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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow.

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito & @kugutsuu for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on.

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class.

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date.

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings.

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away.

Fuck.

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors.

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students.

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now.

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.”

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess.

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously.

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number.

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago.

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class.

Ugh, why is this so stressful?

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing.

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you.

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall.

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine.

He’s watching you.

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt.

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms.

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness.

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass.

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his.

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence.

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either.

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged.

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied.

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class.

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his.

Wait. Sexy?

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you.

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit.

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium.

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race.

Maybe it’s those eyes of his.

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed.

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.”

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips.

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon.

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares.

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs.

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.”

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare.

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God.

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade.

No. No, no, no, no.

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA.

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces.

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips.

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door.

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves.

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you.

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence.

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips.

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea.

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N).

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright.

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk.

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line.

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow.

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression.

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult.

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name.

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again.

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question.

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.”

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move.

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him.

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him.

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin.

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead.

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.”

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that…

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.”

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side.

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.”

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand.

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.”

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin.

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes.

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully.

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath.

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences.

Wait. Didn’t you just…

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed.

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter.

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice.

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back.

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips.

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs.

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold.

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing.

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?”

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more.

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless.

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you.

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–”

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements.

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis.

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N).

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet.

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright.

“What is the cell membrane?”

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain.

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance.

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer.

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you.

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin.

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.”

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips.

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior.

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine.

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus.

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision.

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather.

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait…

There’s a faint clicking sound.

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper.

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade.

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise.

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts?

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit.

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg.

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by.

“Hold still,” he commands.

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit.

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form.

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?”

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face.

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you.

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance.

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think.

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–”

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips.

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass.

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need.

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness.

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice.

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head.

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again.

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms.

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good.

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face.

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting.

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips.

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release.

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs.

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release.

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders.

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you.

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy.

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @libiraki <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here.

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #reader insert #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #bnha smut #9 to 5 collab #bnha degeneracy server #collaboration #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: teacher/student #tw: dubcon #tw: bribery

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Text

soft deception. [diluc x reader]

pairing: diluc x f!reader prompt: you love your boyfriend, you really do. he’s just so, so trusting in you that you can’t help but to trick him every now and then. (alternatively: you give diluc the world’s ugliest onesie as a christmas present and now that it’s all over, you want to go back in time and punch yourself in the face for unleashing this curse within your household.) word count: ~2.5k warnings/genres: humor, fluff, sfw but like... adult jokes at some points a/n: purely self indulgent, nobody requested this, tried out a bit of a different writing style. i wrote this to try to cheer myself up, so hopefully it makes you all happy! no beta reader though (but i never have one anyways)

You had a tendency to think of yourself as the funniest person in Teyvat at times.

Especially when you had Mondstadt’s most gullible eligible bachelor wrapped around your finger, desiring to cater to your every whim. Sure, the two of you were like two young teenagers in love despite being much older, to the point where it was a mental workout to restrain yourself from leaving purple and blue marks all along his neck, desiring to hear praises stutter on his lips as you show the man the love he has lacked over the years. It didn’t help that he also had those cherry-colored eyes that pierced into you, the only eyes to ever truly see you for you. In your humble opinion, the best part about Diluc Ragnvindr is neither his wisdom nor his love, but his ass.

Unsure if Barbatos is actually able to listen into your thoughts or not due to Venti’s uncanny capability to make jokes about thoughts you know you have never uttered aloud whenever Diluc turns his back to the two of you at the bar, you quickly rectify your thoughts and mumble an apology to the potentially omniscient alcoholic bard.

The best part about Diluc Ragnvindr lies within his ass... umptions. His assumptions, specifically about the inherent truthfulness he believed to be in your statements. Your boyfriend, as much as you loved him, is an extremely gullible man. Such a fact is even written on the ceilings of every room, but it never hurts to double-check. If you are Teyvat’s jester, then Diluc is Teyvat’s fool, but he is a fool in love.

The calculated, reserved man only lets himself be duped by you. No matter how many times you trick him, he’ll listen to your exaggerated claims and boisterous words with widened eyes, immediately trusting your words as he trusts you wholeheartedly.

You thrive in such an environment, manipulating Diluc to your liking. Not in a bad way of course, as the thought of hurting even a single hair on his head makes your stomach churn and nausea arise. Rather, you find amusement in tricking him with subtle sleights of the hand and little white lies, before revealing your cards at the end of every show and reveling in his flustered nature. You long not to hurt Diluc, but you relish in the way his milky skin turns to a rosy pink upon realizing your deception.

In simpler terms, you love to prank your red-haired, stoic boyfriend in order to see the shy smile and bashful eyes that accompany his revelations of your actions.

Being the funniest, sexiest woman in Teyvat with the most attractive, most trusting boyfriend in all of Mondstadt leads to raucous laughter on your behalf and flushed cheeks on your boyfriend’s behalf during many nights within your shared home. With Diluc’s confidence in you, you are unstoppable.

Such arrogance had a tendency to bite you in the ass.

Especially now. Right now. You’ve never regretted duping Diluc more than you do at this moment. For Christmas, you had given him two presents, his actual present and one designed to be a joke. Diluc, bless his heart, had not interpreted such a present to be no more than a simple gag and had politely smiled at you as he held the gift up, inspecting it with poorly disguised distaste in his eyes. The gift in question was a pajama onesie you had found within the clearance section of some decaying Mondstadt boutique, but these weren’t just any pajamas. It was the ugliest piece of clothing you had ever seen.

The offending onesie glints in the light of the fireplace that illuminates Diluc’s face and your poor excuse at a poker face as he analyzes his gift. It is decorated with a variety of misshapen owls, feathers formed by multicolored, poorly sewn sequins. Each owl has two octagonal, almost glowing, gaudy amber-colored rhinestones for eyes, yet each rhinestone is a slightly different shade from the others, as if they had been left out in the sun, forgotten about. A santa hat is perched on the heads of each owl and a candy cane is loosely held in at least one wing of each owl. The onesie even has built-in feet, with owl-shaped grips on the bottom that barely cling on for life in a failed attempt to provide the user traction. Diluc quickly attaches to such a concept and tries to use it as an out.

“It’s… lovely,” He finally manages, doing his best to keep his voice even as he smiles at you. You can see the pain in his eyes. “But I do not believe the feet will fit me.”

You widen your eyes in sadness and bat your eyelashes at him innocently, as if such a sentiment truly wounded you. “Can you hire a tailor to fix them? I spent a lot of time picking out this gift and I think it’s perfect.”

Diluc’s smile breaks and horror creeps into his eyes upon realizing there’s no way out of the predicament he’s currently in. As he breaks his intense ogling of the onesie to look at you, his faux smile is plastered once again on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes and it wavers, but you simply give him a cheery grin in response.

“Of course, dear,” Diluc responds, albeit a bit despondently. Your heart twists a bit and- no, no. Guilt is not allowed in the heart of a true comedian. “Anything for you.” His eyes are empty as his smile slowly drops into a thin line. Your expression of glee is a sharp contrast.

“Yay!” You giggle and clap your hands together once as you pop up from your seated position. Diluc’s woeful expression alleviates upon seeing your seemingly genuine reaction and he manages a small smile once more, this one a bit more genuine. “C’mon! Let’s try it on!”

After wearing it the rest of Christmas night, Diluc not only wears it past the reasonable date to keep wearing Christmas merchandise after Christmas is over, but he wears it multiple times per week. You know he’s only doing it to see your fit of giggles every time he does so and that Diluc wants nothing more than to see you happy, but you’re beginning to hate yourself for such a gift.

The inklings of self-hatred explode into full self-loathing when Diluc reveals he found an identical onesie while shopping and that he purchased it in order to be able to wear around the house more often. You have to hold yourself back from narrowing your eyes at him as he holds up the offending, nearly identical onesie, albeit in a different color. Unlike you, Diluc isn’t a bully. There’s absolutely no way he’s joking right now. Maybe. You aren’t sure.

The end of January rolls around and you’re ready to wrestle Diluc for his Pyro vision and burn these damn onesies yourself. Every time Diluc joins you in bed, ready to clock in for the night, he’s wearing the archonsforsaken Christmas outfit despite Valentine’s Day rapidly approaching. If you wear a cute outfit and lie on the bed, hoping for Diluc’s attention? You’ll certainly get it, but there’s more than just his eyes watching you. There are the artificial eyes of the owls watching the two of you, their beady little rhinestones judging you for your premarital sins. Whenever you reach out to stroke his arm or thigh reassuringly, you’re met with the feeling of cheap flannel and pilled fabrics.

Unfortunately for Diluc, Kaeya is your hero in this situation as he arrives to Dawn Winery unannounced and interrupts you and Diluc reading in bed together. The cavalry captain hadn’t even bothered to knock, swinging the door open with zero fear of what he might have found inside. But, upon seeing the two of you, Kaeya freezes.

“What the hell is that?” Kaeya nearly screeches in horror, pointing at Diluc.

“I’m sure you know what Diluc looks like, Kaeya,” You respond in an annoyed tone. You loved Adelinde, but why had she let Kaeya up to your and Diluc’s chambers without any warning is beyond your comprehension. “You only have one eyepatch, not two.”

Diluc does a poor job at stifling a chuckle next to you, his book now resting on the nightstand next to him due to the intrusion. He wordlessly sneaks an arm around your waist and you lean into his chest instinctively, trying your best to ignore the scratch of the sequins against your cheek.

“No, not that,” Kaeya says, unperturbed at your slight against him. “That! That thing he’s wearing! It’s awful!” His finger shakes in the air before the blue-haired man doubles over in laughter. “That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, holy shit.”

You look up at Diluc, who is flushed a deep crimson in embarrassment and whose brows are furrowed.

“I must admit,” Diluc clears his throat, voice diffident. “It has grown on me.”

Your heart melts at his confession and you scoot up a bit in his grasp, causing him to look at you in confusion before you press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. Adoration swims in his irises as he looks at you and softly smiles, forgetting about Kaeya’s presence despite his brother’s noisy, ceaseless laughter. Sure, the onesie might be a joke that you want to throw into a fire and pray that it burns in the pits of hell for eternity, but Diluc’s defense of your present in the face of Kaeya’s mockery warms even your cold prankster heart.

“Diluc,” You whisper lowly, not wanting Kaeya to hear. It was unlikely he would anyways, as every time he looked up at the two of you in the bed in front of him, Kaeya would burst out into peals of laughter once more. “Where’s the other onesie?”

Diluc looks at you, confused. “It’s in the laundry room. It should be dry now.” Before Diluc can ask you why you need to know such information, you’re breaking free of his grip, stumbling out of the bed, shoving past Kaeya and nearly sprinting out of the room in a hurry. Kaeya and Diluc both watch you leave, equally bewildered.

“Why are you here?” You hear Diluc ask his brother as you flee the room, but you don’t stick around for the rest of their conversation. They can be emotionally constipated together, you have more important things to do. Seizing the freshly-cleaned onesie, you shut the laundry door and shimmy it over your current pajamas, one of Diluc’s old shirts and a pair of old shorts. You have to hop around a bit to get the fabric to settle in just the right places and, dear Barbatos, this thing is uncomfortable.

Diluc must really love you to put up with this outfit every night. Before you can melt into a puddle of goo at the thought of your essentially perfect boyfriend who would do nearly anything for you, you storm out of the laundry room and back into the bedroom, climbing back into bed with Diluc wordlessly, settling your legs underneath the covers and guiding Diluc’s arm back to its rightful place around your waist.

You press another kiss to Diluc’s cheek as he stares at you with an unreadable expression. Despite having recovered from his earlier flustered state, his cheeks quickly return to the shade of red you adore so much. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t stick on this onesie just to shamelessly ogle your boyfriend and kiss him senseless. No, you wore it to spite the man in front of the two of you, whose expression is now morphed into one of horror.

“There’s two of them?! One was already a crime against humanity, but two?!” Kaeya is aghast at such a concept. Diluc’s gaze breaks off you and he tightens his grip around your waist as he glowers at his brother.

“We have a third one if you wish to continue intruding in our home,” Diluc proposes, his voice having a slight edge to it. Kaeya holds his hands up later.

“Alright. I’ll see you later then. Bye, (Y/N)~!” Kaeya quickly ejects himself from the conversation, not even bothering to spare his brother a goodbye in his hurry to leave before a onesie can be thrust upon you.

“You look adorable,” Diluc confesses before pressing a kiss to your forehead. This time, it’s your turn to fluster and you look away, startled by his forwardness. “I always like seeing you in my clothes.”

“Oh… thank you,” You murmur sheepishly, but Diluc grabs your chin and lightly guides your face to look at him. A shiteating grin breaks out across his face.

“I appreciate your support, darling, but isn’t it time we stop this ruse?” Diluc questions and your eyes widen in surprise. “Unfortunately, my brother is correct. These outfits are quite… awful.”

“I like them!” You interject, unsure as to why you’re defending the outfits you had just been wishing for the destruction of.

“Is that so?” Diluc challenges, eyebrows raised as you nod your head furiously. A soft chuckle escapes his lips. “(Y/N), I know I might be dumb at times, especially when it comes to you, but surely you can’t think I’m dumb enough to believe this lie.”

You narrow your eyes at him and fold your arms in contempt. “There is no way you’ve called my bluff this early. Kaeya told you I was fucking with you, didn’t he?”

Diluc’s smug attitude is replaced with that of a scolded puppy, unable to look you in the eyes. “... Yes.”

You can’t help but press yet another kiss to his face, this time gracing his jaw as you pepper light kisses down his neck. “You’re correct. I absolutely loathe these ugly clothes. It’s not even Christmas anymore. But I’d be damned if I was going to let that gremlin insult something of yours.”

Diluc laughs genuinely and he brings your face close to his, pressing your lips together in a sweet, chaste kiss, before pulling away far too soon for your liking.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I should probably change now that the joke is over,” Diluc explains. You raise your eyebrows at him and he lets out a sigh. “The fabric is itchy.” Your boyfriend clambers out of bed and you unabashedly watch him change into a more comfortable outfit, admiring the way his lithe muscles move as he puts on a new shirt. Diluc turns around and looks at you expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to change too?” He asks as he climbs back under the covers with you, but you softly smile and shake your head in response.

“No,” You coo. “I think it’ll stay on for tonight.” You wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling into his shoulder exaggeratedly.

Diluc groans at your words and you realize he shares the same hatred of the onesies that you do. But, as Diluc’s chief prankster, you’re determined to get the last laugh, even if the dumb fabric scratches against you all night.

#not sure how i feel about this one tbh! it's certainly a different style of writing i feel #but reader in this is extremely similar to my own personality (for once)#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc headcanons #diluc scenarios #*writing #*diluc #*fic

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weasleylangs · 3 years

Text

swipe right / f.w

Summary: Finding your best friend and your biggest crush on Tinder is always awkward. Pairing: Muggle!Fred Weasley x Muggle!Fem!Reader Warnings: Discussions of sex, language, alcohol, food/drink mention. Word Count: 6.9k (this is the longest thing i’ve ever written)

AUTHORS NOTE / hiiiii... this is my first fic in SO long but thank you for waiting for me!!! a huge thank you to my lovely rosie @spacexcowgirl for inspiring this fic and also listening to me ramble on about it for hours on end as i was writing it and for also beta reading it guys this fic rly wouldnt exist if it wasnt for rose so.........

/ also, george’s girlfriend in the fic is named ‘em’ and she has no physical description besides also using she/her pronouns. i’m trying this out so even people who aren’t (primarily) fred simps can self insert in this fic!!!

taglist / @amourtentiaa @weelittleweasley @lumos-barnes @lumosandnoxwriting @loveboyhalo @harrysweasleys @freds-slut @rcwenaclaw @barneswidow @fandomhideout

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

Y/N stared at her screen, the Tinder profile of Fred Weasley staring right back at her, teasing her ominously. She eventually decides to lock her phone to avoid the familiar and unwelcomed feelings rising in her throat. The last thing she ever expected to see during her mindless swiping at 1am was her best friend’s Tinder profile.

She knows it’s hypocritical to feel this way but she’s also not stupid. She and Fred both have had their fair share of dates and hookups thanks to dating apps- they’re in the twenties and single after all. But she can’t shake how weird she feels finding Fred. Like she’s stumbled across something private.

Y/N unlocks her phone again, curiosity eventually making her cave after staring at her ceiling blankly for way too long.

‘Pros: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that's a good thing). Cons: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that’s a bad thing).’

It’s a short and simple bio, much like her own but she has to stifle a choked laugh. She and George’s girlfriend have said these to both the twins and she feels a sense of accomplishment that she can’t explain. Almost like Fred thinking of her while he sets up his dating profile means something.

She hesitates a moment, debating between swiping left and never thinking about Fred and dating profiles ever again and swiping right just to see what happens. Y/N’s definitely making it a bigger issue than it has to be, which is why she doesn’t realise when George’s girlfriend and her roommate suddenly appears in her doorway holding chocolate.

“Em, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow?” She questions and the girl in the doorway shrugs, making her way into the room and sitting down without an invitation.

“I can vaguely hear you monologuing next door,” she laughs as she breaks a line of chocolate off the bar and hands it to Y/N. She groans, in her moment of panic she completely forgot about the fact it’s late and their bedroom walls are paper-thin. “All I heard was something about Fred and the word fuck. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” she winks and Y/N cringes, Em’s usual 15-year-old boy humour shining through as she pops the piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“You’re hilarious,” Y/N says rolling her eyes but she can’t deny the fondness that’s there for her best friend. “No, you’re not interrupting anything, rather the opposite actually, look.” She passes her unlocked phone to Em and Y/N wishes she could have captured the shocked look on Em's face.

“Fred has a fucking active Tinder?” She’s quickly swiping through his profile and she hates to admit he has good pictures, but when she gets to his bio she snorts and rolls her eyes. “That’s something you say, Y/N.”

Y/N feels her face go red at Em’s comment. She’s acknowledged this already but when someone else says it she feels like she isn’t being as far fetched as she’s convinced herself. While she outright refuses to acknowledge her feelings for Fred to anyone who isn’t herself, she knows Em knows without having to tell her. Call it best friend instinct, ‘dating-his-twin-brother’ instinct, whatever she pleases, which is why when there’s a mischievous glint in Em’s eyes, Y/N immediately is reaching for her phone. “No.”

Em whines, rolling onto her back. “Why not, you’re so boring!”

“I am not swiping right on Frederick fucking Weasley.” She feels her face becoming warmer as she says it. Em gives her a look as if to say ‘I believe you’ with a glint in her eye that makes Y/N know she doesn’t. “I’m just never going to open the app again!”

Em rolls her eyes but the fond smile on her face is unmistakable. “And do what, love?”

Y/N falters for a second before shrugging. “Not perceive his profile. It’ll be gone into the abyss of people who live in London and I’ll never think about it again.” She’s smiling, thinking she’s concocted the most perfect plan.

-----

It wasn’t the most perfect plan, for when Y/N is hanging out with Fred two days later she’s faced yet again with the ‘Tinder Predicament’ as dubbed by Em. Fred and Y/N are sitting in their favourite park, the new spring weather of London on their skin as they soak up the friendly sun rays after a harsh winter. Y/N is laying on her stomach, the book open but she’s barely reading as she pretends to listen to Fred ramble on about only God knows what.

It’s 11am, not too early for the park to be empty but busy enough that other people are turning up, mostly couples. Y/N tunes Fred out, quickly getting lost in her own thoughts. Do other people think we’re a couple? she thinks to herself. She knows if Em could read her mind she’d say yes and Y/N is quick to push the thought out of her mind.

Everything is interrupted when her phone lights up with a ‘You’ve got a new match!’ notification and before she can hide it from prying eyes, Fred’s wolf-whistling.

“You’ve got dating apps, do ya, Y/L/N?” he teases and Y/N wants the Earth to swallow her up, she can’t think of a worse situation to be in.

“Yeah, don’t you?” The second the words leave her mouth she regrets them. Fred’s smirking at her, a signature smirk of his he only does when she knows he’s up to something. Unfortunately for her, she is on the receiving end of that something.

“Something along the lines of ‘looking for a golden retriever boy?’. Ring any bells, darling?” Y/N feels her blood drain from her body and Fred releases a laugh that can only be described as a full-body chortle. “You know I have one, darling. Besides, you popped up last night. I already knew.”

Y/N groans. This shouldn’t be as embarrassing as it feels but it’s Fred and knowing Fred has seen her dating profile was low on her wishes for this week, or for her entire life for that matter.

“Did you at least swipe right on me?”

It’s said with a teasing manner, falling right out of Y/N’s mouth before she can stop it. Her curiosity always gets the best of her and she wants to kick herself for it. But she doesn’t even notice Fred’s slight falter, the red tint kissing his cheeks and emphasising the freckles across his face at the comment. “You’ll have to swipe right on me to find out.”

She can’t tell if he’s joking. But Fred is always joking. So she laughs and pushes him slightly, “If I come across your Tinder profile, I’m reporting it.”

“It would be a blessing from the universe for you to come across my dating profile. I’m sure you’d appreciate my bio.”

“Let me guess. ‘6’3 if it matters’?” Fred scowls looking down at her and she knows she looks way too proud for that comment but she doesn’t care and after a few seconds, Fred doesn’t care either. He starts to feel a small shred of jealousy from knowing Y/N has a Tinder profile, but he swallows it, tabling it for later when he isn’t with her.

“Why do you have the app?” He blurts out, annoyed at himself for letting it slip out. “Just… Curious, y’know?” He adds on when he notices Y/N looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t really want to know, but the words are out there and the cute scrunch of Y/N’s nose as she thinks of an answer almost makes it worth it.

“Male validation, mostly,” she laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck when she hears Fred laugh along with her. “I don’t know, Freddie.” She says, exasperatedly. “I barely use it. What about you?”

“Sex, if I’m honest.” Now it’s his turn to awkwardly laugh because he knows he answered that way too quickly and a little too honest for his own comfort. Y/N’s been his best friend for years, probably knows him best besides George but she didn’t really need to know he uses his Tinder profile to hook up with people.

When Y/N doesn’t respond immediately, Fred takes it badly. He knows she would never judge him, not about anything and especially not this, but his thoughts get the best of him and sometimes he can’t help it. He has no idea Y/N is in her own head, jealous other girls get to hold Fred at a distance closer than she ever will.

He clears his throat and checks his phone to see no notifications besides a direct message from Lee Jordan. He knows George isn’t expecting him home- cursing his brother when he remembers George demanded the flat to himself (and in turn, also Em) today for a few hours. “Hey, uh. I’ve gotta go. Emergency with George apparently.”

He knows he shouldn’t have lied, it’s not even a good lie but it was the first thing he thought of. He notices Y/N’s eyebrows furrow before she shrugs, nodding before closing her book. “That’s okay, I was getting tired anyway. I might pop back to my flat for a nap.”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Fred asks and his chest feels warm when Y/N meets his face with a smile.

“Of course, Freddie.”

She watches Fred leave, her thoughts getting the best of her. She knows for a fact there is no ‘George emergency’- she knows George is with Em probably being sick and in love and she’s sure Fred knows this too. The realisation Fred made an excuse to not spend time with her hits her like a truck, her mind frantically searching for what she could’ve possibly done to upset her best friend.

“Fuck,” she whispers to herself, the second she realises.

-----

To: Em > if you come home tonight dont mind me being drunk x

Y/N sends the text as she stands in the kitchen, pouring herself her second glass of wine before it has even hit 6pm. On her way home, she stopped by the liquor store, picked up her favourite wine and decided to drink away the anxieties of upsetting Fred.

From: Em > ill be home. ill pick up chinese on the way. save me some wine!!! x

She smiles down at her phone, knowing Em would always be there without even realising it. She sits down on their couch and turns on the television- old reruns of early 2000s sitcoms playing on almost every channel.

It’s 20 minutes late when Em turns up. She’s nursing the Chinese food as if it’s a child as she tries to unlock the front door without dropping the food or her bottle of wine. She smiles proudly at Y/N the second she gets in, putting the food on the table before she grabs her own wine glass.

“What happened today?”

Y/N is caught off guard but she shouldn’t be shocked. She doesn’t usually drink and when she does, it’s very rarely without Em. “Nothing’s wrong!” she says, skulling the rest of her wine when Em gives her a knowing look.

“You were with Fred today and now you’re sad drinking. What happened?” Usually, she loves when Em is her all-knowing best friend, but right now she wishes she’d shut up.

“Nothing happened!” She’s adamant to not say too much. She knows it’s probably all in her head, that she and Fred will be fine in a few days but when Em gives her one more knowing look, she breaks. “Okay, fine. I think I upset him today.”

Em’s confused, to say the least. Fred, for as long as she has known him, has never been upset with Y/N- even on accident. She has the tall redhead wrapped around her finger. “How?” she questions, because she truly can’t think of a single thing that Y/N could do to hurt him.

Em places Y/N’s food in front of her when she starts speaking. “We were talking about Tinder- don’t give me that look he saw a notification and it came up and he asked why I had it. I said I don’t know and when I asked him, he said he uses it for sex,” Y/N says softly, pouring herself another glass of wine before continuing. “I didn’t say anything when he said that, because… Well… You know why.”

Em does know. She knew the second she became Y/N’s roommate their first year of University that she had feelings for Fred and she knew immediately Fred liked her too but Y/N’s never believed her. “You think he got upset you didn’t say anything about sex?”

“I think he thinks I was being judgemental.” Em sighs at Y/N’s response. She loves both her best friends- they’re her favourite people besides George but she knows they can be idiots. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the forks against their Chinese containers before Em grab’s Y/N’s phone, unlocking it.

“Well if Fred’s using Tinder for sex, so should you!” she says matter-of-factly and when Y/N groans from the kitchen sink, Em speaks again. “It’s true! He likes you but won’t tell you, you like him but won’t tell anyone! Who’s a good meaningless shag going to hurt?”

That’s how they end up in Em’s bed, cuddling under the duvet with ice cream and Y/N’s Tinder profile open on her phone. “You’re so fucking picky, holy shit,” Em says when Y/N scrunches her nose up at the sixth consecutive guy. “It’s a shag, not a hand in marriage, love.”

“They don’t do it for me!” Y/N is avoiding the elephant in the room- that she’s comparing every guy that pops up to Fred. “I have to be attracted to them for this meaningless shag you’re preaching about… See, he’s cute!” His name’s Cormac, he’s 21 so only a few years younger than Y/N and he’s not bad looking.

“He looks like a douchebag!” Em exclaims and Y/N groans.

“You told me to stop being picky!”

“Stop being picky doesn’t mean saying yes to the first conventionally attractive guy we see!” Em exclaims as she swipes left on poor Cormac. Y/N gets up to pour herself and Em one more glass of wine each and she hears Em starting giggling to herself when the new profile shows up, hiding the phone from Y/N’s eyes when she walks over. Without even questioning Y/N, Em swipes right and immediately she starts howling laughing.

‘New Match!’ the screen reads and Y/N feels her breath hitch when snatches the phone from Em’s hands and she sees who she matched with.

Fred, 24. 2km away.

“I remembered after dinner, you said he told you to swipe right to see what he did,” Em says proudly, and Y/N regrets even mentioning it to Em offhandedly. Y/N’s eyes are transfixed on the tiny screen. There’s no way he seriously swiped right, she’s sure it’s only a joke- people jokingly match with their friends all the time. “So here you go, Freddie swiped right on my lil Y/N/N.”

Y/N shakes her head at this. “I’m sure he only did it as a joke. People do that when they find their friends on Tinder all the time!” she says, sitting back down on the bed and cuddling up next to Em. “You were telling me to swipe right on him last night, after all.”

Em looks at Y/N and sighs, clearly sensing how uncomfortable Y/N is feeling right now from the confrontation of her feelings for Fred. “I was telling you to swipe right because I know you’re in love with him,” she says softly, not missing the way Y/N’s eyes soften at the mention of her feelings for Fred. “I’m sorry if I’d known-”

“Don’t apologise! I’m just going to ignore the fact we matched,” she says softly, unlocking her phone and immediately exiting from Fred’s profile. The tension from a few moments ago quickly dissipates as Y/N receives another match, this time from a boy named Neville who Y/N knows is friends with Fred’s little brother.

“When did you swipe on Nev?” Em asks and Y/N shrugs. She knows she probably did it to be funny, like what she thinks Fred’s done to her, but the more she thinks about it, Neville isn’t a bad match. He’s nice, friendly and now he’s in his twenties, he isn’t bad looking either.

“Nev’s sweet. If he asked me out I’d say yes.” She says. She isn’t lying- there’s been times she’s considered going on dates to avoid her feelings for Fred, to get over him once and for all but whenever it gets to that point, she chickens out. “I know you want a meaningless shag, but I think maybe a date would be a good idea. You know?”

Em nods, pulling Y/N closer to cuddle her and suddenly feeling bad about preaching for meaningless sex. “Maybe you’re more of a date before shagging kind of girl, and that’s okay.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

-----

Em’s fast asleep and Y/N’s overthinking next to her when she gets a message from a match. Y/N rolls her eyes when she sees the time reads 2am; knowing whoever's messaging at this time is just looking for a booty call but she opens the notification nonetheless.

From: Fred > i can be a golden retriever boy :)

She smiles at the message, Fred’s presence always does that to her. She never expected him to message her on tinder considering she’s convinced it was just a joke swipe right, but this is probably just a joking message too. She checks his bio is still the same Aries joke before quickly replying.

To: Fred > good thing im a big aries fan then ;) > how tall are you though? im sure youre well aware it matters

She hopes Fred laughs at her messages because making Fred laugh is her favourite pastime. The three dots signalling Fred’s typing pops up and her heart starts to race.

From: Fred

> im 7’5 if its that important :/

She giggles and when doesn’t know how to reply after that, she exits out of their messages, but it’s not like she has to keep a conversation with Fred going. She’s trying to think of a funny message to send Fred when she gets another message; this time from Neville.

From: Neville > hi Y/N! i hope this isnt a weird time to message you, i just finished grading some work. i was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime this week? we were kind of friends at school, after all, and it’ll be nice to catch up :)

The message from Neville is sweet, and she almost feels guilty reading it. Attached is his number and everything and Y/N feels her throat closing up. She would feel terrible going on a date with Neville despite what she claimed earlier, knowing her heart currently belongs to Fred.

But Fred’s lack of interest in her is eating at her as much as her own feelings for him do, and she knows she deserves better than to sit around and wait for him any longer. If Em was awake the date would already be confirmed, she knows that much so she decides to say yes to Neville, to at least put herself out there. She can imagine the little Devil version of Em dancing on her shoulder as she begins to type out a reply to Neville.

She doesn’t even think to look at who it’s being sent to before clicking send. But by then it’s too late- she doesn’t even know how she ended up back in Fred’s messages but now she wants to roll up into a ball and die.

To: Fred > hi neville! id love to grab dinner one day, here’s my number and we can organise it tomorrow because im going to bed now! x

She’s staring at the message for so long she doesn’t even notice the ‘???’ she gets back from Fred. She quickly copies and pastes the message to the right recipient this time before plugging in her phone and rolling over to sleep.

Em’s slight snoring lulls her to sleep, thoughts of Fred filling her mind before she passes out for the night. What she doesn’t know is that while she falls asleep, Fred lays awake, staring at his ceiling. Contemplating the knowledge he has knowing Y/N’s potentially organising a date with one of his little brother’s best friends.

-----

Fred hates this feeling; this feeling of jealousy in his stomach that’s threatening to spill out of his throat. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about Y/N accidentally messaging him about a date with another person all morning and he knows George is getting annoyed with him.

“Why are you being such a prat this morning?” George had asked when Fred scowled at his brother for simply standing in the kitchen. Fred had huffed as a reply, grabbing the milk for his tea before sitting down at their table to munch on his toast.

“Not being a prat,” he says, words muffled by the food in his mouth and George gives him a disgusted look before taking a bite of his own toast. “Do you remember Neville Longbottom?”

George nods, of course, he knows Neville. “Ron’s friend? Super nice bloke. Think him and Hannah Abbott just broke up, why?”

Fred shrugs, he’s almost positive it’s the same Neville now. “Think Y/N’s going on a date with him, that’s all.” When George raises his eyebrows, Fred speaks again, “Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going on a date with a prat.”

“Wanted to know who she is going on a date with in general, more like it,” George mutters under his breath. He knows Fred better than he knows anybody, better than he knows his girlfriend and almost better than he knows himself. “You sure you’re not jealous?”

Fred squints at George. “Why would I be jealous?” Fred stands and makes his way to the kitchen to wash up his dishes and he almost drops them in the sink when George speaks again.

“Because you’re in love with Y/N?” He says it so casually Fred almost chokes on air. He’s never thought about himself and Y/N in that way. Sure they like to cuddle when they’re drunk and they spend every waking moment together but he’s not in love with Y/N.

Is he?

“What makes you say that?” Fred asks quietly, hoping to hide the red blush forming on his cheeks. George might be his best friend and twin brother but he knows he would never live it down admitting he has feelings for Y/N.

“You two are worse than Em and I, and we’re actually dating,” George speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When Em first met Y/N, she asked how long you and she had been together for, mate.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Fred says a little too quickly.

“I’m sure it doesn’t, Freddie,” George smirks as he speaks, getting up to wash his dishes now. Fred stands in the kitchen, nursing his cup of tea as he contemplates George’s words. Sure, he always knew he had some kind of feelings for his best friend, but being in love was another whole ordeal. It means wanting long term commitment, probably a house together, maybe marriage, perhaps kids if Y/N wanted them and the longer Fred sits with these in his mind, he quickly realises he does want all that and even more with Y/N. He’s probably wanted it with her for a while and he just hasn’t ever realised.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, low enough for George not to hear but when Fred doesn’t have a rebuttal to George’s words he knows he’s accidentally sent Fred into an existential crisis.

“Look, Fred. If Y/N going on a date bothers you, you need to tell her.” George knows he’s about to cross some lines that he promised himself he would never cross but it’s getting dire in his eyes. “Y/N likes you and deep down you know you like her too, even if you’re oblivious. She deserves to know and if you’re too much of a chicken to admit it to her, then you don’t get to be bothered about her going on a date with Neville Longbottom.”

Fred huffs. He knows George is right, but he can’t help but feel like he truly noticed too late. He swiped right on her on Tinder hoping she would swipe right back and they could go from there. But he knows Y/N only swiped right to see if he had done it first, that she only swiped right out of curiosity and right now, Fred is cursing the app under his breath.

“Well, fine, yes I like Y/N, but I can’t just stop her from going on a date. That’s controlling and mean.” Fred states and George just sighs. “I’ll talk to her after her date, if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

George stares at him. “Since when are you mister Que sera, sera, Freddie?” Fred shrugs, not understanding the reference George made. “Since when are you just letting it happen?” George translates when he notices the blank stare on Fred’s face.

“Since right now. I don’t want to come off controlling to Y/N.” Fred says. In actuality, even though he knows George would never lie to him, he’s scared. Y/N is his best friend and the last thing he ever wants to do is ruin his closest friendship all because of some jealousy.

“Okay fine, but if she gets a boyfriend, I’m sorry mate,” George says and he knows putting the threat of losing Y/N romantically on the line is harsh, but it’s what he has to do. He’s watched the pair pine for each other for years and he’s sure this is the last straw.

“We’re going out with the lads in a few days, by the way! Maybe you can stop moping enough for a shag!” George calls out and Fred flips him the finger as he walks off to his bedroom.

-----

Y/N and Neville decide on getting dinner together three days later. It’s a Friday so neither of them has to worry about work or coursework the next day, which is perfect. Neville tells Y/N about his favourite Italian restaurant right near Old Street subway station in Shoreditch, so that’s where the pair decide to meet.

It’s rather busy when Y/N gets to the station. Neville has apologised profusely for still being fifteen minutes away but she reassures him it’s fine and that she’ll meet him outside the station so they can walk to the restaurant together.

Y/N’s on her phone, texting Em and telling her she’s safe when she feels a presence next to her. She tenses up quickly but she soon relaxes when she looks at the person next to her and realises it’s Fred.

“Hi,” she says, smiling. She hasn’t seen him since the day in the park, but they’ve texted and called so she’s sure everything is fine. “What are you doing all the way on this side of London?”

Fred smiles and shoves his hands in his jeans pocket before replying, “Grabbing a drink with the lads tonight, love. What about you?” His tone is casual and Y/N has to stop herself from checking him out. He’s dressed in a nice dress shirt, it’s orange and on anyone else, it would clash with his hair but Fred somehow manages to pull it off. He’s got a black jacket over the top of his shirt, alongside black jeans that show off his long and muscular legs on and his outfit is paired off with a pair of boots on his feet.

He’s not making it easy to get over him, that’s for sure.

“I’ve got a date,” she’s shy when she says it, looking away from Fred and then back down at her phone. The time reads 6:47pm and Neville’s train will be getting in any second now. She’s trying to get over Fred and the last thing she needs is Fred lingering when said date turns up.

“Ah yes, with Neville, if I remember correctly,” Fred’s teasing and Y/N has to force a laugh out. She blocked out the fact she’d accidentally messaged him instead of Neville and was hoping he would forget as well. But this is Fred she was talking about, and Fred never lets up a chance to tease Y/N for something.

“Yeah, Neville Longbottom,” she says and she catches the look of recognition that flashes across Fred’s face. “He was friends with your brother in school.”

Fred nods in acknowledgement while he can’t decide whether or not he’s happy with the confirmation that he was right. He’s sad and jealous, that much is obvious, but he’s a little happy. Happy that even though Y/N is going on a date with someone who isn’t himself, it’s someone he knows would treat her like she deserves.

“Neville’s a good guy, I’m happy for you,” he forces out and Y/N smiles up at Fred and he wants to sink into the Earth. The smile on her face is one he wants to be the cause for forever. “I should get going, tell Nev hello for me!”

He pulls Y/N into a quick hug, presses a quick kiss absentmindedly on the top of her head before letting her go and crossing the street and making his way to the bar he’s meeting Lee, George, Harry and Ron at.

Y/N watches him leave, dumbfounded. The kiss on the top of her head is nothing less than usual; Fred’s always been touchy with her but now it feels weird. All she wants is to call out to Fred and demand the redhead take her on a date instead.

But before Y/N can do anything drastic, she hears Neville call out her name and she turns around quickly. He’s just as sweet and cute as she remembers and even if she wishes Fred was the boy she was on a date with, Neville is someone she would be friends with above anything.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long!” He says when he reaches her, kissing her cheek as Y/N pulls him into a hug. His presence is comforting and he smells like cinnamon and Y/N feels herself instantly relax.

“Not too long!” She replies as she begins walking towards the restaurant with Neville. During Spring, the cold weather still returns at night so their hands are shoved inside their jacket pockets to keep warm but they’re walking closely together. “I ran into Fred just before, so he kept me company.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Neville says as he grabs the door to the restaurant, “can’t have a pretty girl waiting outside a subway station alone.” Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at his comment.

They’re quickly seated and wine is ordered. They’ve been placed in a booth right near the window, where they’re able to watch the City of London go by. “How’s teaching going?” Y/N asks when she remembers Neville recently graduated and got an immediate job offer at the Agriculture department at a college in Surrey.

“It’s going well! I specifically teach the floriculture courses so I love it, of course,” Neville’s smile couldn’t get any wider. Y/N specifically remembers his constant fascination with plants and flowers in school and she couldn’t be happier for him to be doing what he so clearly loves, “What about you?”

“Being hammered by my postgrad coursework,” she says, laughing and taking a sip of her wine. “My job at the bookstore near my flat doesn’t suck but I definitely don’t work as much as I used to, unfortunately.” Neville raises his glass, almost to say I’ll drink to that when the waiter comes over to take their order.

Dinner goes quickly, conversation flows easily between the two and soon enough the bill arrives and Neville grabs the cheque before Y/N can even say anything. “You can grab it next time.”

Y/N falters at this. She knows she should say something to Neville; that this has been nice but there won’t be a second date. She’s too caught up in her panic and she’s beginning to curse Fred Weasley under her breath when Neville gently places his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the restaurant.

“Are you okay?” Neville asks when they get outside. He noticed the tensed look on Y/N’s face the second they got outside and when she nods and sighs he takes it as a sign to stop walking.

“This has been nice, Nev,” she starts and she feels terrible even though she knows it’s better, to be honest. “But I don’t think I’m-”

“Ready for a relationship?” Neville finishes for her, and he’s not condescending when he says it. He could tell even before dinner was finished that she probably felt that way and he doesn’t mind. “I don’t think I am either. But this was fun, was it not?”

Y/N nods, smiling as the anxieties of hurting Neville wash away. “It was fun!” she says, “I hope we can do it again. Even as friends?”

He nods back, a warm smile gracing his cheeks. “Of course.”

They walk back to the station together, promises of seeing each other again soon leaves their mouths as they walk to their respective platforms.

From: Neville > thanks for tonight. i forgot to mention, please tell me when you’re home safe!

She smiles down at the text, shooting Neville a reply of reassurance that she will before opening her messages with Em to let her know she’s on her way home. She’s jumping through her apps, Snapchat that she only uses for filters, Facebook she only uses to check the ‘Dogspotting’ group until she lands on Instagram.

She sees a story from George and when she opens it, she immediately regrets it. It’s their friendship group, that much she expected but she sees a girl sitting next to Fred nursing what looks like a Gin and Tonic and Y/N feels sick.

She immediately closes the app, pretending she didn’t see it. She has no right to be upset over this but it plagues her thoughts for the entire subway trip home.

That’s when she decides she’s going to demand answers from Fred. She doesn’t know how, or when or if she’ll even do it without Em forcing her to, but she knows she deserves better. That she doesn’t deserve to hang on the end of every touch, every word of Fred’s in hopes he’ll hold her closer than arm's length while she desperately wants more.

-----

The next night, Fred’s laying on his couch in an uncomfortable position searching Netflix at 10pm when he hears a knock at the front door. He knows it isn’t George, or any member of his family for that matter and any normal person would ring before coming over this late at night. So when Fred gets up and looks through his peephole to ensure he’s not about to be murdered, he’s shocked to see an angry-looking Y/N.

He opens the door and she’s immediately inside, pushing past Fred’s body and when she turns around, she has the most determined look on her face he’s ever seen.

“I’m annoyed at you.” Fred’s taken aback, he tries to think back at their interaction the evening before, trying to piece together anything that would annoy Y/N but he’s coming up blank.

“What did I do?” He wearily asks and when Y/N purses her lips together and looks like she’s about to cry Fred has to resist the urge to apologise without knowing what he needs to apologise for.

“I’m annoyed at you because,” she pauses and takes a shaky breath, “I’m annoyed because I went on a date last night. I went on a date with the loveliest man I’ve ever met. And I spent the whole fucking time wishing I was on a date with you. And I’ve spent all of today debating coming over here and telling you that so I drank half of Em’s bottle of wine for some liquid courage and here I fucking am!”

That’s the last thing Fred was expecting to come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Well, that’s not-”

“I’m not finished.” She stares at Fred and he immediately shuts up.

“I’ve been in love with you for years and it’s not fair on me anymore, Freddie.” Her voice is shaking like she needs to get everything out as soon as possible. “I need to know if you feel anything for me, even in the slightest, because if I need to move on, I’m begging you to be honest with me.”

Fred feels his heartbreak at how sweet, how broken, how defeated Y/N looked standing in front of him right now. He can see the need for an honest answer swimming in Y/N’s eyes and he’s never felt braver to admit his feelings than he does right now.

“I’m an idiot,” Y/N scoffs but lets him continue, “because I didn’t realise how fucking in love with you I am until I almost lost you. I thought…” he pauses, looking for the right words and when his eyes meet Y/N’s, there’s a softness there that wasn’t there previously. “I thought what we had was normal; the cuddling, the constant need to be with each other, the constant subtle touches. But George knocked some sense into me.” Y/N lets out a breath as she laughs, of course, it was George’s doing.

“I’m in love with you, and I think I have been since we were 17. So I’m so fucking sorry, for ever letting you think you meant any less to me, my love.”

Y/N’s eyes are overflowing with tears at his words and Fred panics for a second before he sees the biggest and most loving smile overtake Y/N’s face. “Fucking hell, you big dummy.”

She crosses the room, quicker than she’s ever moved before and pulls Fred’s 6’3 frame into her arms. She feels Fred pull her away, only slightly, so he can look down into her eyes and cup her cheek with his hand. His thumb is providing comfort as it strokes across her cheek and wiping away any stray tears.

She cups the outside of his hand with her own and brings her face to the side to kiss his palm. This is the closest the two have ever been and both their hearts feel like they could beat out of their chests at any moment. It’s the adrenaline from this moment that causes Fred to blurt out his next question, without any hesitation.

“Can I please kiss you before I die?”

Y/N laughs as she looks up at Fred. She doesn’t even give him an answer, she just pulls the tall boy down before locking their lips together. They’ve both kissed plenty of people, had many first kisses whether it be with first dates or partners but they can both agree this is the best kiss either of them has ever experienced.

Y/N is pouring everything she can into the kiss, knowing she will never get tired of the taste of caramel that she will forever associate with kissing the love of her life. She presses her lips harder against his, her tongue running along Fred’s chapped lips asking for more before he opens his mouth to massage his tongue with hers.

Fred decides to be a tease, pulling back slightly before capturing her lips again and biting her bottom lip slightly. This action pulls a moan from Y/N’s throat, soft enough that Fred almost misses it but he can’t help but smirk into the kiss. He wants nothing more than to kiss Y/N for the rest of his life, but eventually, he has to pull away to catch his breath and the whine that leaves Y/N’s mouth might be the cutest sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“I hope to God you know I’m never letting you kiss anyone else ever again, holy shit,” she says, cheeks flushed red and when she looks at Fred she thinks she’s fallen even further in love with him. His hair’s messy, thanks to her running her hands through it and his lips are slightly swollen. She thinks this might be the most beautiful she’s ever seen Fred in her life and if this is how gorgeous he looks after a few minutes of kissing, she’s secretly anticipating how gorgeous he’s going to look laying in her bed, naked.

Fred smiles dopily down at her, “Don’t worry darling, I never want to be with someone who isn’t you ever again.”

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fae writes

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

Troubled Waters Chapter Four

Hey, yall! Here’s the next chapter of Nia and T’Challa’s journey. I’m super proud of this one (I’m proud of all my work, but still.) With the help of @wordsfromthelivingghost being a bomb ass beta reader, I think this is some of my best work yet. And I’m only gonna get better!

Check out my masterlist to read my other stories (and catch up on this one if you’re new here.) I love when y’all talk to me and share my work so others can discover it, so hit those comment and reblog buttons. Also, be sure to let me know if you want to be tagged in anything. Enjoy!😘

Word count: 8,894

CW: A little blood and cutting but NOT for self-harm reasons. If it bothers you, skip the second half of the scene at Kokou’s temple.

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Nia pressed her cheek to the window, careful not to smudge the thin line of white clay painted down the center of her face. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hung slightly open as she watched Wakanda zoom by from hundreds of feet in the air. She had always loved seeing what the world looked like from above, but it had been years since she last got to enjoy the view. When she was young, Amare would carry her in his arms as he flew high above the ground to give her a taste of what she so desperately wanted: to feel the wind beneath her nonexistent wings.

T’Challa half-watched Nia from his seat off to the side of the cabin as he flipped through news articles on his kimoyo beads. As they flew over a statue of Bast in her full panther form, he could tell the bright blue light radiating from the tunnel beneath the goddess intrigued her. Her head tilted slightly to the left, and he turned off his beads right as she turned around with a question on her lips.

“That’s Mt. Bashenga,” T’Challa answered prematurely as he stood and made his way over to the window, looking out at his kingdom as Okoye steered the Royal Talon over the Mining province.

“Why’s it glowing?”

“Vibranium.”

“Ohhh.” Nia thought back to the human history books she read as a child that told their story of the founding of Wakanda. Obviously, they had censored the part about aziza, but she still found their revisionist history fascinating. “That’s where the meteorite landed, right?”

T’Challa nodded, impressed by her knowledge.

“Ubaba always said vibranium was ‘the humans’ magic’,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

T’Challa was mildly shocked. He had never considered it that way, but he supposed it was sort of otherworldly what they were able to do with the substance. In comparison to other humans, anyway.

Okoye kept her focus on flying the ship, but T’Challa couldn’t help but spot the slight glow that emanated from Nia’s skin while she ogled the scenery. The king reflected on the description of aziza he had read the day before and remembered that it mentioned their luminous skin. He had noticed that even when she was standoffish towards him, she seemed to radiate light from the inside out, but seeing her literally light up in excitement brought him joy.

When Birnin Zana came into view, Nia’s eyes curiously trailed along the tributaries that moseyed through the metropolis and she was reminded of the magic realm’s big city, Birnin Umlingo. She smiled fondly at how similar they were despite the fact that Birnin Zana was so much bigger. It was nestled between rolling hills and sharp cliffsides, and she was pleasantly surprised to see all the lush greenery dispersed throughout the city. There were small parks everywhere and most of the roofs were topped with well-kept gardens. The skyscrapers and apartment buildings stretched to the sky like the trees that lined the streets, but Nia was almost blinded when the sun bounced off of an impressive structure in the middle of the city. Two almost conical, shining towers spiraled up from an ancient foundation that swirled around the base like the flowing tributary that surrounded most of it like a moat. The towers were connected by a long bridge about a third of the way up and despite her amazement, Nia couldn’t help but wonder why they had to build two towers instead of just one.

“Bast, is that the palace?” She pointed up ahead.

T’Challa smirked proudly. He never tired of seeing the dual vibranium spires that towered over even the tallest skyscrapers throughout the city.

“It is,” he said proudly.

“It’s so big,” she whispered, then turned to look at him. “Does it ever feel empty?”

He furrowed his brows, making a little crease appear between them that Nia found endearing. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just you and your family that live there, right?”

The king nodded.

“Then why do you need so much space? And why two instead of just one? It seems so unnecessary.”

Okoye bit the inside of her lip to keep from snickering at Nia’s sincere inquiries. She wasn’t too keen on Nia and wasn’t quite sure why she was there, but she had worked for T’Challa long enough to know he didn’t like people questioning him.

“I don’t- it’s not just...look.” He pointed back out the window to distract her, and Nia whipped her head around to watch their descent to the landing pad in front of the palace.

The three of them exited the Talon, but instead of entering T’Challa’s gratuitously large home, they made a left and walked through the palace gates and into the bustling streets of Birnin Zana. Nia had been to the big city before when she was young, but it seemed like it had exploded over the last couple of decades. It had always been a busy hub of commerce for the Merchant tribe, but business owners from the other tribes had moved there in droves over the past few years to get a piece of the pie.

The three of them passed through the financial district with ease. Nia kept her neck craned to look up at the tall banks, corporate offices, and massive parking garages filled with hovercars. In the distance, she saw an arena and she wondered what took place there. Did they have many concerts? Sporting events? She made a mental note to ask about that later and continued to take in her surroundings. The maglev trains zooming by high above the street caught her attention, and her eyes widened. She had never been on a train before.

They eventually made it to Three Step Town, the cultural hub of the city and Nia looked on in awe at the various businesses that surrounded them. Once again, she was reminded of Birnin Umlingo as she looked around at the diversity that surrounded her. Most of the older folks were dressed in the traditional clothing of their tribes, but the younger Wakandans seemed to prefer a more modern look. They really were a spectacle. Some people had brightly colored manes and shining vibranium tattoos that decorated their skin, and the sight had Nia’s wheels turning. She had never really experimented much with her look, but they were giving her the inspiration to try something different.

Just as Nia began to ponder what body modification would look good on her, she felt someone grab her and yank her to the side of the street. She began to protest right as a streetcar full of people rolled by. Nia turned to thank her savior, smiling sheepishly when she realized it was Okoye.

“Watch where you’re going,” the general warned harshly and let go of Nia’s arm. The two of them joined T’Challa as he spoke to a snaggletoothed young boy who had proudly shown him the Black Panther action figure that he carried everywhere. The boy’s parents thanked the king for being so polite before they said goodbye and went on their way. Nia’s heart warmed a little at seeing T’Challa be so kind to them. He could have easily ignored the family or had Okoye intervene, but he seemed to enjoy interacting with his people. As the three of them continued on their journey, a small smile pushed up the corners of Nia’s mouth knowing he wasn’t as arrogant as she assumed.

Nia was almost overwhelmed by the many shops they passed by. She could buy anything she wanted: jewelry, instruments, furniture, hats. It seemed like they had everything. However, she came to a halt when they walked by a store with colorful, hand-woven baskets hanging out front. The old lady that ran the shop noticed Nia staring and came forward to help her pick one out, but paused when she saw that the king was standing beside her. She saluted him fondly and turned to face his companion.

“Excuse me, how much for this one?” Nia asked the shopkeep as her fingers ran over the intricate patterns along the sides of a mid-sized sweetgrass basket.

“For you it is free,” the older woman said through a bright smile that crinkled her eyes. Before Nia could protest, she had already taken it down and pushed it into her arms.

“Are you sure? I can pay-”

“Just tell people where you got it,” the woman winked before going back inside to help a customer that was ready to check out.

Nia couldn’t believe how kind the woman had been to give her the gift, but her amazement was cut short by T’Challa leaning in close and ruining the moment.

“Just one of the perks of traveling with the king,” he teased.

Nia rolled her eyes and stepped away from him, continuing down the street with her basket swinging in the crook of her elbow. She had been so caught up in her surroundings that she hadn’t noticed the stares from passersby and began to get a little self-conscious. A few people even snapped a picture or two of the king and his elusive friend, some of which would surely end up on gossip blogs by the end of the day.

Her nervousness was short-lived and quickly got replaced with longing when they turned the corner and walked right through the food district. Not only did the colorful produce stands call to her, but the smells of curries and grilled meats continuously pulled her attention from left to right. However, when a deliciously sweet aroma tickled her nose, she stopped dead in the middle of the road.

“Where is that coming from?” Nia sniffed the air and veered off the main street as she followed the scent to a man that was serving up deep-fried sweet plantain on a stick, drizzled with chocolate. T’Challa kept a close eye on Nia but stayed back and let her wander up to the dessert cart alone. He watched as she engaged the man in conversation and saw her come alive when she tasted the sample he provided her. A small smile crept up the king’s face, but his amusement was cut short by Okoye clearing her throat next to him.

“My king,” she started, and he turned slightly in her direction, nodding for her to continue as he kept his eyes on Nia. “If I may...what exactly is her purpose here with us?”

“Nia is a devotee of Bast, and I believe she may be helpful in our attempts to understand what has happened to her,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Okoye sensed his unwillingness to go further into detail and grew quiet again as Nia damn near skipped back over to them with her hands full.

“Here you go,” Nia sang as she held out two of the desserts for them to take. “He saw I was with the king and gave me three for free!”

Neither of them was hungry, but they just couldn’t say no to her big, childlike eyes.

“Thank you,” T’Challa waved to the man behind the counter and took a bite of the dessert, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. “Mmm”

“See? It’s amazing,” Nia said with a mouth full of plantain. Even Okoye had to agree.

The three of them ate their midmorning snack as they strolled through the streets, eventually making their way to a much quieter section on the outskirts of the busy city center. Just as Nia finished licking the last bit of chocolate from the wooden stick, she came face to face with an ancient-looking stone building that didn’t quite fit the vibe of the modern neighborhood. Her eyes zeroed in on the large statue at the entrance. It was a being with the body of a man and the head of an ibis holding a scroll in one hand and a staff in the other.

“Welcome to the flagship branch of the Wakandan Public Library,” T’Challa said proudly.

While Nia loved a good library, she was a little confused about why they were there. “I thought we were going to a temple.”

T’Challa wiggled his eyebrows as he stepped past her, climbing the steps with Okoye in tow, “This is the temple.”

Nia’s curiosity got the best of her, and she followed behind the king and his general. They threw their sticks away in the trash cans outside of the doors that swished open as they approached. Nia hadn’t expected the building to have such modern technologies based on the look of it, but she surmised the library would have a few more surprises up its sleeves.

“Kumkani wam!”

All three of their heads turned towards the woman behind the large marble desk as she scrambled to salute the king, dropping the small stack of books from her arms. T’Challa quickly rounded the desk and smiled at her as he crouched down to pick the books off of the floor. Before she could stoop down to help him, he had already placed them neatly on the desk.

“T-thank you, my king,” the woman stammered and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Never in her life had she imagined she would be so close to royalty, much less her biggest crush. “What can I do for you?”

“Well…” he started, trailing off to get her name.

“Fatima, sir.”

“What a beautiful name,” he flirted innocently and leaned on the cool marble as Nia and Okoye both fought their eyes from rolling to the ceiling. Okoye was used to his flirtatious manner making women swoon at his feet, but it still irked her to no end. They had a job to do, and he was wasting time. Nia, however, felt the tiniest tinge of something deep in her gut as she watched him make eyes at the beautiful librarian. She waved it off as annoyance since she still wasn’t the king’s biggest fan. Adding “womanizer” to her list of reasons not to like him certainly tipped the scales further away from him, balancing out his actions from earlier.

Fatima giggled as she struggled to make eye contact with the handsome king, “Thank you, your highness.”

“Please, call me T’Challa,” he implored, resting his hand over his heart and flashing his irresistible smile.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that-”

“I insist.”

Okoye cleared her throat, and T’Challa’s eyes reluctantly shot in her direction.

“Anyway, Fatima, we were wondering if Abdu is in today,” T’Challa continued as he straightened up and stood to his full height, making Fatima swoon even more in his presence. Her eyes wandered down to his chest, but she snapped out of it and attempted to look him in the eye. Her knees nearly buckled under the intensity of his gaze, but she stood firm.

“Y-yes, he is, my ki-”

T’Challa reprimanded her with a simple raise of his right eyebrow, and she quickly corrected herself.

“I mean, T’Challa,” Fatima giggled once more. “I’ll go get him for you.”

“Thank you, Fatima,” he smiled down at her, watching as she walked away with a pep in her step and her hips twitching just a little more than usual.

Fatima disappeared behind a green velvet curtain, and when they were sure she was out of earshot, Nia and Okoye both turned to look at the king. They wore matching expressions of disapproval, but, for some reason, it stung to see on Nia’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“Must you flirt with every woman you see?” Okoye butted in, clearly exasperated by his antics.

Nia’s eyebrows jumped as a teasing smirk settled on her lips. “Oh, so this is a common occurrence?”

“You wouldn’t believe how many-”

“General,” T’Challa warned, and Okoye stopped talking.

Nia tried to contain a laugh, but it came out more like a snort than she intended. Just as T’Challa opened his mouth to make fun of her, Fatima appeared from behind the curtain with a heavy-set man with tortoiseshell glasses just a few steps behind her.

“T’Challa, my boy! Oh, excuse me, my king.” The man bowed sarcastically and crossed his arms in a salute. T’Challa waved him off with a smile and a click of his tongue, and the two men embraced each other. Nia had noticed T’Challa wasn’t really one to demand formalities, but the man’s familiarity with the king intrigued her.

“Abdu, how have you been?”

It had been several months since T’Challa last visited the library. Abdu had worked and worshipped there for decades and had watched the king grow into the man before him. Some of T’Challa’s fondest childhood memories consisted of him spending hours curled up in the stacks, flipping through whatever book caught his eye that day. Abdu would bring him story after story for him to get lost in, and the older man never tired of T’Challa’s curiosity. No matter how many questions he threw at him.

“Getting old, but I can’t complain,” the much shorter man said as they pulled apart. He looked around T’Challa and noticed his company. “Okoye, a pleasure to see you as always.”

“You as well, Abdu,” she smiled.

“And who might this lovely creature be?” Abdu asked as his gaze fell on Nia. She bristled at his choice of words but said nothing. Even as a child, she had always been sensitive to the word “creature” and felt it offensive to refer to non-humans as such. She knew he had no idea about her bloodline, though, and since he meant no harm she simply ignored the terminology.

“Nia Olu, sir,” she introduced herself with a nod of her head, and he returned the gesture.

“Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. And what is it that you do, Nia Olu?”

“I am a healer and a devotee of Bast.”

“A devotee, huh? Well, I think we will get along nicely,” he smiled warmly at her before turning back to the king. “What can I do for you all today?”

“Well, actually, Nia is a big part of why we’re here,” T’Challa began. “It seems Bast has gone missing. Neither of us has been able to contact her as of late.”

“Are you a priestess?” Abdu asked Nia, confused as to why a simple devotee would be partnered with the king for such a task. Okoye felt vindicated by his questioning but stayed quiet.

“No, sir.”

“Then, I must say, I’m a little confused on how you would have a direct connection to her-”

“She is highly favored in the goddess’ eyes,” T’Challa cut in, hoping his vague answer would be enough to dissuade Abdu from asking too many questions. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to hide anything from a priest of the god of wisdom, but he also knew he couldn’t give away Nia’s full identity. “We were wondering if maybe you could see if Thoth knows where she is or why she isn’t answering.”

Abdu could tell there was something else to the story, but decided not to press the subject. He figured that if the king felt it was important enough to keep from him, then he had to trust his judgment.

The priest nodded and motioned for the three of them to follow him. T’Challa winked at Fatima before falling in step with Abdu, and once again, Nia’s and Okoye’s eyes struggled to remain straight ahead as they followed behind the two men.

Nia couldn’t help but stare in awe at the rows and rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves they passed as they walked through the centuries-old library. She imagined herself spending hours combing through the texts and soaking up whatever knowledge held, just like she did with the many books Amare provided her with as a child. Her daydreaming was cut short when they passed through the children’s section, and she noticed a display of picture books, one of which caught her eye. There, on the cover, was a colorful illustration of an aziza sitting in a tree, watching over a group of children as they played in the grass below him.

Before she knew it, Nia had grabbed the book and started flipping through the pages, scanning the words and pictures for any sign of historical truth. She found none, but her hope didn’t die out. Maybe, just maybe the library held onto more of the past than the Wakandans realized. She knew magical creatures were relegated to folktales, but she began to wonder how many of those tales were historically accurate, if any. She hadn’t noticed that the others had stopped and were watching her tear through the book like it held the secrets to the universe.

“You like that one? It’s a fairly new release. Very popular with the children,” Abdu said, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“Nia?” the king called out to her.

She jumped and dropped the book, but T’Challa caught it before it could hit the ground.

“Yeah? Sorry, I just…” Nia trailed off, unsure of what to say. All three of them looked at her curiously, but when T’Challa’s eyes graced the cover, he understood why she had been called to it. “Are there many stories like this?”

“Of aziza?” Abdu asked for clarification, and Nia nodded. “Sure! Kids love fantastical creatures. You know, some of them even swear up and down that they’ve seen them in real life.”

T’Challa and Nia shared a quick glance as he set the book back where she found it. Of course, Okoye caught their quick exchange.

“Such wild imaginations,” Nia murmured, and the group continued on their trek. She was quiet for a moment as she tried to figure out the best way to word her next question when she decided to just go for it. “Abdu, is there any mention of, um, species that are no longer around in any of these books?”

T’Challa looked at her knowingly out of the corner of his eye. He knew what she was getting at, and he was curious about Abdu’s answer. After seeing Nia’s book the day before, his mind had begun to wonder about ancient Wakandan texts. She had told him that they coexisted long ago, so there had to be some evidence hidden deep in the bowels of the library. If there was proof anywhere, it was here.

“Of course!” Abdu said excitedly and pointed to the far left wall. “Species naturally go extinct all the time. If that interests you, check out our history section over there.”

Nia and T’Challa both cataloged that information for later and started mentally planning their next visits.

The deeper they traveled into the vast library, a tingling grew in Nia’s stomach. There was great power there, and she could feel it. The tingling intensified as they arrived at a large door with an image of Thoth that had been hand-carved by artisans long ago.

“We’ll take it from here, Okoye,” T’Challa ordered, and the general nodded before standing at attention with her back to the door. Then, his eyes fell to Nia. “Ready?”

“I think…”

“That’ll serve you well here,” Abdu joked as he pushed open the heavy door.

Nia wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting to see, but a winding staircase certainly wasn’t on her list of possibilities. The three of them quietly descended the steps, and all that could be heard was the sounds of their sandals connecting with the stone as they went. After what seemed like forever, Abdu came to a halt at another large door and turned to face his visitors.

“You must enter with pure intentions and a cool head, or he will not answer. Understood?”

Nia and T’Challa answered in unison.

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Abdu smiled at them and reached for the handle, pushing it open and revealing what looked to be a private study. The lamps along the stone walls lit up when they entered, and Nia was once again amazed at how the ancient seemed to flawlessly combine with the modern. As she looked around, she noticed that instead of books, there were scrolls stacked neatly on the shelves. A high-backed chair sat behind a large wooden desk with several scrolls strewn about it, and in the center of the room, there was a stone lectern that looked like it had been there since the dawn of time. Colorful pillows surrounded it on the floor, and next to it stood another statue of Thoth. This time, his hands were out and he was holding a staff that resembled the one from the statue out front, except this one was made of gold. This one was real, and it made the hairs on the back of Nia’s neck stand at attention.

Abdu made his way over to the closest shelf and grabbed a scroll from the top of the stack. He then crossed the room again and stood behind the lectern. When he unrolled the scroll, Nia and T’Challa were both surprised to find that it was blank. They watched with bated breath as he produced a shiny gold pen from his pocket and removed the staff from the statue’s arms.

“You two, come sit down,” Abdu said to them, pointing to the floor pillows.

They obeyed his order, and each grabbed a pillow. T’Challa sat cross-legged while Nia carefully placed her new basket on the floor and tucked her feet under her. They waited patiently while Abdu mumbled a prayer under his breath. Despite T’Challa’s enhanced hearing, he could barely make out what Abdu was saying, but the more he spoke, the colder the room became. The priest continued his prayers for several minutes until the staff began to glow with blinding orange light and his mouth snapped shut tight. A soft breeze blew through the room as his eyes glowed the same color as the staff, and the pen in his left hand started to frantically scribble words onto the formerly blank scroll. His hand moved faster than humanly possible, and Nia recognized what was happening as a possession. She bowed her head in the god’s presence and nudged T’Challa in his side to do the same. He followed suit, but neither of their eyes left Abdu, too curious to look away.

It seemed like forever had come and gone as the two sat in silence, watching in awe while Abdu filled the scroll as he channeled Thoth. The only sound that filled the air was the fast-moving pen on the papyrus and a faint humming from the staff, but suddenly, it all stopped. The staff’s light waned, and Abdu blinked his eyes back to their normal shade of hazel. He carefully placed the staff back in the statue’s hands and read over the words he had been given from his god. A frown appeared on the priest’s face, and Nia made eye contact with T’Challa. Neither one felt good news was coming.

“Well,” Abdu broke the tense silence, “to sum it up, it seems Thoth hasn’t seen or heard from Bast in several weeks. He says that’s very unlike her, as I’m sure you know, T’Challa.”

The king nodded. “Is there anything else? Did he say where she might be?”

“Oh, he said plenty, but not about your question. He can be quite long-winded at times,” Abdu murmured as he scanned the text once more to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. He then looked down at his two visitors with an apology in his eyes. “I wish I could’ve been of more help.”

T’Challa stood from his seated position and reached a hand out to Nia. She swatted it away and stood on her own, straightening out her long, flowing skirt before sending Abdu a warm smile. “Thank you for trying.”

“It was a pleasure, my dear.”

“So,” Nia turned to the king, “where to next?”

--------

The smile never left Okoye’s face as she landed the Talon in an open field and proudly led them to their next destination. They had traveled to Okoye’s hometown in the Mining province, and she nodded at her former neighbors as they waved to get her attention. It wasn’t often that she could return to Birnin Djata, but since she was on duty, she had to remain professional.

The town was much smaller than Birnin Zana, and the walk to the temple was much shorter this time around. A few moderately-sized dwellings lined the road to the temple, and Nia could see the town square in the distance. They passed groups of miners boarding and exiting the trains that took them to and from work, and Nia couldn’t help but wonder what all that vibranium looked like up close.

When they arrived at the temple, Nia was pleasantly surprised that this one actually looked like a place of worship. The wall that surrounded it looked as old as time, but the vibranium door in the center had to be no more than a hundred years old. A strange sound echoed from inside, and although Nia thought she recognized it, she was confused on why it was coming from a temple of all places.

“Is something wrong? What’s going on in there?” she asked with concern, making Okoye’s smile expand and her eyes light up.

“Sparring.”

Nia’s confusion grew, and she turned to T’Challa for clarification.

“Kokou is the god of war. Fighters often train here, and many of his followers go on to become great warriors. Including Okoye,” he explained.

“Ohhh, ok.”

Okoye led them up the temple’s steps, and Nia’s attention was drawn to the rows of fire that lined the walkway. As the party of three got closer to the doors, they slowly parted to grant them access. Loud shouts and grunts came from the right, and Okoye led them down the hallway, directly towards the noise.

Nia watched excitedly as the warriors-in-training sparred with one another. Fists connected with flesh, spears sliced through the air, and fighters seemed to glide across the padded floor. She recognized some of the fighting styles and thought back to her younger days when Amare took it upon himself to teach her some of the combat skills he had to learn for his days as a secret operative. Even though she was a healer, Nia sure was scrappy and could hold her own. It had been a while, though, and she was sure she had forgotten her training over the years.

A bell rang on the other side of the training room, and all of the fighting ceased. Okoye bowed her head in deference as a tall, muscular older woman in red emerged from an observation room and smiled softly in her direction.

“My king,” the woman saluted T’Challa, making all of the fighters whip their heads around and salute him as well. The woman crossed the floor as her trainees stood at attention, and grabbed Okoye’s hands in hers. “Okoye, my dear, it has been too long.”

“Priestess Yaa, how good to see you.”

“And my king, welcome to the Temple of Kokou.”

“Thank you, priestess.”

“What brings you here?” she asked before shooting a sly glance at Okoye. “You never come visit anymore, so I know it must be important.”

“My apologies for keeping her from you,” T’Challa interjected.

“None needed. I knew when Okoye became general that she would have little time for us anymore,” Yaa waved him off and smiled proudly at Okoye before her eyes fell to Nia. “And who is this?”

“Nia Olu,” she respectfully bowed her head.

“And you are a fighter too, no?”

“Um, not exactly. My father taught me how to fight when I was young, but I am a healer and a devotee of Bast.”

This was the first T’Challa had heard of her knowledge of combat, and he wondered what else he didn’t know about her.

“I’m sure it’s still in there somewhere. You have a warrior’s spirit.”

Nia was surprised by the priestess’ comment but thanked her nonetheless.

“Priestess Yaa, we have a problem that you might be able to help us solve,” the king stated.

Yaa nodded and called to her class, “Keep sparring. I’ll be back.”

The room came alive again, and Nia couldn’t help but watch the dozens of bodies moving about with powerful grace as they fought.

Yaa gestured for them to follow her, and she led them around a corner to get away from all the noise. “How can I help you, my king?”

“Bast is missing, and we would like to ask Kokou if he knows where she is,” he cut straight to the point, and Yaa appreciated his brevity.

She gestured again, and the four of them relocated to the other side of the temple. They entered a large, empty room with nothing except a wall of ancient weapons and a huge, raging fire pit in the center.

“This eternal flame was gifted to us by Kokou many millennia ago as a way of contacting him,” Yaa narrated. “In order for him to answer, you will each have to give a sacrifice.”

“I didn’t bring anything to-”

“Blood, dear. You sacrifice blood. He is the god of war, after all,” Yaa chuckled as she glided over to the wall of weapons. Her fingers danced along the flat side of the blade of a vibranium dagger with a red and gold hilt before wrapping her hand firmly around the grip and removing it from its position. Yaa tested the weight of it in her hand as she rejoined the group. Without warning, she sliced her palm open and allowed her blood to drip into the flame. The priestess noticed the look of horror on Nia’s face and attempted to quell her fears. “Don’t worry; you’ll only need a drop or two.”

Okoye was first to step up, pressing the dagger’s tip into her hand and drawing a small amount of blood. She handed the dagger to T’Challa as she made a fist and let her blood droplets fall into the fire pit. The king did the same before passing the dagger to Nia. She looked at it apprehensively, but T’Challa continued to hold it out for her to take.

“Go on, dear,” Yaa urged. “We will heal you up after.”

Nia and T’Challa locked eyes as they were both reminded of the night they became reacquainted with one another. T’Challa’s wound would quickly heal on its own, but she wouldn’t be able to use her powers to heal herself in Yaa’s and Okoye’s presence. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the feeling of her palm stinging with the memory of alcohol pads. T’Challa knew where her mind had wandered to and took her formerly injured hand in his as he ran his thumb over her palm.

“It won’t be as bad as last time,” he whispered so only Nia could hear him. “Just a little cut, ok?”

Nia’s mouth dried up, and her eyes traveled to Okoye and Yaa. The priestess seemed intrigued by his tenderness towards her, but the irritation on Okoye’s face was clear as day. Nia remembered that he was a serial charmer and removed her hand from his. She reached for the dagger and quickly pricked her finger, squeezing a couple of droplets into the flame.

Yaa set the dagger aside to be cleaned and watched as the flames grew in intensity. All four of them stepped back when the fire surged towards the sky and took the vague shape of a man.

“Kokou,” Yaa fell to her knees, and the others followed her lead. “Thank you for answering our call.”

“Where is the fight?” his voice boomed around the expansive room as what looked to be his head swiveled from side to side taking in the four who summoned him. He had no eyes, but Nia felt his gaze land on her and linger for a moment too long.

“There is no fight this time, but we have an inquiry,” Yaa said as she stood.

“Very well,” Kokou’s voice rang out again, and the flames whipped in T’Challa’s direction. “What is so important that the king requires my assistance? Have you not a god of your own?”

T’Challa looked to Yaa for reassurance as he began to stand, and she nodded for him to continue. “Yes, I do, but she is missing.”

“Missing?! What do you mean missing?”

“She has not spoken to me in weeks, and Thoth has not seen or heard from her either.”

Kokou turned back to Nia. “And you have not heard from her?”

“No, sir,” Nia stood tall as she answered him.

“I am surprised she has not spoken to you of all...people,” he said with a mischievous lilt in his voice. Nia stilled as she realized that he knew what she was. She slyly made eye contact with T’Challa, and though his expression was unreadable, she knew he had to have heard it, too.

“You know, blood can tell you a lot about a person...or being,” Kokou began to pace around the large fire pit. “Who they are, what their lineage is...you, Nia, are very special. But I am sure you know that already, don’t you?”

Nia ignored the confused stares from Yaa and Okoye and stared straight into where she assumed Kokou’s eyes to be. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“Kokou-”

“Patience, your highness,” the god chastised T’Challa, “I was getting to it. I just had to take a little detour first since you brought me such an interesting young lady. Now, to answer your question: sorry to disappoint, but no. I do not know where Bast is. I wish I did, though; she is an excellent sparring partner.”

Nia and T’Challa both deflated a little bit. They had hoped for a better answer than that.

“Thank you, Kokou,” T’Challa spoke with his head bowed to the god. The others did the same, and just as quickly as he had appeared, Kokou was gone.

--------

“Third time’s the charm,” T’Challa mumbled as he held the intricate iron gate open. Nia and Okoye walked through, and the general was blown away by the beauty before them. The botanical gardens sat on a protected stretch of land on the border between the Mining and River provinces, but people from all over the country traveled there to witness its splendor.

Nia, however, was no stranger to the gardens. She made sure to visit a few times a year just to sit and commune with the diverse group of plants, but she never knew it doubled as a place of worship. She liked that the gardens were never full of people, and depending on how deep she veered off the main walkways, she could avoid the public altogether. Except for the delightful presence of one of the attendants, Nia always managed to find solitude and serenity among the plants of the botanical gardens.

“Has this always been Mujaji’s temple?” she asked as the three of them followed the long, winding path that led to the greenhouses in the back of the gardens.

“As far as I’m aware. Why?”

“It’s just that I’ve been here before, and I never knew. I always felt like there was...something here, but I just assumed I was feeling the energy from all of the plants.”

“You can do that?” Okoye asked, and she caught another shared glance between Nia and the king. They had been doing that all day, and she was growing tired of it.

Nia opened her mouth to try to fix her slip-up, but she was saved when a young woman about her age emerged from behind a mango tree and recognized her colorful headwrap.

“Nia?”

“Sukutai!”

Nia ran over to her, and the women embraced. A smile crept up T’Challa’s cheeks at seeing Nia’s faint glow again, but, unfortunately, it seemed that Okoye might have seen it as well. The king ignored her pointed stares and continued to watch Nia and the woman from afar.

“What are you doing here? It’s been months since I saw you last!” Sukutai playfully scolded her before leaning in like she had a secret to tell. “You have to see the new fire lily blooms; I know they’re your favorite.”

“They are,” Nia chuckled, “but I’m here on business today.”

“Business?”

Nia gestured behind her, and Sukutai’s eyes widened in shock as she finally noticed T’Challa and Okoye standing in the distance.

“My apologies, my king,” she quickly saluted him, but he waved her off.

“None needed. Any friend of Nia’s is a friend of mine.”

Sukutai’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline as she turned back to Nia. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but how come you never told me you knew the king?”

“He’s new,” Nia shrugged nonchalantly.

Sukutai shook her head fondly at her friend as T’Challa and Okoye came to stand next to her.

“What brings you to my humble garden, your highness?”

“I would say this is anything but humble, priestess,” he chuckled. This time it was Nia’s turn to be surprised.

“Priestess?!”

“Yeah, I don’t like to advertise it,” Sukutai shrugged.

“Well, I guess we both have our secrets,” Nia teased, making her friend giggle.

“I guess we do.”

“Sukutai, we are here because we need to speak with Mujaji. Bast is missing and-”

“You need to see if he knows where she is.”

“Yes,” T’Challa nodded.

“Right this way,” Sukutai said as she stuck her elbow out for Nia. She wrapped her arm around it, and the two of them took off, chatting about the flora they passed on the way.

Sukutai led them to the back of the botanical gardens towards the greenhouses. There were several smaller ones scattered around that were about the size of Nia’s home, but the very last greenhouse was huge. It stood about two stories tall and expanded across an acre of land.

“How did I miss this?” Nia wondered aloud.

“You weren’t looking for it,” Sukutai winked. “Too distracted by the pretty flowers, as usual.”

“You should really pay more attention to your surroundings, Nia,” T’Challa teased, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Despite the fact that she was still very hesitant to trust Nia, Okoye had to stifle a chuckle at her attitude. It was refreshing for her to see a woman that seemed to be immune to his charms.

The four of them entered the greenhouse, and Nia was amazed at what she saw. Instead of beautiful flowers and lush trees and bushes, there were rows and rows of crops.

“I knew you had some fruit trees, but I didn’t know you grew other foods here, too,” she said with her mouth wide open.

“We have to. Who do you think taught us how to work the land?”

Nia nodded as she soaked up Sukutai’s words. It had never occurred to her that the humans had to learn agriculture from somewhere...or someone. She wondered if aziza had learned from him, too, and if so, why hadn’t she heard about it? Were their history books incomplete, too? Nia’s train of thought was cut short as they arrived at the center of the greenhouse. There was a large patch of soil surrounded by an old stone wall no more than two feet tall. A small plaque near the opening caught the visitors’ eyes, and they crowded around to read it.

“The first garden?” Nia gasped, and her eyes traveled to the rich soil.

Sukutai smiled proudly, “That’s right. This is where Wakandans first learned how to grow sorghum. Mujaji’s magic still inhabits the land, and he allows us to speak to him through it.”

“How does it work?” T’Challa asked, equally in awe of the plot of land that allowed his people to prosper. Yes, they had vibranium, but what use would that be without the ability to feed themselves? Had they remained hunter-gatherers, they never would have gotten to where they are today.

“I’ll show you,” Sukutai said as she untied her shoes. “Nia, would you like to help?”

“M-me?”

“Yes, you, silly. You have the heart and hands of a gardener.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“First thing’s first, shoes off,” Sukutai instructed, and Nia slid out of her sandals. “Now, you see those jars full of seeds over there?”

Sukutai gestured behind them, and they all turned around to follow her line of vision.

“Yes,” Nia’s voice shook as she spoke.

“Don’t worry about what each one is. Just go pick whichever one calls to you.”

Nia nodded and padded her way over to the table covered in glass jars. She felt the power radiating from each one, but she felt compelled to pick up a small jar full of green coffee beans. Her hand instinctively reached out to touch it, but she pulled back and looked to the priestess for permission.

“Go ahead, take one,” Sukutai urged, and Nia carefully screwed the top off. She reached in and grabbed one of the beans, and walked back over to Sukutai.

“Ok, how does this work?”

“We start with a yes or no question. Let’s try ‘Do you know where Bast is?’ and go from there, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Follow me.”

Sukutai stepped onto the sacred land, and Nia did the same. The ground seemed to vibrate, and Nia’s face lit up. The slight glow returned to her skin, and this time Okoye was sure in what her eyes beheld. She quickly turned towards T’Challa, who looked at her out of the corner of his eye but kept quiet. He shifted his weight away from her nervously and continued to watch Nia and Sukutai work.

“You feel it too, huh?” Sukutai asked with a sly smile on her face.

“It feels...it feels like my feet are buzzing.”

Sukutai’s head cocked to the side, and her eyes narrowed as she tried to understand exactly what was happening. Nia obviously wasn’t a priestess of Mujaji, yet his magic spoke to her in some way. That wasn’t normal, and neither was the faint highlight that appeared on her skin.

“Yeah, it does,” she agreed and shook the suspicions out of her head. She knelt to the ground, and Nia followed suit. “Hold the seed in your hands, close to your face- yes, just like that. Now, close your eyes and let it feel your energy. When you are ready, speak to it. Ask your question.”

Nia shut her eyes and focused on the feeling of the seed in her hands. She pictured it growing big and strong, and after a few moments, her mouth was filled with the taste of coffee. It was ready. She brought it closer to her lips and whispered, “Do you know where Bast is?”

When she peeled her eyes open, she saw a huge grin on Sukutai’s face.

“You’re a natural.”

“Thanks,” Nia giggled. “What now?”

“Now you plant it.”

“Anywhere?”

“Wherever you choose.”

Nia studied the ground around her and turned a little to the left. She held the seed in her left hand as she made a small mound in the dirt with her right. She gave the seed one last glance before pushing it into the soil.

“No water?” she asked.

Sukutai shook her head with a mischievous smile, “No need.”

“Ok...so now we wait?”

“It won’t take long. Usually about-” Sukutai’s eyes widened. “Look!”

Four sets of eyes trained on the tiny green sprout that pushed up from the ground.

“It’s never happened that fast before.”

The sprout turned into a seedling, and the seedling matured right before their eyes. Just as hope began to fill the air, it left, and the coffee plant shriveled up. The leaves turned brown, then a murky black before decomposing entirely. Everyone’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and silence descended upon the group. Without even asking, they all knew it was a resounding “no.”

--------

The silence was thick on the ride back to Nia’s. Okoye flew the Talon with a million questions running through her mind, all of which seemed to come back to Nia. Who is she? What is she?

Nia left her position by the window, no longer interested in the ground below, and met T’Challa by his sand table. She watched for a moment as the molecules dispersed and recollected themselves in the shapes of the temples they just visited and the gods they just contacted. He chewed on his lip as he tried to put the pieces together, but there just wasn’t enough information.

“T’Challa?” Nia spoke softly to keep Okoye from hearing.

“Hm?” he grunted without looking up.

“What if the problem isn't in this realm?”

The king tore his eyes away from the table, and the sand fell flat.

“You are suggesting we go to the magic realm?”

“Again with the ‘we,’” she sighed. “No, I’m suggesting I go to the magic realm.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before calling out to Okoye, “General?”

“Yes, my king?”

“You will travel back to the palace alone-”

“No-” Nia tried to stop him.

“I will be staying with Nia a little while longer. I will call when I need you.”

“Yes, my king.”

Nia dragged her hand down her face, then immediately looked down and noticed the clay that had transferred to her palm. She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned in frustration, both at the king and at her careless mistake.

“T’Challa, I just said-”

“I know what you said,” he snipped, “but this is my kingdom, and I need to know what’s going on.”

“But-”

“I’m going with you, and that’s final.” He turned away and joined Okoye in the cockpit.

Nia sat off to the side and pouted the rest of the way home. When they arrived, Okoye reluctantly left the king behind and flew off to the palace.

“She could’ve just stayed outside, you know,” Nia fussed as they entered her home. “Now she definitely knows something is up.”

He rolled his eyes, “She knew something was up the moment you started glowing.”

Nia froze and mentally kicked herself for not using the glamor spell her ubaba had taught her. She was in such a rush that morning that it completely slipped her mind. The smug look on T’Challa’s face made her want to slap him, so she stormed down the hall to her bathroom to fix her facepaint. As soon as she finished, Nia heard the king make a strange noise and looked out to see what he had done. A laugh erupted from her belly as she watched the king stand on the couch to get away from Sego. He glared at her, but his eyes promptly fell back on the python that was too close for comfort.

“Call off your snake!”

“Python,” she giggled. “Sego, stop messing with him, please.”

Sego turned her way, and Nia could see the playful look in his eyes. He thoroughly enjoyed messing with the king. T’Challa climbed down from the couch and let out a calming breath as Sego slithered away to the kitchen.

“So the mighty Black Panther is scared of pythons, huh?” she mocked him as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Not scared...I just don’t like them.”

“Mhm. If it makes you feel any better, he’s not fully a python. He’s a shifter.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning sometimes he’s in his human form, sometimes he’s in his python form.”

T’Challa thought about it for a moment. “Actually, that does make me feel better. Thanks.”

Nia smirked and rolled her eyes.

“So,” T’Challa cleared his throat, “what now?”

“First, we go see my ubaba, then the queen.”

“Ok...how do we, you know, get there?”

“It’s easy,” she bragged as she walked over to him. “Give me your hand, and I’ll show you.”

Nia reached out to him, and when their hands connected, an image of the two of them sharing a feverish kiss popped into her mind. She gasped and pulled back as though she had touched a hot stove.

“What is it?!”

“N-nothing, I just,” she had to think of something quick. “My headwrap. I take it off when I go to the magic realm...to, uh, let my ears breathe, you know?”

“Um, ok.”

Nia hurried from the room and left T’Challa standing there, confused about what just happened. He knew she was lying despite the fact that her excuse had some semblance of truth to it. Thanks to the heart-shaped herb, T’Challa could hear her heartbeat, and something had caused her heart to almost beat out of her chest. His suspicions didn’t last for long, though, because when she came back from her room, his jaw dropped. Of course, he had noticed her beauty the first time, well the second time, he laid eyes on her, but as she came down the hallway fluffing her coils out into an afro that framed her face like an obsidian halo, he felt a knot form in his chest.

“Ready?” she asked, obviously over whatever had been bothering her.

“Yeah,” T’Challa cleared his throat. He was suddenly parched. “Ready.”

“Ok.” She grabbed his hands again, but this time there was no vision. Nia sighed in relief and looked him dead in his eyes as the atmosphere around them began to thicken. “Be cool. Don’t embarrass me.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @dersha89, @impremenior, @ljstraightnochaser, @love--life--passion, @yourstrulybrii

#cecewritessometimes #troubled waters #tchalla x oc #black!oc #black panther fanfic #black panther au #Youtube

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youarejesting · 3 years

Text

Sea [1/2]

Beta: @lillielil @aroseforyoongi @seokjinssymphony @kpooplifeforever @explosiveranga & my good friend Z (let me know if I left anyone out.) Rating: 17+ Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Fluff, Comedy, slow burn, slice of life. Words: 6.8k

Summary: After your plane to Korea takes an unexpected detour, you are stranded with someone you aren’t even sure speaks English. As the race begins to stay alive, emotions run high and tempers short. The unlikely contender in the survival race is love which snuck up on you both.

The thought of a thirteen-hour flight didn't bring you much joy. Why would it? Being trapped in a small box with wings, not to mention being stuck in said box with multiple people breathing recycled farts and eating some sort of wet styrofoam they called food that would most definitely give you food poisoning. Oh yes, what a joy it would be to be in a seat for hours on end, letting your skin slowly dry up.

Arriving at the terminal, you stood waiting for them to start boarding. You would have been sitting if there was a single seat free. Seriously, some asshole had even dared to lay across no less than five and a half seats, his bag resting on the empty chair at the end.

He was wearing all black and looked comfortable in his jeans and hoodie. His black cap pulled down over his eyes and you could see the bleached blonde hair sticking out from underneath. Big chunky headphones on his ears made it possible for this man to drown out the world around him.

You glared at his legs, growing tired, knowing that within a few hours you would be begging for the chance to stand up. If you were to take a mental count, there hadn’t been any nice experiences you could recall in regards to traveling on a plane.

Did that reflect the quality of service or your standard of air travel? No. Obviously, your standards were realistic, not expecting the flight time any shorter or the staff to give a foot massage or anything outrageous.

You really didn't want any extra luxuries other than what was offered in the pamphlet — and yes, that meant you chose first-class — because if you were to suffer, you would do so in the best environment.

Unfortunately, the reality of it was that there was no better or more comfortable way to travel. Checking in, you would be boarding first before the other passengers, not really a privilege. However you got in line anyway behind the young man who had previously been lounging across the airport seats. He was holding up the line having lost his passport and you were getting more and more pissed.

You were simply just having a bad day.

A woman behind you started openly arguing, exclaiming that this man was not allowed to ride first class as he clearly wasn’t fit for it. Bringing up his style of dress and the headphones around his neck. You turned, glaring daggers at the woman until she became silent.

Society taught people to judge based on appearance, that everyone fit into a category, never mind the old adage to ‘never judge a book based on it’s cover’. Stil, you were always respectful and treated others equally, maybe even getting to know a person that you wouldn’t in other circumstances. It always surprised you how much you enjoyed taking a risk and getting to know them.

Once you showed your ticket and passport, you traveled down the long hall towards the plane. You saw the man in front of you talking with another man. He seemed to respect him and was reading him a schedule from his phone. You raised your eyebrows and smiled at the young stewardess who welcomed you on board. Her hair was pristine in a tight bun and her crisp, dark blue outfit was paired with a red scarf.

Stepping over the small gap, you felt the cold of the air conditioning, yet the air still felt thick. There were three places you could go to feel this type of cold: the dentist, an airplane, or the movies. First class was spacious with only a single cubicle on either side of the aisle. You took your seat. It was like personal rooms where you could close a sliding screen for more privacy, even though you were sitting next to someone, you wouldn't be able to see them at all.

The seats were more like arm chairs that one could lay back completely in, made with a brilliant blue leather. The cubicle room was complemented in a similar shade but with red features. You had a tv and a tiny minibar that had a small selection of drinks and snacks.

The flight attendants took all the passengers through the safety instructions. You could practically write them at this point. However they added a few things you had never heard. You had never heard such in-depth instructions going beyond the general life jackets, floatation devices, and first aid kits.

Never before had they told you about the airbags that would be deployed if you crash in the ocean. Apparently the emergency escape slides doubled as floatation devices and could hold up to one hundred and thirty people comfortably. They even explained how they detach these rafts from the fuselage and that they have ropes that allow them to be tied off to each other or the airframe.

Distracted by a tired male sighing beside you, you wondered who would fall asleep during the safety messages. Sure they were boring, but even you pretended to care. When you turned to see the culprit, he was disappearing behind the plastic divider of his cubicle dragged by his long pale fingers.

Well, at least you had some privacy. It was something you were thankful for, you wanted to get comfortable, or as comfortable as you could.

Perhaps these new instructions and information were deemed irrelevant to domestic flights. Or perhaps it was for the very enthusiastic kid they led through the first class discussing more of the plane's anatomy. “What if a wing falls off?”

“The plane is really sturdy, the wing wouldn’t just fall off” She grinned, “Let’s see what the pilot is doing and we can get your mum a picture wearing the captain's hat!”

After the flight attendants thanked everyone for listening, the plane took to the sky. You closed up all sides of your cubicle and requested to be only woken for meals. The stewardess was very diligent and for that you were grateful.

The journey was nearing the six hour mark and all that one could see was clouds and the ocean. The collection of empty water bottles were a poignant reminder to relieve your bladder.

You stood up and waddled determined to go to the bathroom. It was inconvenient to drink so much water but you didn't want to get dehydrated.

Feeling much better, you took a few minutes to look in the mirror and moisturise as your skin was feeling particularly dry already. Startled from your self care routine by a light rapping on the door, you packed up your things and pulled open the door. Unfortunately, at that moment, the plane shook.

It was like something from a romance novel, the way you fell against him and yet, there was nothing elegant or poetic in the way you fell against him.

Your face slammed into his chest and his head hit the wall with a heavy thud. "Sorry, I'm sorry"

"Shibal" he said, his language was something unlike you have ever heard, it was rhythmic and sounded like a song. His voice was so low and rumbly it almost sounded like he was purring.

You weren’t well versed in other languages or cultures, so you didn’t know what he was saying. This was your first time leaving your country. If it wasn’t for the damn holiday raffle at work, you wouldn’t have even left your house. Every other flight you had ever been on was domestic and therefore your suffering was short lived, but this flight was long and you were getting rather bored. It seemed your mind was reeling trying to absorb all that it could and currently that meant the poor man you had body slammed into the wall was under your perusal.

His body was thin unlike yours which was curvaceous. His hair was dark and shaggy making his pale skin almost ghostly. He had sharp cat-like eyes that were quite intimidating as they glared at you and his small downturned lips were yet to speak. He seemed like a man of few words. All this coldness was juxtaposed by his cute round nose. You could tell from his features that he was from Asia, but you couldn't pinpoint where.

Grabbing your shoulders, he started to push you off of him, when the plane shook again and you both fell back into the small bathroom. Your back hit the toilet, and a searing pain bloomed from the impact causing your body to lock up as it radiated through you.

The seat belt light came on. You both scrambled to your feet bumping into the walls, sink and each other from the unstable winds shaking the plane. Struggling back to your seats when the cabin pressure changed. There was a creaking sound and the plane started shaking. You immediately felt a sick sense of dread. The pilot spoke calmly about turbulence and requested everyone return to their seats. But the pair of you couldn't move down the aisle to your seats.

There was a sound like a car backfiring and someone from economy class shouted about the wing being on fire. Your grip on the young man's coat tightened and a terrifying sound like metal groaning filled the cabin. That didn’t sound like regular turbulence, you were sure of that.

Sharing a horrified look with the young man, you got up the courage to try to push off from the wall. Unsuccessful, you were once more pressed against the wall. The plane was plummeting. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the emergency box. What was this emergency and what in that box could fix this situation?

"You need to return to your seats,” the stewardess said. The smell of smoke was strong and it filled the inside of the plane quickly. You hadn’t even seen the stewardess trying to climb through the plane. Her grip strained on the walls and seats as she fought against the force pushing her back. “We are making an emergency landing."

The metal sound was louder. Shrieking like nails on a chalkboard, it pierced through the cabin. You watched as the side of the plane ripped completely off with the ease of someone removing the plastic off a new fridge. There was a feeling of being weightless before a drop on a roller coaster, and then it was like your stomach was left behind. The stewardess was sucked out from the cabin behind you.

You and the young Asian man were sliding backwards down the aisle trying to find something to grab onto. The floor in first class was some sort of linoleum and gave you a nasty burn as you slid. It was like fire against your skin. As the pilot fought with the plane, you practically bounced off every seat.

It felt like you were weightless for a brief moment as you were lifted off the ground, your back hit the roof before you smacked the floor again. All the wind had been knocked out of you.

The pilots were fighting against the drop, so in the moment of calm before the plummet, you grabbed the leg of an economy class seat as it was bolted to the ground. You looked at the young man, watching the panic as he realized he was too far away to hold on and dangerously close to the large opening. He began slipping out of the plane, his hands flailing before clamping around your ankle. The two of you were almost hanging outside the plane.

Everyone in economy class was panicking and wearing oxygen masks. No wonder you couldn’t breathe. Gasping for breath, you cursed yourself for liking all those action movies that made this look easy.

“Hold on!” You all but screamed more to yourself than the poor guy holding your leg. He was being completely battered by the wind. You felt his hands slipping and you reached down with one hand to grab his wrist and he grabbed yours. He looked thankful.

“Shibal,” he groaned, his voice straining. Your body was being stretched. The cold metal was unforgiving, and it tore apart the skin on your palm. Your eyes were watering in protest to the wind and smoke that was drying them out.

The drink trolley that the stewardesses had been moving through the aisles had gotten loose and went flying down the plane. It hit an old man in the back of the head. You knew he wouldn’t make it, and speaking of, it was headed straight for you. You watched in fear, like some horrifying game of chicken as the trolley came for you. Thankfully, it bounced on the floor inches from your hand and flew out of the plane.

It was a mix of flinching and the force of the wind that made your hand on the chair slip. You slid further out of the plane, grabbing the exposed shell of the plane with your free hand. Your other hand desperately clutching the young man's hand watching in horror as he smacked into the side of the plane unconscious. “Shit!”

His body was limp and you had to do something. With all the strength you had, you tried to pull his flailing form closer to protect him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the ocean quickly advancing. You were going to hit the water.

The breeze pressing against you was fierce. Your eyes were dry, making you think of your eyedrops in your carry-on luggage. You could see the water coming up quicker now; you tried to gauge what would be a survivable height. Knowing you had a higher chance of surviving freediving as opposed to hanging halfway from the plane, where you would both slam head first into the plane. You decided to take the leap.

Screaming in absolute terror as you watched the fast approaching water, you let go just in time. It was equivalent to a few stories on a building from the ground. Wrapping him in your arms, you pointed yourselves down deciding to break the fall. Lifting your free hand above your head like you were doing a high dive, you hit the water. It was such a shock, the liquid was so cold it caused your muscles to lock up.

Your adrenaline was pumping, and one of your arms felt numb and unresponsive. You swam oddly to the surface, gasping when you felt the air on your skin. He was unconscious, and you held his face out of the water.

The plane wasn't too far away and for now was on the surface of the water. The emergency exit inflatable slide, which doubled as a raft, had been deployed but no survivors seemed to climb out.

You swam in a side stroke to keep your damaged arm and the young man's unconscious form out of the water. You hoped he was going to be okay. The only thought in your head was making it to the raft and you were doing everything in your power to get there, even contemplating leaving him behind. But you weren't going to give up, a part of you wanted to prove you could do it.

Reaching the raft felt euphoric. Taking a deep breath you pushed him into the raft. Doing a quick check of his head and body, you noticed he was breathing oddly. You turned him on his side and tried to clear his airway. A little bit of water trickled out before you performed CPR. Your saving grace came when he coughed and spluttered, placing him in the recovery position and hoping he would be okay on his own for a moment. You looked around for any more survivors. There was luggage floating around, and you picked up all you could from the water.

Walking along the inflatable back into the plane, the water was not as high in first class. This was probably due to the hole in the plane in the economy. The right side being the only one of the inflatables that had inflated beside the plane. Keeping the plane precariously afloat balancing on two inflatables which had malfunctioned and inflated under the plane.

Moving quickly and wading through the icy water, you grabbed the emergency kits on the wall. You had passed by deceased passengers and tried not to look. It was eerie and unbelievable even though it had only just happened.

Bags littered the water and you guided them towards the exit and put them on the raft. You could save these people's possessions for their family, or there could be items inside that could be of use and save your life.

You also noticed the flight attendant area and raided the cupboards as quickly as you could. You grabbed the medical kit, some slippers, a range of very thin blankets that were wet and even some snacks carrying everything back to the floatation rafts. As an afterthought you braved a second trip back into the plane to grab your and the other man’s overhead luggage as you knew he would likely appreciate it.

Finding a bunch of cell phones floating around the cabin. You grabbed them all hoping one would be waterproof. You found a few that were still turned on, but only one seemed to have some sort of signal. The plane creaked as you started making the emergency call.

“Come on” you begged the phone to connect. The whole plane creaked again and tilted; it wouldn’t last long. You had desperately searched for survivors but there was no one obviously alive. You tried your best to check their vitals, but time was running out. Hopefully, you wouldn’t be cursed for pronouncing everyone dead.

"Hello, this is an emergency service hotline?" A voice cut through the silence, you looked at the phone about to cry in relief "fire, ambulance or police"

"Hello, we were in a plane crash, my name is y/n, we were on a flight from Los Angeles to Seoul"

"What is your location?" the woman said, confused by your description.

"The ocean" you hissed "we are on a life raft"

"How many people are with you, what are their names?"

"Just one. I don't know his name. He is asian. Um really thin, um, has dark hair and—”

"You seem to be breaking up" the emergency operator said with the voice cutting out. You looked down at the phone in your hand and sighed. Of course, if everything was going wrong, a phone in the middle of the ocean apparently won’t save you. You thought to yourself, ‘it is 2021 so why isn’t service available everywhere?’ Pocketing the phone you began making your way out the plane.

You headed back to the inflatable and made the decision to cut the plane free. Scared that it would bring the raft down with it. Grabbing more luggage from the water, you thought it best not to watch the plane sink. It would only make you feel worse.

The time went by slowly. It took hours for the plane to disappear. Even though you had promised yourself not to look, you had. Taking glances as the plane slowly sank and you drifted further away.

The moment the plane was no longer in sight, you curled up and let the tears fall. The sun began setting and the heat turned into a bitter cold. Your wrist was still quite swollen, and you decided to wrap it as you drifted along. You had been so sure that there would be something or someone to see you drifting, and you would be saved.

However one cold night became two, and then three, only breaking for the scorching heat of the day.

You thanked yourself for watching all those ‘lost on an island’ movies and television shows; you had learned some things along the way. You also had your father to thank for always dragging you along to the volunteer emergency services programs, ones where you learned how to survive in a forest. At the time you thought it was super lame for your friends to go to nice hotels by the beach for their holidays and you were making some sort of mealworm dish while making stick shelters.

Going over the information you had in your head, you knew water was the priority. The instructor had said humans can go three weeks without food, three days without water, three hours without shelter and three minutes without air.

The sun would dehydrate you quickly. You had made a small shelter with luggage and blankets to protect you from the sun.

If you didn’t find land, you were going to have to make some sort of man-made evaporation device to create water. As it was, you were slowly getting the unconscious young man to drink little amounts of bottled water, for he too needed to stay hydrated.

The man you were with had awoken the third day. He seemed a little freaked out about being alone at sea. You explained calmly, not wanting him to do anything drastic and he sat there processing things.

You gave him a bottle of water and something to eat. The two of you continued drifting, not speaking a word to one another. You spent most of the time trying to craft something to float on the ocean and create clean drinking water.

(This evaporation device floats on the ocean and mimics rain by the water droplets sticking to the plastic cover over the whole device when weighted in the middle it then drips back down into a bottle. I can find a reference picture if you need. [Here] [Here] [This one is like what I made in 7th grade camp])

But you couldn’t get the water to land in the bottle and the bottle to stay upright. He was no help, just laying in the shelter out of the sun. The raft was big enough for about one hundred and thirty people. And yet, the two of you sat close by and didn’t say a word.

You were covered in sweat and felt absolutely disgusting. It was time for you to get changed. What a stupid way to die, not from dehydration, or malnourishment, or even sun exposure, but from lack of hygiene. It was decided.

“I am getting changed, don’t look,” you breathed, opening your carry-on bag.

“I don’t want look,” he muttered back in English and turned away. You quickly put on something that covered your shoulders and tried getting some rest. You didn't want to alarm him, but you both had consumed the last of the water and food rations.

It was late that night when you heard a different sound. The raft was moving a lot more. These were big waves and a part of you hoped it was not a tsunami or whale activity.

When the sound got louder, you were reminded of the beach when waves crashed on the sand. Looking up, you saw something big approaching. It was a body of land. Suddenly, your chances of survival greatly increased, now that you had a way to get out of the water. Nervous about putting your hands in the pitch black water, you looked at your companion peacefully sleeping and made the decision to paddle slowly. Anything to increase your chances of getting to safety. You eventually washed up on the beach, arms aching and stepped out to drag the raft onto the sand.

It was late and still dark, but you had to do something. Thinking that perhaps if you found someone, you would both be saved straight away. You waited on the raft until the sky lightened, and then you got to work collecting sticks and starting a small fire. You took the empty water bottles, hoping to find a clean water source or some fresh water that you could boil.

You walked to the highest point in sight, not seeing any signs of large predatory animals was a good sign. When you reached the top, you felt a sense of satisfaction as you had overcome the many trials and tribulations. You made it through a plane crash, survived on the water, and made it to land.

Looking around, you saw something bone-chilling. This was an island and judging by the lack of people, houses or establishments, it was uninhabited. There was no civilization to be seen. You saw the tufts of smoke from your fire and tried not to cry. You were stuck here until someone could rescue you.

Pushing the minor breakdown aside, you thought about water, it was important. Scanning the island, there seemed to be a small waterfall and tiny lagoon at the bottom. Since the rain, the waterfall was running pretty fiercely. You mapped out a path back to the beach which would detour past the waterfall.

By the time you reached the beach, your arms were exhausted with the weight of the now filled water bottles. He was awake and briskly brushing his reddened cheeks with his sleeves, turning his back to you. Sympathising with the man who probably thought you died, fell overboard or abandoned him.

You pulled out the metal pot from the plane and began boiling the water, in an attempt to kill any bacteria in it. The tide was going out. you knew you should be thinking about food as the next priority, but you wanted to sleep. Being primarily awake for a few days was taking its toll.

It took everything in you to get yourself to move and get to work. Taking large rocks, you carried them into the water until you were knee-deep. You were building a V- shaped wall, so when the tide came in, it brought with it fish and when the tide went out, they would be trapped.

Pouring the now cooled water into the bottles, you started thinking about your plan. First, you thought about short-term needs, in case you were rescued soon, and then long-term needs, in the event you weren’t rescued for months or perhaps years. You paused, forcing yourself to think and accept the fact that there was a chance you would never be rescued.

The Asian man had gotten up and looked around hopefully. Handing him a now clean and sterile bottle of water, you frowned looking around with him. "There is no one here." He didn't say a word, staring at you while drinking slowly.

You huffed, trying to figure out how you two could survive on an island. He watched you fuss around trying to make a shelter out of sticks but it collapsed everytime.

“Just no,” he muttered. You tried not to openly sneer at him. Grabbing the raft, you dragged it across the sand. As the raft was built for a large group, it seemed all you were doing was digging your feet into the sand. But little by little it was dragged up the beach thanks to the tide. It took some convincing but you had gotten help from the young man. The two of you madly struggling to lift the inflatable slide to a tilt against a tree. It was still inflated so you hoped you could use it for something else if needed.

Before the tide came in that evening, you ran out to the water. Your hopes were crushed when you found no fish and saw that the wall had broken. Carrying more large rocks into the water and making the V bigger and stronger, things weren't looking great, but you were trying to do your best. Cold from splashing around in the water, you went back to the shelter, but the fire had gone out by this point.

Looking at the young man, you let out an exasperated sigh. Did he not care for his life or yours? Contemplating while gathering more wood, you realized that you had been doing all the work, while he was just lazing around. “We need more wood, come help,” you gestured for the young man to follow, but he sneered at the thought and leaned away from you.

“I just lay uh here and wait to…” he thought over his words, slowly forming an English sentence “die or be rescue,” he mumbled. You were too exhausted to argue. It could wait until tomorrow, and you would both freeze tonight. Maybe then he would understand the importance of working together towards a goal.

You felt absolutely disgusting. hearing the loud patter of rain, you walked down the length of the shelter. On one side was the raft, and on the other was the luggage, built into a wall. You took out some clean clothes and stepped into the rain. Peeling off your seawater and sweat drenched clothes, you stood in the dark and tried washing your body with a tiny travel soap you had found in a bag.

You scrubbed your body of sweat and turned back to the shelter. Grabbing your towel, and wrapping it around your body, you stepped inside. He was laying on the makeshift bed you had prepared. He looked over, and when he saw you just in a towel, he rolled away. It was embarrassing, you who loved privacy and comfort were showering all exposed in the rain and getting changed in the same vicinity as a stranger. That night, he took the only dry blanket, so you laid there with wet hair and damp skin, shivering.

You were thankful for the sun rising, and it took a few minutes for you to thaw enough to move, but when you did, you deemed it time for him to do some work. The two of you gathered sticks and leaves. He barely helped, and when he got back, he laid back down and fell asleep in the shelter.

Building a fire, with the wood, took some time as it had rained the night before. The leaves helped fuel the flames. The fire didn't have to be amazing, you just needed it for warmth. You also hoped some rescue teams might even see the faint smoke.

At the sound of your stomach calling for sustenance you got up and went to check the rock wall you made and found a fish swimming in the shallow water. You grinned, carrying it back making sure to stoke the fire. You were doing your absolute best with the emergency kit knife.

You must have looked pitiful, as your companion took over, filleting the fish with ease, and he even cooked it. The two of you had fish for breakfast and you felt satiated. You took some of the supplies and got ready to set out for food and fresh water. He was dressed and trying to follow you, so you let him carry some of the empty bottles.

Except he wasn't cut out for endurance, he got winded quickly. It reminded you of the time you passed out during a school marathon. Yet you made the best of the situation that you could, walking slowly until you came across some sort of fruit that the birds were eating.

You took a couple of pieces of rotten fruit and then carefully dug up the small plant and began carrying it back. He followed you back. You placed the plant down. Using your hands you tried to shift the dirt until you had a decent hole where you could plant the little fruit tree. Watering it with some of the water you had collected from the lagoon, internally wishing the plant would flourish. It was hard pouring the fresh water on the plant but you had to if you wanted food.

You mapped out an area and put sticks in the ground in a box-shape, in hopes of starting a garden of any edible plants found throughout the island.

You took the old fruit you collected off the ground, put it around the bottom of the tree, and gave a small hopeful sigh. “Hopefully it will break down in the soil and feed the plant. Our fate is in your hands little plant”

You spent another night sleeping in the makeshift shelter and had to decide on what to do, so you sat up and turned to the young man.

"Hey, are you awake?" He sat up, his eyes narrow, "what do we build? Shelter? or a garden for food?"

He blinked before choosing "Shelter?” you giggled at his confusion, not trying to be rude. He knew more English than you knew Korean and that was definitely a feat.

“A home”

“Home, food later" he shrugged

It rained heavier, bringing with it a sense of sadness. There was no one waiting for you, no one looking for you. The tears began falling and you tried to stifle the sounds. He was still and you hoped he didn’t hear the breakdown. You hoped he was sound asleep as this seemed to be his skill. You were sadly mistaken; he wasn’t asleep. He moved and draped a blanket over you. He only drifted off when you exhausted yourself from crying.

Waking up with your back pressed to his back, the two of you had shared a few airplane blankets. Your body was aching, from sleeping on the ground. It was time to build the shelter both of you had been discussing. You needed someplace safe from the elements and a place with some sort of makeshift bed. Sand felt so soft, but was uncomfortable to sleep on.

Standing in the morning breeze, you began thinking: “How does one even build a house?” If people can make houses with only the land, then so could you. You had no excuse.if it didn’t work, you could try again until you figured it out. You knew there should be some sort of foundation. You could build between two trees, or with a big pillar in the middle, or four walls like a traditional home. Whatever you were going to do, you needed the materials, namely wood, but it’s not like you could just rip a tree out of the ground with your bare hands. You needed tools. Unfortunately, this island didn’t have a hardware store. This wasn’t like minecraft; you couldn’t just create perfect tools from nothing. Or, could you?

You got to work trying to make some sort of mock Stone Age axe. It gave you blisters, but you had successfully chopped a single tree down. Getting the hang of chopping the trees with your primitive tool, you had four trees ready on the seventh day. You dug holes in the sand, but it wasn’t holding the trunks at all. They kept toppling over. He told you it wouldn’t work, and you only huffed in response.

You would have to dig, until you found harder ground. This took another week, but you had four tree trunks in the ground in a modest square. You had started feeling dizzy while working, and your head felt clouded. It had been raining ever since you arrived, every night and lightly throughout the day, you didn’t think you had felt warm in a few days.

While making a wall frame out of trees, you started to feel dizzy again. You tied together the thin logs with multiple vines, and you hoped they would stay. The more you worked, the more your hands got torn up.

You were tying the last of the frame, when you felt your body grow heavy. You were so tired. You thought you would die by the hands of the lazy man. With that, all other thoughts left you as the darkness crept in.

The shelter was warm. There was a fire, and the blankets were wrapped around you, keeping you warm. Beside you was a bottle of water and a packet of painkillers. “Fever,” he sighed, “all work makes you uh… quick death?”

“Well, at least I am doing something. I have kept you alive, in the plane, in the water and now. I have done everything and what have you done other than act arrogant and lazy?” You said, “You haven’t even told me your name. We are stranded on an island. Maybe we will be rescued tomorrow, and it will be all in vain but what if it’s not tomorrow? What if it's months or a year from now?”

“What if never safe?” He argued, not looking at you.

“The point is, I don’t want to die in my twenties. I don’t want to die in general. I had dreams, to get married, have a family and be a loving wife. I was working a stupid office job, and I loved it. I won’t give up that dream. I will live with the hope that one day we will be rescued, and I will keep us alive goddamn it.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” He gave a dry laugh, “I have no care. I was not… supposed be on the plane.”

“I need you alive. I can’t do this on my own. If-” You took a deep breath, “If you die, I might do something stupid. I can’t live an undetermined number of days on my own”

He went quiet.

“Think about someone else for a change, it’s not all about you, Mister Asshole.”

“Yoongi,” he mumbled

“What?” You asked, too tired to be mad.

“My name is Yoongi.” He left the shelter, and you were left sobbing in the dark.

You woke up to Yoongi cooking fish on the fire; you were not expecting it. He hadn’t really done anything to help you. He mostly sat around, but the two of you ate together before you got to work. It was after a few hours you noticed Yoongi was gone again. It disheartened you that he was off doing whatever again, while you were working. You were completely exasperated by the young man, he maddened you, always on your mind. He was hot and mysterious and you hate that you couldn’t stop thinking about him because he acted nice once.

You began opening the suitcases hoping you wouldn’t offend anyone by going through personal belongings of the deceased. Clothes in all different sizes mens and womens, all different styles and one suitcase broke you, filled with tiny onesies and cloth diapers, dummies and ointments and medicines for a tiny baby. A pretty purple rattle with a cute butterfly on the handle.

You slammed the suitcase shut and pushed it across the sand to look at another day but for now you needed to step aside, the wound was too fresh. These were real people who died and yet why did you two survive, the most unlikely pairing with the worst odds and yet you survived when countless innocent lives were lost. It wasn’t fair.

A few days had passed, and you were trying to create something sturdy enough to withstand wind and rain with a roof and walls. You had plenty of resources, but you had to pick the right ones that would last.

You thought about it and decided to use the raft to line the inside of the house in the tarp-like material. It was super long, so you could do the roof and the four walls and still have the whole underside left over. You would weave leaves and sticks together to make them sturdier and layer them on the outside.

Putting your plan to action seemed easy yet tedious. You collected long palm leaves, removed the spines, and weaved the leaves tightly together, and laid them on the floor. The more you weaved, the faster you got. Painstakingly working every day, you rejoiced when all four walls, roof, and floor were finished and stable.

While you were doing all this, Yoongi was nowhere to be seen. He returned at night, as he always did. He looked unbothered by all the work you had accomplished that day. You finished up, and the two of you ate and went to bed, which was just a collection of woven leaf mats covered in some of the leftover tarp from the raft.

You had moved the items from the shelter into the new house area. The two of you sat on the remaining raft fabric. “I made a bed out of leaf mats and covered it in the leftover material.”

Yoongi seemed impressed looking around, “잘 했어.”

“Jal haess-eo?” you repeated the sounds “What does that mean?”

“Uh… good work” He took your hands and pulled out a small succulent leave from his pocket snapping it and squeezing out the liquid inside. Applying it to the cuts and scratches on your hands gently. You noticed his hands were rough too, for he had cuts and blisters littering the his palms as well.

“Where did you find aloe vera?” you asked curiously. What had he been doing?

“Near the…” he made an action with his hand “폭포”

“The what?” You laughed, and he cracked a slight smile.

“Water shaaaa!” he made the sound and gesture of water falling. You laughed hysterically. He was so cute, when you got to know him.

“Waterfall?” you prompted, checking that was what he had meant.

“Ah waterfall!” he nodded, “Near the waterfall”

“What did you call it?” you said. You were genuinely interested. He had been trying his best to communicate with you in your language, so maybe you could learn some of his to ease the burden “Pog-o”

“폭포” he corrected.

“Pogpo” You smiled at him. he seemed a little happy that you were giving his language a try. “How do you say good night?”

“안녕히 주무세요” he said and you blinked shocked, so he grinned,speaking slower in syllables “Ann-yeong-hi ju-mu-se-yo.”

“Annyeonghi,” you repeated. He seemed eager to teach you more, so you stayed up as long as you could, learning Korean phrases until you both fell asleep.

[Part 2/2] coming soon...

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voiceswithoutlips · 3 years

Text

Fallen - Chapter One

— pairing: OT7 x Reader (F) — genre: Fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff, Eventual Smut, ANGST , Poly!BTS — word count: 2.8k — Rating: M — warnings: minor character death, slight gore — beta: Thank you so much @taegularities and @unoriginal-username15432 for all you feedback <3

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— chapter summary:

The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

— A/N: It is I, your idiotic author. Welcome to my blog <3

Ch. 2

The sound of rain was like a roaring beast. It was almost midnight and the roads were lonely. You stood there in an alley facing a madman, uh, mad-vampire. His eyes were glowing red; he was wearing a dirty grey cloak on his rag like cloth. His brown hair had gotten messy when he’d run away from you but there he was, still as a dead body, waiting for you to attack. There were thick walls on both sides of the alley and behind him was a dead end. He was trapped.

“Lockham, why don’t you come back with me? That way I won’t have to kill you,” you suggested to the psycho killer vampire who stood a mere ten feet away from you. There was no way for him to run so maybe he would attack. You weighed your options - fight? That would’ve been nice; at least your body would’ve gotten some exercise.

He laughed. “You think you can win? Destiny is waiting for you Hunter,” he said in an impressive voice. Another one of those ‘destiny’ believers. Apparently the Goddess had a plan for us all, not that you had much faith in it. Gods don't care about who kills whom or who eats what, they’re more concerned about their own entertainment. You’d never put much faith in any higher power, God or not, nobody gave a shit.

“You’ve killed people Lockham, you’ve been a very naughty vampire and now it’s time for your punishment,”you said as a teacher would say to a naughty kid. He took a step back.

“Who are you to punish me?” he mocked, showing you his blood covered teeth. He was just having a meal when you found him and then you two had a nice chase. You were glad that he ran, you wanted to stretch out your legs anyway.

“Exactly, I’m no one,” you said and took a step forward; he took a step back simultaneously and vanished. What? Vanished? How? You walked forward to investigate and sighed. How careless of you. There was a hole, he fell into the sewer. He must have used cloaking so that it would look like he vanished. The only thing he forgot was to close the hole. You shook your head, you hated wet places! You jumped down and landed lightly on your feet, without making a sound, perfect.

You were getting bored of chasing him, it was almost dawn and you needed your beauty sleep. You took a deep breath and pulled out your silver dagger. It was your favorite weapon. Silver was deadly to vampires. It was very pretty with a finely carved snake on the handle with emeralds where the eyes should be; a gift from someone you had known a long time ago. You closed your eyes and let your mind wander through the tunnels. Just like your immunity to silver, your telepathy was stronger than centuries old vampires and you could perform magic. You were a half-witch after all.

You found him running through the tunnels. As soon as your mind touched him, he froze. You were inside his mind now. Reading someone’s mind was nothing like watching a movie or reading a book. It was like waking up from a dream, you don’t remember what you saw or heard but the thing that you remember is the feeling, the essence of the dream. Every being has a certain essence, unique to them. Like walls that you can’t see or touch, but you know they’re there. You could clearly see the tunnel before you, but it was like a distant memory, you were no longer there.

You were in a room, an old room with cobwebs and dust. It smelled of something rotten, like a thousand dead rats. There were worn out clothes hanging from the ceiling - correction, there was no ceiling, just clothes hanging midair and swaying with the wind, except there was no wind. At one corner sat two rusty iron chairs. The window with broken glass showed a full moon.

There was an old cupboard on the wall with the yellow wallpaper. It was white as if someone had carved it from bone. There were noises coming from the cupboard, screeching, screaming, the cry of a baby, the soothing voice of a mother, someone’s last words. A shudder ran through your body. I will never ever do this again, you promised yourself.

You heard a creak from behind and you swiftly turned back. There he was, sitting in a corner, the little boy. He held a tattered grey cloak in his hands. His body was folded at impossible angles. He was white as a sheet, there was no blood in his body. He was thin with brittle bones. Dull brown eyes in a sunken face held unimaginable terror.

He looked up at you. “I’m tired, I want to sleep,” he whispered and quickly stole a glance at the cupboard.

“Then why don’t you sleep?” you whispered back, clearly not wanting to wake anything in there. Yeah, getting into someone’s mind was a nice thing, you could get full control over them... but there was a catch. If something went wrong in that mind or if you failed to escape in time, then you’d be trapped there forever, or die. You were pretty sure that you didn’t want to be trapped in this mind, not here.

“They don’t let me sleep, they keep me awake so that I could bring more and more food for them,” he replied, pointing a finger at the cupboard. Slowly, you understood what he was saying. ‘One without a soul feeds on other’s souls,’ the thought crossed your mind, not a good one.

“What if you don’t bring them food?” You already knew the answer but you asked anyway, maybe just to confirm it.

“I’ll go mad,” he whispered back with horrified eyes.

“Come to me, I’ll help you sleep.” The words left your lips, the real ones which were still attached to your face. Lockham turned back and slowly walked towards you. You could hear his heavy footsteps in the tunnel. At last he took the last turn and there he stood right in front of you. His eyes were blank. It was like there was no soul in his body, no life. You had him entirely under your control. If you told him to do ballet, he would dance like a professional, but you weren't a sadist. Life had already tortured him enough.

“Come forward,” you said softly, the sooner it ended the better. He walked forward and your silver dagger slashed through his throat, severing his spine, killing him in a second. Blood splashed and soaked his body. It was a merciful death, you had seen worse. There are worse things than death in this world. Death was just an easy escape.

You stood there for a moment, looking at him, wishing that the outcome would’ve been different. Were you feeling sorry for him? No, you were feeling sorry for yourself. You were a fifty year old vampire and in all your years as a hunter you’d killed hundreds of criminals, but you had never been able to save one.

People knew and people talked. Some said that you were cursed; you were the representative of death, the spawn of darkness. As a result, the council only gave you high profile cases, criminals that were too far gone to be saved. It was always death. The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

You pulled out your cell phone and called the police. They would take care of the body. You bent down to leave a tracker near it, so they would find it easily. Lockham’s eyes were wide open, and you closed them. “At least one of us is at peace,” you whispered.

“You’re home!!” little Lilly exclaimed happily as you walked through the door. Your family was sitting in the dining room, having supper. You were the firstborn, the eldest of your father’s children. Your father was the Duke of Serafino, the City of Snake; one of the two warrior cities in the Vampire Kingdom. He was a nice man with brown eyes and hair, fair complexion, nicely built but a little short.

Your stepmother was a beauty; she had blue eyes, fair complexion, sharp features and hair spun like gold. Her children took after her, all cream and gold. They all hated you, except for the little one, Lilly.

“Yay, I’m home,” you said sarcastically. It was hard not to be nice to the little girl who looked at you with wonder in her eyes; she was so full of life. To no one’s wonder you had blood on your clothes and your darling step mother eyed it with a look in her eyes that said filthy. For you, it was like an invitation. You were planning to have supper in your room just like any other day, but you sat down at the end of the table. Your father was seated at his normal seat which belonged to the head of the family. The chair right across from him was the place for his wife, but that was your mother’s place and now it belonged to you.

Your mother had died in childbirth, you had her amber eyes and olive skin. Her name was Katina. People told you that she’d been a beauty; you had some of her pictures and sometimes you would feel her close beside you. It was a weird feeling, but not bad, not at all. You weren't a person who put her feelings on display, heck you hadn’t even cried in like twenty years! The only permanent feeling you had left was emptiness. You felt numb, like a shell, nothing inside, no love, no hope, not even sorrow after all these years. It felt like you were dead and it was true, your heart was dead.

“I would like some blood sausages Charles and don’t forget the wine,” you said cheerfully to the butler. He was a nice guy, always talked politely. You suspected that he was in love with the cook, Ms. Glen; it would be nice to have some love in this house which felt like living in a coffin.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Lilly asked, her cheerful eyes trained on you. You wondered for how long this child would be allowed to keep her innocence? When you’d been her age ...you shied away from that thought. Thoughts bring back memories and your memories were like old corpses, one would never want to dig them. Instead you took a bite of your sausage - man, they were delicious.

“It was almost nice, Bunny. I played who-can-catch-me with a friend and I won!!” Bunny was the nickname you had given her because she was never still. Everyone paused for a moment; it was really weird and funny at the same moment. You loved how all the eyes drifted to you and back to Lilly. She was beaming because you had won the game. You gave her a small smile.

“Oh that’s wonderful!! Where is your friend now?” Curious little kid, everyone paused again, including you this time.

“You see, we were playing on a bet. He lost the bet so he had to …go to another city.” You were very good at lying, but her beaming eyes and pure innocence made it hard. It was impossible to lie to that child.

“When would he come back?” she asked, and you sighed. Your plate was half empty and the looks everyone were giving you just killed the hunger inside. You stood up with the wine glass in my hand.

“Chew your food, Bunny,” you replied and left the room.

Your room was a mixture of blue and gold. The wallpapers were straight lines of different shades of blue. The furniture was of mahogany wood with fine carvings. The round rug was golden on the edge and blue in the middle, it looked like a pool of water. All the linen was blue and gold as well. Your bed was round and big with golden bedposts and curtains. You had a balcony of your own with a little fountain with a sculpture of a mother and her child. You had spent a lot of time taking care of the blue roses in your garden.

The front wall was covered with your music collection. You found peace in music, it was the only time when you could just forget everything and float. You quickly changed and crawled under the sheets, picking up the remote from the side table and pressing the play button. It was Mozart’s duo. What an amazing symphony! It helped you drift back to your happy memories.

Unlike your half brothers and sisters, you were raised in Tiria. It was a small town on the edge of Serafino. You were raised by the Countess of Tiria, a very kind woman. She had grace, beauty, and wealth but no children. She showered you with love and pretty gifts. You had excellent teachers for your education. You learned everything from crochet to fencing.

The manor there was old and beautiful. It had a beautiful garden and a whole forest around it. You would often go into the forest, just to explore it. Those were the happiest days of your life. Until your tenth birthday - the day the Countess died.

Just like the symphony, your thoughts turned darker. You’d been happy that day; the maids had told you that you were going to have a big birthday party. The Earl had been there for two weeks now. Your innocent mind had thought that he was there for your birthday. That morning you were out in the gardens, picking up some red roses for the Countess, it was something you did every day. You would just run into her room to put them on her side table, she loved that. You held the bunch of roses in your tiny hands, running through the house to her room. You were wearing a very pretty white dress with laces and pink ribbons. Your bare feet softly met the stone floor as you ran to her room and pushed the door, happily calling to her.

The Countess was there, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. There were bruises on her body and a sword, stabbed right through her heart. The handle of the sword was in the hands of the Earl. He twisted the blade with a cruel smile in his eyes. Then you screamed. The flowers falling from your hands, red roses into red blood - they were the same color. Your pretty white dress was now red. You backed away still screaming, leaving little red footprints on the floor. The maids came running to you and held you tight as you screamed and screamed. You don’t remember for how long you were screaming or what happened later.

You drifted off to sleep.

It was a beautiful forest. The trees were so thick that sunlight barely touched the ground and everything was covered in moss. You were standing there in front of a giant wolf. It wasn’t a werewolf, it smelled like a regular one but just giant, like a direwolf. It was growling at you, baring his teeth. You had no weapons with you, you double checked. You looked around for an escape, you could kill him with your teeth but they weren’t as sharp as they’d used to be. You looked at your nails, they were fragile. Heck! You were human!!

“Y/N, wake up!!” the wolf suddenly spoke in a girly voice. It didn’t make sense, really.

“Are you a girl?” you asked the wolf who was ready to kill you. Talking to an animal, guess you had finally lost your sanity.

“Y/N!!” Someone was shaking you, trying to wake you up without much success. Then you realized you were sleeping under a bunch of blankets and pillows. It was three in the morning; you could tell by the smell of the air. You peeked at the person who had dared to disturbed you. It was Lily.

“What is it, Bunny?” you asked sleepily. It was good she had practice understanding you while you sleep talked, if it was anyone else, they would’ve thought you were talking gibberish.

“I had a bad dream,” she said with a puppy face. You knew what she wanted; she wanted to sleep with you.

“Me too,” you replied and ran your tongue over your teeth, yup, still vampire. “Come here you,” you said, grabbing her and stuffing her under the pile of blankets and pillows. You loved a warm cozy place to sleep. You held her like a teddy bear and dozed off again. She was so soft in your arms and she held tight onto you. Protecting someone was a good feeling. You went back to sleep as if you had never woken up.

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Hold On

Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~2220

Warnings: Some Maeve-related angst, but unlike the CM writers, I believe in allowing Spencer Reid to be happy.

A/N: Quoted lyric, title, and thematic inspiration from “Hold On” by Tom Waits, which you can listen to over here. Encouragement and/or blame (depends on your POV) from @stunudo and @katwillrise. Speedy beta from @fangirlxwritesx67.

For a long time, Spencer didn’t understand other peoples’ need to touch. He avoided it whenever possible.

It was partly about germs, of course, but partly just that he didn’t like the sensation. He’s never liked the intimacy of it, the closeness, and even as a child, unexpected hugs made him go stiff and uncomfortable, like he was holding his breath until the foreign stimulus was gone.

There were a few people he made an exception for, people he trusted, people whose arms made him feel protected or comforted instead of threatened, but it was only a handful: his mom, Morgan, JJ, occasionally Penelope or Emily.

He’d see couples walking down the street hand in hand, or with their arms wrapped around each other, and he wondered what the appeal was. He imagined sleeping next to someone, waking up with their body wrapped around his, their skin sweaty and their breath damp, and he imagined it would feel more like a stranglehold than an embrace.

Then there was Maeve.

He wanted to meet her in person, of course, but it wasn’t her physical body that he fell in love with. It was almost a relief, being able to have a relationship without worrying about the sensory minefield of having another human in his space.

When he daydreamed about meeting her (and he daydreamed a lot) he mostly tried to imagine her face. He knew what it sounded like when she was smiling or laughing, but he wanted to see; he wanted to watch the way she lit up when they had those long joyful arguments about poetry. He wanted to learn her mannerisms, her expressions, wanted to learn her until he could read her like a book.

He rarely thought about touching her, but then Maeve died, and suddenly he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He’d never been able to hold her hand. He wondered what her fingers had looked like, how they’d fit with his own, whether her palms were rough with callouses or soft and smooth, whether she bit her nails.

He’d never been able to kiss her, and he wondered how her lips would feel. Would their first kiss have been shy and sweet, or deep and passionate? Who would initiate it? Would they be in the middle of a conversation when he decided he couldn’t wait, or would she take the lead?

He’d never slept next to her, never felt her breathing slow in the dark, never held her. He’d never run his fingers through her hair, or wiped away her tears, or danced with her.

He missed her.

He could remember her laugh, her voice, the barely-there crackle of her breath over the line when she paused to think. He held tight to those memories. He never wanted to let them go.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but he missed her body, too. His skin felt strange and bare for the longest time, every inch of him feeling the lack of her. Every nerve and cell felt the ghost of her imagined touch. He dreamed about it all the time, dreamed that she was there, arms wrapped around him, body pressed close to his.

He dreamed about trying to hold on: feeling her slip away, the way his throat went tight with panic… gunshots. Those dreams always ended in a gunshot, and when he woke up, he was terrified and crying out for her, reaching out in the dark, feeling only emptiness where she should’ve been.

He just wants to apologize, and to say goodbye. He wishes he’d had a chance to hold her, just once.

It never really stops hurting. Spencer knows he'll be hearing that gunshot in his dreams for the rest of his life, and he knows he’ll never get a chance to say goodbye. He knows he’ll never get a chance to touch her. Spencer meets someone new, one Sunday morning, in his favorite coffee shop. She’s curled up in an armchair, reading a book, and he’s so distracted by the way she’s smiling as her eyes whiz across the page that he trips over his feet and spills his fresh mug of coffee on her. He stammers an apology, painfully embarrassed. He grabs a handful of napkins and offers them to her, but all he can do is stand there uselessly as she dabs at the stain.

She’s humming something. It takes a second for Spencer to place it.

“Tom Waits,” he blurts out, and she looks up at him, grinning.

“Go ahead and call the cops…” she sings quietly.

“You don’t meet nice girls in coffee shops,” he finishes. “Tom Waits doesn’t know what he’s talking about, apparently.”

She laughs. “Depends on your definition of nice, I guess.”

“Can I take you out to dinner sometime?” he asks, almost choking on the words. She says yes, for some reason.

At the end of their first date, he walks her to her door and panics. He doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between their bodies, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he’s utterly captivated by her. It’s been so long since he wanted to reach out and touch someone.

So he steps back and raises a hand in a wave. She smiles like she understands, but he kicks himself as soon as the door closes behind her.

That night, he dreams about the goodbye. He dreams about walking her to her building, watching her step inside, but this time when the door closes behind her, he hears a gunshot. He wakes up gasping, terrified that he’ll never get to kiss her goodnight.

He calls her, first thing in the morning, and asks for a second chance.

On their second date, he takes her to lunch. He watches her hands as she fidgets, and his fingers itch with the desire to reach out. He watches her lick a drop of water from her lip, and he gets lost, imagining what it would be like to kiss her.

After lunch, they go to his favorite used bookstore. It's a labyrinth of a place, with low ceilings and three floors and five old spiral staircases. It feels like you could find anything around the next corner, like the air is thick with magic under the smell of aging paper and ink, and there's something about it that makes Spencer feel like a child again. He leads her up the hidden back staircase, ducking to make it under the lintel, and when she looks around the mazelike loft, her face lights up with childlike joy that mirrors his own. He grabs her hand, then.

It's the first time they've touched. Her palm feels tiny in his. "Which way?" he asks, and she looks around, bright eyed, weighing the options. She pulls him through a narrow aisle, past the autobiographies, her eyes alight and her lips curled in a smile, her fingers still laced with his. They're in the travel section when he stops short, tugging on her hand to reel her in. He kisses her before he can think too hard. It’s breathless, clumsy, eager, both of them smiling, and it's perfect. She’s solid and warm against him. He slides one hand up to her neck, running his fingers through her hair, and then cups her jaw. The pad of his thumb rests right against her heartbeat where it kicks steadily under the thin skin. He kisses her again.

The tangible physical evidence of life under his hands feels like a minor miracle. He knows how fragile it is; he knows how easily this could be ripped away from him, how easy it would’ve been for things to go differently, for her heart to stop before he ever got to feel her pulse.

He holds her hand as he walks her back to her building that afternoon. His hand is slightly sweaty, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He holds on tight, fascinated by the way their fingers slot together and the way he can feel the tiny knobby bones of her knuckles when he brushes his thumb over them. He kisses her outside her apartment and he smiles all the way home.

The first time he undresses her, he takes his time. He touches every new inch of skin, reverent, presses his lips to every scar and freckle, until she’s flushed, flustered by the attention.

“What?” she asks, as he stares.

“You’re incredible,” he mumbles, because she is. Spencer is fascinated by the soft give of her stomach, the rise and fall of her chest, the shifting muscles of her thighs and the lines of tendons in her neck when she arches her back. There’s so much happening under her skin: red blood cells ferrying oxygen as she gasps in a breath, nerve endings firing off wherever he touches her, infinitesimal electric pulses rushing off to her brain to translate the pressure of his fingers into pleasure.

It’s not just heat and friction. It’s life. She’s warm and breathing and so very alive under his palms, and every sensation is a celebration.

Spencer falls hard and fast. She fits in his messy little world, slots neatly into spaces that he never realized were empty, filling his life with her warm laugh. It’s easier than he expected, letting her in.

They have their first fight in Spencer’s kitchen on a Saturday afternoon. Spencer’s not sure what it’s about, afterward. It’s a blur.

He gets passive-aggressive instead of dealing with things, and she says something sharp in return. Anger rises hot and corrosive in his throat, strangling everything else. He can’t swallow it down so he spits it out instead, snarling something hurtful, and he knows it’s petty, he knows it’s childlike to lash out, but it’s what he does. It’s what he always does.

Spencer never really learned how to have an argument that doesn’t end with someone storming out the door.

“You should go,” he snaps. Her eyes are big and hurt, and Spencer turns his back.

“Spencer.”

“I said, you should go.”

There’s a long pause. He hears her grab her purse from the table and head for the door without another word.

Spencer goes cold all over, because she’s about to walk out before he can say goodbye, and suddenly he’s terrified. He’s terrified, and it feels like he’s choking. The dull thud of the deadbolt sliding open sounds like a gunshot.

She’s already halfway out the door when he says, “Wait.”

He moves quickly, slamming the door shut and wrapping his arms around her, clinging tight. She slides her hands up his back and fists them in his shirt, pulling him closer. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed and feels the tears spill over.

Anger is a waste of time. Why does he do that?

“It’s okay,” she whispers, before he can even apologize.

“Please don’t go,” he says, in a small strained voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I — sorry.”

She takes a big shuddery breath and he realizes she’s crying too. He presses his lips to her temple and wipes her tears away with the pad of his thumb, and he has to bite back the words, because he knows it’s not the right moment, but all he can think is, I love you.

A couple days later, they’re in his kitchen again, making dinner, and the light is golden where it comes through the window. She’s smiling. He takes the vegetable peeler out of her hand, sets it down on the counter, and tugs her away.

“Dance with me?” he asks. She doesn’t question it. She slips her hand into his and sways slowly with him in the quiet kitchen, and he tells her: “I love you.”

He still dreams about Maeve sometimes.

He’s stumbling through a strange unfamiliar house, opening doors and finding one empty echoing room after another, and he can’t find her. He’s so fucking scared he can’t breathe, and he’s choking on it, throat closed up tight.

Last door. He can’t open it, he’s trying, but the handle is stuck, and then —

He wakes at the gunshot, wakes with a sob in the back of his throat, reaching out into empty space.

Except it’s not empty. She’s already there, right there in his arms, sprawled half on top of him with her sweaty skin plastered to his.

“You okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep.

“I will be,” he whispers. She’s already falling back to sleep, but he says it anyway: “I’m glad you’re here.”

He still sort of feels like he’s choking. Love feels a lot like fear, sometimes.

It’s more like a stranglehold than an embrace, but he holds her close and listens to the steady rush of oxygen in her lungs. She shifts, digging a knee into his thigh. He’s getting pins and needles in one arm, and her breath is hot and damp on the side of his neck, tickling his skin with every exhale. Spencer is overheated and uncomfortable. He doesn’t move.

There are billions of people in this world and trillions of cells in her body, and there are countless tiny miracles that led them to this moment: tangled in the sheets, breathing slowly in the darkness, together, alive.

Spencer understands, now. He never, ever wants to stop touching her.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #dr spencer reid

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noirlevity · 3 years

Text

Scent Chapter 4

Pairing: TadaAi

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Synopsis: Ainosuke once loved Tadashi, but ever since he broke his heart, he decided to never have anything to do with him. But what happens if he meets him again after so many years and finds out a secret that will change both of their lives forever?

Chapter summary: Ainosuke reunites with the ghost in his past.

Tags: Omegaverse, forced bonding, forced marriage, sorta angst, slow burn

Read: AO3 || 1 2 3

The wail of the engine blares as the plane prepares to touch down. Droves of people line to exit the plane. Ainosuke jostles through the crowd as he makes his way to the bus. The vanilla sky and the cold morning air greeted him as he walked.

He’s finally back in Okinawa.

Inside the building, there were only a few people. Ainosuke waits for his luggage on the revolving platform. When he finally sees it, he grabs it and leaves. He reaches the exit and sees three familiar middle-aged women. Looking at them, Ainosuke quietly rates how bland their styles were. Ainosuke wore his custom-made navy suit with his newly bought oxfords. He was probably overdressed, but he needed to look smart and presentable for this reunion.

Ainosuke takes off his gucci shades and smiles pleasantly at his Aunts. He gives his luggage to the chauffeur.

“I’m back, Aunties.”

“Welcome back Ainosuke.”

His Aunts kisses and hugs him. Ainosuke only smiles to drive the awkwardness away. He isn't particularly pleased with being with them again.

“We missed you very much. You resemble your father now.”

"So handsome and smart looking. Truly the embodiment of how a Shindo heir should be. We're so proud of you."

Ainosuke wants to curl his lips in disgust but he stops himself.

“When was the last time you went home again? Ah, if I remember correctly it was Aiichiro’s funeral 2 years ago.”

“Yes, it was Auntie."

Ainosuke looks away as his Aunt Sayuri chatters. Memories of his Father’s funeral flash in his mind. He remembers a familiar face leading the ceremony with solemn, empty eyes. He sat quietly at a corner as guests paid their respects. Tadashi looked so worn out then, pale. His youthful glow was no longer there. The dark circles underneath his eyes made him look like a stranger. Staring at the distance as his Aunts conversed with visitors, Tadashi's thin face and hunched figure painted a pitiful man. He looked so different from how he looked years ago when he last saw him.

Even though they had their issue, Ainosuke wanted to go to him to greet him, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t able to bring himself to. The sweet smell that used to make him happy made him feel sad. Ainosuke believes that the feelings he once harbored for Tadashi have long thawed. Yet bitterness still remained. At that time, he realized that Tadashi’s betrayal was something he couldn’t forgive. Ever. Later when he asked his Aunt Kaguya about why Tadashi was leading the ceremony, he found out that Tadashi had been working for his Father. She said that Tadashi was hired a year after Ainosuke left for the states. At that time, he didn’t pay attention to such information because he told himself he was not going to think about him and make himself miserable.

“Ah yes, Ainosuke. Remember Tadashi? Since he is your Dad’s secretary, and he’s capable and hardworking, we decided to make him your secretary. You don’t need to worry, he can be trusted and we can vouch for his competence."

“Are there any other options?” Ainosuke asks, adamant that he didn’t want Tadashi to be his secretary.

“Tadashi is really capable. He is almost like an alpha in that regard.”

“But..”

“Ainosuke.”

“Ah, I understand. Tadashi it is “ Ainosuke smiles. He looks around to search for the man in question. Noticing that Ainosuke was searching for someone, his Aunt Sayuri spoke, “Tadashi is not here, he was finishing some preparations for the family so he could not accompany us today.”

“He insisted though, but we thought it would be better for us 4 to spend some quality time together. It’s been such a long time since we bonded. We couldn’t visit you in America all the time.”

Hearing his aunts talk makes him uncomfortable. Inside the car, Ainosuke is quiet. He only responds and smiles when he is asked a question. His thoughts linger on the thought that Tadashi is going to be his secretary.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t want it to be him.

However, he couldn’t be stubborn about it. After all, he was voiceless in the Shindo household even though he was the heir. His aunts seem fond of Tadashi despite him being a beta. He assumed that was his gender considering he was hired. His family only hired either alphas or betas. For sure, he was a beta with how his Aunt Sayuri and Kaguya talked about him.

While Ainosuke was in America, he didn’t hear any news about Tadashi. His Aunts never mentioned him as well. That was why when he learned he worked for his father he was irritated. He remembers the picture one of the maids mistakenly included in his luggage and how through the years he tried getting rid of it but he could never bring himself to. It was the only picture he had of both of them together since he burned the others. He might have to try getting rid of it once more.

His Aunt Chieko takes a call and announces that the restaurant they booked for Ainosuke’s return was ready. As they ate, Ainosuke’s Aunts didn't hesitate to talk about marriage and for Ainosuke to meet people with that in mind. Ainosuke already had his fair share of relationships but it always ends abruptly. Well, except for one, but that too had to end. He was sure it would be the same this time as well. Maybe shallow relationships were what suited him. Knowing how persistent his Aunts were, he pretended he was interested in the thought of marriage.

They drive home. As he stares outside of the car window, he notices that they were driving past the streets he traveled when he tried visiting Tadashi once. When they finally turned to the corner that leads straight to their mansion, Ainosuke felt overwhelmed. Earlier, it didn’t sink in that he was finally home but now it did. The mansion was unchanged. Sure it looked grand and expensive, but that was all there was to it.

Ainosuke sees Takahisa, the senior butler, and greets him. Takahisa, the old butler who took care of him, looked older. Despite his age, he still looked smart and handsome. A younger butler bows and takes care of his luggage. Ainosuke didn’t know him. As they enter the hallway entrance, another butler was instructing the maids and the other staff to line up for their introduction. The staff lined up face to face like they were in a military inspection. His eyes roam around. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead as he continues to search. A single drop sluices down his chin so he takes out his handkerchief and wipes it off. Ainosuke taps his feet irritably. He presses his thumb against his index finger and inhales as his Aunts introduce the staff one by one.

Looking at the faces in front of him, he tries to search for faces he was familiar with. He notices that some of the maids were new. It seems that more staff were hired since he was last home. He mentally takes notes of the changes he noticed.

It always starts with a faint, dull kind of aroma; a pinprick scent tickling his nose. A nanosecond was enough for Ainosuke to find himself back to square one as if 8 long years was still not enough for him to make a single step forward. The sweet scent becomes heavier and he feels like he is still 16. His throat feels like sandpaper; his hands colder than winter.

How funny it all was.

The scent that always made him feel warm and happy now made him remember the hollowness of the word love.

Ainosuke hasn’t forgotten anything. Even though he wanted to, the memories were still there in his heart and now like opening pandora's box, everything turned into chaos inside of him. His stomach feels like a whirlpool. Memories and the feelings that came with it that he didn’t want to remember harassed him: Tadashi’s smiling face that always made him feel soft inside; his bubbly laughter and the way he used to hold him in his arms. Ainosuke freezes. Sweat glistens on his high forehead. It’s really been a long time since they’ve seen each other. Eight years was too long a time for a reunion. Time manages to make some feelings go away, but it seems the feelings that he tried so hard to bury are not one of those feelings time can extinguish.

Ainosuke anticipated this meeting. He even prepared himself before he left, but the real raw sensation Tadashi’s scent gave him was different from what he expected. He always thought that it had the same scent as roses, but it did not. It was similar but different at the same time. The dissatisfaction that always enveloped him recedes. As he basks in the sweet scent, he feels complete. He feels like he has truly come home.

“Tadashi, you’re back. How were the preparations?”

“It’s almost complete madam.”

“Ainosuke?” His Aunt Kaguya tries to get his attention.

Ainosuke stiffens. He forces himself to smile when he turns around.

“Tadashi is here. He’s going to take it from here. Everything is going smoothly for your introduction to society next month.”

Tadashi bends to greet him. Ainosuke just stares, his heart beating gravely in his chest. The anger, pain, and longing he felt all those years twisted in his stomach so much he wants to vomit.

“Welcome back Ainosuke-sama.”

“Well then, we’ll excuse ourselves.”

The Aunts left, leaving Ainosuke standing there as if he had just seen a ghost. He stares and stares as if embedding Tadashi's image in his mind. The real thing was right in front of him now. He takes a deep breath as his heart constricts and his lips feel dry. He takes a step forward.

Don't. Stop. Don't you dare take another step. He reprimands himself.

Tadashi looks up and gives him a faint smile. He finishes the introduction and guides Ainosuke to the garden. They walk side by side. Tadashi’s silence appears cold; distant. The apathy hurts Ainosuke more than he can admit to himself. After 8 long years, Tadashi still has nothing to say to him. To shrug off unnecessary feelings, Ainosuke clears his throat and rotates his shoulders.

The sweet smell is distracting. It was unbearable. Ainosuke used to crave it, but now, he is overwhelmed. It was not helping that Tadashi was close. Unable to withstand it any longer, he wrinkles his nose and stops walking.

Tadashi walks back and looks up at him. Ainosuke sniffs and furrows his brows. He takes a step back and looks away.

“Pollen allergy?” Tadashi takes something out of his suit hands him a face mask.

“Change your perfume. It’s too strong.” Ainosuke complains, still looking away; his mouth in a pout.

Since Ainosuke didn’t take the face mask, Tadashi mumbles an “excuse me”. He hangs the face mask string on Ainosuke ears, and gently says “But I don’t wear any.”

The soft brush of skin against Ainosuke’s ear flusters him. Out of embarrassment, Ainosuke glares but finds himself cornered at how close Tadashi’s face was to him. He could feel the warmth of the older man’s breath. Truthfully it is giving him gooseflesh. When they ended up meeting eyes, Tadashi was the first to look away. Ainosuke’s mouth quivers. He swallows a lump in his throat and clenches his hand into a fist.

“So you're still sensitive to smells.”

As the words left Tadashi’s mouth, Ainosuke feels like he is put on the spot. He was often told he was sensitive to smells, when the one saying it is Tadashi it feels as if he was being judged. He tried to grab him. By the time he reached out, Tadashi already wheeled around and walked to the garden. Ainosuke hates himself for being caught in the flow.

Like what the maids and butlers did, the gardeners lined up and were introduced one by one. As they introduced themselves, Ainosuke realized that Tadashi’s Father was nowhere to be found. After the introductions, they walked back to the mansion.

“Your father is no longer working here?”

“He got sick when you went to the states so the master replaced him.”

Ainosuke falls quiet. So his father got sick. It’s a pity.

“What does he do now?”

Tadashi was hesitant.

“The Master gifted him a botanical garden for his work over the years. He also helps my mom with the flower shop.”

The response makes Ainosuke raise an eyebrow. He finds it odd that his father gifted someone something as expensive as a botanical garden. He's never heard anything about his Father going out of his way for a friend. Did he like Tadashi’s father that much? Ainosuke wasn't sure. He was not knowledgeable when it came to his Father’s acquaintances outside of politics. This thought made Ainosuke realize how estranged he is both mentally and emotionally from his father. As he stares at Tadashi, he couldn’t help but feel at a loss.

“My old man gifted him a garden? Wow.” Ainosuke scoffs. “How kind of him.”

Both of them enter his Father’s office. Tadashi explains that it is going to be Ainosuke’s office. Ainosuke is familiar with the room. Sometimes this was where his father punishes him. He looks around the room and walks towards the shelves. Ainosuke ran his fingers through the spine of the books.

“Ainosuke-sama, the master, donated some books to libraries so some of these books are new.” Ainosuke found the book that he used to ask Tadashi to read to him when he was little.

He read the title with his eyes,

The little prince.

"Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence means accepting the risk of absence.”

Tadashi turns to him.

Ainosuke smiles. “I just remembered that from one of Exupery’s letters.”

Tadashi didn't reply.

“The important documents are stored inside this room. The master liked things organized so we tried our best. It isn’t large but important copies of agreement contracts and party documents are here.”

They enter. The room was half the size of a servant's room. It had a single window at the end. Lines of filing cabinets filled the space. Tadashi explains how the files were organized. While he explains the contents of the compartments, Ainosuke can’t stop staring at him.

He is distracted.

He couldn't concentrate much on what Tadashi was saying because he got too conscious of their closeness inside the stuffy room. The sweet scent that permeated the air only added to his problems. He thought that if he pushed him down here and now, no one would help Tadashi even if he tried to struggle. But Ainosuke was not that kind of man. Even if he hated Tadashi, he won’t be able to do something that could truly hurt him. He has accepted this fact.

A white fabric peaked out of Tadashi’s suit. Ainosuke reaches out to fix it. When Tadashi backed away and stared at him with a surprised look on his face, only then did he realize what he was about to do. Ainosuke clears his throat.

“Since you’re my assistant now, you better look smart and presentable. This won’t do.” Ainosuke fixes the collar. He feels Tadashi stiffen under his touch. He irons Tadashi’s shoulder with his hands

“I can’t believe you were hired. You weren’t even taking a secretarial course in university, weren’t you? Or maybe you did, I just didn’t know.”

After a pause, Tadashi responds, “You’re right sir. I didn’t take anything related to secretarial work in university. Unfortunately, I had to stop my studies. We were having financial difficulties at that time since Father got sick. I had to quit school.”

Ainosuke feels bad at the revelation. He always thought Tadashi had great potential so it was such a waste he wasn’t able to finish school.

“The master was kind enough to reach out to my Mom and offer me a job. He helped us out a lot with my father’s hospitalization bills and medicines. I’m grateful to him.”

Tadashi’s eyes were solemn when he said that. There was also a hint of sadness when he said he was grateful. With how things turned out, shouldn't he be happy? His father got the help that he needed at a critical time. Furthermore, he was given a stable job.

Aichirou helped them a lot. His Father got his botanical garden. And now they own a flower shop. But why does Tadashi seem so sad? Was it because he missed Aichirou? Was he that important in his life? Ainosuke concludes that he must miss him. After all, he was his benefactor. He was the person who was there for their family when they needed it the most.

“That’s good.” Ainosuke finally manages to say after he fell silent. While he was having the time of his life in the US, Tadashi was working his ass off. The two of them truly lived such different lives, that was probably why their relationship, albeit only friendship, didn’t work out.

#tadaai #ainosuke shindo #tadashi kikuchi #sk8 the infinity #fics

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

Text

Letting Go

Rating: M

Warnings: Major character death. Angst. Mentions of sex. Angst. Accidents. Did I mention angst?

Summary:

Cardan thought he and his family were meant to live happily ever after.

He was wrong.

Extra comments: I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

Extra comments 2: If you’re masochist as me and wish to read this listening to some music, I’ll leave my spotify playlist “Don’t touch me, I’m angsty”

Thank you to the incredible @sweetlyvillainous for holding my hand while I cried because of this, for betaing later and for giving the extra boost to the angst. YES YOU DID, AND YOU’RE AS GUILTY AS ME. I love u.

Masterlist • AO3

As dawn went on, Cardan looked through the window with hooded eyes. It snowed outside. How typical, he thought.

Not long ago he would’ve been excited about it. The perspective of spending the day building snow castles and angels. Never a snowman, since his daughter had always claimed that was too cliché. He would mock her for it and build tiny figures around her castle. ‘The invasion of the fae snowmen’ he’d called it, despite the insistence of his wife about that being pure nonsense.

He laid on his bed, staring at nothing in particular. From that position he would normally be able to look at her, snoring softly in the opposite pillow. That used to be his favorite moment of the day. Few minutes that he could spend watching how she slept, calm and unbothered. At least until he couldn’t help it anymore and woke her up, trailing her neck with soft and playful kisses.

Cold sheets coiled around him now. A reminder of the empty space next to him that haunted Cardan at the beginning and end of each day. Screaming into the silence she’s gone.

The morning it happened, Ivy wanted pancakes an old store sold a couple of blocks away. Cardan was reluctant to get up. All groggy because he and Jude had spent the night before rolling on the sheets, barely moaning in each other’s mouths trying not to wake their 7 year old. He didn’t want to get up. But his daughter was as stubborn as his wife. So Jude gave him a long sweet kiss and told him to go back to sleep while she fetched breakfast.

He did.

He shouldn’t have.

He should’ve gone with her. He should’ve gone instead. Or better yet, he should’ve convinced her to stay and make the bloody pancakes himself. Anything.

Anything except letting Jude go out alone. She was supposed to be back in a matter of minutes, but she didn’t. And he didn’t notice it because he fell asleep again.

He missed the first phone call. And the second.

It wasn’t until a tiny hand woke him up and handed him the cellphone. Frowning with dizziness at Jude’s two missed calls he was about to dial back when it rang again.

“Hey babe, sorry. What’s up?” He mumbled, ruffling Ivy’s hair.

The voice that answered was not Jude’s, instantly startling him awake.

“Yes, he’s speaking.” Loud voices and sirens muffled the voice, making it hard to hear. “I’m- I’m sorry I’m not understanding, where is my wife? Give her the phone so I can speak to her plea-”

He didn’t record the moment when he put on the first clothes he found, nor calling his old college friends that lived two doors away to come and watch little Ivy.

He didn’t watch for the red lights or cared if he’d parked the right way in the hospital’s parking lot. The world seemed to spiral around him, an unending parade of walls, doors, people in white or blue suits. Voices filled him with details but he could only partially hear them. Something about a kid crossing the street unsupervised and Jude running after him. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

“We’re glad we could reach you Mr. Greenbriar. It’s always better when the patient doesn’t have to go through it alone.”

“Through it? What are you-”

“I’m really sorry. The internal damage is too much...”

The doctor’s voice faded away as they entered the room. Fighting to bite back a sob he approached the resting figure on the bed. She looked like his wife, but something was deeply wrong. Her face was awfully pale and her lips dry and bruised. Wires rested along her body. The monitor connected to them matched the aching slowness in her breathing. There was no trace of the playful Jude that teased him mercilessly day after day, stealing kisses from his mouth and knowing he’d let her do whatever she wanted to him.

He found himself still standing centimeters away from her, paralyzed.

The doctor leaned to touch her shoulder and whispered something to her ear. Her eyelids fluttered a moment before opening, not with the fierceness they carried everyday but tired, wandering.

Pulling out of his frozen state he reached for her hand, covered in bandages and stroke it softly. “Jude.”

Her eyes found him and a weak smile curved her lips. “You made it.” She said with a raspy voice. He kneeled, fully taking her hand in his. The door knob clicked as they were left alone.

“Of course I did.” He choked out, trying to match her smile. It felt as if a thin string was keeping him together. “I’m here to take you home.”

Jude looked at him the way she did every time he promised to bring the stars down for her. She squeezed his hand with a nonexistent force that physically hurt in his chest. “You were always a terrible liar.”

Cardan opened his mouth to joke back but wasn’t able to make more than a suffocated sound. That’s when the first tear rolled down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, opening them as he felt her thumb wiping away the wetness under them. “It’s ok.”

The string snapped.

“No, it’s not Jude, gods I’m- I’m...” He sobbed, incapable of stopping himself anymore. “I’m so sorry, it was all my fault. If I’d gone with you, If I’d…”

“Hey, no. It’s ok.” She cooed, holding him as he buried his face in her neck apologizing over and over. “Cardan, this was not your fault. Please.”

He let her hold him as his body trembled with broken weeps. Cardan shut his eyes close, hoping he would open them and be back home. Not here. Not in this nightmare. They had so much to do, so much to live. He was meant to be with her through everything. He was meant to protect her. And he had neglected everything for five more sleeping minutes instead. If Ivy hadn’t woken him up… If he’d missed another phone call…

If he’d answered the first damn time he might have had more time. There was an ache in his chest making it harder to breathe, to think.

They laid together for several minutes, hearing nothing more than their breathings and the beeping machine.

“Stay, my love.” He begged, the knot in his throat making it harder to speak. “Fight. I can’t do it without you, I’m not strong enough. I need you, we need you… Ivy...”

Something wet landed on his cheek. Only then he realized she’d started crying too. “You’ll take care of her. You can, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

He felt her breathing falter and he backed up a little, afraid he’d harm her but Jude didn’t let him go. “I love you. I always have, even when you used to make my life a living hell all those years ago. I love you and our daughter so much.” She said. Cardan sobbed again. Don’t, he wanted to answer, don’t say goodbye. Not yet. “And know that even when you can’t see me, I will be with you always.”

“I know,” He whispered back, now wiping her tears away and leaning to kiss her. “I love you, Jude Duarte. You are the best gift life could give me. You saw the best in me when nobody else could and for that and everything else, I’ll be eternally grateful. I’ll... watch out for Ivy, and she will know her mom is a hero, I promise.”

She breathed a laugh and asked him to hold her again. He did, he clung to her as tightly as he could without hurting her, breathing ‘I love you’ on her hair until her hand lost strength around him.

Until the monitor gave out one long final beep and took his heart with it.

He’d kept his vow. He’d continued with his life, dedicating every second of it to take care of their little girl. To make sure she was happy and wasn’t that affected from her mother’s passing.

Ivy was strong, and most of the time more mature than her age suggested. She tried to carry on as well. Even if sometimes Cardan caught her staring longingly at that spot on the living room where Jude used to sit and read his old books.

But even now, months later, it was hard for him to get up from bed sometimes. To wake up from a bad dream only to realize it was real, he was alone. Jude wasn’t coming back.

Some nights nightmares got worse, not because his mind created new scenarios. Quite the opposite, it revived his worst memory.

Hands touched his shoulders, probably seeking to comfort him. But he barely felt them. He barely heard the nurses enter the room after Jude’s pulse stopped.

He was aware of the uncontrollable way his chest shook between sobs. Pleading her to stay, to open her eyes just one minute more.

Of how he clutched her hand as if it would squeeze life back into her. He felt the softness of her hair as he caressed it, clinging to her the moment the doctors tried to pull him away. The nurse started to remove the wires.

He dreamed of his throat tearing apart as he roared them to let go of his wife. Later begging to allow him to hug her for a moment more. Just a second. Just a lifetime. Please.

Just a moment.

Cardan always woke between gasps those nights. Sometimes leading him to stay awake until morning, afraid to fall asleep again.

It was on days like that that he closed his eyes and let time rewind.

He returned to the year before, to the mornings when they decided who prepared breakfast with rock, paper, scissors games.

To years before that, when still half asleep he reached for her and curled his arms around Jude’s swollen belly. Barely weeks away from welcoming their baby.

To the day when he’d held his girlfriend in his arms and waited for her to open her eyes to finally ask her to marry him.

He knew he shouldn’t. In fact he was sure Jude would beat his ass for doing it. But sometimes he just wanted to feel her close only for a couple of minutes more. Some days he refused to accept she was not there anymore.

A loud crash startled him, bringing Cardan back from his daydreaming. He sat up to look at the clock and frowned. It was still early for Ivy to be awake.

He got up and walked to the kitchen, only to find the floor covered in white flour and his daughter on the opposite side with the face of someone that just got caught with a hand in the jar of cookies.

“Ivy, what are you doing?” He asked. Gods, there was a mess. His mental energy didn’t want to deal with it at the moment.

“I...” She darted her gaze to the right, the same thing Jude did whenever Cardan found her doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

He crossed the space, to crouch next to her and started picking things up with an exasperated sigh.

She let out a breath in defeat and murmured. “I was trying to make the muffins.”

“The muffins?”

“The muffins mom cooked for us every Christmas.” Ivy said as if he’d missed the most obvious thing.

Fuck. He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall behind him. December 24th. Fuck, fuck. How had he overlooked the date? They’d received an invitation to celebrate Christmas with their friends and another one from Jude’s family. He had intended to answer back.

“Oh honey…you needn’t.” Cardan turned back to her and took her little hand between his.

“I know. But I wanted to cheer you up.” Ivy’s voice was low. “You’re sad all the time, dad… I thought... maybe mommy’s muffins would help.”

A pang of guilt stung in his chest. Fuck, he tried so hard to keep his emotions at bay around her. Washing his face with frozen water hoping it would take away the redness around his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and opened his mouth but no words came out so he just pulled his child into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t be,” She interrupted him, clinging to his neck. “I miss her too.”

Blinking back the tears, he pulled back to cup her cheeks. “There is nothing that cheers me up more than you, sweetie. You know that right?”

Ivy’s chocolate eyes shimmered as she nodded.

Cardan took a deep breath and pulled her up so she was sitting on top of the counter. “Now, you know I suck at cooking those infamous muffins,” He grimaced. Ivy chuckled and bit her lip, totally not denying his statement. “So how about if instead of those, I prepare you my ultra special pancakes?”

Her gaze widened. “With whipped cream and fruit??”

He nodded. The excited squeal of his daughter warmed his heart in that unique way only she could achieve.

With Ivy’s help, the pancakes were made in little time. Even if all she did was jump around the kitchen singing Christmas carols.

Just as he was about to serve the table, she stopped him. “Dad, can we go eat breakfast with mommy?”

Cardan paused, not sure if he’d listened correctly. “With mommy?”

“Yeah, you know, like those days when we went out on picnics.” She said. Excitement floored from every single one of her pores. “She loved Christmas, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see us too!”

He wanted to say no, not knowing if he would make it. It’s too soon, the words hug there in the tip of his tongue. But looking at Ivy and her puppy eyes, he couldn’t.

Covered in scarves and warm coats they arrived at the cemetery. It was a beautiful place, if he was honest. Tall trees and some flowers grew along, giving it the appearance of a valley despite the cold weather. It looked so peaceful. Even if snow covered some parts of it.

Cardan carried a bag filled with the food and a blanket to use as tablecloth. Ivy played with the snow as they walked, and gasped at the sight of her mother’s tombstone. Letting go of Cardan’s hand, she ran towards it. A big smile shining on her face.

He stopped meters away from it, unsure of his decision. His heart hammered on his chest and he could see the steam formed by his shaky breathing.

Ivy turned and motioned him to come closer.

As he approached, he heard the cheerful chatter of his daughter, making him frown.

“...so I tried to be as quiet as possible, but then the flour fell!” She laughed and darted her gaze to him again. “That’s why daddy caught me, right dad?”

Cardan hesitated. “Uh, yeah… that’s when I found you covered in powder.”

He peered at the marble figure, intentionally avoiding the picture under the letters forming her name.

After setting the food they ate. Ivy barely chewed her food between words, since she was deeply invested in whatever conversation she was having with her mother. Cardan just listened. She spoke about her school, her exams with almost perfect grades. About aunt Liliver announcing she and uncle Van were expecting a baby, a thing Ivy wasn’t so sure to like since that would probably remove her from ‘the favorite’ position. She talked about the blanket forts Cardan taught her to build and the new books he’d read to her. Occasionally, she would laugh as if she’d listened to something incredibly funny.

They built a snow castle with the few snow that was gathered around, at least before Ivy accidentally threw a snowball to his chest. The snowball war that unleashed after had them growling and squealing for several minutes. It ended up with both of them lying down on the blanket, tired and giggling.

He sat up to ruffle her hair and sighed. “It’s time to go, little one.”

Ivy whined. “So soon?”

“We can return some other day…” That lit her face back up. “But your aunt Lil invited us to a party today. Do you want to go?”

She yelped. “With Christmas gifts?”

“Yeah.” Cardan winked.

Once everything was back in the bag Cardan started walking, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to mommy?”

He didn’t answer.

“C’mon dad, go. I’ll wait for you over there.” She signaled a big space where rocks made an odd figure. That said, she was gone.

Haltingly, Cardan turned back to face the tombstone.

Air seemed to have flown out of his lungs. What was he supposed to say? He looked down and shuffled his foot in the snow. His grip tightened around the bag’s handle.

He used to spend the nights thinking of all the things he would’ve liked to say to her. But as it was, all of them apparently had vanished into the air. Should he say he loved her? That everything was okay?

“I hate you.” Was what came out. Cardan scoffed and swallowed. That was definitely not what he was thinking. “That is a lie. But I guess you already know it, don’t you?”

“Sometimes I wish I could hate you though... Maybe it would make it easier. Because sure as hell it’s not.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m trying. I promised you I would but… I miss you all the fucking time, Jude. I can’t go to bed at night without thinking you’re not there by my side anymore.”

He paused and rubbed his eyes. Cardan flashed quick glances to Ivy, trying to find the strength. But once he faced Jude’s picture again, the pressure on his chest was nearly unbearable.

“Everyday something happens that I would like to tell you. When Ivy or any of our friends do something I find hilarious I turn to make sure you saw it too just to find an empty space and I… I hate it.”

“I hate not being able to hug you, I hate not feeling your hands playing with my hair in the morning. I hate not being able to tell you everyday how much I still love you. I hate that Ivy notices how much I struggle with it. I hate not being as strong as you were.”

He spilled the words so fast they were probably intelligible, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Ivy… she’s an amazing little girl, you know? Everyday she does something new that is clever, or brave… and she reminds me so much of you.” A sob broke through him. He turned to look at her, auburn curls bouncing everywhere. Taking a steadying breath he brought back his gaze to the tomb.

“I just hope she’s not as good with lies or I will be totally screwed.” He let out a low chuckle. “You should be proud of her.”

Before he could say something else something warm spread down his shoulders to his arms and chest. If he was drunk he would say it resembled the feeling of a hug. The pressure on his chest slowly disappeared as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Not knowing exactly how or why, a weight on his shoulders he hadn’t realized he had, was gone from a moment to another.

“I love you, Jude Duarte.” He breathed. “You will have my heart always, and when this life ends I’ll find you again to give it to you once more.”

Giving a final look to the picture he’d been avoiding since they arrived, he gave a weak smile, wiped the tears away and turned to go find his daughter.

“Goodbye, my sweet villain.”

A Christmas party with his family (because that’s how he considered his friends), awaited. He found Ivy marching on top of the rocks, claiming it was a conquered fae castle and she, the new Queen. He chuckled and motioned her to return.

As they walked back to the car, she grabbed his hand and gave him a knowing look. Even when you can’t see me, I will be with you always.

The next morning when he opened his eyes the empty spot was still there. But for the first time in months, he welcomed the memories of his Jude with a longing smile.

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

Tags: @sweetlyvillainous @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @jurdannet @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003 @booksandothersecrets @thewickedkings @ireallyshouldsleeprn @fuzzypineapples (tumblr couldn’t find your profile to tag you hun sorry! ☹️ )

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#jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #jurdan fanfic #angsty jurdan #angst #tcp #twk #tqon #qon #the cruel prince #the folk of the air #judecardan #jude x cardan #tess writes

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dani-escribe · 3 years

Text

Serendipity

Chapter 2 - A Place To Call Home

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F! Reader

Wordcount: 1,771

Summary: How a Friday night with plans, turns into something a little more eventful.

Warnings: A little bit of talk about the struggles of parents with kids in the hospital.

A/N: Hi loves! Here is the second chapter of the series. I was honestly giggling the entire time I was writing this and I hope you will too while reading it! Once again a huge thank you to @lowlights @fastandfeminist and @wbl75 for being my beta readers and for all of their help! Hope you like it! :)

Read here on ao3

Things at your job had been going amazing. Going in with the coffees had seemed to be a great idea and had worked like a charm. The other nurses were incredibly welcoming and your patients, while a little fussy, had just been the cutest kids imaginable. As a celebration of your arrival at the hospital, and as a way to get to know you a bit better when you weren't running from one place to the other, the other nurses had invited you for a night out on Friday. You figured it would probably be a good idea to get a drink down at the local bars or to go out dancing, and you were excited to get to know the nightlife around the city. Going to school didn't really leave you with much time to go out and explore. Also living with your parents had kind of restricted the number of nights of crazy fun, movie nights with them not being included in this description. You honestly hadn’t minded living with them because you were so close, but it was nice to get out once in a while.

It was finally Friday and looking at your wardrobe you decided to go with a simple black satin dress. The snugness of it did wonders to show off your curves, which were usually comfortably hidden behind the scrubs that you wore everyday. It was long enough to not be uncomfortable while dancing, but short enough to make a nun blush. The straps of it were thin, which complimented the V-neck plunge that showed just the right amount of cleavage. Paired with some black heels and gold jewelry you were pleased to see you could still look put together after the week at the hospital. Running around chasing three year olds and dealing with helicopter parents could sometimes make you forget that you were young and didn't always look totally disheveled.

As you got ready you started to think about the families that you worked with, which led to you thinking about if you ever wanted to have a bond as strong as those couples do with someone. In your line of work you had seen many incredible couples go through some of the most awful things imaginable with their families, but it always impressed you how their love prevailed despite their circumstances. Having any loved one be in pain is like the worst type of torture imaginable, but having it be your child, well there are just no words to describe that. This is why it amazed you how these parents were able to care for their child and one another in some of the most difficult times in their lives. You figured it was because of how much trust they put in one another, and how they were always there to hold each other up.

It must be so incredible to have someone to rely on, it’s something you hadn't really had in the past couple of years in terms of partners. This got you thinking about Marcus, which had really been all you could think about since you totally obliterated his tie and shirt in the diner. You wondered what he might be doing tonight. He could be hanging around the art museum working on a case while wearing one of those tailored suits, or maybe he would be back at the diner reading a book in a tight gray t-shirt that hugged his arms just right. He seemed like the type of man who would wear glasses while sitting in a booth, reading alone, someplace where the lighting makes him look like he’s right out of a painting.

You shook those thoughts out of your head with a gasp when you almost smeared red lipstick all over your cheek due to daydreaming about him. You had known the man for less than a week and you were already coming up with increasingly unrealistic scenarios about him. Looking at the clock you shot to your feet and started to panic, noticing that you were almost late to the meet up.

Grabbing your purse and checking yourself out one last time, you sprinted out the door and headed for the stairs. You were almost out of your apartment building when you collided with someone coming in.

An audible “ufff” came from the man that you almost ran over and you looked up to apologize for casually slamming into him. Your words stopped short when you saw those honey brown eyes staring down at you again.

“Marcus?!?” You exhaled with a gasp, half catching your breath and half losing it from the surprise that you were seeing him once again.

“We really have to stop running into each other like this” He said with a deep chuckle as his expression gave way to the amazement you both appeared to be feeling.

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah I really have to stop using body slamming into someone as a conversation starter.”

As he laughed you could tell he realized how different you looked from the other times he saw you, and as hard as he tried to hide it you could tell that he was checking you out. Not that you looked totally shabby in your scrubs, but this was definitely a step up from your “just woken up” Monday look.

“Wow, I uhh… you- you look really … dressed up. Not that you weren’t before, I just meant that you look like you're going out, not out like at the museum, like out … at night … with people. Which is great because it's night and-” The tips of his ears reddened as he continued to try and finish his sentence.

“No worries Marcus, I got what you meant.” You giggled at his cheeks suddenly flushing with a pink tint. “You’re actually right, I’m headed out to go to a bar or dancing, I-I’m not quite sure what the plan is if I’m being honest.” At this moment you realized how dangerously close your hands were to his strong chest from when you braced yourself on the impact of crashing into him.

“Oh right,” his smile seemed to falter a bit. Marcus added as he moved a few centimeters back as if to not crowd your space. “Well I hope you have fun, uh... they’re very lucky.” He added with a sweet but sad smile.

Now it was your turn to blush. “Oh no, it's nothing like that. I got invited by some co-workers to go out since it was my first week on the job so … yeah, not really with anyone at the moment.” You fidgeted with your hands now that there was a little more space between you.

He leaned his arm on the doorframe above you taking back the space he had left empty, as he seemed to perk up a bit at your response. His pause gave you enough time to think about the fact that you had just run into him in your apartment lobby, which raised your question, "So what are you doing around here?”

“Well I live here, just on the third floor actually,” he pointed upwards with a smile.

Your eyes widened at his response. “Wait really? I live on the third floor,” you exclaimed with a bit of amusement.

“Well then I guess we're going to get a lot more opportunities to run into one another.” He let out a chuckle. “I live in 302 if you ever need anything or want to save me from wearing any other terrible ties.”

Laughing at his joke you thought this honestly couldn’t get any better, “I live in 303, so I believe we’re next door neighbors then.” You mentioned as you leaned your head to the side. “I think I actually knocked on your door a few days ago to introduce myself but I guess there’s no need for an introduction now.” A small puff of air left you as you laughed about the coincidence of your current situation. “I’m actually surprised this is the first time I've run into you, I guess work keeps you busy huh?”

“Yeah, I've been staying at the office the past couple of nights because of a case but it got wrapped up today so I should be able to be here a bit more now. Believe it or not there were some guys living in that apartment before you that used to have a band and they kept me up some nights. So I guess I can finally go to sleep now at a reasonable hour, that is of course unless you’re some kind of rock legend that I’m unaware of?” His eyes crinkled in what you swore was the most adorable yet totally sexy smile.

“Nope, I’m completely rockless. Unless you count playing the piano unsuccessfully for a year in elementary school, then I think you’re good.” Heavens, he smelled so good. Your proximity to him allowed you to notice the soft undertones of amber and clean linen that made up his cologne. Not that you were trying to smell him, because that would be a little creepy, but it's like he was just starting to take over all of your senses.

“Ah I don't know there are many child prodigies who decide to go back and hone their craft in adulthood or so I’ve heard in a podcast” You both laughed and looked at each other for a moment before a buzzing in your purse brought you back to reality

“I should let you get back to your night.” He said politely, trying to not take up more of your time than he already had.

You had been so caught up in him that you totally forgot that there was a reason you were headed out the door. “Yeah they're probably wondering where I am,” you sighed. “ Well I guess I’ll be seeing more of you?” Your voice had an optimistic tone to it now that the probability of seeing him seemed increasingly possible.

“You can count on it.” He winked and you felt the temperature of the room rise.

He opened the door for you like a gentleman and you let out a small thanks before heading out the building. Despite the gusts of wind your skin prickled with warmth from your interaction with him, and you felt a shiver creeping up your spine. As you walked into the cool night air you could feel his eyes on your figure, and you would be lying if you said that there wasn't a bit of extra swing in your hips just for him.

Taglist:

@klara-luise18 @farfromjustordinary @noz4a2

#Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fic #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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honeyhan-123 · 4 years

Text

Neon Red

Summary: Feeling the failure of not being able to defeat Thanos, Steve longs to feel something else, anything else, and so he finds himself as a patron at The Golden Circle where our reader (known as Kitty by customers) is a dancer.

Warnings: Dark!Steve, Stripper!Reader, stalking, male masturbation, dubcon/noncon.

Word Count: 4.5k

AN: I’m so sorry there isn’t a Say Thank You update this weekend but please enjoy a slutty oneshot, it’s also a little spin off from the Project Legacy fic (you don’t have to read it to read this.) I would also love to thank @castedcaricaturesfor betaing this fic for me and @iwantutobehapppier and @omega-nicole for giving me their opinions about an issue I had.

My Masterlist

The neon red sign above the door reflected in Steve’s blue eyes as he stood, staring up at it, hesitating as he stood out on the street. He knew if his ma were still here that she would kill him if she ever found out he was about to enter an establishment like the ‘Golden Circle’ but that was exactly why he was doing it. She wasn’t here. No one was anymore.

For once in his life Steve Rogers wanted to feel something, wanted to give into his more carnal instincts. And so here he was, wondering if he had gotten enough cash out of the ATM across the street, wearing a dark blue baseball cap pulled low over his brow, praying that no one would recognise him.

Yet as he pushed open the heavy door and was greeted by the sickly sweet scent of the club, he realised his fears had been for nothing, hardly anyone spared him a glance, too enraptured with the dancer who was up on the podium. Even though it was a bit of a darker atmosphere than what he was used to, Steve liked it. He liked the dim red lighting - from where it originated he couldn’t tell - the plush brown leather booths, the mahogany bar behind which there was an alcohol cabinet that could rival Tony’s. It was modernised sure, but it reminded him of something that he might have seen back in his own time if he had dared do something so salacious and he knew that he had made the right call by coming here.

Straying a little further from the stage, he sat in one of the lone leather high backed chairs, hands running down his thighs, a little unsure of what to do as he surveyed his surroundings, barely even glancing at the woman on the stage. A server came over, holding a tray with one hand as she lent down, practically pushing her chest into Steve’s bearded face and while he appreciated the view of her scantily clad nipples, he wasn’t all that invested.

‘What can I get you handsome?’ Her voice was wrong, it was too much, too overt in its sexuality.

‘Just a scotch thanks.’ Even though he wasn’t interested he still slipped a twenty from his wallet, tucking it into the scrap of material that were her panties. ‘Keep the change.’ She smiled, her eyes seeming to eat him up before she turned and walked away, swaying her hips intoxicatingly.

The dancer on the stage finished her set, a raucous applause following as she made her way around the crowd, collecting tips from greedy hands. Steve’s scotch was set down next to him and he thanked the waitress as a voice cut through the applause.

‘Once again that was the gorgeous Glitter! Isn’t she just stunning? For those interested she does private shows too, just her and whatever lucky bugger in our lounges. Send an inquiry if interested.’ There was a pause in which Steve considered what the MC had said. Private shows, maybe that’s where he should be. But not with her, no. She wasn’t quite right.

‘Next up, is the sensational Kitty! Gentlemen please give her a very warm welcome.’ Steve's gaze was at once pulled back to the stage as the deep red velvet curtain parted, revealing her.

Immediately he knew. He knew she was the one. He watched enticed as she performed, her body twisting and twirling through the air with a sense of grace - of elegance - that the others just hadn’t held. For the first time since it had happened, he felt himself get hard, achingly hard. The desire to reach into his pants growing with every second that his eyes drank up her form.

He could almost pretend that it was only him, that he was the only one in the room with her, that she was dancing just for him. He didn’t necessarily care about the other men watching her because he knew, deep down, that she was his. It didn’t matter that she didn’t even know him or that he had only just seen her, she was his for now and forever more.

He waited until her dance was over, pulling a handful of twenties from his wallet and this time when she sashayed across the crowd for tips, his greedy hands joined the others. Swiftly tucking the money into the black silk, just above her vee. He relished in the way her eyes grew larger as she caught sight of the amount he had given, the way they had followed his deft fingers from her panties and up his arm before coming to rest on his face.

‘Thank you.’ Just those two words had Steve ready to cum right then and there. Her voice was so soft and delicate, just what he had been looking for all this time.

‘You’re welcome Doll.’ He fell in love with her smile, not that fake one she had worn when she was dancing, but the real one she wore now, her teeth gleaming in the dim lighting.

‘I-’

She was interrupted by a portly man calling her name, taking her attention away from him as the man gestured to her to come to him. Pausing slightly, she turned back to Steve but he raised his hands, a smile on his face.

‘Go. I need to head off anyway.’ He tried to make his voice as easygoing as he could, not wanting to let her know the dark thoughts plaguing his mind. She smiled at him once more before turning on her heel and crossing the room to who Steve could only assume was the manager of the establishment, his eyes following every sway of her hips until she led from the room and out of sight.

Stretching out his muscles, he stood from the leather chair, leaving a twenty underneath his now empty glass before pulling his cap further down his brow and heading out of the building, his phone in his hand as he searched Stark’s database for just who this angelic Kitty really was.

It really hadn’t been that hard to find her, the real Kitty. Ten minutes of searching had given him her real name, her address, her credit history, her family backstory. Camped out on the roof across from her apartment Steve chided Stark’s technology. In the wrong hands it could be quite dangerous, having such easy access to anyone’s personal details.

But it was fine, he was here to protect her now.

He waited up on that cold roof for nearly two hours until a cab came by, stopping just outside the crummy apartment complex. Even in the dim light emanating from the streetlights, his Kitty seemed to glow, shining bright and beautiful like an angel. He watched as she let herself in, a few minutes passing before the light to her apartment flickered on. He blessed the fact that she hadn’t drawn the blinds, thinking herself safe, tucked away on the twelfth floor. She gave him an uninterrupted view of her apartment, of how she wandered from the cramped kitchen/living room into her even smaller bedroom, disappearing briefly into the bathroom before emerging in only a towel, her wet hair cascading down her back, sticking to her smooth skin.

For the second time since the snap had happened, Steve felt his pants grow tight, the need to feel something, anything, overtaking him. He adjusted his perch on the roof, making sure he still had a good visual of the bedroom as his hand dipped down, briskly undoing his belt and pulling himself from his jeans.

He watched as her towel dropped to the floor, the fluffy white cotton kicked aside, revealing her body to him. Despite the fact that he had practically already seen it in the club, he couldn’t hold in the groan it caused, his hand wrapping around himself and pumping furiously as the pretty girl in the window got ready for bed.

‘Hey Kitty, he’s back. Again.’ You tried to hold in the smile Glitter’s words caused, the jealousy barely concealed, but you couldn’t blame her. Whoever he was, he wasn’t like the other men who frequented the ‘Golden Circle’ in a lot of ways. He wasn’t sleazy like the others, his hands - while they did occasionally linger - never groped bits of flesh as they slipped twenty dollar bills into the thin straps of your outfits and although he never took off the dark blue baseball cap, making it near impossible to see his face, you could tell he was attractive, his biceps bulged and his thick thighs looked like the most comfortable seat in the world.

While his continual presence did make you slightly uneasy, it also gave you butterflies, seeing his eyes always fixated on you, even when you weren’t the one on stage. He barely spared a glance at the other girls despite them trying their best efforts to draw his attention. He only wanted you. His presence made you not care about never booking a session in the Lounge because while the increased pay of a private show would have been nice, he was always by the mainstage, plus his tips were always far too generous.

Your heart raced with the typical pre-show jitters, incensed by the fact you knew he was out there, waiting for you and when your music started you took a deep breath, fully transitioning into Kitty, the cheeky dancer, before stepping out on stage. Like usual, your eyes flitted around the club, searching for him and when you finally found him, sitting towards the back, you made sure to give him your cheekiest smile.

‘Let’s give it up for our resident cheeky little Kitty Cat!’ You barely heard the obnoxious voice of Mike the club’s MC, opting instead to go to your happy place. When you had first started at the ‘Golden Circle’ it had been hard to zone out from the leering and drunken men but reflecting back to your days as a ballerina had helped. Although it was now a completely different style of dance, pretending that you were on stage in your pretty pink pointe shoes performing for your family had given you the peace of mind you needed to get up on stage every night.

Now however, your happy place had a much different setting. You were still up on stage, yet it was a smaller stage, a plush leather couch at the base of it, the walls lined with a deep red velvet, casting a sensual appearance over the room. Instead of a crowd full of strangers, you only performed for one man, a glass of whisky in his hand and a blue baseball cap pulled low over his brow as he watched you.

You knew it was wrong, dangerous even, to fantasise about a client like that, but it was what helped get you through the grueling shifts and with the way he watched your every move, you didn’t think he would mind.

As your dance came to an end, you did your usual rounds, sitting in a few laps, having your flesh groped as tips were slid into your red bodysuit. As always, you saved him for last, finally wandering over to his couch, your smile not as fake as it had been.

‘Well hi-ya stranger.’ You joked as you neared, and you thought that you just might’ve died when you heard his responding chuckle, one of his rare smiles gracing his lips.

‘Doll, I don’t think we’re strangers at this point.’ You smiled as he leaned forward, his hand slipped down between your breasts to place a couple of bills there. You were surprised when his other hand crept up behind you, gingerly wrapping itself around your waist. ‘So, I was thinking… How about a dance sugar?’ Your eyebrows raised on their own accord, your surprise evident. Despite how often he came into the club, he had never asked for a dance. The only time that he had come close was when he had asked you offhandedly, if you minded being the one to serve him his drinks when you were on duty. Although you had felt guilty about keeping him to yourself you had gladly agreed, how could you not?

When you realised that he was still waiting, you snapped out of your reverie. ‘Of course Darling, anything for you.’ Despite how full your body suit was, you didn’t want to keep him waiting, so you stalked around behind him, beginning your routine as you slid your hands down his chest, your lips coming to his ear.

Most of the time doing by-stage dances you found yourself having to grit your teeth, barely able to keep down the bile yet as you danced for your stranger the smile on your face was a hundred percent genuine.

‘You know, I feel kind of bad. We spend all this time together, yet I don’t even know your name.’ He shuddered as you whispered into the shell of his ear, being sure to brush your lips against the soft, supple skin.

‘I’m Steve.’ His voice was rough as he spoke, his adam’s apple bobbing, drawing your attention.Your hands danced back up his chest, smoothing out his shirt as you walked back around, being sure to keep one hand on him.

‘Well it’s nice to have a name to put to my favourite patron.’ Your hand wrapped around his neck, gripping onto the dark blonde locks as you nudged his feet further apart with your heels, sliding into the new space between them.

‘Your favourite patron huh?’ You loved the prideful tone that rang through his voice as you leaned down, pushing your chest towards him.

‘Of course Sweetheart, how could you not be?’ Your hands trailed down his chest once more, dancing below his belt line, skirting the growing bulge to trace the tracks of the rough denim coating his thighs. From here your arms could squeeze your breasts together as you leaned over them, the stray hairs of his beard nearly touching the red satin cups and just as you thought he would lose control and lean into the soft skin, you whipped around. You swiveled your hips as you moved your hands up your body, raising one leg first and setting it down outside of his knee and then doing the same with the other before squatting, just above his lap.

Your hips moved in a figure eight motion, slowly getting closer and closer to where he clearly wanted you to be. Looking back over your shoulder at him you spoke. ‘Tell me Steve, tell me how badly you want it.’

His groan was audible as you continued to tease, never quite touching him where he needed. ‘So badly baby girl. You have no fucking clue. I need you so badly.’ With his groaned words, you finally lowered yourself down onto him sending him a cheeky wink as you did so.

Despite the clubs firm no touching rule, you allowed his hands to rest on your hips as you moved them, your own reaching back and hooking around his neck, giving yourself some leverage. ‘Do you like that Stevie? Does that feel good?’

He didn’t answer your questions verbally, but the way he thrusted his hips up against yours was a clear enough response. You continued moving against him, letting his hands force you down harder on his crotch, letting him use you as he chased his orgasm. ‘God… Fuck Doll. You make me feel so fucking good. Yes…’ His words were a jumbled mess as he came closer and closer and you felt his hands dance up your body to squeeze your tits.

You knew you should pull away, knew it was wrong to let a customer touch you like that, but the way his groans were ringing through your ears was addictive. In that one moment, the only thing you wanted to achieve was getting this man off, whatever that meant doing.

He rolled your pert nipples between his fingers, rubbing you through the smooth satin as he moaned. ‘Yes, that’s it Doll, I’m so fucking close. Oh god, fuck, Doll. Make me cum baby, make me fucking cum.’ You moaned with him as you moved your hips up and down his crotch and you smiled as you felt his thighs tense beneath you, a long loud moan coming from him that almost covered the sound of satin tearing.

Your hips stopped moving as you looked down, barely registering through your shock the gaping rip down your body suit. You jumped out of his lap, trying to keep the material against your chest as you stared down at him, wanting to scream.

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry Doll. I didn’t mean to. I was just holding it and then when I - it just ripped. I’m so sorry, here. Take my jacket back to the changing room.’ You pursed your lips, trying to refrain from showing your anger, knowing the tips would be better if you could make it back to the dressing rooms before the curses started spilling from your lips. He held out a smooth brown leather jacket and you murmured a thanks as you slipped it on, barely registering the obscene amount of money he slipped into your hand before you turned on your heel, disappearing down the corridor, and edgy feeling creeping its way inside you.

Steve didn’t need to return to the club the next night to know he had messed up. There was a clear no touching policy and he had not only done that but he’d ruined your suit and your trust. He had seen it in the way you had barely smiled as he gave your jacket and then later how you had given it to one of the other girls to give back to him.

By the time he had realised you weren’t coming out for your floor shift, you had already left and when he finally got to your apartment, he was disappointed to see your blinds drawn shut. He had taken his frustrations out on a nearby trash can, cursing himself for losing your trust. You were the one thing in this fucked up world that made him actually feel something and just like with Thanos, he had fucked up and just like with Sam and Bucky, he had lost you too.

But he hadn’t… not really. You were still here, you could still be his. He just might have to change his approach a little. It could still work.

The next night Steve waited anxiously on the plush leather couch, admiring the velvet walls as the minutes ticked by. It hadn’t been long enough that he was worried you weren’t going to show, but he was impatient. He wanted, no, needed to see you again, to feel you rub against him as you drew him to his orgasm. Despite the terrible way the night had ended, the orgasm you had brought out had felt so good, it had been his best ever and he had cursed himself for those few seconds before he realised what had happened for not requesting a dance earlier.

When he had first discovered your apartment and your tendency to leave your blinds open he had thought that would be enough, that sitting up on that cold and lonely roof with his fist wrapped around his cock would be enough. But it wasn’t, and now, he had a taste for more.

He heard the click of heels through the thick mahogany door and anxiously wiped his hands along his thighs as the wood was pushed open, revealing your silhouette on the other side. He watched as you walked towards the stage, the door closing behind you, stopping just before you got to the platform.

‘Why did you book the Lounge?’ In the silence of the room, your whisper sounded like a scream.

‘I wanted to apologise, plus, I need to see you again. And I figured this way, we could talk.’ You scoffed at his words.

‘Talk?’ You mocked, laughing as you spoke. ‘You men never want to just talk. I thought… I don’t know what I thought but I know that I’m sick of it. So now you have two options, you can either leave or I can call security and have you escorted out. It’s your choice.’

Steve felt his mouth go dry, he couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t allow it. ‘Doll please… you don’t want to do that. Please don’t do that to me.’ You ignored his warning, reeking of his desperation, but before you could open your mouth to scream, he had lunged from the couch, his arms wrapping around you, one securing your back to his chest, the other clamped over your mouth.

‘I told you not to do that Doll.’ You writhed in his arms trying to twist away from him to no avail. The small groan that escaped his lips disgusted you as he sat down on the stage, pulling your hips against his. ‘Be a good girl for me, please Doll. You have no idea how much I need this.’ Your scathing response was made unintelligible by his hand as his other dipped into the sparkling blue skirt you had on, pushing the matching panties to the side as he swiped a finger along your slit.

His breathing was heavy in your ear as his fingers swirled around your lips, gathering the slick that was beginning to pool. ‘See Doll, you want this too. I know you do. Fuck, I’ve seen it with my own eyes how you would dance just for me, even in that crowd of men.’ Your muffled protests turned into hesitant moans as he entered you with two fingers, his thumb pressing down on your clit. ‘That’s it, that’s a good girl. Just sit back and enjoy it, doesn’t it feel good?’

Your hands clutched at his thighs, your head resting on his shoulder as you gave in, your hips twisting against his hand, riding it on their own accord. His fingers scissored inside of you, curling themselves against your walls as his thumb rubbed your pearl frantically. You didn’t miss the growing bulge beneath you but you could barely form a coherent thought as he pulled you to the edge.

‘That’s it Doll. Just let go for me, I know you’re close.’ You hadn’t realised when his hand had drifted down from your mouth to rest on your throat, but the gentle restriction had you seeing stars, screaming silently as you convulsed in his arms, letting go for him.

You watched in silent horror as he lifted his hand from your mini-skirt and raised it to his lips, moaning around the thick digits. ‘You taste better than I ever could have imagined, I can’t wait to feel you.’ You shuddered against his thick chest and gasped as he flipped you around, your chest pressing against the cold hard wood of the stage.

You yipped as he pulled down the skirt and panties, exposing your heated centre to the cool air, a moan coming from him along with the clink of a belt buckle. You tried to worm your way out of his arms even though you knew it was worthless trying, he was far stronger than you.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt him, sliding along the slick that he had caused, coating himself in it before coming to your entrance and pausing for a brief moment. You barely dared to hope that he would pull away and yet when you felt him slowly sinking into your heat, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Of course he would just do what he wants.

‘Oh god… Doll… Fuck.’ You felt the stretch of your walls as he eased in, pain shooting through you from just how big he was. You lay helpless on the stage’s edge as he began pushing in and out of your cunt, groaning obscenities as he did so. One of his hands dipped down, between you and the stage to swipe over your pearl teasingly.

‘That’s it baby, you feel so fucking good, taking my cock so well.’ Your heavy breaths filled the air as you tried, and failed, to maintain your composure. Sweat was coating your skin as he thrusted, your knees rubbing themselves raw against the plush carpet. The familiar tightening ricocheted through your body you came close, your toes curling in apprehension, only to uncurl moments later when he pulled you from the stage, flipping you over and pushing your legs up, above your head.

The carpet was rough against your bare back but the new angle was worth the pain, being able to feel him fill you so completely was worth it. His full lips covered yours, his tongue meeting yours halfway as moans tumbled from your mouth into his and vice versa.

His hips were unforgiving as they pounded into you, filling you to the brim and hitting that special spot with every thrust. It wasn’t long before he brought you back to the edge, clearly reading the desperation for release written all over your body.

‘Cum for me baby, cum on my cock.’ Your responding scream was lost into his hand, clasping over your mouth once more as your walls fluttered, clenching around him. His hips stuttered, his thighs tensed and he thrusted as deeply as he could as he came inside you, hot white ribbons coating your walls and groans filling the room.

He rode out his orgasm, the obscene sounds emanating from your pussy echoing through the room as your breaths mingled with one another as they slowly calmed down.

You lay, staring up at the man above you, his cap probably having fallen off during your struggle, and you finally recognised him. His beard was full and thick and his hair was much longer than you were used to seeing it but the amount of times your History classes at school had been forced to study him, you would never forget his face.

The recognition must have been clear in your face as he hastily pulled out, his cum seeping down your thighs as he pulled his pants back up, handing you your skirt.

‘St-Steve?’ You couldn’t even be sure the words had left your lips but the way he tensed at the sound told you they had.

‘C’mon Doll, let’s have the conversation somewhere private.’

‘We are somewhere private.’ You argued with the man standing before you, the red light casting a strange aura around him.

‘Yeah, but I’m nowhere near done with you.’ His hand was held out before you and you knew he wasn’t giving you much of a choice so you nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead you from ‘the lounge’, pausing to pass you his jacket as you approached the door of the club.

The air outside was cold, unforgiving, as he led you outside, the harsh neon red light of the club slowly being swallowed by the dark night as you walked, hand in hand. To where, you weren’t sure, but you knew it would be wherever Steve needed you to be.

Tags will be added in a reblog

My Masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #stripper!reader #captain america #dark!captain america #dark!captain america x reader #marvel #mcu #dark!marvel #dark!mcu #dark!verse #honeyhan writes #q it up

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Beta, Theta, and Me Chapter 10: Territorial

Chapters: 10/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now),Drug Use

Characters: Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags: A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary: You learn the reality of not being alone in the universe

You hunkered down in your soft, fold-out futon couch, shaken by what you now knew.

They were invaders. Loki, Thor, all the Asgardians, an invading force.

But they weren't invading this planet.

You didn't think you'd ever forget the blazing triumph in Loki's eyes, as he explained the plan. He might as well explain it to you. There was nothing you could do about it. There was nothing you would do about it. And Loki knew it.

Rain slammed into the glass like stones, flung by screaming wind. It had been pouring all day, even before you'd served Loki his breakfast.

“Did someone piss off your brother or what?” you joked. Loki swiftly grasped your hand before you could crush his pill for the morning.

“Yes, and I would have my mind clear when he comes to visit. I will bear the pain until afterwards.”

Thunder cracked the personable atmosphere of breakfast.

“You should retire to your rooms for a while.” Loki said. So you gathered up what was left of your meal and returned to your apartment. You had a nice little table in front of a window, where you sat with your orange juice and pancakes, watching the sheeting rain.

The sound of the Bifrost roared down louder than the rain. Thor had come by to discuss things with Loki several times now, you hiding out in your room each time. You weren't sure why you were never allowed to be seen-perhaps servants in Asgard were supposed to be invisible or something. Or perhaps Loki wasn't actually supposed to have you. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time you were living somewhere illegally.

The two of them talked very loudly, almost shouting, but it didn't sound like a fight. It sounded more like enthusiasm, rising and falling, the foreign words and unfamiliar cadence. Thor stayed for several hours, keeping up their lively discussion, but you didn't once hear either of them laugh. Whatever their enthusiasm was about, it probably wasn't a cheerful thing.

You relaxed in your apartment, reading a battered old book while they hashed out whatever they were working on, making yourself a light lunch while the rain weakened and petered out. The Bifrost roared again, just as the sun struggled out of the clouds.

Not long after, you heard Loki calling for you, always as if he were right beside you. He was waiting at the table when you exited back out into his miniature kingdom, eyes bright with the exercise of thought. He waited patiently while you prepared fresh tea for him, and mixed it with his medicine, drinking it without complaint. Thor's Alpha scent hung around the place, somehow harsher than Loki's. You were tempted to dampen it with a scented spray, but you knew Loki didn't like them. 'Stinking, chemical concoctions' he called them.

You did chores around the penthouse, as he went over the contents of a notebook. You knew his medicine was taking effect when he suddenly started talking.

“How do you feel about this building?” he asked abruptly, shoving the notebook at you.

“How do I feel about it? Uh, well, let me see.” You took the notebook, full of runes and sketches. The sketch of the house Loki indicated appeared to you like a man-made hill, a cluster of little domes around a large dome, with no windows but several doors. It had a vintage science fiction kind of look, as if someone had designed a Hobbit hole for the far future.

“It's cute.” you said. “Looks like some kind of earth house?”

“Not quite.” he said, smug amusement coloring his voice. “Would you live in such a house?”

“Sure, I'd live in any kind of house. A house is a house, and I'm never gonna be picky about that. I do wonder about the inside lighting, since there's no windows.” “Oh, it would be lit by magic. Magic light it so easy to make that many forms of magic create light as a by-product! It would be bright as day on the inside. There could be no windows, because the structure would be partially underground, and the outside walls would be about nine feet thick.”

“Wow. I knew earthworks need thick walls, but that seems like kind of a lot.”

“But would you still live in such a home?”

“Well yeah. Still a house, after all. Look, I know you're high as a kite right now, but this is about something, isn't it? Is it what Thor was here to talk about?” “Insolent thing. I'm not that high. Am I? No, of course not. But yes, this is about our meeting this morning. Twice has my brother come bearing distressing news about the future of Asgard, and this time, we began planning. These houses are a part of it.”

“Is something wrong with Asgard? Are you guys gonna be okay?”

“Oh yes, we will be fine. I foresaw something like this happening, and my brother's pride is sorely bruised, but our people are in no danger. You see, the government of Canada set aside some land for Asgard to settle upon-a handful of islands off the coast of the larger island of Nova Scotia. This seemed quite generous at first, and quite in line with the kindliness that country is famed for. I could have told Thor that it would prove somehow false. If not humanity itself, then the governing bodies of humanity certainly are the least trustworthy things in this whole great galaxy.”

“What did they do?” you asked. “Are they trying to bilk you? Make you pay for it all? Force you into debt?”

“No, no. They gave us the land so that the native peoples they stole it from could never get it back. Settler's laws, or some such.”

“That's awful!” The disillusionment led straight to disgust, and no small amount of disappointment. Because Canada did seem so nice, and maybe it was just a form of American wish fulfillment to believe that Canada was somehow 'better' than the States. But realistically, both countries had been formed in the same way: European settlers sweeping from one coast to the other. And the only way it seemed that they knew how to do that was to smash their way through whoever was between the Here, and the There.

“Indeed.” Loki sneered. “Thor is enraged at the sheer ingratitude. Many times he has been involved in the protection of your backwater globe, and these fools seek to use him as a pawn. I may occasionally want to stab his face off, but he is still a god, and we are all of us above the petty greed and power games that humans play against one another.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It's very simple. We are going to secure the land, build a legal cage so tight that it cannot be taken away, make it ours completely, and without question. Then, when we have gathered the necessary supplies, we will turn the land over to the people it was stolen from, and Asgard will leave. We will invite them to live among us in the interim, and likely leave a small garrison behind to guard against Canadian invasion.”

“Ha!” you burst out. “Good! Fuck those guys! But where is Asgard going to go then? I can't think of anyplace that isn't already full of people. Except maybe Antarctica? It'd be pretty hard to live there though.”

“Asgard has the technology to make practically any rock a paradise.” Loki bragged. “But we will not be moving to Antarctica, no. We will not remain on Earth. No, Earth had it's chance, and chose betrayal. We will be moving to the planet you call Mars.”

“What? Mars? Like Mars, Mars?” you sat, shocked, the notebook in your lap. “You can't just...”

Loki silenced you with a thin, smug smile.

“Whyever not?” he asked. “Who lives there? What lives there? Nothing, and no one. We would not be pushing anybody out of their homelands, nor posing a danger to any ecosystem. There is nothing there but remote controlled toys. No one has claim over it. I know there is at least one fool who fancies himself a genius, and has convinced many that he owns the place, but how is he going to get there? In one of his constantly exploding vehicles? No, Earth has no power over Mars, and soon it will be ours. We are the ones who can make it a livable land. Humans simply don't have the technology or experience. Can you harness Bifrost energy to get the core and mantle moving again, to create a magnetic field? You do not. Can you live safely on the surface for long enough to get anything done? You cannot. In fact, for humans to be safe on Mars, you would have to hide behind around nine feet of Martian soil.”

“Nine-like the house? That design is for a Mars house?”

“Clever thing. Yes, it is for a Mars house. Part of a community partially above and partially below ground, connected by buried roadways. A city adapted to the planets unique characteristics. We will alter the landscape, reignite the magnetic field, cleanse the soil of radiation, perhaps use that as a secondary energy source for a while. The planet is rich in water: this whole system is so rich in resources that it would absolutely be under attack at all times if more people knew about it.

But you have us now. We know how to render empty planets useful. Once we have made Mars into our new Asgard, we will turn our eyes to the great potential of the one you call Venus.”

“You're gonna take Venus too?” you exclaimed.

“Take? Again, who owns it? No one. There is no one to take it from. Imagine thinking that just because you see something, just because you name it, that somehow means you own it. No one lives there, and there are no habitats to destroy, so why does this offend you so?”

You couldn't really answer. Everything he had said was true. And yet, you still somehow felt a sort of proprietary nebulous collective ownership over the planetary system that was your species only home.

“Do you feel entitled to the asteroids as well? The comets? The moons and atmospheres of the giant planets? The very dust of the stellar cloud? Your species once shared this backwater world with multiple other human species, but now that you are the only ones left, you've forgotten how to share with anyone.”

“Is it sharing? You can travel around better than we can. Will there be anything left by the time we're able to travel like you?”

He chuckled, the condescension like a thick layer of butter over bread.

“Oh, I understand now. You're so used to the overarching greed and cruelty of your own people, that you can't imagine that we could be any different. We aren't going to lock you little humans away from Mars, or Venus, or any other place. Indeed, why do you think we've been studying how thick a wall is needed for human safety on Mars? It is all but certain that humans and Asgardians will live side by side throughout this star system. You will join us sooner or later. It is inevitable. The instant the perceived challenge is issued, your desiccated space programs will flare back to life. You humans are incredibly competitive, though in a different way than Asgardians. We are more individual, but you drift towards teams. It will be interesting to see how the competition plays out.”

“You're looking forward to this?” you asked.

“I am counting on it.” he said. “Now, do you think that house would be big enough for you? It will be roughly three times the size of your current apartment, and partially underground. Would that bother you? Would you need more space?”

The notebook slipped to the floor. “You can't mean...” you whispered.

“Give it some thought. It won't be for a while yet, but I'm pretty sure it will be within your lifetime. Would you like to be the first human on Mars? Beat that so-called genius to the red planet? See us kickstart the world?”

It was a fantastic dream. Impossible. Completely impossible. But could you? “I-I don't know...”

“Think on it. But for now, I think this medicine is making me weary. I am losing track of time and thought. Take me to the window, and sit with me there.”

You did, making yourself comfortable on your special cushion, as he rambled about Asgardian building techniques, methods of energy storage, and how to contain oxygen in their hypothetical underground cities while working on building a sustainable atmosphere. He talked about Mars as if it were no more than a challenge, explaining all the resources that made the planet such a likely candidate for the transformation process. How they could alter the thin atmosphere with Thor's power to create ozone, split molecules to create oxygen, how to decontaminate irradiated soil, and even enrich it with naturally occurring resources. You didn't understand much of it, but the gist was that they had done this before, and only lacked the resources to build the tools they needed. As soon as they had that, there were no limits. According to Loki, it could all be done very fast.

And he was very fixated on the idea of you coming with him, seemed to have a very romanticized view of the human drive to explore. In some ways, he wasn't wrong. The thought of being the first human to travel to the red planet, to walk on its surface, to live there-it was thrilling. It was a dream humankind had harbored for a long time.

On the other hand, as far as you understood, Mars was kind of a shithole.

Yes, Loki claimed that his people could change that, prattling on about groves, and grasslands, and even tropics. He was also high. He could just as easily be talking nonsense.

Atmosphere notwithstanding, Mars was farther from the sun than Earth was. Wouldn't it always be colder? You could envision, after a lot of work and change, the planet hosting the kinds of things that grew in Siberia maybe. Lichens and short, scrubby grasses, possibly even conifers. Maybe seaweed, in the great seas and lakes he described the icecaps filling up.

But delicate tropical flowers, and big, soft fruits, and plants that needed three hundred days of strong sun and sweltering temperatures to thrive? No way. Better to leave the jungles to Venus.

Which was apparently part of the plan. The thinning of the atmosphere of Venus, would contribute to the thickening of the atmosphere of Mars. It involved even more technobabble that you couldn't grasp, but Loki was very sure about the viability of transferring resources throughout the solar system. From atmosphere, to water, to metals, to trace elements, Asgardians apparently knew how to do it all. It almost made you believe it.

Loki babbled like a bird all through dinner and the evening, and you were almost glad to be sent off the warm his bed. Your brain was exhausted, but he was as energetic as ever.

Stripped of your uniform, you snuggled into his luxurious bed, still trying to resolve the image of Loki-lover of opulent baths, rich clothing, and indulgent bedding-with that of an excited, daring, and rough living pioneer. You drifted off to a daydream of him, in a pith helmet and beige jodhpurs, standing majestically in a jeep that kicked up the Martian dust behind it...

******

...And awoke to Loki sniffing your hair.

He was pressed all alongside you, snuggled up with an arm thrown over your waist. And he was sniffing your hair.

He must have noticed a change in your breathing or physical pliancy, because he withdrew his arm immediately.

“Ah.” he whispered. “The jig is up, as they say.”

You scooted quickly away from him.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” you demanded.

“Forgive me.” he said, yawning. “You just seemed so peaceful. I thought it a shame to wake you.”

“Did you turn off my alarm?”

He had the grace to look mildly ashamed.

“That...might have happened.”

“And there was nothing you could do but try to cop a feel?”

“I prefer to think of it as a friendly cuddle.”

“Well don't! Don't think you can just do whatever you want with me!”

“I shan't, I promise. As your master, I promise, I will not again overstep the bounds of our agreement. As my servant, I ask your trust.”

“...Maybe tomorrow.”

Face burning fiercely, you exited the bed, and hurried for the door. Your clothing was on the other side of the bed-the other side of Loki. In the dark, he might or might not getting a good look at your underwear clad rear, depending on how well Asgardians could see in the dark, so you booked it out of his room, across the hall, and into yours before he could say anything.

You threw yourself onto your futon, huddled down in your nice new blankets, and shivered. Your trust? He asked for your trust? He asked you to leave everything you knew, your whole world, to walk the distant sands of Mars? Something you couldn't even safely do until the planet had been transformed? He dared to lure you into a false sense of security in his sweet-smelling bed, and then ask for your trust? How much of your life were you willing to give?

#betathetaandme

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

Text

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 10 | Cintran Ale and Lingering Ghosts

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 5029

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also I finally decided on a faceclaim for Visenya and to no ones surprise I chose Katheryn Winnick. She does Targaryen too well to not!

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven, I stan you so much! 💕

Splash.

The water pours out of the wood bucket, falling over Geralt’s hair and onto his body. The selkimore guts, now floating in the tub, the stench not nearly as burning as it had been previously. Like a dog, he shakes his head, droplets of water hitting the walls and Visenya. Without moving her gaze from the novel in hand, she wipes it away, turning the page immediately after.

“Could you be a dear Jane, and grab me more of that soap?” Jaskier asks, setting the bucket down on the ground, wipes away the water on his forehead, and pushes his puffed sleeves to cuff around his elbow.

“No.”

Flick.

“Isn’t she just lovely, and so helpful too?” Jaskier exclaims, sticky sarcasm coating each word like honey as he glides across the room, only two paces away from Visenay’s left side. He reaches up, standing on the tips of his toes- despite the shelf being within comfortable reach - and grabs a bar of soap, a distinct lavender scent following it. He twirls, like a dancer on a stage, his large sleeves lightly smacking Visenya’s cheek. She reaches up to swat him with the palm of her hand, but he’s already danced away from her, twirling and spinning his way back to Geralt.

“Oh I’m helpful alright, I help you empty your coin purse.” she mutters, pursing her lips into a tight line.

Flick.

Geralt snorts, a smirk on his lips as he watches Visenya, his amber eyes practically glowing in the dim light. Their eyes meet for a second before Visenya snaps her gaze back to the book.

“You know, maybe the two of you should travel together, you’re both so angry, like a pair of old people - you moreso, Geralt.” Jaskier says, his tone similar to that of a spoiled child groaning about not getting its way. “At least Jane cracks a joke and a smile once in a while.” He picks up the wooden bucket, filling it with clean water.

Geralt grunts, glaring at Jaskier, his white hair slick against his face; Visenya just shows Jaskier her middle finger.

Flick. There’s only ten pages of the book left, yet Visenya can’t remember the name of the leads in the story…, or even it’s plot.

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest.”

Water hits Geralt from above, his hair nearly clean of monster innards as they get washed away from him. The water pooling in the tub ripples, small waves flying out as new water takes its place. Instead of shaking his head, Geralt scrubs at his face, nearly growling as he does so.

“It is one night, body guarding your best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be.” Jaskier says, turning around, and tosses the diary rag from his hand onto a bench, before circling around the tub until he’s standing on the opposite side of his previous spot.

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh, so you normally let strangers rub chamomile on your lovely bottom?” Jaskier’s tone is teasing, a smirk on his lips.

Geralt turns towards Jaskier, arms on the side of the tub, lips set in a thin line with eyes burning like hot coals.

Visenya bites her lip, and despite her desperate attempt to hide the smile that’s pulling at the corners of her mouth, laughter escapes from her tightly pressed lips. Immediately after, she coughs, a fragile and ill attempt to disguise the noise. Even a mute with a bad left eye however would see through the coverup. Jaskier turns and meets Visenya’s gaze, flashing her a wink before looking away.

“Right, that’s what I thought.”

“I thought you were paying Jane to make sure you don’t get stabbed or robbed?” Geralt asks, tone low and raspy.

Flick, eyes scan the book, only retaining every other word carefully written in aged black ink, keen ears intently listening to the conversation.

“I am, and she does a very good job at that. The only wounds I’ve sustained since hiring her are the ones she inflicts onto me. But this isn’t just any old party, my friend. This is a betrothal feast, hosted by the Lioness of Cintra herself! There will be suitors from all over the world, powerful lords vying for the chance at winning the hand of her daughter, who I hear is very beautiful.”

“And?” Geralt asks, raising a single ashen brow.

“And Jane won’t agree to go...but if you go, I’m sure she’ll agree to it!” Jaskier says.

“I’m right here.”

“Yes, reading a book you claim is stupid and frivilous. So pointless, in fact, you haven’t put it down all day.” Jaskier says, turning to face her, a smug grin on his face that’s short lived.

Smack.

The book flies across the room, narrowly avoiding Jaskier’s face by only a few inches. It hits the wall with a resounding thud, pages crinkling as it falls to the ground. Geralt curses under his breath, grip on the wood tightening enough that veins begin to faintly pop out. Jaskier however, remains unphased, simply turning away from her to face Geralt once more.

“Don’t mind her, she's just a bit cranky, she’s been having nightmares I think.” Jaskier says to Geralt, tone nonchalant and even, as if a book wasn’t just thrown at him.

“Shut up.”

Geralt levels his gaze to Visenya, raising both his brows at her, an unspoken question in his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’

She shakes her head, lips in a tight line as she rolls her eyes, not willing to delve into all of her childhood trauma that’s reared its ugly head since that first dream all those nights ago. She’d been successful, nearly all the memories locked away in that same box in the darkest corner of her mind, yet just enough remained to taunt her in her dreams.

Lingering only a second longer, Geralt shifts his eyes back to Jaskier, who bounces on the balls of his feet, watching the two of them as if they were the only entertainment he’s had in weeks.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping track after a while: wives, concubines, mothers - sometimes.”

Both Geralt and Visenya look up at Jaskier, looks of equal incredulousness and annoyance painted on their faces.

“Oh, yes, there’s that face --” Jaskier sits on the small stool that’s pushed up against the tub. “-- scary face. No lord in their right mind would dare come near me with you there!”

Geralt’s jaw clenches just a hair, his eyes twitching ever so slightly that it could be written off as a trick of the light. He reaches over and grabs his mug of ale, bringing it to his lips, but Jaskier intercepts him, pulling the cup away from him as if Geralt was a child.

“Ooo, on second thought, might want to lay off the Cintran ale, a clear head would be best.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the shoulder, stands from the stool and moves towards Visenya.

“A gift for My Lady!” Jaskier exclaims, lowering into a deep bow as he passes Geralt’s mug to Visenya, amber liquid spilling over the brim as he carelessly carries the cup. Face void of any emotion, she grabs the cup...pouring out the entirety of its contents on the ground, far enough away that the liquid won’t touch her feet. Jaskier just huffs, feigning anger as he turns around and moves towards the small vanity pushed up against a wall. He grabs a jacket that’s dark blue, the fit and fabric suited for a party rather than travel, distracting himself by holding it up and then setting it down, only to repeat the cycle.

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.”

He sets it down a final time, refolding it, and turning back to Geralt.

“Yes, yes, yes, you never get involved. Except you do, all the time.” Jaskier says, huffing as he moves towards Geralt. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbelievably cantankerous and crotchety. Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah when they’re slow and get killed.” Geralt says, his tone aggressive but lacking the usual ferocity and fire found in it.

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with?” Jaskier says, pressing the conversation further and further, fiending for anything Geralt will tell him.

“I want nothing.” Jaskier looks down at his nails, then moves his gaze back to Geralt. He walks forward, leaning down so his elbows rested on the edge of the tub, facing Geralt.

“Well who knows, maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier’s eyes flash to Visenya, but she isn’t looking at him, too busy pretending to be occupied.

“I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.”

“And yet, here we are.”

It's silent, each moment dragging on as the three of them wait for the other to break it. Geralt breaks eye contact, looking left and then right, eyes burning in the dim room.

“Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?” Geralt says, snarling like a rabid animal.

“Oh, I had them taken to be cleaned, they were covered in selkimore guts, but you’re not going to the feast as a Witcher tonight.” Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, ever present when Geralt is around it seems.

Geralt opens his mouth,a stinging response on the tip of his tongue, but Jaskier interrupts the words before they can fully form.

“But no need to worry about that.” Jaskier waves his hand, straightening his postures and gliding around the tub, and moving towards Visenya. “Now my dear Jane, will you agree to go with me now that our mighty, heroic Witcher--” Visenya just looks at Jaskier, face hard as stone.

“No. I already told you I’m not going.”

“But why not! Please, your presence is absolutely necessary with me!” Jaskier practically throws himself onto his knees, face like a begging puppy.

“I don’t like parties or weddings or betrothals.” She maintains the facade, not willing to break or show any weakness; cold and unfeeling, anything less and Jaskier will never let it go.

“Why not.”

“Because I was murdered at one.” the words are like oil on her tongue, always just a few seconds from slipping out, but they don’t. She won’t let them. If she says the words out loud, it means they’re real, and if they’re real...she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

“I just don’t.” It’s a lie, but an easy one, one she’s gotten good at telling.

“Leave her alone Jaskier, I’ve already been pulled into your mess, no need to drag Jane into it, I’m sure she’s dealt with her fair share of predicaments, thanks to you.”

“Whatever, I'll have you know all of my messes, both intentional and not, are lovely.” Jaskier tilts his nose into the air, sniffling like an injured child playing into theatrics for attention. “I’ll leave you two grumps to it, maybe you can convince her with a smoldering gaze or something.”

With one last teasing grin towards the both of them, Jaskier quickly exits the room like an actor leaving the stage after a staggering performance. The door closes behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.

Visenya looks at Geralt, who looks at her, neither moving an inch.

“Jane.”

In that moment, with Geralt saying the fake name she gave herself all those months ago, it makes her realise just how much she misses hearing her real name. And she wonders how it would sound coming out of his mouth, whether the word would be like honey, sweet and smooth, sticking to her brain for the rest of her life. Or would it be harsher, his tongue having difficulty wrapping around the Old Valyrian name she stole from Queen Visenya I, like a petty thief. She remembers how Renfri would say it, somehow making her own name, something she’s heard a million times in her life, like sweet Southern sweets melting in her mouth.

She remembers how...nice it felt, being able to be completely open and honest, when her life has been nothing but deceit and shadows for so long. And she almost breaks, pouring out everything from the moment she came into the world, banishing away the darkness that hung over King’s Landing, screaming and crying as she did. But she doesn’t. Fear claws at her mind, doubts that he would think her crazy or a deranged monster trying to work into his life assaulting her all at once. And it’s dizzying, so much so she nearly faints from the feeling.

“Jane.” Geralt says again, firmer this time, banishing away her inebriating fears and worries, everything clear within a single second.

“Geralt,”

She smirks at him, but it’s awkward and strange, looking more like a grimace than anything.

“You alright?” he asks, and even in the dim light, she can see the lines in his forehead, brows furrowing. And for the second time that day, she considers telling him everything. But the same fears hold her back.

“Aren’t I always?” she tries to joke, her voice going up three octaves as she tries to keep out the heaviness that always seems to follow her.

“Hmm.”

Silence washes over them, unspoken words and questions ricocheting off the walls and making everything feel smaller.

“Thanks for the broach by the way.” Visenya breaks the silence first, motioning towards the broach that’s pinned to the left side of her tunic, hanging above her breast.

“It looks better on you than it did me,” Geralt says, a smile that shows all his shiny white teeth on his face. Visenya nods her head, standing from the bench she perched herself on the moment Jaskier pushed them all into the room. Slowly and calculated, she begins to walk towards Geralt, each footstep ringing in the room until she’s by the tub, sitting on the stool Jaskier previously claimed.

“I know, does wonders for my eyes when the light reflects off the gems,” she teases, crossing her left leg over the right. “It was the least you could do after leaving me to wake up by myself.”

“I didn’t realise you wanted me to stay.” Geralt rebuttals, raising a brow as he waits for her next move.

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I just wasn’t happy to deal with Jaskier’s prying questions alone. Do you know how many times I had to threaten to stab him, rob him, and then leave him for dead until he shut up? And even now he still makes subtle jokes about it.” Visenya says, rolling her eyes, resting her elbow on the edge of the tub, only a few inches away from Geralt.

“My apologies for leaving you in such a dire situation.” Geralt leans forward, mimicking her light tone.

“For shame Geralt, for shame.”

“Is there anything I could do to make it up to the Lady?” he asks, leaning just a hair closer, and like there’s a magnetic field around him that pulls her to him, begging her to close the gap and feel his steady breaths fanning over her face.

“The broach was a good start.” she replies, trying to not sound as breathless as she feels.

She’s burning, her body all over electrified in a way it hasn’t been since the last time she saw Geralt.

And then it’s suddenly cold, all the warmth being forcibly ripped from her body. The water hits against the tub as Geralt moves back, his body pressed against the other end of the tub, all coy smirk and smug eyes.

Payback for last time it seems.

Visenya rolls her eyes and straightens her back, eager for the flush that covers her body to disappear as quickly as it came.

“Yeah whatever, you're naked and vulnerable, I could take you.” she says, waiting a moment before her eyes widen a fraction, Geralt smirk widening. ‘With my sword, that is. I could stab you with my sword and leave you dead. That’s what I meant, nothing else.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Geralt’s eyes glint with amusement, the candles reflecting like roaring fires in his eyes. He’s beautiful in the dim glow of the flickering flames, skin glistening with droplets of water sticking to his body, further accentuating his rippling muscles and broad shoulders.

“I hate you and Jaskier equally, just so you know.” Visenya says, huffing like a child, rolling her eyes and glancing at the bare wall, eyes tracing over the wooden panels, counting each grain as she does.

“I’m sure. So what’s the real reason you don’t want to go to this feast? Jaskier drags you around to all his other parties, why not go to this one?” Geralt asks. Visenya’s eyes flicker back to Geralt. Her mind is blank, yet brimming with a million different words and phrases that jumble together until she can hardly find any words to speak.

“I guess I’m not a fan of weddings or anything related to them.” is all she can say. “It’s not a big deal, just a weird tick I guess.” She nods her head, trying to make the words seem convincing to both her and Geralt. But it’s impossible to swallow the lump forming in her throat, nearly suffocating as Westeros hits her mind, the calamitous memories physically painful.

“Bad experience?”

Her face still sour from the fight with Robb, nearly breaking her jaw from how tightly she kept it clenched.

Lady Catelyn looking shrewd and nervous, but slowly softening to Talissa and Robb’s relationship.

Everyone celebrating and getting drunk in the room.

“I’ve never been a good dancer,” she says, the words are soft and light, a tentative smile forming on her face.

Robb falling to the ground, like a pincushion for crossbow bolts, choking on his blood despite being dead the second he entered the keep.

The camp burning.

Everyone around her dying.

“And if I promised you wouldn’t have to dance?” Geralt says, leaning towards Visenya.

Her heart dropping when the slaughter started, frozen like a statue in the dead of winter, bolted to the floor and unmoving.

Screams lighting up the room, ricocheting off the walls as they were stabbed, bludgeoned, and strangled.

Greywind locked up outside, unable to help and dying alone, butchered like a pig.

“You seem desperate for my presence there, Geralt of Rivia.” Visenya teases.

The wail that ripped through her throat, leaving her drinking her own blood and tears.

The pit in her stomach as her legs gave out.

Their snears and taunting words as the world grew dark.

“If I have to suffer the night sober, I would prefer good company.” His lips pull into a smirk that’s lopsided, making his left eye crinkle an inch further than the right.

And that little piece of her who wished she had died with the rest of her family 17 years ago.

“And you couldn’t think of anyone else?” Visenya replies with a smile on her face that grows, eyes bright as Westeros and all it’s demons dim, leaning her chin onto the palm of her hand.

“Well I’d bring my horse, but I don’t foresee them allowing Roach into the palace.”

“No, I imagine that wouldn’t go over too well.”

Visenya sighs deeply, closing her eyes as she does, resolve breaking with each passing second that Geralt looks at her.

“Do you think Jaskier would give me any say in my dress?”

The door flings open, crashing into the wooden wall and causing it to shake for a moment.

“Have no fear, My Lady, I’ve already got the perfect one!”

o0o0o0o

The water is scalding hot, steam rising from the water and dissipating into the air. But it doesn’t burn, not in the way it should, instead every muscle in her body relaxes the second the it touches her skin. Small waves ripple through the water as her body twists and turns into a comfortable position. A small sigh leaves her mouth, echoing in the smaller room only to be swallowed by the door opening and closing.

“I don’t need help bathing.” Visenya says, weaving annoyance and mild anger in each word.

Just one moment alone would be nice.

“And I’m not here to offer it, I just wanted to quickly discuss a few things,” Jaskier says, completely ignoring any warning signs and moving further into the room.

“And then you’ll be out of my hair?” Visenya says, water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Well funny you should say that, actually…” She doesn’t need to turn around to see how his brows are furrowed, eyes unsure and a touch afraid that Visenya might fly off the handle. He’s never fully learned all her triggers yet, but to be fair, neither has she.

She groans, loudly, sinking as far into the water as much as the tub would physically allow, wishing to be swallowed into an abyss. Always something with the hair, whether it’s pleads to let him style it or to tell him why she keeps dyeing it.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Jaskier exclaims, in an attempt to defend himself, feigning innocence he doesn’t possess when it comes to meddling.

“I don’t have to. The answer is still no.” Visenya’s voice is firm and stern, unmovable like a stone wall.

His footsteps echo in the room, the heels on the boots clicking against the wood flooring as he approaches, each step tentative and slow.

“Well that just isn’t acceptable, you won’t even give a gentleman the simple opportunity to--”

“Just tell me what you want so I can tell you no again” Visenya interrupts Jaskier, breathing heavily through her nose.

“Alright, alright, tough crowd--”

“Jaskier!”

“Okay, alright, your hair! I wanted to talk about that.” Jaskier says, voice raising in volume as many octaves it did. “How do I say this while still keeping my life… it looks, well-- like a wild animal lives there and has lived there its whole life.”

The water splashes and ripples as her hand breaks through the stillness, joining the rest of her body beyond her head and the tops of her shoulders underwater. Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for Visenya to either tell him to fuck off or pretend he doesn’t exist at all.

“I know.”

Jaskiers loudly exhales, physically deflating.

“So I was thinking, what if we made it not look like that for the feast? You really should look your best before a monarch.” Visenya turns her head and glares at Jaskier. “I know you dye your hair, heavens know why, so I was just thinking what if you...washed it out.”

“So you want me to wear my natural hair color for the feast?” Visenya clarifies, her voice not indicating anything she’s feeling.

“Yes, exactly!” Jaskier exclaims, tone becoming more jovial and ecstatic, bouncing on his feet as he does.

“No.”

“But--”

“I said no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“I said no Jaskier.” Visenya growls, the edges of the wooden tub crack under the pressure of her grip, splitters getting pushed under her nails.

“Don’t be so dramatic, let’s see what color your roots are--” Jaskier moves closer, hands outstretched, desperate to see the silver hair shining under the dry brown. Visenya grits her teeth, anger pulsing under her skin, mind going white as all the sound in the room silences for a painstakingly long moment.

“I said, no!” The words are piercing and sharp, nearly leaving both of their ears bleeding. The walls shake, the structure of the building itself rejecting the shrill words rolling off of Visenya's mouth. Her eyes flash like fire, burning anything in its wake; it’s dangerous and untamed, wildfire barely contained in two eyes.

Her hand flies up in the air, palm nearly meeting Jaskier’s cheek, but he manages to duck out of the way, stepping back far enough to avoid the slap, the residual heat radiating from her hand nearly singeing his hair. With wide eyes, baby blues watching her with bewilderment and a small tinge of something else- something she never wants him or anyone else to ever look at her with again.

Fear.

Visenya inhales sharply, simply staring at her own hand with dazed eyes. It’s still hot, she’s still hot. The previously scalding water that had begun to cool, heats up again with a vengeance, boiling wildly around her. Small beads of sweat form at her temple, the room growing smaller with each sharp breath Jaskier takes.

“I’ll just-- I’ll just leave you to it, just… forget I asked, I guess,” he says, the words jumbling and melting together, nearly disappearing into the wooden walls that seem to close in.

Click.

Just as quickly as he entered the room, he exits, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of his perfume and hair styling product. The room is silent, unbearably so. Visenya turns, water languidly splashing, her back facing the door as she stares at the bare wall, eyes glazing as she attempts to focus on every small detail of the wood. Her mind is blank, yet at the same time it’s a storm, ferociously raging in her head, until her ship is pulled under, thoughts drowning her.

“Fuck!” The palm of her hand smacks against the water, a barrage of droplets sticking to the sweat beads. A growl of anger and frustration leaves her mouth as she thrusts her hands forward, creating a wave that forces a large amount of water to spill onto the ground, forming a small puddle of anger and guilt.

Regret weighs heavily on her, like wearing a suit of full plate in the middle of the ocean. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jaskier that way, she wishes she hadn’t. He’s just trying to help, to pull Visenya out of this hole she’s happily buried herself in, clawing at the dirt with perfectly manicured hands and a velvet outfit, humming a sweet melody as he digs. She’d yelled before: threatened to hurt him in every way imaginable, screamed so loud her voice nearly vanished. She’d smacked his chest and shoulders under the guise of seriousness with a sly smirk playing on the corner of her lips. And he took it in stride, laughing it off with a charming smile and a witty quip, bouncing back instantaneously, because she never fully knocked him down.

She tries to believe this isn’t any different, that she’ll walk out of this room, only to be bombarded by Jaskier’s incessant teasing. But no amount of rose-tinted lenses can bury her in that delusion, because this time is different. She could see the way he looked at her, the way he crumbled under the fire in her eyes and rage simmering under her skin.

Her fury in that moment was harsh, but true, and very much directed at him with intent to harm. All because he wanted to see her hair. How could he ever understand that it’s more than that to her. How does she explain how the same silver strands that crown her a Targaryen princess, something that marked her a paragon of her ancestors, but a pariah to the living. She’d never be able to explain how it was the one unmistakable trait that marked her as the daughter of the man who stole away Winterfell’s princess, staining her a traitor to all of Westeros.

No one here knows who House Targaryen was or what her ancestors did -- both horrible and great. And maybe it’s better that way. To wipe her home and family name out of her memories, drown Westeros and all the hurt and pain and misery that came with it until she can’t remember anything prior to Blaviken.

Because what did they achieve, what did any of them really achieve? Aegon the Conqueror along with Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen formed the Seven Kingdoms. They brought war and then peace, only for that to be lost 300 years later due to the madness of a single man, that apparently bled into his eldest son.

With Fire and Blood, they took what they wanted and bathed the rest in dragon fire as they reigned calamity upon their enemies. Some were kind and fair, but most were cruel and callous, seeing themselves higher than the rest because their eyes shone like amethysts with hair threaded from silver.

What did being the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen ever give her, except for despair at the loss of the family he abandoned to the whims of a madman. What did being the granddaughter of the Mad King Aerys give her, beyond the crippling fear that would leave her awakening in the darkest part of the night covered in sweat, fears that she’d descend to that same madness that haunted him. That she’d lose the ability to control her own mind until she was put down like a dog, something Robert Baratheon would’ve done happily as the people whispered ‘What a shame she went mad.’

What did being a Targaryen ever really bring her if not scars and lingering ghosts?

The last time she fully embraced her blood, standing as tall and regal as a Targaryen should, how she believed they would, she burned down half a village.

No, it’s better this way.

Even if it’s just hair.

She sinks further into the boiling water, breathing in the steam like the smoke from a fire, praying and hoping she would just disappear. She continues down until her shoulders and underwater, then her neck, until the back of her head touches the bottom of the tub, eyes closed as her water floats around her face. And surrounded by the boiling water, washing away the day and all her mistakes, salty tears leave her eyes, being swept away into the water.

o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

#geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #Geralt #the last dragon #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones crossover #the witcher crossover #house targaryen #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc #Jaskier

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