like you cared for a close friend.

And here you were again, lying comfortably under the sheets, still attempting to catch your ragged breath.

“Are you going to stay the night?” Spencer questioned, one of his arms wrapping around your hip, pulling you into him.

You let out a short sigh, followed by a hum of appreciation, “seems like you don’t want me to leave.”

Spencer let out a low chuckle, burying his head in the crook of your neck, his long hair falling in your face. “I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to stay.”

You left out a huff, attempting to blow Spencer’s hair out of your face, only to have it fall back. “As much as I’d love to stay, I have to work tomorrow.”

You pushed the sheets off of you, using your arm as leverage to push yourself up, Spencer’s arm still wrapped around your waist.

It wasn’t always like this, usually you stayed, but this time was different, you had realized you loved him, and you couldn’t risk ruining the relationship you had.

The first time your friendship changed was months ago. It was during one of you and Spencer’s Doctor Who marathons, Angels take Manhattan was on the screen, Amy and Rory had just died. Spencer had seen this episode multiple times, but you hadn’t. Hence why you were screaming at the TV. Your comfortable seat on the couch long forgotten as you leapt to your feet, gesturing wildly with your hands.

Spencer chuckled from behind you on the couch, “I told you this was a good episode.”

“Good? You call that good? This is anything but good. I loved Amy, she’s so hot!”

Spencer laughed at your admission, his large hands running over his knees nervously. He knew this was a bad idea, he could barely contain himself around you already. Yet here you were clad in comfy shorts, which were a little too short, and a grey cotton shirt.

All he wanted was to push you up against the wall and take you right there, but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly ask you to be in a relationship when his work kept him away so long.

When you turned around Spencer was standing, a contemplative look on his face. “What?” you questioned.

Suddenly Spencer rushed forward, his lips smashing against yours, one of his hands cupped your face, the other finding its home in your hair, tugging slightly. Your lips melded together like a dance, moving against each other with a slow desperation.

You hardly had time to register what was happening, you had never thought of Spencer as anything more than a friend, but the way his lips felt against yours was a sin, and damn you were a sinner.

You both pulled apart, your lips connected by a small string of saliva, your chests heaving for air. “Well, shit.”

Spencer laughed sheepishly, his face slightly flushed, you couldn’t tell if it was from lust or embarrassment, but you didn’t care, in this moment it was just you and Spencer. “Sorry, I-uhm, I - God, sorry”

Spencer pulled away stuttering out more apologies, despite his retreat, you wanted more, you wanted him. But he had a point, this would change the whole dynamic of your relationship. But, something in you had snapped, something had clicked. In this moment Spencer looked beautiful, he looked breathtaking, his face, his hair, he looked perfect.

Your hands reached out, grabbing the collar of Spencer's shirt, and in one swift motion you had pulled him flush against your body, pressing your lips against his.

Now it was Spencer's turn to be shocked, his hands gripped your hips, digging into the flesh, and in that moment you prayed to every divine being that the action would leave bruises. When Spencer had gathered his wits, he pulled away from the kiss, using his large hands to spin you around, backing you against the wall beside the couch.

When your warm skin hit the cool wall Spencer was on you like a savage animal, and you were his prey. One hand tilted your head up, giving him better access to glide his lips across your neck, sucking and nipping where he saw fit. Every second his hands were on you was like pure bliss, and you craved more.

You let out a soft moan as his lips sucked harshly on a spot just between your neck and your collarbone, your eyes fluttering shut, and your hands running through Spencer's wild hair.

You felt Spencer's lips curl into a smile against your skin, he pulled back slightly, trailing his hand from your jaw, to the spot where his lips had been, letting his thumb run over the abused skin.

“Y/n” Spencer said, snapping you out of your dazed state, your eyes met his. “Are you sure you want to do this, because we don’t have to, you don’t have to.”

You let out a content sigh, a smile forming on your face. Your hands gripped his wrists, guiding them to the hem of your shirt, letting them slip under. “Spencer, there is nothing more I want right now, than you.”

Despite your confession Spencer pulled away, “that’s just it, right now. You and I both know I don’t have time for a relationship, Y/n. I don’t want to lead you on, I- I can’t do that to you.”

You sighed, “honestly, Spencer, I hadn’t thought of you as anything but a friend before this. I’m not sure I’m looking for a relationship either.” You pushed yourself off the wall, closing the distance between the two of you. “But I am sure of one thing, there is nothing more I want than you.”

Your hands once again wrapped around his wrists, pulling them back to your hips, “I want to feel you, feel your skin against mine.”

“So...friends with benefits?” Spencer questioned.

“If that's what you want, Spence. I mean, it would be a good way for both of us to relieve some stress.”

Spencer sighed, one of his hands leaving your hip to run through his curls. “Statistically 63% of single men and women are involved in a friends with benefits relationship, and only 26% believe it can actually work out, Y/n”

You moved forward, pressing your body against his, “and do you believe that 26%?”

Spencer pondered for a moment, and you had been worried you had made a mistake. Until your intrusive thoughts were interrupted.

“Despite the statistics, I think I can make an exception for you.” Spencer replied, his voice low and once again filled with lust.

Then just like that your lips were together again, this time with more haste, which you didn’t think was possible. Both Spencer’s hands slid under your shirt, this time, gripping the hem to rip it over your head.

“Fuck” Spencer muttered at the sight of your breasts, one of his hands kneading them through the fabric of your bra.

Your arms reached around, unhooking your bra, letting it slide down your arms, falling to the floor.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Spencer praised, both his hands running up your sides to rest on your breasts.

Your knees felt weak, who knew being praised by Spencer could make you so weak in the knees?

“Jump” Spencer said, almost more of a command, and you swore if he didn’t get inside you right then and there you were going to die.

You locked your hands around the back of his neck, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Immediately his hands supported you, resting under your ass.

He carried you down the hall, pushing his bedroom door open with his shoulder, and in what seemed like a whirl, threw you onto the bed.

You bounced lightly, a giggle escaping your mouth, as you watched Spencer shut the door. He turned back to you, his hands meeting at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. In an instant you understood his idea, moving your hands towards your shorts, hastily slipping them off and discarding them somewhere in the room.

By the time you looked back up at Spencer, he was clad in only black boxers, and you almost came right there.

The animalistic hunger was back, this time a shared desire, Spencer longed to ravish you, and you longed for him to, for him to leave bruises that wouldn’t disappear for weeks.

Next thing you know, he was on you, his lips trailing a path down your neck, his body resting comfortably between your spread legs. His mouth latched onto one of your nipples, his hand pressed against the headboard beside you to hold himself up.

Your back arched, pressing yourself further into him, your head tilting back with a sinful mewl. Your hands ran up Spencer back, your nails scraping against his skin, landing in his hair, tugging at it harshly.

“ Shit, Spence.” You moaned, using his hair to tug him up for another kiss.

He pulled away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “God, I love the way you moan my name.”

You giggled at his words, releasing your grip on his hair to run them over his shoulders and down his chest, digging your nails in slightly.

Spencer groaned softly, his hand not supporting himself running down your side, hooking a finger onto your lace panties.

“How bad do you want me?” Spencer questioned, his thumb gently running over the lace.

“S-so bad” you mewled, your hands traveling further south towards Spencer's erection.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. I think you need to speak up.” Spencer chided teasingly.

“Fuck me, Spencer” You groaned out, finally palming him through his boxers. “Please” you begged.

Spencer's head fell back, a deep groan escaping his lips, his hand finally moved, dragging your panties down your legs.

Your hands gripped his boxers ripping them down, freeing his strained erection. You bit your lip at the sight in front of you, a naked Spencer in all his pre-sex glory.

Spencer moved to hover over you, his hand gliding down your hip to your pussy, running his hand up your folds.

“Jesus, fuck.” You cried, your back arching into his touch, your body begging for him.

“Ah, ah” Spencer's hand moved, trailing up your body, leaving a path of your arousal. “If you’re going to say anyone’s name, It’ll be mine.”

Fuck. His hand stopped at your lips, “open.”

Your jaw fell open in a moan, only to be shushed by Spencer’s large fingers stuffing your mouth. You moaned around them, sucking your arousal off gently.

“Good girl.” Spencer chuckled, moving to get up.

Your brows creased for a moment, before realizing what he was looking for, a condom.

“I’m on the pill” you stated quickly, “please, just fuck me.”

Spencer turned back towards the bed, a new look in his eye, “turn over.”

“W-what?” You questioned your heart beating against your ribcage, your body aching with lust.

“Turn over, Y/n” Spencer demanded, this time more assertive, crossing the room towards the bed.

Slightly surprised by his request, if you could call it that, you complied, turning over on all fours.

His hands grabbed your legs, dragging your lower half off the side of the bed. His hands ran up your thighs, kneading the flesh.

You yelped as a sharp smack rang through the air, a stinging sensation spreading through your ass. He had just fucking spanked you, if you knew sex with Spencer would be like this, you would’ve jumped his bones sooner.

“Please fuck me, just-please, please.” You sobbed, you would’ve given anything to feel him inside you.

Luckily you didn’t have to, he grabbed his cock, running the head up and down your slick folds. “You have been a good girl.”

You whimpered, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, “so, so good.” You confirmed, your hands fisting the sheets beside your head.

Then by the grace of whatever deity, Spencer pushed the head of his cock into your cunt.

Spencer’s head fell back with a groan, “fuck, you’re so tight.”

You mewled, using your hands as leverage to push yourself back against him, “fuck me, Spence.”

Your comment seemed to push Spencer over the edge, because, finally, he slammed his cock into you. You both let out cries of bliss as Spencer bottomed out, sliding back in slower but with more force.

Spencer's hand resting on your hip ran up your back, gripping your hair harshly. You whimpered “yes, Spencer, fuck.”

Spencer kept his pace, lewd moans leaving his perfectly pink lips. “Fuck, Y/n, your cunts so tight.”

And just like you were made for him, your walls fluttered around him with a loud moan. “Faster, Spencer, please” you begged.

Spencer groaned, accepting your request, but not before bending over slightly grabbing both your arms, pinning them behind you back. They were his leverage so he could pound into you relentlessly.

“I’m so close, Spence, so fucking close.” You muttered, Spencer’s named dripping from your tongue like honey.

Spencer moaned, reaching an arm around your side to rub harsh circles against your clit.

Your back arched even further, “fuck, shit, fuck, Spence” at this point you weren’t even sure what you were saying.

Spencer’s grip tightened against your arms, his hips slamming against yours, and you knew you were going to be so sore the next day. Spencer leaned over, keeping his brutal pace, “cum, cum for me Y/n” he muttered into your hair, tugging on it harsly.

In that moment you knew, friends, or something more, there was no way you were fucking another man ever again.

Now here you sat at your dining room table, an empty glass of wine, and your cell phone on the table. You wanted to call him, you longed to call him. It was like the moment you realized you were in love with him you wanted to shout it from the rooftops. You wanted everyone to know you were in love with Spencer Reid, but how could they know when you couldn’t even tell the man himself.

You let out a loud groan, letting your head fall against the table. “So. Fucking. Stupid.” And with those words the shrill sound of a phone ringing cut through the air.

You picked up your phone, your eyes falling on the name you definitely didn’t want to answer. You weren’t necessarily avoiding him, you were just strategically not seeing him. The piercing noise ended, and you lifted your head up, readying yourself to pour another glass of wine, one wasn’t going to be enough.

The phone rang again, and you let out an aggravated sigh, did he seriously just call you twice? He called you twice. Your thoughts were already scattered, but now it was like they were bouncing off the sides of your skull. What if he was hurt? What if something happened? What if he knew?

And with that you snatched your phone once again, hitting the answer button and whipping the phone up to your ear. “H-hello?”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I-I’m not avoiding you.” Fuck, that definetly sounded like you were avoiding him.

Spencer scoffed, “really? So what do you call ignoring me, my calls?”

“Look, Spencer, I’ve just been...really busy.”

“Okay, so are you busy now?”

Shit. How were you supposed to respond to that? “Actually, Spence, yes. I only answered cause I thought something was wrong.”

Spencer scoffed again, letting out a bitter laugh, “of course you are.” And with that the line went dead.

“Dammit” You cursed, abruptly standing up from the chair, stuffing your phone in your pocket, grabbing your keys from the counter, and slamming the door as you left.

You couldn’t do this anymore, you couldn’t live like this. Spencer was right, this was a stupid idea to start with. You had to stop this, you had to break it off, even if that meant losing whatever friendship you had.

You raised your hand to knock on the door, only for it to swing open. “Jesus Christ! H-how did you even know I was coming?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, grabbing your arm, pulling you into his apartment, “you really don’t want me to explain now.”

“Spencer, what is going on?”

He closed the door, and within a second, you were slammed against the door, all the air leaving your body. Whether it be from shock or the impact, you didn’t know.

“Spencer Reid what the he-mmm” before you could finish your sentence, his lips smashed against yours.

Here we go again, you thought, everytime, every single time, he managed to distract you. But, not this time.

Your hands met his chest, and bracing your leg against the door, you pushed forward, shoving Spencer off of you.

“Spencer, I can’t fucking do this again.”

“I know…”

Your head snapped to his, panic running through your veins, “what?”

“I can’t do this anymore.” Spencer sighed.

Your eyes widened, realization seeping into your bones. “Me either.”

With that, Spencer rushed forward, his hands grabbing either side of your face, pulling you in for a passionate kiss. Once again, you pulled away.

“What the fuck, Spencer? I thought we said we couldn’t do this!”

“You’re right, we can’t do this anymore, the friends with benefits thing, is over.”

He pulled you into him again, his lips pressing against yours.

You were dazed, opening your eyes when he pulled away. “So, that kiss, that wasn’t, that wasn’t a friends with benefits thing?”

Spencer chuckled, “no, no it wasn’t.”

“B-but you said you didn’t want a relationship?”

Spencer looked bashfully at his feet, his hair falling in his face “I didn’t want a relationship until I realized I was in love with you.”

Your world stopped, everything froze, you swore your heart skipped a beat in that moment.

“Y-you love me?”

“Of course I love you, It wasn’t until you fell in love with me, that I realized I fell in love with you.”

“Y-you knew?”

Spencer smiled, a short laugh escaping his lips, “of course I noticed, Y/n, I’m a profiler.”

You giggled, your head falling against his shoulder, yeah, sure, there were still some kinks to work out. But, right then, it was okay, you were okay, with him.

“So… how about sex on the couch?”

You chuckled, raising your head, even though Spencer was a gentleman, he was definitely still a man.

“I really just want to cuddle.” You admitted, a slight blush spreading across your cheeks.

“That can be arranged,” Spencer said, pressing his lips gently against yours.

Taglist: @jellijinnie

#criminal minds #criminalminds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencerreid #fanfiction #wheels up #still procrastinating

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plus-size-reader · 4 years

Text

Older

Ragnar Lothbrok x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1252 words

Warnings: younger reader (18+ but age not specified)

Summary: Ragnar has a soft spot for one of Bjorn’s closest friends. It is abundantly obvious that he likes you, but doesn’t know what to do about it

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Ragnar hadn't seen you, or his first born son Bjorn, since you were children. Since his divorce from Lagertha, he hadn't been back to Kattegat but there was one thing he knew for sure-the woman at his son's side had to be you.

There was no other person in the world who had bonded with Bjorn like you, even as a child. If there was a woman travelling with him now, it was you. There was no disputing that.

There was only one question that Ragnar had yet to answer...

Had the two of you become more than friends in all these years?

Back then, Ragnar hadn't even paid much attention to you as you ran around, following his son's ever move. However, the woman in front of him now was not the same little girl he'd known.

You had changed quite a bit in all this time.

You were a grown woman now, and a beautiful one at that.

"My son! Good to see you" He started, making his way over to the door-frame, where both you and Bjorn were standing. You perked up a bit at his address, but said nothing as you watched him.

You may have changed a lot in all these years but Ragnar had not. He looked every bit as handsome as when he was young. In some ways, you were shocked that he was as good looking as he was.

In your youth, you had not known to admire him in that way but you weren't blind to it anymore.

"Father!" Bjorn called back, engulfing the older man in a large hug. If you had been standing any closer to Bjorn, he would have hit you with his beefy arm, though he just missed smacking you.

Instead, he turned to you with a smile on his face. It was clear that the appearance of his father, who he'd missed so much, had made him very happy. In fact, he was happier now than he'd been in a long time.

It made your heart flutter, though you did your best to ignore it when both men's eyes fell on you.

"And this is Y/N, perhaps you remember her?" Bjorn bellowed, his large hand falling on your lower back almost as if he was presenting you to the man in front of you. As far as you knew, Ragnar had forgotten all about you.

You didn't exactly make an impression as a child...not that that mattered not.

"Of course, how are you my dear?" he smiled, the corners of his lips upturning lightly. If you didn't know better, you would have ventured to say you were blushing, but you did your best to hide it.

The worst thing that could happen was that Bjorn found out you were attracted to his father. Not to mention if Ragnar himself happened to notice the change in your behavior.

"Quite tired from our long voyage" you admitted, your right hand reaching up to massage the sore muscle of your shoulder. Carrying your heavy shield for hours on end could put quite a strain on the body.

You could have sworn that Ragnar's breath quickened a bit at that, his gaze locked on where your hand lay but you shook it off. You were sure that you were only seeing things.

Of all the beautiful women Ragnar Lothbrok could bed, you knew that he wouldn't feel that way about you.

You were but a child, as far as he was concerned.

"I'd imagine, please warm yourselves by the fire. Someone will bring you some ale" he suggested, smiling again though his smile dropped as soon as you and his son moved past him toward the hearth.

Your hips swayed ever so slightly as you walked, taking the air from the older man's lungs. You certainly weren't the child he remembered but even so, his new feelings toward you presented a problem...

There was no way Bjorn would allow it.

You were his oldest friend, his confidant, and the only person he would protect with his life. That put you pretty high up on the list of people he wouldn't let his father fuck.

No matter how much Ragnar wanted to.

You would just have to remain a forbidden treasure for now. Something he could look at, but never touch...and Ragnar just had to find a way to be okay with that.

At first, that task seemed rather simple.

If he avoided your gaze and kept his mind busy with something else, it didn't bother him as bad. However, all that came to a screeching halt when Bjorn moved behind you to massage the knot out of your shoulder.

You had been asked many times about the nature of your relationship with Ironside but the answer was always the same. He had always been like a brother to you, and the very idea of bedding him made you want to be ill.

Though, years of trust and comfort did allow some more unique circumstances for the two of you...like this, for example. There wasn't another man alive that would let you touch you like this, but with Bjorn, it was as casual as a handshake.

You groaned at first, his large hand digging into the sore muscle, earning you a light smack on the side of the head. "Don't be a baby" Bjorn tutted, clearly teasing as he laughed at you.

This had become common practice for the two of you. Fixing tight muscles and stitching up wounds was just part of the territory for partners who went through as much as you did together.

Bjorn may have been annoyed by the sounds, but across the room, Ragnar was about to die. The small whimpers that left your lips as he prodded at your back were amazing, keeping his attention on your completely.

Not that he could do anything about it.

...At least, not in front of all these people.

No, he would have to wait until it was just the two of you.

Luckily for him though, Ragnar wouldn’t have to wait for too long. As the evening winded down, you slowly got more and more comfortable around them again. It had been so long since you’d seen them but the adjustment period wasn’t long at all.

The Lothbrok’s were your family, and they always would be.

However, you didn’t realize just how far that extended until it was just you and Ragnar around the fire. Bjorn had gone to help Aslaug get his brothers ready for bed and that only left you.

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you” Ragnar started, scooting slightly closer to you. Talking to one another from across the fire wasn’t really the best way to have a conversation, and you both knew it.

Though, rather than say anything about it, you only smiled-indulging the man in his action. Ragnar had grown even more handsome in his old age than when you knew him as a girl, and you weren’t about to complain about his company.

If anything, you would entertain his affections.

“And since I’ve seen you” you hummed, smiling at him earnestly. You had been so young when you were in Kattegat last, but you didn’t argue. You were not so young anymore.

...And you were certainly not too young to understand that Ragnar, your oldest friend’s father, was doing his best to court you.

You simply had to decide what you were going to do about it.

#ragnar #King Ragnar #Ragnar Lothbrok #vikings #ragnar x reader #ragnar x ps reader #ragnar x plus size reader #ragnar imagine #king ragnar x ps reader #king ragnar x plus size reader #king ragnar x reader #king ragnar imagine #vikings x reader #vikings x plus size reader #vikings x ps reader #vikings imagine

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