#it's a clever and nonchalant way for him to share because others are more likely to take small pieces than like a whole apple yk? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atticuswritesstuff · 3 years

Note

Chrollo with a smarty pants/genius darling who acts out or tries to escape just because they’re bored/understimulated?

Author's note: I actually really fucking love this prompt so I am SUPER excited for this one. I too get very bored/understimulated often. Sorry, I got to it late cuz I just got back from a Montana trip!

Yandere!Chrollo x Bored!Reader

Summary: Chrollo's darling becomes bored being locked up all the time, decides to take yet another unsupervised trip out of the mansion.

Warnings: Anal/Assplay, overstimulation, punishment, spanking, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, yandere themes, BDSM themes, degradation

Character Description: afab, she/her use that's it

Word count: 4.5k

Attempt number seven. Seven times you had slipped through his fingers since the beginning of the year alone, each time becoming more and more elaborate.

Chrollo scoffed, storming through the woods, scanner in hand. It was beeping softly, indicating you weren't far.

It wasn't like you made any attempt to escape discreetly, jamming a fork into the neck of one of Chrollo's guards, puncturing his jugular before you made your way through the garden to the edge of the forest. As Chrollo watched a recording of it from the cameras, he was shocked at how nonchalantly you stabbed him before calmly walking off. If you had intended to run far, you weren't moving very fast.

The tracker started beeping a little faster now. He was getting closer.

The early April air was nipping at his cheeks, he couldn't fathom how you were out here in your pajamas, barefoot at that. Chrollo was more worried about you than just finding you. While your previous attempts had been clever, methodical, and downright genius, this time was very different to him. As far as he knew, you'd never killed anyone, and now you had decided to not only kill someone but patiently wait for him to be unfocused before sneaking upon him. You planned this.

Chrollo walked a couple more meters, finding the tracker was leading him to the nearby lake. When he came to the forest's edge, he could see you sitting at the edge of the dock, staring up at the moon.

You heard him approaching as soon as he broke through the treeline, it took him a bit longer to retrieve you than expected, although you attributed that to him thinking you were going to try and run far. A couple miles from the house wasn't necessarily far for a commoner, but this was farther than you'd ever been allowed.

Chrollo's heavy footsteps walked the length of the dock, stopping right behind you. He knew you would come quietly, after the first few times, you'd stopped escaping to try and get away, instead, you found the chase to be much more thrilling.

"Time to go, darling," He hummed nonchalantly.

"Five more minutes," You replied, swishing your feet through the near-freezing water, "The moon is so pretty tonight, wouldn't you agree?"

Chrollo gazed down at you, you were surprisingly clean considering you'd just stabbed someone. Not a single drop of blood on you anywhere. The only thing shielding you from the cold being a thin cami and a shamefully short pair of shorts.

Chrollo always admired your body, but the pajamas were a nice touch. They were a recent purchase, baby blue fabric with white lace trim, god how he wanted to tear the set off you.

"I didn't think you'd have it in you to take a man's life, darling," Chrollo stated.

"I didn't either," You chuckled, "But it's done now."

"Why not just sneak away?" He replied, sitting on the dock next to you, "He was unfocused, you could've done it easily if this was where you intended to go all along."

"You're right, I didn't have to kill him," You sighed, bringing one of your feet onto the dock, "I just wanted to see if I could. You left an anatomy book on your desk, I found the major arteries of the body to be very interesting."

"Now that I think about it," You continued, "Maybe I should've run farther, seeing you so desperately trying to find me is rather amusing."

“You enjoy being chased like a rabbit?” Chrollo mused.

“Believe it or not the thrill is more exciting than anything you’ve ever gifted to me,” You scoffed, “At least running gave me something to do that required thought. Something you seem to forget to provide.”

Poking at Chrollo’s care tactics wasn’t smart, but you didn’t know how else to get through to him that your current environment was extremely understimulating, and that you needed more. You could tell he was growing upset, but he wouldn’t dare show it outside of the house.

You pulled your knee to your chest, resting your cheek against it, "Do I have to go back?"

"Of course you do, darling," Chrollo replied, a warm hand rubbing up and down your back, "Why wouldn't you?"

You scoffed, "Probably because being a prisoner of marble and glass is dreadfully boring."

Chrollo's hand stopped, "You think the life I've worked so hard to build is boring?"

"Yup," You replied flatly, "Honestly I thought you kidnapping me would be a lot more fun, but it's even more boring than my old life."

Chrollo was becoming angrier with each word that came out of your mouth.

"Don't get me wrong, I know how hard you try, but my god I don't know how you stand it. You're sweet and all, but you're gonna bore me to death sooner or later, escaping actually gives me something to do," You hummed, pulling your other foot out of the water, "Anyways, we can go back now, this chase was more boring than I expected."

You rose from your place, turning to walk back to your cage. It took Chrollo a minute to get up and follow you, partially from the shock of your completely arrogant and nonchalant demeanor. The person you had become over the past two years almost reminded him of a certain magician he once knew.

Chrollo eyed you as your hips swayed, every muscle in your leg flexing and relaxing as you walked. It was something he adored about you, before he took you, you were one of your tribe's best, strongest dancers. The way you swayed and glided while you did the most basic of tasks was alluring to him. Now, he just watched you sit around and observe everything.

The view from walking behind you wasn't necessarily bad, though. Your pajama shorts gave him a nice view of your ass as you walked.

Sauntering through the woods, you could no longer hide how cold you were, the incessant shivering and blue tint to your skin proved that fact. Your feet even more so from being in the water.

You knew Chrollo was upset with what you'd said, you could tell immediately, but keeping the truth from him wasn't an option anymore. You had started to care for him some time ago. You really appreciated him, but god if he didn't allow you to do something you were going to lose your mind.

When you could just barely make out the edges of the garden approaching, you stopped mid-path, "Chrollo?"

He caught up to you in an instant, "Yes, darling?"

"I don't want to go back if I have to live like this," You felt tears well up in your eyes, "Please."

His hands found your hips, "Live like what? Talk to me darling, how can I make it better?"

"I don't want to just sit around and wait for you to come back. I'm tired of you being at my beck and call. O-Or just fucking sitting around waiting for you to come back," You felt a solemn tear roll down your cheek, "It's so fucking boring. Please just take me with you or give me something I can do for you or-"

"Darling," He cut you off with a firm hand over your mouth, the other still settled on your hip. He shushed you softly, lessening the pressure on your mouth, "Don't panic, I'm listening. I promise I'm hearing you, just speak slowly alright?"

You nodded, he took his hand off your mouth slowly, "Keep going, what can I do to help you?"

You thought about it, more tears spilling down your cheeks, "Take me with you. Don't leave me by myself anymore. I just want to be useful."

Scooping you up bridal style as he headed towards the garden, "I understand. Even in your old life, you were always helping others, weren't you?"

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and tucking your head into him. Closing your eyes, you breathed in his scent, trying to commit it to memory.

Chrollo's feet hit the marble floors of the hallway that led into the house, you could feel his warmth returning as he carried you inside.

"While I understand your frustrations, you did try to escape my love," He started, bringing you into your shared bedroom, "And that requires a punishment."

You winced, shaking your head against him, "Please, not again! I'm really sorry Sir I can do better-"

"No," He shushed you, setting you on the foot of the bed, "I have the solution to your problem, but only if you take your punishment, alright?"

You nodded slightly, your tear-stained cheeks slightly puffy and red from the cold.

"Alright," He purred, his hands rubbing up and down your shoulders, "I'll try to make this at least somewhat pleasant for you, ok?"

You nodded once again, finding comfort in the fact that he was at least going to please you.

"Lay back for me," He stated, pushing you back by your shoulders, "I'll be right back."

You stared up at the ceiling in anticipation, the last punishment was hard enough, but you couldn't pass up the opportunity to finally get out of the house. Chrollo had returned from the closet, setting something on the bench at the foot of the bed. He took off his shirt before crawling over you.

"You know what your punishment is, right?" He asked, a face cupping your cheek.

You nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"Good girl," He whispered, leaning down to give you the softest of kisses, just barely ghosting over your lips as he pulled the knife out of his back pocket.

Pressing it to your throat, you froze, knowing it had already begun.

"Just focus on me, darling," Chrollo whispered against your lips, "I won't cut you."

He kissed you once more, harder this time as he slowly dragged the knife down your neck. It was a 50/50 chance he would intentionally cut you, even if he said he wouldn't. It was the only thing he'd ever lied to you about, knowing that made your heart race.

His tongue invaded your mouth as he slid the knife down your chest, coming back up to cut your bralette off in between your breasts. You didn't even register the pain from him grazing you with the knife until it started throbbing.

You looked down, seeing a thin line of blood-forming directly in between your breasts.

"Whoops," he chuckled, gazing down at the same mark you were. He sat up, straddling your hips and now pinning you to the bed by your throat. Your bare chest tempted him to carve his name into your breasts, then you'd really know who you belonged to. Chrollo briefly cut the straps of your bralette, allowing the flimsy fabric to fall away, revealing your breasts to him.

Setting the knife aside, Chrollo dragged his nails down your chest, briefly squeezing your waist before leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses all over your neck. He trailed downwards, backing off the bed as he kissed your waist, your breasts, swirling his tongue around each of your nipples lightly before backing off entirely.

"Turn over," Chrollo demanded.

"No." You said timidly, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"I'm sorry?" Chrollo replied smugly, "Wanna repeat that, darling?"

"I said n-no," You said, now even quieter than before.

"No? You don't want to be punished?" He asked, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs teasingly.

You shook your head to confirm that you indeed did not want to be punished in the way he was thinking.

"Even after killing my guard and escaping? You sure you don't want to be punished?" He asked again, his condescending tone making you whimper as you shook your head again.

Chrollo sighed, "Very well."

What? He's serious?

Untying the bandana from his forehead, he was quick to grab your hands and tie them together, placing them above your head, "I'll please you since I know that's what you really want."

Your heart jumped in your chest, somehow excited at the fact that you had gotten out of it.

Chrollo wasted no time cutting your shorts off, leaving you completely naked and exposed to him. He brought your legs up to the edge of the bed, bending them close to your chest, "Stay like this for a moment, ok?"

You gave him brief 'mhm' before he left, crossing the room to his chest of drawers. You heard him open it, the soft sound of things being moved around before he quickly came back. Craning your neck up to see what had been retrieved, you were quickly thwarted by Chrollo who pushed your head back down.

"Patience," He sighed, "Be a good girl now, hm?"

You grumbled, but let him hold you down. You knew this routine all too well, reminiscing about the fond memories of your legs pulling against the rope he was now starting to tie around your ankles. He took the time to tie up each leg, making sure they would not be able to come out of the bent position he'd placed them in.

"So pretty," Chrollo cooed, rubbing his hands up and down your waist, "Alright darling, eyes closed."

You shut your eyes as he brought a blindfold to your eyes, the soft silk being tied around the back of your head.

"There, now that you can't fight me," He started, using brute force to flip you over so you were bent over the edge of the bed, knees on the bench, "We can begin your punishment."

"That's not fair Si-"

A sharp smack was delivered to your ass, "Hush."

You went quiet, whimpering into the plush comforter.

"You"

Smack.

"Broke"

Smack.

"My"

Smack.

"Rules"

Each word was punctuated by a harsh spanking to one of your ass cheeks. You were only four in and it already stung.

"I'm sorry!" You cried, trying to wriggle away from Chrollo, "Please Sir!"

"Mm, please what darling? Please punish you?" He hummed, rubbing your bottom with smooth circles.

"Nuh!" You whined, your voice becoming whinier under the threat of fully submitting.

"I told you I would please you, but only if you took your punishment like a good girl," Chrollo hummed, leaving a kiss on each cheek, "Do you really expect me to please you when you're not going to comply darling?"

You whined, wiggling a bit more.

"What do good girls say, darling?" Chrollo asked, softly rubbing your arched back.

"P-please," You huffed.

"Please what, love?" He replied, quietly undoing the bottle of lube he had brought to the bed.

"Please punish me," You whispered, "Sir."

"That's my good girl," He hummed.

Chrollo squirted a bit of lube onto his first two fingers, letting it warm a bit before bringing them to your ass. Mewling as Chrollo started rubbing your puckered hole, he wasted no time plunging a digit into your ass.

"Fuck!" You cried out, feeling him slipping in and out up to his first knuckle. You shook against the rope.

"Aww, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were starting to enjoy this." He teased, pushing his finger up to his second knuckle, "You're taking me so well, I can only imagine how well you're going to do later."

You gave him a long, drawn-out moan in response. He wanted you to beg, either for more or for him to stop, either way, he wanted you to be a mess.

The discomfort started to fade as he pushed his two fingers fully into you. Now, you could feel your arousal dripping as he steadily finger-fucked your ass, trying to stretch you out best he could with just two fingers.

"Already taking my fingers so well," Chrollo cooed, picking up the pace, "I think you're ready to be punished, don't you?"

You shook your head, knowing what would come next.

"Oh come now, don't be like that darling." He replied, slowly pulling his fingers from your tight hole.

You whined at the loss of contact, while it wasn't quite the pleasure you wanted, it was starting to feel good. You waited patiently as Chrollo left the bed, finding the necessary tools needed in his bedside drawer before coming back to the bench.

In one hand, he held a set of purple anal beads that gradually got bigger, in the other, a vibrating wand he fully intended on using on you. While the vibrator wasn't ever used during a punishment, Chrollo saw it to be a mercy for your honesty, therefore, he would keep his word, making his punishment at least somewhat pleasurable for you.

"Tonight's going to be a bit different, love," Chrollo started, setting the vibrator on the bench, he began covering the anal beads in a generous amount of lube, "I need you to trust me, ok?"

You didn't know what he meant by different, you assumed more painful, but knew that there would be no pleasure without pain, "I trust you."

"Good," He hummed, rubbing the first ball against your lubed hole, "You ready?"

Your faint 'mhm' had Chrollo pushing the first ball in, earning a whimper from you. It wasn't much bigger than Chrollo's finger, but you could still feel it. Mere seconds later, he was pushing the second ball in, the equivalent to a little more than two of his fingers.

You were quietly whimpering and mewling into the comforter, hoping he wouldn't hear how much you were enjoying the slow stretch.

"I need your hands," Chrollo announced, pulling you firmly upward by your shoulders, "Put them here."

He shoved your arms down toward your pussy before pushing you back down on your chest. Before, your hands had been resting on the comforter above your head. Now, they were firmly squished between your thighs. You felt Chrollo press something round into your hands before tying your wrists up. Mid-tie, he readjusted the foreign object to rest against your clit.

The vibrator.

You began to squirm a little bit, knowing that this is what he meant by tonight being a little different. You waited patiently as he tied the ropes tight, making sure you wouldn't be able to move it away, then he turned it on.

"Ah...oh fuck," You moaned, the vibrator already working to make you come undone, "Sir.."

Your moans were becoming more sultry, needier, you began panting as your legs worked up to a steady shake, he knew he would break you tonight at this rate.

"See? I told you I would please you," Chrollo hummed, pushing the next ball in, you cried out even louder, "You have permission to cum whenever you'd like."

Knowing this was going to make it a lot harder, he wanted you to submit, to break, "D..Da-Ah!"

You were stuttering as the next ball was pushed in, your asshole stretching around it.

"What was that? I don't think I heard you, princess," Chrollo teased.

"Daddy!" You wailed, giving into the submission he so desperately wanted. Your pussy began fluttering around nothing as the vibrator sent deep shock waves through your pussy, "Please!"

"Please what, princess?" He smiled, palming your ass cheeks.

"Please punish me!" You moaned, needing more stimulation, "I'm sorry I tried to escape! I've been a bad girl!"

The sight of you writhing under him was pathetic, you were truly becoming a mess and he hadn't even really touched you. Seeing how hard you were trembling, Chrollo took pity on you. Watching your pretty pussy clench and release, needing some form of stimulation, he decided to at least grant you this mercy.

Plunging two fingers into your dripping hole, he crooked his fingers, quickly finding your g-spot, "Is this what my darling needs?"

"Yes! Oh, fu-fuck please daddy!" You moaned, fucking yourself on his fingers, "Gonna cum!"

"You have permission princess, it's ok," Chrollo reaffirmed, working his fingers inside you.

It only took seconds, the knot that had been building inside you finally burst, causing you to clench around his fingers. The vibrator held firm against your clit after, the pleasure becoming painful. You started to cry through the blindfold.

Chrollo licked the mess off his fingers before slowly starting to pull the anal beads out one by one. You whined and whimpered as he did so, the action only causing you to clench to avoid feeling empty. It did nothing, Chrollo continued to pull the remaining few beads out, your asshole gaping slightly

"Mm, you're doing so well baby," Chrollo sighed, pulling his own pants down. Pumping his cock a few times before rubbing the crown of it up and down your slick.

"Daddy! D-Don't do that!" You whined, trying to pull away from his ministrations.

"What? This?" Chrollo asked innocently, repeating the action.

You lost it, cumming on the spot as the tip ghosted over your pussy, your shame covered your face in a heavy blush. It barely took anything for you to cum with the stupid vibrator continuing to buzz against your clit at the highest setting.

"S-Sorry daddy.." you slurred, still trembling as you felt your mind go blank.

"Aww, is my baby that much of a cock drunk little slut?" Chrollo teased, pressing the tip of his painfully erect cock into your ass, "I know you are, my pretty little darling wanted to be punished this whole time, huh?"

You heard him, but could barely form enough of a sentence to answer.

Chrollo pushed into you slowly, relishing in the tightness of your ass, your gummy walls fluttering around him as you were overstimulated. The feeling of being full had your tongue lolling out of your mouth.

Once fully seated inside you, Chrollo slowly dragged his nails along your back before palming your ass. Pulling your ass cheeks apart with his thumbs, he gave a few long, slow thrusts, watching the way you clenched around his cock.

"Fuck," Chrollo moaned, "I almost don't even want to punish you with the way this tight little ass wraps around my cock."

You could only moan in response, trembling as he continued his tortuously slow pace.

"How many spankings do you think you'll receive from tonight's actions, princess?" Chrollo halted, only halfway inside as his hands trailed upwards along your outer thighs, "I think forty is a good number? What say you, love?"

"Nuh-uh!" You cried, wiggling against his touch as one of his hands left your skin, "Thirty!"

Chrollo chuckled at your offer, "I was originally going to settle for twenty-five, but thirty works for me, darling."

With a crushing force, Chrollo's hand came down.

Smack!

"Count, or I'll start over," Chrollo demanded.

"O-One," You whispered.

His other hand rose while the other soothed the spot he had just spanked.

Smack!

"Two!"

Smack!

"Three," Chrollo's hands were relentless, switching cheeks each time he smacked you in order to give your poor skin a break. He was merciful enough to rub the spot he had spanked before doing it again.

It took minutes to work your way up to the end, you came twice throughout the process as the vibrator held firm against your clit.

Smack!

"Twenty-eight!"

Smack!

"Twenty-nine!"

Smack!

"Th-Thirty!" You were sobbing, shaking uncontrollably under the weight of Chrollo's punishment.

"There we go, all done," Chrollo cooed, softly rubbing your cherry-red ass as he set another slow pace, "You did so well for me, darling."

A warmth grew in your chest, you really did enjoy being praised by Chrollo, even if it was after a punishment with his dick in your ass. He enjoyed it too, loving the way you clenched around his cock each time he spanked you, it took a lot of focus to not cum mid punishment.

You were writhing the pressure in your core already starting to build again, your trembling never stopped, even throughout your punishment. Chrollo kept up his word to please you, but god at what cost?

"I want you to cum for me again, angel," Chrollo hummed, his hands finding your waist as he began picking up the pace, "I want to absolutely ruin you."

"No no no! Daddy, I can't!" You sobbed, knowing you would be doing more than just cumming if this kept up.

"Oh? Is my princess trying to hide the pretty mess I know she can make?" Chrollo asked, knowing what you were implying.

Grabbing the knife, he cut the ropes from your legs. He rolled your limp form over onto your back, yanking the blindfold off so he could watch as you helped overstimulate yourself. With one arm by your head to support himself, he guided his cock back into your ass, resuming the brutal pace he set.

You held Chrollo's gaze as he went absolutely feral, drilling your ass while holding one of your legs up over his shoulder. You could barely conceal your tears at this point, broken moans showing him just how bad you needed a break, but he was intent on making you squirt before he stopped.

"I know you need this," Chrollo purred, pressing his forehead to yours, "Just give in to my love, your body wants this."

You started to shake harder, legs trembling even more aggressively, he was pushing you to the edge.

"Fuck! Da...Daddy," You groaned, knowing you were only seconds away, "Kiss me, p-please."

Pulling you into his lips as you came, your screams and cries muffled against Chrollo's lips as you drenched his cock and thighs with your cum. You barely registered the feeling of his cock throbbing as he filled your ass with cum. It took several seconds for your orgasm to stop before you were finally able to collapse back onto the bed.

Chrollo was quick to shut the vibrator off as he pulled out, knowing your body had enough. He admired the way his cum began slowly trickling out of your ass while he untied your hands.

"You did so well, darling," Chrollo praised, leaving soft kisses on the inside of your calf, "So so good."

His kisses trailed upwards, his lips softly tickling your thighs as he caressed them. He continued upward with his continued praise and love, making sure each part of you had received some form of physical attention before kissing you passionately.

You were still panting, your heart thrumming in your ears as he brushed your hair away from your face. At least he held true to his word.

With your hands now free, you pulled him in for another kiss, wanting to stay enveloped in his warmth forever.

"So, my little brat," He started, interlacing his fingers with yours, "Was this enough of a cure for your boredom?"

You giggled, giving him a weak smile, "It was, but as I recall, you mentioned what sounded like a more long-term solution to this problem."

"Ah, that," Chrollo sighed, rolling over next to you. You turned on your side the best you could as he gazed up at the ceiling, "I was thinking you could officially become a spider."

Your breath hitched in your throat, "You mean like part of the phantom-troupe?"

"Yes," He replied curtly, "You'd be with me all day every day, same rules apply, but it would give you a chance to use that intelligence of yours."

You grinned, thinking it over, "Sure, why not?"

#chrollo lucilfer x y/n #hunter x hunter x reader #hunterxhunter #hxh #hxh 2011 #hxh imagine #hxh x reader #hxh x you #hxh x y/n #chrollo #chrollo x you #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo smut #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #phantom troupe #phantom troupe x reader #chrollo lucilfer smut

1K notes · View notes

moonlesslights · 3 years

Text

Going down (NSFW)

Ramsay Bolton

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

Summary: You are the betrothed of Ramsay Bolton, however, attending to a celebration on the South, he gets a little too jealous of all the eyes on his lady. You take him to another room to avoid an scene a both decide to enjoy some time alone.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sex.

(this is part of a serie of OS I want to start for Ramsay and “us”, it won’t be really a serie but fragments of their lives)

Enjoy!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The first time I decided to go deep throat on him was before an event with some lords and ladies.

He was jealous. Some lord of the south had been insinuating to me, being a little too friendly and Ramsay felt like people still didn’t get the fact that we were together or, what was driving him crazy, the fact that people though that i didn’t want to be with him… or was it?

—Calm down, love.— I say, my hands on his chest moving up and down.

—He was talking about your ass with his friend, in front of me… do you think that’s okay to let go?

—They are southerners, Ramsay. You know their manner of be is by far a lot more relaxed than ours.

—They are disrespecting you. They are disrespecting the Lady of Dreadfort and our house with it.

He is still trying to look for one of the windows in the room we were in, the room I took him trying to avoid an scene. I place my hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. His eyes connect with mines, deep blue blending under the light of the candles, still confused when I smile.

—And what are you going to do, love?, are you going to flay them?— He can’t. I know it, that’s why I’m taking this so calm, if we were on the North, I would be fearing for their lives.

Ramsay frowns, biting his inner cheek and avoiding my look again. Now I know that this is not only jealousy, something else is upsetting him.

—What is going on with you, mhm?— I push my finger on his jaw, redirecting his face to me.

—Nothing.— He’s angry, I can tell by his voice and how he raises his eyebrows with annoyance.

—Tell me.— I insist. —We can’t go back out there with you looking like someone died… Or like you tried but didn’t succeed.

He ignores my words, only furrowing much more when he looks at me and finally continues:

—Yes, we are going back out there. With you in that pretty dress and hundreds of looks on your back.— His voice drops, and I can tell he’s about to spit what is burning in his throat. —But I’m not sure if you would like to go back to the North with me…

—Ramsay…— My heart gives a skip. What is he talking about?

—After all, we aren’t married yet, and you were only betrothed to me, so why wouldn’t you look for someone else out there?

The words hit in my brain and then I can get to feel how much this man loves me, even when he acts like this, like he would give anything make me leave him alone. My expression softens, putting my hand on his cheek again and felling, even as he resist a little, how his face seeks the touch of my fingertips.

—You’re not so clever as you think you are, my lord.— I murmur, smiling.

He turns to me and opens his eyes, confused.

—What do you mean?— Ramsay asks.

I don’t respond, instead, my head does a click with the idea to show him what I meant.

I fall to my knees, Ramsay leans immediately, trying to take my hand and whispering if I was okay, however, his attempts to put me back on my feet decline when I reach under his upper clothes. The second my fingers rub from his belly button to his pants, passing for the fine path of hair, he feels a chill run down his entire spine until it settles in his crotch. He clenches his jaw, slightly surprised of what I was doing.

Usually, he’s the one to star any kind of encounter that leads both of us to sexual pleasure. So, this, is a huge step for me and for this part of our relationship, because of what he said: we aren’t married, therefore, we haven’t had sex. However, since we started to sleep in the same bed at the Dreadfort, it was hard for Ramsay to keep his hands to himself. I said no the firsts times and he respected that, but as time passed and I got to see him in plenty of ways, I accepted that I was somewhat of touch starved… Even thought, not so much as him.

The first time I let go was at his office, late at night, when he kissed me with such hungry and desperation but yet so careful to not make me back away that I couldn’t take it anymore… And he realized that. He took me from my hips and place me on one of his legs, holding me tight. The rest was amazing: him, making me grind on his knee, moving me up and down for the fabric of his pants, asking me if it felt right that or this. Smiling until he had to put his hand covering my mouth to avoid my voice woke up half of the people there, no, then he wasn’t smiling anymore, he was laughing. One of the most precious laugh i’ve heard.

Since that moment, he haven’t stopped. Grabbing me by my hips again one morning, holding my back against his chest and with one hand around my stomach and the other going down on my pussy, he fingered me until I couldn’t stop shaking from pleasure with his digits hard and deep in me.

Other time was when, while I was grinding on his leg, I reach for the bulge among his legs. It took him by surprise, I guessed based on the way his head dropped back, murmuring a soft “fuck” under his breath. He wanted to be touched, I realized, he was dying for me to go for all on him but he never intended to push me, after all, I had just accepted for any of us to die of touch starvation.

That same time was the first time he made me scream his name high and clear. None of us could help it (I tried, I swear), but when he got too excited with my hand going up and down on his member, he turned us, positioning himself above me and beginning to simulate hard thrusts on me. He has always been a quiet lover, he groans and moans, but just never too loud. But me and the wooden bed?, well, we kinda woke up everyone in the castle that night.

So now, with me on my knees and pulling down of the fabric, he really doesn’t know if I’m going to do what he is thinking. His fantasies flying around his mind, he didn’t thought that, during this travel, it was going to happen.

—Did the cat ate your tongue?— I ask, smiling. He’s always nonchalant about how nervous I am during our time of pleasure, but know is him who doesn’t talk at all.

—We need to be quiet.— He murmurs, seeing even a little bit anxious. I chuckle.

—No. You need to be quiet.— Ramsay clenches his jaw again, watching out the window with a frustrated look.

I take his cock on my hand and hear him take a deep breath. I lick my lips at the same time I start to do some movements with my wrist. Then I look at him, asking if I should do the next step.

Ramsay loses his breath at the incredibly erotic sight. Passes saliva and nods, slow. Then, his head drops back when my tongue starts to move at the tip, circling it with my lips.

I give several movements with my head, turning to see him with each of them, trying to guess if I was doing it right. Ramsay continues to answer me with nods of his head, and as his breathing becomes more and more pasty, I feel him grow in my mouth.

—Go on, darling.— He whispers, letting out a heavy sight.

I focus on extending my tongue its full length before beginning to delve into my throat: I go down a little and go up again feeling my eyes watery, but then, I try again, playing with my hand with what I cannot take. I continue like this for some more minutes, greedy growing in my chest with the sounds and gasps that my betrothed lets go from his lips.

—You almost get it, dear.— I close my eyes when I feel his hand getting tangled in my hair.

Ramsay takes control, pushing my head against him and loosening only when I ask to go back. His brow furrows and insists again, my lips close around his member and then I proceed to open my jaw to the maximum that it gives me, closing my eyes, already too foggy anyway, until my nose touches something: his skin. My lips meet just at the base of his dick. Ramsay presses one hand at the base of my neck while the knuckles of the other on the table behind him turn almost completely white.

I push back and, with difficulty, he lets go, but just enough. As soon as I have only the tip in my mouth again, he pushes back inside, giving quick and calculated thrusts. His hand on the table tightens even more and the blood seems to drain from the layers of his skin.

—Look at me.— Ramsay demands. He’s about to come, I know: he always wants me to look at him before he does.

He takes one last thrust, drawing me back to the bottom and base of his member. He pushes, pushes and pushes until he makes sure that I have everything.

His hand drops my hair and, by the moment I try to clean that what felt out of my mouth, he takes my arm and makes me stand on my feet again. Two of his fingers trace my lips and his own cum before pushing them into my mouth.

—It’s all yours, darling.— He smiles, rotten. —Take it.

I swallow and clean my chin with the sleeve of my dress, smiling too. My cheeks red and heart pumping on my chest.

—Was it okay?— I ask. The doubt was still consuming me: Ramsay have had plenty of lovers, a lot that had done that to him…

—It was better that okay, darling.— He laughs, putting all his clothes back on and then turning me to give him my back. —You made me touch the bloody heaven.

I laugh, felling like I always did every time I was with him, doing wrong things and sharing private moments: alive. He makes me feel alive.

I noticed his fingers running through my hair and it don’t take long until I realize that he’s making my braiding again. I smile, confident. He had practice sometimes before, when we were late because he just didn’t want to get off of bed, or when I fell asleep during long travels and by the time we arrived my hair was a total mess. So he started learning to do it.

—Done!— He cheers, proud of himself after thirty minutes. I turn around and before I can say anything, he presses his lips on my forehead. I close my eyes for a few seconds and by the moment I open them again, he’s looking at me. This time, his smile it’s just the same I see when I kiss him goodnight, or when he says “love you” after coming back from some trip with his father. The same smile he has every time I wake him up with a lot of kisses. —I want to marry you.

—We are going to get married.

—I want to marry you now. Let’s just do it right when we get to Dreadfort again.

I wrap my arms around his neck and he wraps his own around my waist, pressing his forehead with mine.

—Why?, you can’t wait to have sex with me?— I ask, smiling.

—Yes. And I might be tempted by the vows of spending the rest of our life together.— I laugh as he giggles, giving him a quick kiss.

…

By the time we got out of there most of the guesses were already on their table, eating. And when we sneak into the celebration, Roose was already raising an eyebrow at us.

Ramsay and I looked at each other. Roose didn’t know what we did, but he exactly did not not know what we did.

For the rest of the dinner, I had to enjoy my plate under the reprimands of my future father and the disobedient laughs of my betrothed. Yet, the scenario couldn’t feel more like home.

A/N: Sorry if there’s any gramatical issue, english it’s not my first language and I still get a little confuse on log narrations. Hope you liked!

#ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay bolton #ramsay snow #game of thrones #game of thrones preferences #ramsay bolton imagine #anon #ramsay #game of thrones imagines

383 notes · View notes

v4mptsuki · 3 years

Text

flirtations (i.matsukawa x reader)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: matsukawa is crushing on the reader, and he’s oblivious to her feelings for him despite her being oikawa’s childhood best friend

a/n, this isn’t proofread, so i apologize if there’s any typos!

mattsun felt a headache coming on. for the past half hour of the third year's hangout, oikawa had been unable to shut up about l/n y/n. as the group of boys roamed the streets, coffee cups in hand, oikawa went on his fiftieth rant of the day about her.

"isn't she just the sweetest iwa-chan? remember when she helped us practice last summer; she's so helpful. we should invite y/n-chan the next time we hangout. would you like that mattsu?" oikawa asked with a smirk.

mattsun rolled his eyes, "would that shut you up about her?"

oikawa tsked and took a sip of his drink, "now, now mattsu don't get all riled up. i'm just complimenting a friend."

"friend, right," mattsun muttered sarcastically.

y/n had known oikawa for years; ever since they were kids. oikawa's mom went to school with y/n's family, so the two kids had grown up together. mattsun knew it was only a matter of time until they ended up dating, and he hated how upset it made him. he'd been harboring feelings for y/n since their first year at aoba johsai, and they hadn't faded at all.

two knocks echoed through the matsukawa house, and mattsun could hear his mom answering the door. he'd been bed bound since he came down with a cold that morning, and he felt miserable.

"oh yes! he's in his room, i'm sure he'll be glad to see you!" his mom said to whoever was at the door.

mattsun expected makki to be the one entering his room, probably with his schoolwork and questions of where he'd been. instead, it was y/n, oikawa's friend. he had several classes with her, which was why oikawa introduced them. y/n was anxious about high school, since most of her junior high friends went elsewhere, so oikawa thought it would be good for her to know someone.

the two had grown to be good friends through all their shared classes, and mattsun really enjoyed her company. she was really kind, but she teased oikawa just as much as iwaizumi did. she was also smart, and she always helped mattsun with his work when he got lost in class. so, it shouldn't have shocked him that much to see y/n standing in his doorway with his homework in her arms.

the surprising part though, was that she'd brought him food too. she had a grocery sack from the corner store in one hand, and it seemed to be full of snacks. in her other hand, she had not only the homework, but her notes from the day too.

"hi, i heard you're sick," y/n greeted, still standing in the doorway, like she was waiting for permission to walk in.

mattsun smiled at her, "yeah, c'mon in."

y/n took a seat on the edge of his bed, and mattsun scooted his legs a bit so she would have more room.

"i brought the homework, and i thought you might like to have my notes. i took two copies, so you can keep these. i always get stressed when i miss school, because i hate falling behind, so i hope this helps you rest easier," y/n stated, a small smile on her face.

mattsun swore that in that moment he could feel himself falling for her. he'd thought she was pretty from the moment he laid eyes on her, and ever since oikawa introduced them, he'd grown fond of her personality too. it was then though, that he truly fell. the nonchalant way she cared about him, like it was nothing but the expected, made mattsun so incredibly happy.

"oh! i also brought you this," y/n added excitedly, placing the grocery bag gently on the bed.

mattsun sat up a bit, and y/n handed him the bag. inside was all his favorites. his favorite chips, candy, drink, and a carefully packaged cup of soup. the soup was even still warm, letting mattsun know she'd grabbed it on her way to his house.

"how did you know these are my favorites?" mattsun asked as he looked up at her, his eyes wide with delight.

"i asked oikawa. he said he asked your friend makki," y/n replied, clearly proud of herself for being so attentive.

"this is like the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. thank you y/n," mattsun said, making y/n duck her head bashfully.

"oh quit it, you're sick, i'm just helping it be less awful. anyways, do you want me to go over the notes with you? if you're tired i can go, but i just thought i'd offer," y/n said, trailing off near the end.

mattsun nodded quickly, a bit too eager to get her to stay.

"we can go over the notes! it'll probably, um, help me learn it better."

ever since that day, mattsun had been hopelessly devoted to her. every love confession that had come his way he'd denied, holding out hope that maybe, just maybe, y/n could like him back. oikawa had never helped his pining though. as the group of them had gotten older, oikawa had grown into a flirt, with y/n being his primary target. every day at practice, it was incessant, and it drove mattsun mad.

"this one's for you y/n-chan!" oikawa exclaimed with a wink in her direction before he served the ball flawlessly to the other side of the court during a mock game.

mattsun could hear y/n's laugh at his antics, and it just made him more sullen. as the day's practice wrapped up, y/n was quick to rush over to the boys.

"that was great guys. you really are improving a lot," she said with a bright smile.

"thank you! you're our number one cheerleader y/n," makki teased, throwing an arm over her shoulders and ruffling her hair.

y/n ducked out of his grasp and patted her hair down with a dramatic scowl.

"hands off my hair makki! that's why mattsu is my favorite," she teased, poking her tongue out before leaning into mattsun's side.

"you played great today too," she said, her voice lower, like the comment was just for him.

mattsun felt himself stiffen, suddenly unable to think of anything clever to say.

"oh, uh, thank you."

"y/n-chan!" oikawa called out as he exited the locker room, already changed out of his gym clothes.

y/n giggled, "see you around mattsu," she said before walking over to greet oikawa.

makki whistled once y/n had walked far off enough, and he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"pussy," was all he said to mattsun, who just sighed.

"up your ass makki."

"toru i'm an idiot!" y/n exclaimed, flopping back on her best friend's bed.

he just laughed, and took a seat next to her.

"what else is new?"

y/n huffed and leaned over to shove him.

"not helping asshole."

"sorry, sorry, it's just hilarious how oblivious he is," oikawa said.

y/n nodded in agreement, and moved her head to rest in oikawa's lap.

"it's awful isn't it? i just don't know what to do. i try to talk to him, but he always seems pained to be around me. promise he doesn't hate me?" y/n asked, looking up at her friend.

"how could he hate you? precious little y/n-chan," oikawa teased, reaching down to pinch her cheeks.

she grumbled again and swatted his hand away.

"how do i get him to confess?" she wondered aloud.

"what if we made him jealous," oikawa suggested with a sly smirk.

y/n pursed her lips in thought, before an equally sly smile spread on her face. mattsun always did seem particularly irritated by her and oikawa's antics. besides, a jealous confession did sound pretty appealing to y/n.

"i'm down if you are toru," y/n said.

"perfect! so what will our story be? should i tell the boys you broke down in tears as you confessed your love for me?"

y/n grimaced, "absolutely not. i still want him to know i'm single dumbass. maybe just amp up the flirting tomorrow, and i'll dress extra cute."

"looking forward to it darling," oikawa said with a wink, making y/n roll her eyes.

the next day at practice, oikawa was insufferable. if his normal flirtations were a 7/10 on the mattsun-annoyance scale, this had raised it to at least an 11/10. y/n had entered practice in her cutest variant of the school uniform, and oikawa was quick to offer her his sweatshirt. he even helped her put it on, making mattsun glare at the pair from across the gym.

y/n sat on the bench close to the court, and oikawa shot a flirty remark at her after every cool move he pulled. every time he did, y/n would giggle and blush, and it made mattsun want to rip his hair out.

"my head is literally going to explode," he muttered to makki during a water break, with a scowl heavy on his face.

makki stifled a laugh, "just make a move already."

mattsun's scowl deepened, "no way. she's totally head over heels for oikawa. see, look."

he gestured over to the pair, where oikawa had joined y/n on the bench. he had an arm draped over her shoulder, and their heads were leaned into each other as they spoke in hushed voices. y/n glanced up, and her eyes met mattsun's, but he was quick to look away.

"did you see that, he was looking at us," y/n whispered to oikawa, a grin on her face.

"he's totally pissed," oikawa added excitedly.

y/n giggled, "this might actually work!"

oikawa got up and restarted practice, and a very sullen mattsun walked back onto the court. y/n kept her gaze trained on him as he walked, unable to look away from the way the jersey hugged his muscles. he glanced back, and their eyes met again, but this time y/n was the first to look away, a blush rising on her face.

practice continued on, with oikawa flirting with y/n every other minute. mattsun just seemed to get more and more irritated, and then, practice ended. oikawa headed straight to the locker room, as he always did. he'd always hated the sweaty feeling after practice, so y/n would normally just wait for him to change so they could go. today though, y/n asked oikawa to shower there too, so she would have more time to talk to mattsun without him around making mattsun jealous.

"hi guys! you all did great today," y/n greeted as she walked over to the three third years.

iwa smiled at y/n in thanks, "yeah, we're improving a lot."

"totally! especially you mattsu, you looked great out there today," y/n said with a smile.

mattsun seemed to tense up, and y/n mentally cursed herself. all she wanted to do was let him know she liked him, but every time she did he always seemed to get so uncomfortable.

"thank you y/n," he replied with an awkward smile, making y/n's heart drop.

"yeah, of course," she said with her own small smile.

there was a moment of silence before iwa bid everyone goodbye. most of the other years had left, leaving just y/n, mattsun, makki, and oikawa in the locker room.

"i think i'm gonna head out too, bye guys!" makki said, hurrying out of the room before mattsun could say anything to him.

y/n pursed her lips at that, since usually the two walked home together.

"waiting for oikawa?" mattsun asked y/n once makki was out the door.

"i guess. i also kinda wanted to talk to you," she added, her voice growing quiet.

mattsun's eyes widened and his gaze shot up to look at her.

"what?"

"yeah, i uh, wanted to chat with you. you know, i really like your company," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

mattsun didn't say anything back, he just stared at y/n with wide eyes. she felt a lump in her throat, but she bit back any emotions.

"sorry, i didn't mean to make this weird or anything," she added quickly.

mattsun blinked slowly, and then shook his head forcefully.

"no, no, not at all. i like spending time with you too. i just, i thought you and oikawa were like..." he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud, but hoping y/n understood what he meant.

apparently she didn't, as her eyebrows scrunched up, "huh? what about me and toru?"

"nothing, i just..." mattsun took in a breath and shook his head, "nothing, never mind."

y/n frowned, but took a step closer to mattsun.

"what is it?" she asked, concern in her voice.

"i-"

mattsun wasn't sure what to say. y/n was standing barely a few inches away from him, and he was struggling to form a coherent thought. she tilted her head up to look him in the eyes, and he felt his face growing hot.

"you know i'm not dating toru," she said, her voice soft.

mattsun swallowed, "oh, really? i guess i just assumed..."

"well you assumed wrong," y/n replied, keeping her eyes on mattsun.

"oh," was all he could think to say, his mind too muddled for y/n's closeness.

she stayed there for a second longer, before she cleared her throat and took a step away.

"well yeah, we aren't dating. i don't plan on dating him either, he's too high maintenance for me," y/n joked, although she sounded a bit down.

mattsun just nodded, unsure of what to say. inside, he was beating himself up. she was right there, but he just couldn't do anything. she made him so nervous he lost all his confidence. it was basically torture, being so close to her, but unable to make a move.

"anyways, i think toru should be done by now. i guess i'll just wait for him outside," y/n flashed mattsun a small smile before swiftly heading for the gym doors.

"wait!" mattsun exclaimed before he could think better of it.

y/n turned around, her eyebrows raised.

"what's up?"

"um, fuck, don't go yet. i guess now's a good time to tell you i, uh, i really like you."

once mattsun started his confession, he couldn't stop the word vomit that followed.

"ever since you brought me the notes when i was sick during first year, i thought you were the nicest girl ever. i still do, by the way, you're just so sweet and pretty, and fuck i'm rambling. i just, i like you a lot, and i thought you should know. i guess."

mattsun felt his face heating up as he awkwardly went to scratch the back of his neck. y/n just stood there, a shocked look on her face. mattsun was just about to stutter out an apology for making things weird, when she rushed forwards. her arms wrapped around mattsun's neck, and she let out a relieved laugh.

"oh thank goodness! i was so worried you didn't like me that way, it was killing me you idiot!" y/n breathed out, her face pressing into mattsun's neck.

"wait what?" mattsun replied, pulling away from her embrace.

she moved one of her arms to flick his forehead, a grin taking over her face.

"i like you too!" she exclaimed.

mattsun broke into a grin of his own, and just as he was about to pull y/n back into him, oikawa exited the locker room. his hair was dripping wet, implying he'd taken a shower, and mattsun could've smacked him across the face.

"toru guess what!" y/n called out as oikawa headed over to the pair.

based on oikawa's smirk, he already knew what she was going to say.

"what is it y/n darling?"

"he likes me back," she replied smugly, stretching on her tip toes to kiss mattsun's cheek.

"yes i do," mattsun muttered, just for y/n to hear, making her smile stretch even wider.

#v4mponeshot #v4mpfluff #matsukawa issei #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa x you #matsukawa x y/n #issei mattsun #mattsun x reader #mattsun x y/n #mattsun x you #matsukawa fluff #matsukawa oneshot #mattsun fluff #haikyuu fluff

188 notes · View notes

juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments.

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events.

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt.

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it.

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate.

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend.

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts.

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me.

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong.

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point.

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun.

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.”

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us.

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room.

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug.

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself.

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?”

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.”

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery.

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me.

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction.

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime.

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today

Grant: don’t need to.

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me.

“Who keeps texting you?”

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business.

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!”

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it.

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it.

“No one.”

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going.

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me.

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously.

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet.

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing.

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?”

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?”

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.”

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’”

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade.

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.”

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid.

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him.

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub.

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance.

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly.

“No, sir.”

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me.

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him.

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field.

“You are not going in without a gun,” Reid ordered.

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again.

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in.

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me.

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling.

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more.

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?”

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return.

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent.

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out.

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.”

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red.

This war was far from over.

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good.

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them.

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing.

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly.

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.”

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied.

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.”

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked.

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.”

What you feel.

I clung onto those words.

What was I really feeling?

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me?

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me.

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast.

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me.

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely.

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added.

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier.

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked.

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer.

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence.

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too.

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation.

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way.

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual.

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?”

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew.

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken.

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat.

“A dating app, actually.”

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this.

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.”

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.”

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now.

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung.

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed.

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice.

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though.

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?”

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling.

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead.

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face.

He felt sorry for me.

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book.

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.”

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.”

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.”

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words.

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t.

But I should’ve.

_ _ _

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being.

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end.

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat.

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would.

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative.

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?”

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it.

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction.

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.”

_ _ _

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however.

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it.

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this.

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were.

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now?

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me.

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them.

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones.

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head.

You deserve more than that. Much more.

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said.

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened.

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see.

“I asked you first.”

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.”

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before.

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know.

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me.

“What? What is it?” I urged.

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?”

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth.

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.”

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?”

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was.

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second.

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed.

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that.

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize.

That never came.

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust.

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments.

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness.

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.”

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).”

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either.

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up.

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too.

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I.

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well.

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field.

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room.

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?”

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet.

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer.

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it.

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.”

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?”

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart.

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat.

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.”

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here.

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?”

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes.

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least.

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity.

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though.

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something.

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.”

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar.

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me.

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me.

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again.

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again.

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.”

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image.

“Always, trouble.”

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know.

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help.

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.”

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation.

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her.

_ _ _

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left.

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied.

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety.

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D.

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful.

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright.

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened.

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?”

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?”

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.”

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before.

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?”

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before.

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit.

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority.

She was my priority.

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear.

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver.

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms.

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand.

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms.

She was so cold.

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute.

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again.

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all.

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.”

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car.

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way.

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly.

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible.

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there.

I need to be somewhere I feel safe.

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself.

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize.

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever.

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?”

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly.

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?”

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.”

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.”

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too.

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that.

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind.

“You’re smart. Figure it out.”

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence.

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?”

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?”

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point?

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt.

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?”

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth.

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never.

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him.

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything.

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us.

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet.

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting.

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid

tag not working: @gloriousmuffinempathstudent

#spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid kiss #fighting fire with fire #juniorgman187 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

375 notes · View notes

wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

Text

Ever Since We Met

Prologue

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After making a bet with Odin, Loki finally has a chance to prove he is worthy of being heir to the throne. Under mysterious circumstances, you find yourself stranded on Asgard, left with no option but to team up with Loki and help him win the crown. Now posing as visiting royalty, you must be careful of rumors in court that say you’re not who you claim, all while battling your growing feelings for the raven haired king. But some things are easier said than done because secrets, you’ll soon learn, can be deadly. Chapter Summary: Before Odin leaves for Alfheim, Loki makes one final bid for the throne. A bet that has the power to alter his future. Chapter Warnings: none :) A/N: Greetings guys, gals, and non-binary pals! I am beyond excited to share this story with you! It takes place pre-Thor 1 and will update every Friday until we reach the end in about six months. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot

ESWM Tag List: @happygalaxymilkshake @electroma89 @joyfullymassivewhispers @darkacademicfrom2021 (Both tag lists are open; message me to be added!)

⚜︎ Masterlist | Next >>

Disclaimer: Gif not mine.

Thankfully, the halls outside the throne room were empty, leaving plenty of space for Loki to pace back and forth. He never would have let his anxious energy show in front of others, but right now it was just him. The guards had gone in to announce Loki to his father, gain permission for him to enter. It was ridiculous that he couldn’t just waltz in, the prince thought. Then again, that’s all he was. A prince. Not the king.

See, Loki had been trying his whole life to prove his worth to his father, desperately attempting to show he was deserving of the throne. But nothing had worked, and whispers that Odin was going to announce his heir any day now were common throughout the kingdom. And not a single person was saying it was going to be Loki. Luckily, the younger Odinson didn’t give up so easily.

“Prince Loki,” one of the guards said with a little bow of his head as they re-emerged from the throne room. Loki immediately stopped his nervous movement and looked him in the eye. “The king will see you now.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Loki replied, regal as ever. “As you were.”

Taking a final gulp of air, he pushed through the heavy golden doors and walked towards Odin. As a child, Loki had always thought his father looked so imposing sitting on the throne, as if he had in his palm the fate of all people. Well, now Loki was grown, and he knew that the old man sitting in that glorified chair did hold someone’s fate. His. And if Loki wasn’t careful, Odin would crush his dreams, his destiny, without so much as batting an eye.

Loki’s heeled boots clicked on the cold floor, as if counting down the steps left before he could make his request. They were, perhaps, a bit more formal than something one might wear on a regular basis, but he figured why not dress to impress? His semi-formal cloak swooshed behind him, and he had to resist anxiously fiddling with the fabric. With his hair slicked back and combed perfectly in place, he thought he looked very princely, but if all went well, he was going to be far more than that.

“Your majesty,” he greeted Odin in the formal way he’d been taught since birth, bowing at his waist. Oh, how he so despised that part; if he had it his way, he’d never bow to anyone again. At least he didn’t have to kneel as most of the lesser nobles and commoners did.

“Rise my son,” Odin said with a wave of his hand. “Why have you felt the need for this audience so close to my departure?”

“Well, father,” Loki began. He summoned all his strength to keep up his nonchalant facade. “It has come to my attention that you have invited Thor to join you and mother on your diplomatic mission to Alfheim. An invitation, I might add, that he has accepted.”

“Yes, yes,” he yawned. “What of it? I hope you are not looking to come. The convoy is already full.”

“On the contrary, I think it best if I stay here.” Loki studied his father’s expression a moment before continuing. “To rule the kingdom.”

It was painfully silent in the near-empty throne room. And then Odin began laughing. Not chuckling, but full on laughing at his son. This was perhaps the most embarrassed Loki had ever felt, and there wasn’t even anyone else in the room. But all he wanted was to show his father he was capable of ruling. That he would make a far more competent king than his oaf of a brother. This was a critical moment, he knew, and he couldn’t let any cracks in his armor show. He kept his face completely neutral as his father slowly ceased his cackling.

“And why should I allow for that. You see, Loki, I have already chosen my successor, and it is not you,” Odin bluntly explained as Loki’s blood began to boil and hopes began to drop. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and he’d wake up to make his plea for real. No such luck. “The official announcement was going to come upon my return, but it seems cruel to keep it from you now.”

All the times Loki played this out in his head, it never went quite this poorly. Never in his wildest dreams had he been expecting Odin to admit what he already knew deep down; he’d lost. But all his training, his preparing, his effort to show that he was the one deserving of the crown, could it really be for nothing?

“Come now, my son,” Odin said when Loki took too long to reply. He wondered if his father was trying to have a comforting tone. If he was, he was failing miserably. “You always knew I would have to pick one of you. That only one of you could take the mighty throne of Asgard.”

Yes, but I should be the victor, Loki thought, ignoring the tears pricking the back of his eyes. The last thing he would do was cry in front of the Allfather. Especially when he still had a chance to make this work in his favor. All he had to do was keep it together for the next fifteen minutes and alter his argument a little. If Odin was taking drastic measures, maybe that’s what he had to do, too.

“I do not think you should act so rashly, father,” Loki spoke up, voice impressively even. “After all, you have yet to hear my proposition.”

“And what might that be? Speak, son, and tell me.”

“Let me rule Asgard while you are gone. If I do well, you wait to make your decision on who will be your heir, allow me to continue to compete for the crown.”

The old king laughed again, not as loudly as before, but just as unkindly. “Why would I do that? I see no way in which this benefits me.”

“On the contrary, as a prince, I would have the right to plead my case to the Allmother if you took me out of the running. It would be a long, tedious process if you had to go through all the right channels to prove my brother is better suited for the kingship. And then again, they might not even find that he is. Or I could even challenge Thor for the crown, if it comes down to it. Such scandal to mark the end of your reign would be a shame, do you not agree?” He paused for dramatic effect, and to let the words sink in. “However, should I do poorly on the throne, I would have no argument to make, and would back down peacefully.”

The tension was so thick, Loki was tempted to whip out one of his daggers to try to cut it, and give himself room to breathe. But even the subtlest of movements would give way to an accusation of weakness, so he stood where he was, his piercing gaze staring into his father’s one eye, waiting for him to speak. Odin tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne, mulling over the very thinly veiled threat. By the time the king was opening his mouth to speak, Loki felt ready to scream.

“Very well,” he finally conceded. “But your success will be according to my terms. There are three things a good king needs. The first is the respect of those he rules. The second, fear and awe of his enemies and allies alike.”

Loki’s eyes flitted down for the briefest of seconds before looking up with renewed confidence. “And the last?”

“Worthiness,” Odin continued, standing up and walking down the steps, “to have the crown on his head.”

More eagerly than he would have liked, Loki nodded. He was certainly clever enough to figure out a way to prove he had each of those. It seemed that his silver tongue had not failed him today. But before he could say he accepted the terms, Odin had one last stipulation to add.

“You may not set foot out of the kingdom. Everything must run smoothly while you are here. Is this understood?”

“Yes, father, it is. And you will not interfere with my reign,” Loki replied, distrusting something about the look in the old man’s eye. “So then, do we have a deal?”

He considered for a moment more. “Yes, we do. From the moment I leave tomorrow until the second I return, you will be acting king of Asgard.”

“Thank you, father. You will not regret this,” Loki said, bowing again before leaving.

Whether he left before his father could say anything or if he never planned to at all, Loki wasn’t sure. It hardly mattered anymore. Now, his future was nearly set, for certainly he was already admired to some degree, right? Or even if he wasn’t, he’d been preparing for this day his whole life, studying his father. He knew how to be king, and he’d be damned if he let anything ruin this opportunity.

After a fitful night of sleep, Loki saw his family and their entourage off at the Bifröst. True, he was more than eager for them to leave already, but he did his best to mask it. After all, his eagerness may be mistaken for arrogance, and that was no way to start his reign.

“Alright, brother. I bid thee well,” Thor said, clapping him on the back. As far as Loki was aware, neither he nor anyone else knew of the specifics of the bet that had been made, save for his mother and Heimdall, who had been tasked with keeping an eye on him. “Do not get too comfortable on the throne, though.”

“Good luck, my son. I have every confidence in you,” Frigga said, cupping his cheeks.

Loki looked to Odin for him to speak some final words of parting. When he didn’t, Loki said, “Thank you, brother, mother. I wish you all safe travels and shall be awaiting your return.”

He waited until they disappeared into the rainbow lights and, with a nod in Heimdall’s direction, headed back towards the palace. The throne. Almost reverently, he circled it once before sitting down. Feeling perfectly pleased with himself, Loki didn’t even notice the bright flash of light in the distance. Nor what came with it.

253 notes · View notes

lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Fangs

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: so this piece can either be read as a oneshot or as a sort of sequel to “Get Me To Church”, but in a different style. Basically I got obsessed with the idea that the Outpost residents could stand up to Wilhemina and question her rules and you guys, the POTENTIAL FOR ANGST. As always, English isn’t my first language, so expect a few weird sentences. x

Word count: ~ 8 200

It started small. One morning Venable smiled at you for no reason and Coco saw it. Coco raised her eyebrows teasingly at you and poked your shoulder. Innocent, playful, amused.

You didn’t understand that smile at first, for it was so unlike Venable. It didn’t go with the rest of her. She was all sharp angles that scratched and made the skin bleed, rough edges, snarky comments, bites and claws. Not kind smiles shared in corridors. So you wondered, and Coco raised her eyebrows.

You couldn’t forget it, her smile. It haunted you, followed you like your shadow. It had been beautiful. You wanted so badly to see it again. So you tried making jokes when you knew she could hear them. Not-so-very-clever jokes, corny jokes, that made Andre and Kyle laugh but left Venable’s face completely blank. You stared at the floor and pinched your arm.

Then one evening when you were so, so bored, Andre and you danced to that silly song that played every day over and over like the reminder of a curse. He dipped you, and you laughed, and met Venable’s eyes. Her face was upside-down, but you saw it. That smile again. You recognized it at once because it bore none of her usual coldness and sarcasm. It was genuine. It was fond. It made your heart swell.

Probably there were a few surprised glances shared between the others. Maybe Coco raised her eyebrows again. You did a clumsy pirouette and took a bow as the song came to an end.

One morning Venable told you you looked good today. No sarcasm. No mockery. As if she genuinely meant it. Kyle was nearby, and he heard her. Perhaps he even saw the softness in her eyes. Perhaps he didn’t. But he heard her, and that was enough.

They were whispering when you walked into the music room. Coco gestured for you to sit next to her. She leaned over your shoulder and whispered into your ear, “Watch out, Y/N. We think she’s into you.” Gallant nodded solemnly and said, “Good luck. Scream if you need help. We’re a team. In this together. ”

The day after that was when things really did change. You snapped at Venable in front of the others. Actually snapped at her, questioned her rule about copulation, said the two Greys she had had shot for loving each other had not deserved death. Coco and Gallant looked truly impressed. They also stared at you as if it were the last time they were seeing you alive.

You wondered that night whether you had given up on life the day the world ended. You waited for someone to come get you and shoot a bullet through your brain or throw you out of the Outpost. Nothing happened. So the next morning when you sat down for breakfast, the others fell silent. They stared at you. You stared at them. None of you really understood why you were still here. Then Gallant’s mouth opened, just a bit, as if he had realized something. He was about to speak when Venable walked into the room and announced you would now have board games nights. For fun.

That was her first mistake. Part of you knew it, even then, but that part was obliterated by the tidal wave of joy and hope and love that swelled inside you and crashed all over your heart, sprinkling fragments of light and fragments of shining blue everywhere.

Andre snapped at her. Rose to his feet to confront her. No one had done it before but you, and you had gotten away with it. So why not him?

Something quaked slightly when Andre rose. You told yourself it was the ground. You knew you were wrong.

All Venable had to do was stand her ground and scowl for Andre to relent. He took a step back and lowered his head in defeat. And you saw the spark of victory in Venable’s eyes, saw the satisfaction and pride. You admired her. You feared her.

Later that day you made small talk with her. Just to get to know her better. What did she like? What did she dream of? were questions you tried to smuggle in. You assumed a nonchalant expression and pretended to study your nails. You almost forgot what she had done to the two Greys when you met her eyes and sank into the black. It was black spattered with light, like stars in the night sky.

At one point you reached out with the intention of playfully poking her shoulder. But your hand froze midway, and you pursed your lips, pretended you had meant to sweep the dust off the arm of your chair.

“I do believe we should vote for our leader,” Gallant said one evening. “Aren’t we still a democracy?”

“I’m not sure we are,” Andre sneered.

“What the hell you guys, we’re not,” Coco stated.

“Well, as I said, we should vote for our leader,” Gallant repeated.

The idea wasn’t mentioned again for a few days, but it hid in the silence and the shade and never disappeared.

And you saw them scowl at Venable’s back. You heard them whisper to each other when she wasn’t there. Again, the ground quaked.

Late one evening, you were startled by a knock on your door. You were in your pajamas, and your hair was still wet from the shower, but you figured it must be Coco visiting you out of boredom. She was your friend, and you didn’t mind not looking your best with her.

It wasn’t Coco. It was Venable.

There was a very, very awkward moment as she ran her eyes up and down your body and you tried hard not to blush.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said eventually. Her face was completely blank.

“You’re not bothering me,” you mumbled. “I wasn’t doing anything at all.”

You couldn’t read her. You couldn’t see through her façade. Was she amused? Nervous? You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and folded your arms on your chest.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

Your mouth fell open. What kind of question was that? Never in your time at the Outpost – months that had felt like years – had she ever taken the time or the trouble to ask any of the residents how they were doing. And now – first there had been her smile. Then the board games nights, trying to keep you all entertained. And that question.

Was she actually… trying to be nice?

Silence stretched as you processed her words, until she snapped defensively, “What?”

“Oh, uh.” You fumbled for the right words to say. “Fine, I’m doing fine.” You tried to laugh. “I mean, I’m very bored. Like, all the time. But everyone is. Except you, I guess,” you added uneasily. “Because you’re so busy running the place. And all that.”

“Is there anything you can think of that could help you pass the time?” she asked.

A make-out session would be nice, said a voice in your head. You glanced at her lips.

“Well,” you said,” I’ve run out of things to read. I did pack a few books before coming here, but not enough as it turns out.”

“I can help you with that. I’ve got quite a few of my own.”A pause. “You can borrow some. They’re in my room.”

“In your room?” you heard yourself repeat.

Venable nodded. You glanced at her lips again. When you met her eyes, you thought maybe they were a bit darker than before.

“Ok,” you breathed.

It was her second mistake, even though you didn’t realize it at the time. For Gallant saw you. Barefoot and in your pajamas, walking into Venable’s room. He saw how her hand almost brushed your back but didn’t, as if she were too afraid to touch. He saw her close the door behind you.

Venable lent you two books you had not yet read. You held them to your chest as if they were a treasure, not so much because of the escape they promised you, but because they were hers. Her fingers had touched those pages, her eyes had read those words. You opened one book and buried your nose in it, hoping her perfume had lingered on the paper.

You spent the next day reading and ignoring the other residents. Your head was buzzing with words by the time you made your way back to your room, so you didn’t see Venable coming from the other end of the corridor until she stopped mere inches from you.

Her gaze locked with yours. You were vaguely aware of the smile that bloomed on your face – a grin, really, that you could feel tugging at the corner of your lips. The world around you vanished. Venable titled her head on the side, and her mouth twisted as if she were holding back a smile of her own.

For a long moment none of you spoke. You just stood staring at each other as if waiting for something to happen, until Venable’s smile spilled on her lips and you thought you saw a faint blush adorn her cheeks. But maybe it was just the candlelight.

“Hey,” you finally blurted out. You brought a hand up to your hair nervously. “Uh, I wanted to tell you – to thank you, really. For the books.”

Venable gave you a nod. “You’re welcome.”

“And also for the board games nights. They’re really fun. They help making those dreadful evenings, well, a bit less dreadful. Everyone loves them.” That was a lie. Coco and Andre hated board games nights, even more so as they had been Venable’s idea. Kyle and Ash didn’t care much for them, either. But they meant the world to you. They were the proof that somewhere deep behind the cruelty and the sarcasm, kindness lay shy and hesitant in Venable’s soul.

Silence, as you racked your brain for something else to say. You didn’t want her to go just yet.

“Uh, you know,” you eventually spoke, “I was thinking, if you want to borrow some of my own books while I have yours, well, I wouldn’t mind.”

Was this a stupid offer? It sounded stupid to you. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I’d love that,” Venable answered. You looked up at her. She smiled, fond and kind. You melted.

“Okay, great, uh, okay,” you laughed nervously. “Okay.” A pause. “Uh, if you’d follow me?”

You led the way to your room and fumbled with your key for a while. As Venable walked in, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Your room wasn’t near as neat and tidy as hers. Clothes that had been carelessly taken off lay like dead bodies on the floor. Your bed wasn’t made.

Venable’s eyes scanned the room, but she refrained from making any comment. As she sat down on your bed, though, she automatically reached out to rearrange your pillows.

“You sure love to keep things in order,” you teased.

Venable hummed. “Order’s the only reason why we were able to make progress as a species. There’s nothing more valuable. That, and control. If you cannot control other people, they’ll destroy you.”

You frowned as you considered her words. “I’m not sure I agree with that.”

“Well, think it over. People are essentially rabid dogs. Loosen your grip on them and they’ll jump on you and tear off your throat.” There was no hesitation in her voice, no room for doubt. She looked up at you as if she thought she had just entrusted you with some secret universal truth, and she expected you to behave accordingly.

“I’m not sure I agree with that, either,” you replied.

She narrowed her eyes at you.”Well then, you’re a fool.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I am. Or maybe one day you’ll allow yourself to trust someone, and you’ll realize trust and kindness are more efficient than control.”

You opened your wardrobe to avoid meeting her gaze. You could still feel it, though, leaving marks like burns on your face. Your books were in a suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe. You picked it up and set it on the bed.

“Here,” you said, still avoiding Venable’s eyes. “Make your choice.”

You sat down on the bed, keeping a safe distance between her and you. You let a moment pass before you dared glancing up at her. She was busy studying your books, not paying you the slightest attention. So you relaxed, and stared at her.

You wondered what she would look like in the sun. Would her eyes be of a lighter brown, her hair a brighter red? You wanted to see her against the blinding flickers of light on the sea waves, and what she looked like when she was staring up at the stars, or when she was lost in a storm with the wind messing up with her hair, her eyes bright, her cheeks red.

She glanced sideways, met your eyes. You immediately lowered your head and cleared your throat.

“You should take this one,” you said, nodding at the book she was holding – you had no idea which one it was. “It’s very good.”

“Oh, it is,” she answered – was that laughter you could hear in her voice? “The main character, what is he again, a surfer? And the descriptions of the sea are the most beautiful I’ve ever read.”

“I know, right? Unparalleled. So very poetic.”

Venable bit down on a smile as she raised the book to show you its cover. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. You almost burst out laughing.

“A surfer,” Venable smiled, shaking her head.

“Ok, you got me.” You turned your head away from her to hide your reddening cheeks. “I had no idea which book you were talking about.”

“Um. Seems you were staring at something else.”

Why was the room suddenly so hot? Had a demon just barged in and brought with him fires from Hell? Your face was burning.

“I actually really like it,” you said to change the subject. “The book, I mean.”

You risked another glance at her. She was flipping through the book, a dreamy smile on her face. It was the first time you were seeing her so relaxed. She looked almost at peace. And younger, freer and wiser, as if she had finally set down a heavy burden. Was this what she looked like when her walls were down?

You wanted to see her with her hair down and no make-up on.

She found a passage you had highlighted, read it, blinked, read it again out loud. “The way I need you is a loneliness I cannot bear.” Her eyes met yours. “Who knew you were such a romantic,” she teased. Your eyes flicked to her lips.

She picked up another book – Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse – and flipped through it until she found another highlighted passage. “With stars in her eyes and veils in her hair, with cyclamen and wild violets…“She paused to glance to you. You leaned towards her. “Stepping through fields of flowers,” she read on, “and taking to the breast buds that had broken and lambs that had fallen; with the stars in her eyes and the wind in her hair.” Her voice had become a mere whisper. She ran her finger down the page, a gentle caress, as if it were a lover.

After a moment she cleared her throat. “I think I’ll take this one,” she said.

“Very good choice,” you whispered.

She turned her head to look at you. And perhaps it was the wild violets. Perhaps it was her face, or how big her eyes were, as if they wished to suck up the whole world and you with it and perhaps you were a bit too eager to lose yourself in their depths. You leaned in, dropped a kiss on her lips like a flower.

It was short, merely a peck. It ended before you even knew it had begun. It lasted forever, made the stars fall from the sky, the oceans sweep over land. It irremediably shattered your heart and made it whole again.

You had absolutely no idea how Venable would react. You were half expecting a slap in the face. But instead she gripped your wrist and planted a sweet kiss on your lips. Like payback. It stole all the air from your lungs.

She pulled away, made as if to lean in again; hesitated, as one about to dive into the ocean from a cliff pulls up short at the very last second. Craving the fall, but too afraid the impact would hurt too much.

You chased after her with a “Trust me” falling from your lips, but she tilted her head away from you.

Venable let go of your wrist and sat up. She closed the book. One of her hands came up to play with her earring.

You drew in a shaky breath to try and clear your head. Your heart had gone mad and your body felt like it was about to dissolve into liquid and spill down the bed to form a pool of rosewater at her feet.

“Thank you,” Venable said, lifting the book. “I’ll take this one.”

You smiled. “Try not to fall too hard for Mrs Ramsay.”

She hummed absentmindedly. Hand tugging at her earring. You held your breath.

“I should go,” she said eventually. She grabbed her cane and stood up.

At the door she paused. “I, uh,” she said. Her eyes when they found yours were hopeful. “Thank you,” she repeated. “For the book.”

You nodded, and grinned at her.

“Watch out, here comes the dragon,” Coco whispered as Venable entered the music room.

Everyone looked up at her, but you were the only one who dared meet her eyes. She gave you a small smile and walked towards Coco.

When she spoke, her voice was more amiable than you had ever heard it, but there was a strain to it, too, as if she were unable to fully hide her contempt. “How have you been adjusting to your new life at the Outpost?” she asked Coco.

That drew everyone’s attention. You frowned in surprise.

Coco stared at her. “Are you considering a new career as a therapist?” she retorted.

“It is part of my job to make sure everyone here is doing as well as they can,” Venable replied in the same amiable voice.

“Terrible,” Coco blurted out, “it’s been terrible. I’m starving to death, I’m so bored I’m losing all my wits, and if I don’t get to lie in the sun very soon my complexion will turn grey.” She paused to take a breath. “But you know what would make me happy? To wear normal clothes. And don’t you have more of that meat you cooked for us once? Oh and for the love of God, why don’t you let me orgasm one more time before I die?” Her voice oscillated between anger and sarcasm. When she stopped talking, her eyes widened a bit, as if she couldn’t quite believe her own boldness.

“None of those things are negotiable,” Venable answered, most of her amiability gone now.

Andre let out a mirthless laugh. “What a surprise,” he said bitterly.

“Those rules were made to ensure your survival,” Venable snapped.

In former days, her snapping would have been enough to drain the fight out of Andre. In former days, Venable only had had to glare for protest to die down. She was a born tyrant, Kyle had said once. Naturally gifted to instill fear in others.

But things were different now. She had been willing to show kindness. She had smiled at you and her smile had been genuine. She had loosened her grip, just slightly.

“Bullshit,” Andre growled. He stood up.

Something flicked across Venable’s face you had never seen before. Something that looked exactly like fear. Andre saw it.

He took a step towards her and raised his voice.”I think those rules are bullshit. And I think you know it. Why should we follow them if you don’t? Gallant saw you,” he spat out. ”He saw you open your door to your little pet the other night.”

For a moment there was only silence. You leaned back into your seat, trying to make yourself as small as possible. And then Venable raised her left hand and slapped Andre in the face. Hard. The sound echoed off the walls.

Andre stumbled back and deflated. But he had set an example, and the others were only too eager to pick up the torch. As a line of soldiers advances when the first has succumbed, Ash spoke out.

“Why don’t you come to my room and spend the night, Kyle?” she said, proud and confident.

“Now you guys, wait a minute,” you heard yourself say, “we didn’t –“

“I’d be delighted,” Kyle cut you off. He grabbed Ash’s hand and bent to kiss her knuckles.

“Andre, my bed’s all yours,” Gallant said in a singsong.

Coco let out a loud laugh. “Party night!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Let’s all be disgusting sinners tonight!”

Venable tapped her cane on the floor. Loud. Threatening. Coco stiffened and fell silent. And Venable almost smiled, because she still had so much power over them, so much control, and she would be damned before she let it slip through her fingers –

Gallant charged at Venable with his hands clenched into fists as if he meant to hit her. He had almost reached her when he changed his mind, stopped dead in his tracks, and scurried away from her. But his voice thundered, “What are you gonna do, uh? Shoot me? I’m royalty! I’m wearing fucking purple, babydoll!” He opened his arms and grinned like a mad man. “And anyway we outnumber you, bitch! Don’t you ever fucking forget that!”

And with that he left the room.

The others scowled at Venable for a few seconds before they, too, one by one, got up and left. Coco stopped in the doorway and turned. “Come on, Y/N,” she called.

You met Venable’s eyes. They were as unreadable as ever. You waited, hoping for something, some emotion, that would give you a reason to stay. But she merely glared at you, standing tall and confident as if nothing had happened. Just the way she had looked when she had sentenced those two Greys to death.

You lowered your gaze, stood up, and followed Coco out of the room.

“What the hell just happened?” Coco laughed nervously.

Gallant was jumping up and down like an excited child. “The end of an era!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

You stared at them. They were your friends. You were a team, in this together. Coco draped an arm around your shoulders and grinned at you.

“Man, that felt good,” you heard Gallant said. He shook his head and shoulders as a dog does to get dry.

A team, you reminded yourself. You were in this together. You gave Coco’s hand a squeeze.

“We’re going to hold an election.”

Venable raised her eyebrows contemptuously.”An election?” she repeated, as if it were the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard.

Gallant nodded. “A vote. To choose who will lead us.”

Venable let out a short, incredulous laugh. Her eyes went from one face to the other. “Excuse-me,” she scoffed, “you must have gone mad, or else I didn’t hear you correctly.”

“We’re holding an election,” Gallant enunciated, “to choose who will lead us.”

Venable’s face hardened. “No you’re not,” she said.

“Try us,” Gallant growled.

“And how exactly are you going to run this place without knowing anything about the Cooperative’s plans?”Venable sneered.

“We’ll figure things out. We’ll be better at it than you ever were.”

“My work here has been more than excellent,” Venable snapped. “It’s the only reason why you’re still alive.”

“Tell that to Stu,” Andre interrupted. “And to those two poor Greys you killed.”

Venable’s eyes flicked to you, almost questioningly, as if she were asking for advice. You were too ashamed to hold her gaze. You stared down at the floor.

When Venable spoke again, her voice dripped with the same strained amiability she had used when addressing Coco the day before. “If you’d like, I could go over my reasons for such a punishment.”

Andre let out a low growl, baring his teeth. Venable didn’t flinch, didn’t let out the slightest sign of alarm; but you did, because you knew what she was doing, and you knew it would fail. You were the one who’d told her to try. Be kind. Trust in other people’s kindness.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you had time to let out more than one word, Andre barked at Venable. “We will hold an election. Tomorrow, in this very room. And you will be held accountable for the three people you ruthlessly murdered.”

“Soon to be four, you can count on that,” Venable spat back.

She was brave, you had to give her that. She glared right into Andre’s eyes as he yelled at her and frothed at the mouth, and Coco and Gallant and the others closed in on her like a pack of wolves. She didn’t blink, didn’t falter, didn’t seem the least bit scared. She simply waited for their wrath to subside, for the jaws to slacken and the muscles to relax.

It did subside. It always does. Andre stood panting at a loss for words, and Venable tapped her cane on the floor.

“Is your pitiful tantrum over?” she gibed. She took a step forward, and he leaned away from her.”Now you hear me out. There will be no election. You wouldn’t last a day without my management and deep down in that useless, childish brain of yours you know it.” Venable smirked. “Now back off.”

Andre hesitated, clenched his teeth, took a few steps back. Venable’s eyes swept the room contemptuously. Her gaze lingered on your face a second too long. Those were the same eyes that had smiled at you and sparkled with stars and softened at the mention of cyclamen and wild violets. Now they were pitch black and so frighteningly cold.

Contradictory feelings were waging war on each other in your head. Too many successive victories and defeats, Guilt crowned winner and the second after stabbed to death by Anger who was immediately dethroned by Love, betrayed by Fear banished by Regret with the help of Guilt murdered by – it was too much. You could have banged your head on the walls and painted them red with your blood.

You prayed for numbness. You walked down a corridor, up a staircase, down another corridor, completely oblivious to your surroundings. Andre and the other residents would not relent, you were certain of that. But neither would Venable, and she had half a dozen armed minions under her control. But what if the Purples asked the Greys for help? A few words and promises exchanged behind a closed door would be enough to constitute an army. Guns wouldn’t matter, then. As Gallant had said, Venable and the guards would be greatly outnumbered and easily overthrown.

And what were you to do? You didn’t like Venable’s rules, didn’t think they were fair but you had seen her. Caught a glimpse of her and loved what you had seen and knew you would never tire of it just as you’d never tire of sunsets. There wasn’t a single universe in which you’d be okay with her getting hurt.

Someone grabbed your shoulder and shoved you against the wall. You winced in pain, tried to push them away, but an elbow dug into your collarbone and kept you in place.

“Why, hello there,” Venable hissed in your face.

“What the –“

“Are you and your little friends having fun?” She gave you another shove, and your shoulders slammed into the wall.

“You’re hurting me!” you cried out.

“Good,” Venable snarled, but her grip on you loosened.

You met her eyes, shivered at the anger you saw burning in them. Fear washed over you, but was soon replaced by something else, something much worse – guilt.

“Look,” you mumbled, “I –“

“I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question,” Venable growled. “Are you and your friends having fun?”

You fumbled for words, tears springing to your eyes. “I’m not – I didn’t –“

“You didn’t what?” she snapped, cruelty ringing loud in her voice. “Think? Meant for anything bad to happen? Aren’t you the most feeble-minded moron I ever had the displeasure to meet!”

She waited for an answer, but you couldn’t give her one. Your tongue was too thick, your mouth too dry.

“Damn it Y/N this is all your fault!” Venable cried. And this time there was no cruelty. This time you heard her voice waver, and saw the fear spill into her eyes.

It felt like the floor had vanished from under your feet. Without Venable’s grip on your shirt you would have collapsed.

“I know,” you whispered brokenly, tears dropping from your eyes. “I’m so sor –“

“Oh, Ms Venable,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice, “you should really try and be kind. Oh, Ms Venable, trust me Ms Venable.” She gave you another push, but it was weak. “Well I fucking did and you walked out of that room with them!”

Her voice broke. It seemed to surprise her, for she recoiled and winced. And then her emotions were back under control, eyes hard and cold, voice colder still.

“As it turned out I was right,” she snapped. “Show kindness and the dogs come barking.”

You shook your head, let out a sob. Please no. You hadn’t wanted any of this, hadn’t meant to hurt her, to put her in danger. You’d encouraged her to put down her sharpest sword, her largest shield – and she had been willing to try, only to see her efforts backfire and blow up in her face. And you – you had walked away. You had left her to deal with the aftermath. You had irremediably broken the hope that’d shone in her eyes the day you had dropped a kiss on her lips.

You had no idea how to make things right again. And why on Earth was she even taking the trouble to talk to you? Why hadn’t she had you shot yet, made sure to get rid of you for good? Why had she ever smiled at you?

You wanted to hug her. To wrap her up in your arms nice and tight, kiss her cheek, promise her you’d keep her safe. You would wish it with all you had so it would have to come true. She would hear the honesty and the love in your voice and everything would be alright.

You couldn’t see very well through your tears, but it seemed to you her arm twitched, as if she wanted to reach out, as if she, too, was craving touch. She bit her lip, and looked away, and her eyes were too watery so you lifted your hand to stroke her cheek. Her breath hitched and she batted your hand away, her fingers slamming into yours.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, a quaver in her voice; her eyes looking everywhere but at you, her shoulders bending, and you tried to reach out again so she gave you another shove, and another, and another until she let out a noise like an angry, broken cry, leaned in and pressed her forehead against your chest.

She gave in for three seconds, maybe five. Then she sighed and pulled back, and you were left with only a memory of her warmth and scent, your hand up where her head had been but your fingers threading through nothing but air.

You tried to sleep that night but couldn’t. At one point you dozed off, and when you opened your eyes next your body was covered with sweat and your heart was beating too fast. You tried reading one of the books Venable had lent you. Five minutes later you were curled up in a tight ball and crying your eyes out.

The morning after you met with the other residents in the music room. Gallant was in a very good mood. Ash and Kyle were exchanging suggestive glances. You thought maybe Coco told you a story about something that had happened to her in her youth. Maybe you had half a food cube for breakfast. Then at one point Gallant raised both his arms and said something about voting. He had barely finished talking when Venable sauntered into the room and someone gasped, and then someone else shouted in alarm and you didn’t understand why until you saw the gun in Venable’s hand.

And her eyes were piercing, and her face was completely blank, and her hand wasn’t shaking when she pointed the gun at Gallant’s head.

But that’s not what happened. It couldn’t be, could it? Rewind.

Coco had stopped in the doorway and called after you. You had pretended not to hear. When she had called again, you’d stood up and planted yourself defiantly beside Venable. And Coco hadn’t even looked that surprised.

That night Venable had kissed you again, longer, bolder, giggling into your mouth. You had seen her with her hair down and no make-up on. In the morning she had counted the freckles on your shoulders. And you two had lain in bed staring into each other’s eyes, that beautiful, fond smile of hers creeping up her lips over and over again.

Better, so much better. Please, rewind.

Venable – Wilhemina now, Mina, darling – had made peace with the other residents. She had agreed to make some of her rules more flexible, and they had renounced holding the election. Coco had given you a pat on the shoulder, for she was your friend. You were a team, in this together. Venable had reached out for your hand, laced your fingers together.

The colours drained from Gallant’s face. He took a step back and held out his hands.

“What the fuck is going on?” Coco cried out. She made to scurry away, but she bumped against a chair and grabbed hold of your arm to steady herself. Her grip brought you back to the present.

“Wow wow wow, hold on,” Andre shouted.

“Ms Venable”, you heard yourself say.

She didn’t seem to hear any of you.

“Ms Venable,” you repeated. (Wilhemina, Mina, darling)

Venable blinked and looked at you, her gaze surprisingly calm and confident. You held out your hands and took one step towards her. “Please,” you begged – your hands were shaking – “please, put the gun down.”

Venable redirected her attention to Gallant. He whimpered, and Venable smirked.

“Ms Venable, put the gun down,” you tried again. She ignored you. “Wilhemina, please.”

Her eyes met yours, and you saw part of her resolve falter, but then her face hardened again as if to say, If I do, what then? This, is not a gun but the last rope tying me to safety. This is me holding control back before it runs away and hides where I can’t reach it. Would a shipwrecked sailor puncture their own lifebuoy to drown in the sea? And pray, she asked you, what do I have to lose if I pull the trigger? It’d be nothing compared to what would happen if I don’t. Safety would be ripped from me, safety not only from physical harm but also and most importantly from prying eyes and sneering mouths, from judgment, pity, disappointment and mockery. Pray, what do I have to lose if I pull the trigger?

Me, you answered boldly. You’d lose me. Maybe it’s not good enough a reason, maybe I’m just being pretentious, but you’d lose me and away with me would walk love, and care, and recovery. And I am sorry. I am crawling at your feet pouring apologies. I am braiding promises and dreams into your hair. I am smearing words of devotion on your mouth and saving the truest, the most rapturous of them – I adore you – to be whispered to your heart so it can mend itself. Tell me, darling, can I be enough?

Wilhemina’s arm was shaking. Stone-faced and afraid, she looked at Gallant, saw the hope in his eyes and the anger behind the hope that promised he would be cruel. Her aim lowered from his head to his chest. Gallant’s shoulders straightened. Two seconds passed, and Wilhemina’s eyes veiled over as she put the gun down.

It seemed everyone in the room released their breaths at the exact same moment. Coco’s grip on your arm loosened. The room itself grew brighter.

For a moment Gallant was too stunned to react. Then something like a smirk but uglier twisted his face and he ran his eyes up and down Wilhemina’s body. You saw her stiffen.

She raised her eyebrows arrogantly. “Consider this your lucky day,” she snapped.

Gallant scoffed. Before he had time to move, you planted yourself protectively in front of Wilhemina – she was holding a gun, you were completely defenseless, but at that moment you would have taken a hundred bullets for her without a second thought –, clenched your fists and glared.

“Back off, Gallant,” you warned.

Gallant frowned at you. “We’re getting rid of her, Y/N.”

“Like hell you are.” You took a step forward, casting angry glances at everyone. “Ms Venable’s the only one here who can run this place. We know nothing about nothing. All we do is whine and laze around while she makes sure we have something to eat every day. Everyone else is dead. All the other Outposts have been overrun. Have you ever asked yourself why we’re still safe and alive?”

You paused to take a few short, angry breaths. Coco, Kyle and Ash lowered their eyes and stared at the ground, but Gallant and Andre still looked mad. “Please, guys. Think this over.” Another pause. Gallant’s gaze softened. “We’re all in this together,” you tried. “The only way we can survive is if we stick together.”

“She fucking killed Stu,” Andre barked. “She’ll pay for that.”

“Stu was contaminated,” you retorted. “His very existence threatened ours.”

“Bullshit,” Andre growled, baring his teeth. ”And deep down, Y/N, you know it. She’ll kill us all if we don’t take action first.”

“And we’ll die without her anyway,” you countered.

It went on for what felt like forever. Andre and you, snarling arguments at each other and you thought it would never end. But there was too much at stake, so you pushed on and on rephrasing the same ideas until Kyle lay his hand on Andre’s arm. Then it was him and you against Andre, who eventually deflated and backed off with a mean, angry look in his eyes like a wounded predator.

You turned to Venable. She had not uttered a single word since she had lowered the gun. Her face was inscrutable. Now she made a few snide comments and left the room. You gave Kyle a grateful smile and hurried after her. Damn the others and what they would think of your behaviour. Let them talk. Let them natter and speculate.

Venable walked down the corridor as if she owned the place, hips swaying to the rhythm of her cane. You followed on her heels, now and then glancing down nervously at the gun still in her hand. The candlelight glinted off it.

To your surprise, Venable headed to her bedroom. She opened the door, turned, and looked down on you haughtily. “And what do you think you’re doing?” she asked imperiously.

That threw you off for a second. You straightened up and studied her face. “May I come in with you?”

Venable’s face was unreadable. You had no idea what was going on in her head. Silence stretched for so long, her gaze so intimidating that you were about to give up and avert your eyes, when she stepped aside to let you in.

You pretended to look about the room as Venable put the gun away in the drawer of her bedside table and sat on the bed. You shot her a sideways glance, noticed her hands were shaking. She was staring straight ahead of her, eyes hard and brooding. You bit your lip, trying to think of something to say. “And I thought it was boring here,” is what came out of your mouth.

Who could blame you, really? People use humor as a shield all the time.

“That’s because you’re a hopeless moron,” Venable snapped. She sounded a bit breathless. You cast her a worried look.

“I,” you started, but then you fell silent. You didn’t know what to add after that.

Venable grabbed her cane to stand up, but her hands were shaking so badly now she dropped it. Her next breath came out with a wheeze.

“Wilhemina,” you called worriedly.

She held out one hand. “Don’t,” she panted.

She tried to stand up without her cane, almost made it; her face contorted with pain as her legs buckled and she fell back on the bed. You ran to her.

“Don’t,” she hissed again, arms twisting to avoid touching you.

“Alright, take a deep breath –“

“I said don’t!” Her right hand slammed into your chest to push you away, but then her fingers clutched your shirt to keep you close. She heaved for breath, her eyes meeting yours in alarm.

“Hey,” you tried. You laid a comforting hand on her arm. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I won’t let them hurt you.”

A breath out, painful and short. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“I won’t,” you repeated, almost a growl.

Wilhemina’s free hand shot up to her chest. “I can’t –“she gasped, fingers tugging at her lace collar as if it were trying to strangle her. “Please, I can’t –“

She was losing control. Entirely. Not only of the situation but also of her body, her oldest, worst enemy. And you saw the terror in her eyes, felt her fingers clutch your shirt so tightly you thought she would tear it.

“Please I –“she repeated, voice small and breaking.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.” Your fingers wrapped around her wrist, thumb rubbing circles to try and ground her. Gently, you pushed her hand against your chest. “Can you feel it rise and fall? Can you breathe with me, darling?” Her shoulders relaxed slightly at the last word, so you said it again, staring into her eyes as you tried to give her a smile. “Just like that, darling. You’re doing so well.”

She sucked in a breath, let it out shakily. You whispered words of encouragement as she copied your breathing, your thumb still rubbing circles on the back of her hand. Her eyes were wide, silently asking for help, seeking reassurances that she would be alright, that this pain would not last. That she would get to hold the reins again and be safe.

When she interlaced her fingers with yours you smiled again, and this time it reached your eyes. “There you go,” you congratulated her. She gave you a smile in return, small but true.”Take one last deep breath for me?”

She did, shoulders rising, gaze softening. You brought her hand up to your mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“God,” she whispered with a shiver, “I hated that.”

You laughed softly. “It’s called freaking out,” you teased. “It happens to most people.”

She rolled her eyes at you and poked your arm. For a moment she gazed at you dreamily, then she sat up, and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“I already miss giving orders,” she said. Her voice was playful, but you heard worry in it, too.

You hummed, considered her words. “Well, I’m here if you need someone to boss around.”

You almost regretted your words when you saw the malice in her eyes and the smirk that slowly crept up her mouth. But all she did was bite her lower lip, glance down at your mouth and whisper, “Kiss me.”

You kissed her cheek, soft and hot, to promise her tenderness. You kissed her eyelid, fluttering closed, to promise her protection. And at last you kissed her lips, home, to seal the promise of love.

When you pulled away, her eyes had that same peaceful, relaxed quality you had first caught a glimpse of when she had sat in your room and flipped through your books. It softened her whole face, pastel colours of a summer sunset succeeding to the vivid white and yellow of the afternoon. You grinned at her, drunk with love.

“Kiss me again,” she breathed, voice barely audible, eyes half-lidded. You eagerly obliged, dipping your lips in hers, the sweetest, most intoxicating of liquors. It burnt its way to your heart and lit up your whole body with desire.

“I think,” she whispered into your mouth, as her hands slid up your waist, “I think I might amend one of my rules.”

You groaned and sucked gently on her lower lip to taste her. “Please,” you rasped.

“I meant the one about the dress code,” she smiled. You scoffed. Banter seemed so easy and natural to her behind closed doors, and you loved that about her.

One of your hands came up to stroke her hair. Your fingers found a hair pin, tapped on it wistfully.

You pulled away just enough to look her in the eye. “Can I…“you whispered. She raised an eyebrow, not quite catching your meaning. Your finger tapped on the hair pin again. She did understand, then. For a moment she looked uncertain, and almost shy, but then she nodded.

Reverently you pulled on the pin and buried your hand in her hair, combing your fingers through it to pull it free. Your other hand came up to remove the bumpits on top of her head. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders and back, rough and fiery red just like the rest of her, ends perfectly trimmed somehow even though she had been living at the Outpost for months. You twisted a strand around your finger, stared at her in awe.

She tried to hold back a smile, failed; her eyes were bright, and the softest of pinks was blooming on her cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” you breathed.

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “You are,” you insisted, cupping her face. “You look like the sunset. Red and purple and pink.”

“Pink?” she questioned.

With a smirk you poked her cheek. “Um, yes. You’re blushing.”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m not.”

“I’m afraid you are,” you chuckled.

“I’m not.” She bit her lip. “Kiss me again,” she ordered.

You pulled on her hair, hard, and planted open-mouthed kisses up her neck. You felt her throat vibrate as a moan escaped her.

“Easy now,” she hissed, raking down her nails down your back, a glorious sting.”Don’t get too bold.”

In lieu of an answer you sucked on the soft clammy skin just below her jaw and smirked as she shivered against you. “I’d never dare, Ms Venable.”

She groaned and unceremoniously pushed you onto the bed. You stared up at her, hungry and predatory, and opened your legs. Her eyes flared. She sucked in a breath, stroke her hands up your thighs. Her nails dug into your skin where your legs met your hips. “Kiss me,” she ordered.

You bit down on a smile. “No,” you whispered, meaning to tease her just a bit, to give her the opportunity to exercise her authority and to show her control was still well within her grasp.

Her thumbs were massaging the inside of your upper thighs. You were soaked, burning, and entirely too ravenous for her. “Kiss me,” she repeated.

You brought a hand up to her cheek and gently stroked it. “No,” you taunted.

Her eyes flared again. She slapped your stomach. Your hips bucked, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. “I said, kiss me.” A low growl, so ferocious and threatening you would’ve felt uneasy if it hadn’t been for the fond, grateful expression in her eyes. But you frowned slightly, and she noticed, and smirked.

And she was beautiful, cheeks flushed, red hair tousled and the skin of her neck and shoulders adorned with your love marks.

She lunged at you, tongue darting out, to lick up your throat, wet and hot and entirely too enticing. You squirmed under her, your fingers burying in her hair as she nipped the skin along your jaw.

“I’ll say it one more time,” she growled into your skin. She raised her head to meet your eyes, her teeth grazing your skin. “Kiss me.” Categorical, peremptory. So fierce the very ground quaked. You gazed at her in awe.

A smile. A finger slipping under her chin, pulling her to you. A kiss on her lips.

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader

232 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 3 years

Text

Bad Decisions

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

I was again commissioned for a companion piece to this one! This time from the reader’s pov and some backstory. Thank you ♥

Characters: Ignatz Victor (Fire Emblem: Three Houses) x Reader Words: 3401 Warnings: Yandere, Obsession, Mentioning of stalking, Mentioning of War/Death/Blood

You could still remember the first time you met him vividly.

Taking a seat on the ledge above the training grounds, you heaved a long breath, trying to calm your racing heart. If only you could have put this energy into training more, instead of using it as a reason to take a break, but your legs felt wobbly just from thinking about getting back up. For the better of the last three weeks, you had trained and studied tirelessly. Being granted the chance to attend the academy of your dreams was no reason to slack off, and you were thankful for the opportunity you were given.

But… rubbing your sore legs and feeling your feet pulsate in the tight leather boots as they finally got a break, you had to admit that it was more challenging than you expected. Even though you had built up stamina and muscles before coming here, you were still met with the instructors’ high expectations for their top-tier students. Day in, day out, you were either on your feet and training or with your head in the books studying. No wonder it felt so draining when all you did was pressure yourself more and more on being perfect and prepared for all that would come your way. After all, your expectations of yourself far exceeded the ones anyone had in you.

“It’s tough, isn’t it?” a timid voice called out to you, and you turned your head towards it, a flask with water being held out in your direction. Surprised you took it, finally getting a look at the person behind the voice. A young man, not much older than you, smiled at you friendly, his glasses tilting a little from him leaning forward. Without waiting for your reply, he pointed at the space next to you, asking, “Mind if I join you?” and you shimmied to the side to allow him to take a seat.

“Swordsmanship isn’t my strong point either. I keep forgetting where to put my feet,” he laughed bashfully, rubbing the back of his head. He appeared friendly, approachable, and kind, but his physique was on the weaker side, making his struggles a tad obvious. Nonetheless, you weren’t one to judge someone based on appearance, and taking a sip from the water flask, you felt yourself be soothed by the refreshment. Having spent so much time holed up in the library or handling weapons hadn’t given you a lot of chances to make friends, so having someone be so kind and nonchalant around you genuinely made you happy.

Handing the flask back to him, the young man gladly accepted it. His shirt had stains of polish and sweat on it, and you realized he must have come from training himself just like you. You wondered what year he was in, or if he was a classmate you just never noticed.

“Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? Approaching you so out of the blue. I’m Ignatz. Ignatz Victor, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Though his name didn’t ring a bell, you shook his hand out of respect. Even if it started out a little awkward, you two soon fell into a comfortable conversation as you shared your weak points, and so did he. Your words weren’t forced out, and you started to relax around him. At the same time, Ignatz laughed and smiled at you, putting you at ease as well. Perhaps you two were more alike than it appeared at first glance, and thus you were relieved to find someone like-minded.

At that moment, you didn’t find him approaching you so weird anymore. More so, you were relieved to have someone accept you so openly and interact with you, who had been rather lonely up to this point. Part of you had always wanted to make friends in the Monastery and hang out with them, and this was the closest to it you had come. It was also refreshing to have someone to talk to, and as it turned out, Ignatz was able to lift your mood significantly with his input and suggestions as you spoke about your everyday life at the Monastery.

“Come,” he prompted, jumping down the small ledge and standing before you. Holding out his hand to you gallantly, he waited for you to join him back on the training grounds with a kind smile. You didn’t feel pressured to join him. Instead, you wanted to join him, agreeing that it might be good to not cool down too much.

“Let’s see if we can help each other,” Ignatz laughed, and perhaps, for the first time since you arrived, you let out a chuckle. Taking his hand and letting him lead you back to where the weapons were, you agreed with an enthusiastic, “Okay!”

It wasn’t a friendship you expected to have, but with every passing day, you felt yourself growing and thriving from it. With Ignatz by your side, new things were opened to you. He took you out in the city and showed you around the fields. His interests sparked new ones in you, and soon enough, you weren’t caught in that somber life you had built at the Academy before. Having someone to motivate you and lift the burden on your shoulders with a clever and upbeat nature made you strive for more and greater things. He picked you up when you were down and in a slump, helping you to enjoy your time much more than you did when you still struggled to find your place. Time passed on, and you two still stuck together. Everything was going so well.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

It was the little things that made you nervous. The glances that lingered too long, the hand next to yours on the library table whose pinky kept touching yours. Goodbye hugs that were too tight and eyes that tore away from anything just to look at you. Ignatz’s unfinished paintings that he never worked on again once his attention shifted to you instead, making you feel bad for the waste of paint, and the tests he seemed to flunk because he only ever cared for your lectures.

Somehow you were glad when he wasn’t allowed to change classes. This way, you’d have at least a little bit of privacy since he wouldn’t let you go train alone, even if you told him you had a different sparring partner this time. It had started out so innocently. You were just two people who got along well and spent a lot of time together. But now, roughly three months since you came to the Monastery, you wondered if there was anything else going on.

By now, you had made new friends and then lost some, but you found the courage to join clubs and help the student council because Ignatz had been with you all this time and supporting you. Without him, you probably wouldn’t have had the success you achieved, and while you were glad for such a good friend by your side, you slowly felt like you were drowning again. Not drowning in work and insecurities like in the beginning, but drowning in Ignatz’s presence in your life.

Truth be told, you wanted to spend some hours alone every now and then. With everything going on, you searched for ways to relax and destress from the buzz of the day, and not always did you wish for company that, frankly, made you anxious. Even if it was hard to pinpoint - perhaps because part of you wished you didn’t have to pinpoint it at all - something about Ignatz felt off.

There were off-hand comments about your life that he shouldn’t have been familiar with. Finding out about your extended family was weird, but you thought it might be registered somewhere that he could have stumbled upon. However, when he brought up your favorite toys and books from before you had joined the Academy, you raised an eyebrow. His mentions were so casual and woven into conversations that it was sometimes hard to find them, but when he also started to talk about the days you spent apart from him in the Monastery, you knew something was up.

Part of you only wanted to believe he might have a crush on you.

Sure, as sweet and positive as he was, Ignatz still occasionally tended to be clumsy and awkward. It was always easy to forgive him for a wrongdoing as he’d apologize and learn from his mistakes, though, so you never worried much. Still, it seemed like he tried to get even closer than he was to you by following you around and checking on you more often than not. It might have been pleasant and cute at first, but you had to admit you were beginning to be creeped out by his obsessive observation of you, knowing even little details like your toilet breaks or what you had for lunch.

Perhaps it was just his way of trying to tell you how much he cared and wanted to be with you. But what if it wasn’t?

The thing he didn’t realize was that the more he pushed himself on you, the more you wanted distance from him. It had been a harsh realization, one over which you lost sleep for a few nights. Because how would you be able to make it clear to the person who had supported you all this time, kept you company, and helped you through everything, that you wanted to have a break from them? Perhaps, a few days or a week. Maybe it would stop the negative feelings you had about him if only you wouldn’t interact for a while. At least, that’s what you hoped.

Waiting in front of his classroom, you picked at the skin around your fingernails nervously. Class was already dismissed, but you could see Ignatz talking with the teacher, his back turned to you. It was taking a while, but you had to do it. Better now than never. If he had feelings for you, he had to realize he wasn’t showing them in a way you were comfortable with. And if he genuinely liked and appreciated what you two had, he’d understand your request for a break as well.

It was nerve-wracking to wait for him, but eventually, you heard his signature laugh as he waved goodbye to the teacher and turned to leave, sorting his papers for a moment before he noticed you. Anxiously, you lifted your hand in a greeting, and Ignatz’s eyes widened and began to shine amorously, a broad smile curling his lips. He was so happy to see you that he quickly ran up to you, almost colliding with some passing student. But he didn’t even care, only coming to a halt right in front of you.

“Ah, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” was his first response even though you two hadn’t actually made an appointment with each other. Ignatz stood closely to you, almost enough so that your chests would touch. It was a kind of forced intimacy that made you uncomfortable. Still, in foreknowledge about what you were going to drop on him shortly, you allowed it.

“Actually…” you mumbled, looking around in hopes that the crowds would start to dissolve. “I’ve got something to tell you. But maybe not here?”

Ignatz’s expression only grew softer as he heard that, and you wondered what he thought you were going to tell you. Nevertheless, he softly pulled you by the hand and into the small garden next to the classrooms. Sure enough, there weren’t as many students here as most took after-class activities or went to the training grounds instead, and it made you feel better. Breaking his heart in front of everyone was an embarrassment you didn’t want to put Ignatz through.

“So, what’s up?” he laughed, happy as ever, but he had yet to stop holding your hand, which you pulled away from his for him instead.

“Ignatz, it’s just…”

As expected, it was hard to form the words in your mouth. There were too many accusations on mind that you didn’t want to hit your friend with, but how else were you supposed to tell him? Something had to come to mind now, preferable a reason that wouldn’t ruin your friendship. Ignatz looked at you expectantly, as if he was hoping for a confession rather than a break announcement, but you simply didn’t return those feelings of his.

“I wanted to talk to you about us, and--”

Just when you finally managed to bring up the courage to confront him, a voice behind you called out to Ignatz, who - reluctantly - looked away after his name was called out a second time. “Byleth wants to talk to you!” a student you didn’t know announced to Ignatz, and you bit your lip.

Just your luck.

“I will go after--” Ignatz tried to argue, dismissing the call, but you gave his arm a pat to get his attention, quietly releasing him to go.

“It’s not that important anyway,” you assured him. Like a liar. “We can talk about it some other time.”

“Are you sure?” Ignatz questioned, furrowing his brows. You could see his honest disappointment in not hearing the words he was desperate to receive from you in his eyes, but you just nodded. “Of course, we can always talk about it later!”

Reluctantly, he looked back to the student who was waiting to lead him back to Byleth before he sighed. “Okay, I’ll be quick. You can tell me after that!”

“S-Sure,” you mumbled, forcing a smile on your lips, and Ignatz reached out his hands, squeezing each arm comfortingly as he saw your awkwardness. Finally, he passed you by, not without having his eyes on you until he really couldn’t anymore, and off he went. Just like that, you had missed your chance to tell him, and with it, all the courage you had built just for this moment.

Just before he turned the corner, Ignatz stopped, and your eyes met for a split second. “I’ll see you at training later?” he asked, sounding worried. You gulped before nodding, and he went on his way with a tender smile playing on his lips. It was the first time you really didn’t want to go train since you came to the Monastery. Just sit out for the day, and maybe, forever, so you wouldn’t have to see him.

In the end, you never got around to tell him. Before you knew it, you were busy with your duties and studies. Even though Ignatz’s behavior continued, you didn’t have the time to give it your attention.

Then it happened. The event that would change everything in your life and everyone else’s.

And the tragedy ensued.

As you carried yourself through the forest, colliding with countless branches and thorns in your way, you felt so frustrated. It all could have been different, but now that you chose this path, it would be the one to die on. If only you had told him your feelings back then. If only you had made an effort to hold him back and fess up. Then nothing like this would have needed to happen.

Your hands were stained with the blood of your friends and comrades. The same ones you spent the best months of your life with. The ones that helped you get proficient enough to kill them and the ones that begged for mercy as you gave them a quick death. And yet, because you never told him to back off, you had never been able to make the same cut with Ignatz. He had been the beginning and the end, the reason you had survived for so long and the reason why you were now deserting from the fraction you swore your fealty to.

Goddess, you were pathetic.

Secretly, you had always known this. No matter how hard you tried to cover it up, you weren’t a genius or especially well-raised like the others at the Academy. You didn’t even have a title to defend, and you chose the side that seemed less risky when it was time to decide to whom you gave your loyalty. All the efforts you had put into your time at the Monastery had been the only thing you were good for - working hard and diligently. But you weren’t cut out for these heavy burdens.

And you couldn’t kill the only true friend you ever had when it was most crucial to do so.

Your whole life could have played out differently. You could have asked to be moved to another frontier in the countryside. Maybe you’d have died at some point, but at least you wouldn’t have to meet all these people you once loved and admired, seeing them die one after the other. Or maybe you should have just given up and let Ignatz do the deed, at least so you didn’t have to hear the words you always dreaded. He had utterly taken you aback with his confession, and you felt even more confused and appalled than back in school.

Hearing him confess his love, you simply couldn’t fight him anymore.

It was wrong. Wrong to run, both from your duties and Ignatz, but it had been the only thing you knew how to do. You never learned any better, never stood up for yourself in any choice you made. Following instructions and orders was all you could do, and even if you tried to do something on your own, you’d always end up needing to rely on others. Plagued by these thoughts, it only pained you more when you heard Ignatz shout behind you, realizing he still wasn’t going to let you go.

“I looked up to you! I needed you, and you needed me! And yet, you betrayed us! And yet, I only liked you more!”

Yes, you needed him. You needed someone to save you when you were lost. But right now, you needed anyone but him to take pity on you. Anyone but Ignatz to tell you what to do. You needed to decide on your own what you were going to do from now on!

A sudden push tore you out of your thoughts. You had come so far and almost reached the other end of the forest, but the saving light disappeared in front of your eyes, replaced by the dirty ground as you crashed down. Frustration, pain, fear - all of it caused tears to collect in your eyes. The weight of Ignatz’s body on top of you made you struggle against him, the last effort to escape the clingy obsession he had with you.

“I love you! I love you so much, don’t ever leave me again!” he yelled, his face contorted in pain as if he was the person going through a lot. What expression were you making? It satisfied you to see the disgust visible in your face reflecting in Ignatz’s eyes, hoping he’d get the hint. Twisting and turning your wrists, you hoped it would cause him to let go, but his grip only tightened the more you moved.

Out of sheer willpower, you managed to lift your pinned down right hand to his face, scratching and fighting against him. But alas, he kept you where he wanted, making you wonder where he managed to gain so much muscle strength to do it. He looked different now, but all you could see was the nice guy who first approached you at the training grounds, a weak but chipper young man. And yet, perhaps because of the war, or maybe you simply never noticed it before, the aura of madness was all that surrounded him.

It was just like back then. Ignatz was the one who took the decision about your life off you. It was a slow, painful realization, your screams being covered by the ones on the battlefield, and your tears disappeared in the dirt beneath you. You’d never have the last word in your life. Someone would always come to take it away from you. Maybe you were just not meant for it, but there was nothing more terrible you could imagine than not being the master of your own self.

Bad decisions led to this outcome. But how could you have known back then, when Ignatz was a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

42 notes · View notes

flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (1/ ?)

Inspired by YorkandDelta <3

pairing: Geraskier

word count: 2k

summary: Jaskier finds a wooden figure Geralt had carved and thrown away in the woods and thinks it’s a gift from the fae

read on AO3

Witchers didn’t carry pretty trinkets and momentos with them. What use would they be? All they did was take up too much space in the bags and get in the way. So Geralt made a point not to get attached. Not to places, not to people and not to objects that weren’t strictly necessary for his survival. Least of all he got attached to the small wooden animals he found himself carving whenever he was alone with his thoughts and certain that no one was around to watch him craft them. Which happened less and less these days, ever since meeting the bard that refused to leave his side and was doing everything in his power to get Geralt to grow attached to him.

On the rare occasions that Jaskier was away, playing at some court or visiting his friends, Geralt found himself carving the little animals with more vigour than he had before he had met the bard, as if the scraping of the blade scratching over the wood was replacing the noise the bard was taking with him whenever he left. If Geralt were a man of pretty words and poetry he might have looked at the figures he carved to fill the silence left by his friend's absence and thought it poetic and meaningful in a way. But Geralt wasn't a poet. He was a witcher and witchers didn't give objects meaning. They didn’t grow attached. So he dropped the useless figures after finishing them on the forest floor and forgot about them. He didn't care about what happened to them. Didn’t care that he would never see them again. Until one day in early spring he found himself caring more than he'd ever thought possible.

Geralt had just closed his eyes, enjoying the thought of a quiet night of rest in an actual bed at an inn after a day of a brutal fight when the door was thrown open unceremoniously. Geralt cranked one eye open and shot a glare at the bard - dressed in obnoxious colours and with a smile that really shouldn't be so blinding - striding into the room. "You couldn't have knocked?" Geralt grunted, hoping his tone would hide the way his lips wanted to lift into a smile at the sight of his friend. The winter had been too long and if Geralt’s protesting muscles hadn’t made him aware of the movement he had made to get up, he would have probably tried to do something stupid like hug the bard. As it were, the only greeting Jaskier received after all the time spend apart was a grunt and a nod. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his face brightened at the familiar mannerisms. "I think we both know that if I had knocked you would have told me to fuck off. But now that you are in my wonderful presence you would never dare do that." "Jaskier," Geralt said, looking Jaskier deep in the eyes. "Fuck off." Jaskier threw his head back laughing. "Not a chance. We both know you're happy to see me." Geralt rolled his eyes but didn't deny the accusation. He couldn't tell if Jaskier noticed. His friend was too occupied putting his lute down and letting himself fall onto the bed with a content sigh. "Oh the joys of uncomfortable inn-beds," Jaskier groaned, running a hand down his face. "You are free to sleep on the floor," Geralt said with a bemused grin. "Aha!“ Jaskier shot back up and pointed a finger triumphantly at Geralt's nose. "So you do want me to share the room with you!" Of course I do. Geralt huffed and crossed his arms. "You wouldn't leave no matter what I said." Somehow Jaskier's smile got even brighter and Geralt's mouth went dry. "You know me too well, dear friend." Geralt hummed non-committally. Jaskier seemed to take it as a sign to start unpacking. Geralt leaned back and listened with closed eyes to the sound that had become routine; the noise of Jaskier bustling about, of the fabric of his night clothes unfolding, of Jaskier chattering away as he found the best spot to put his lute. It all sounded painfully like returning someplace safe.

For a foolish moment Geralt let himself imagine that they weren't at an inn, but in a place they could call home. The illusion and the routine were disrupted by a noise that didn't belong to their normalcy; the dull thud of wood on wood. Geralt opened his eyes again. His breath got stuck on his throat when he saw what Jaskier had put on the night stand. It was a chunky wooden figure of a bear, the wood unpolished and weakened by rain. The craftsmanship was clumsy at best and Geralt knew exactly why: because this figure had been carved with a dagger I stead of the appropriate carving tools. More specifically, Geralt's dagger. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the little bear. His little bear. No, not his. He had no use for these kinds of things. They didn't mean anything to him after he left them in the woods to rot. And yet... The thought of Jaskier having found one of them didn't sit right with Geralt. It did something strange and uncomfortable to his chest. It shouldn't bother him as it did, but he couldn't help but wish Jaskier had never seen Geralt's clumsy attempts at crafting something beautiful. Not when Jaskier himself was a master of creating beautiful things; weaving flower crowns with clever fingers and spinning tales and songs with his silver tongue. Geralt's eyes flickered up to Jaskier who had gone strangely still. Their eyes met and for a terrifying moment Geralt was certain Jaskier knew. He knew that Geralt was the one who had made this imperfect thing that wasn't worth picking up and Jaskier was mocking him with it. Geralt's stomach clenched painfully and he was overcome with the sudden need to flee. But then Jaskier's eyes crinkled with his brilliant smile and a wave of giddy excitement rolled off of him. "It's pretty isn't it?" Jaskier said and took the figure in hand again, holding it up as if to inspect it more closely. "I can't believe I finally found one too." Geralt stared at him dumbfounded. "Too?" "Why of course. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who hasn't been blessed by the forest spirits." Geralt's brows drew together. Jaskier must have noticed his confusion - or maybe he was just happy to talk and have Geralt listen - for he began to explain with shining eyes. "Those figures appear all over. Mostly in forests but sometimes they appear on the road as well. People have been finding them for decades. Have you never noticed how people put them on mantle pieces or carry them with them for protection?" Geralt schooled his face into neutral expression while his mind was racing. He had never intended for anyone to find his carvings. He had never wanted anyone to find them. They were... They didn't mean anything. There was no reason for people - for Jaskier - to get so excited about them. "They say that it's the fae's way of showing their favour,” Jaskier continued, unaware of Geralt’s inner turmoil. “The figures bring luck to those who find them. Well, at least that's one version of the tale. Over in Brugge they say that the figures are charmed and protect the bearer. One of my old teachers in Oxenfurt always said that someone who finds a wooden animal in the woods is bound to get together with their true love within a year. I always liked that version the best. What do you think, is this the year I finally get my true love?"

Jaskier winked at Geralt and nudged him playfully in the ribs. Geralt's mouth went dry and he forced himself to look away from the way Jaskier's eyes lit up. He told himself the only reason why his stomach was churning was because Jaskier would be disappointed when he realised that there was no magic in these carvings. It had nothing to do with the thought of Jaskier finding someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and leave Geralt for them. "Fae would never show their favour to humans. If those things," he nodded his chin to the bear, "were made by the fae they would probably bear a curse. And they would be prettier," he added in a tone that wasn't meant sound that bitter. Jaskier gasped outraged and clutched the bear to his chest as if that could protect it. "How dare you!" he half-shouted in a voice if utter indignation. "I'll have you know that my little bear is perfect. And it does bring luck. After all, I found you mere hours after finding it." Jaskier lifted his chin triumphantly as if he had won an argument. Geralt huffed. "You call that lucky?" It came out more as a grumble than the playful tone he had aimed for. Geralt hadn't meant it to sound so dismissive, but it was better than letting the softness that rose up in him at Jaskier’s words creep into his voice instead. "Yes I do," Jaskier said with a finality that didn't allow any more protests. "And I would appreciate it if you could stop scowling at it as if you wanted to smash it." Geralt turned away with a shrug that looked more nonchalant than he felt. "I don't care what happens to it," he repeated the thoughts he had had so many times before and that for the first time might be a lie, "It's just a piece of wood. Nothing special about it." "I beg to differ. It's quite special to me." There was something in the way Jaskier said it so softly that made it hard to breath. Something unpleasant squirmed in Geralt's chest. He risked another glance at Jaskier who was looking down at the figure in his hand as if it was something to be treasured. It shouldn't feel so nice to have Jaskier hold something Geralt had made and look at it as if it was precious. It felt as if Geralt had given him a gift. Except, if Geralt actually had done that Jaskier wouldn't look at the figure with shining eyes. He wouldn’t smile like that if he knew who it really was from. No one wanted a gift from a witcher. Least of all Jaskier who had admirers sending him expensive doublets, bottles of wine and other luxuries a witcher wouldn’t be able to afford in his wildest dreams. Anything Geralt would have been able to offer Jaskier would have been nothing in comparison. So Geralt did the only thing he could and always pushed the thought of buying Jaskier nice things as far away from his mind as possible. Trying to gift Jaskier beautiful things that might make him happy was bound to fail for someone like Geralt. But here was Jaskier, stroking a finger absentmindedly over the wood as if it was polished and smooth. Geralt cleared his throat. "I'm glad you like it then." That seemed to content Jaskier, for he rewarded Geralt with a dazzling smile and put the little figure back in the nightstand right in Geralt's line of vision. Jaskier probably did it out of some sense of petty smugness, but as night fell and the little bear that for some reason meant so much to Jaskier watched over them, Geralt couldn't help but feel warm. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad if his figures had found their way to a poet after all who could give meaning to them. Maybe sometimes tall tales of fae gifts and blessings from forest spirits helped bring a smile to a bard’s face and bring him some happiness that Geralt wouldn’t have been able to give him otherwise.

Next to him Jaskier turned over in his sleep and pressed his forehead against the space between Geralt’s shoulder blades, sighing contently. Under the curtain of the night Geralt allowed himself a little smile.

Maybe sometimes it wasn’t so bad to get attached after all.

#I'll probably write a second chapter #maybe #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher #witcher fic #fanfic #my writing

80 notes · View notes

hb-writes · 3 years

Text

One More Chapter

1928

When Clara wished a devil of a child upon her older brother, Tommy responded with a similar cheek, telling the girl he had already met his quota in raising her. But it was Polly who, on more than one occasion, uttered wishes that Clara one day be forced to deal with a devil of her own, a child similar to herself, with the same bit of persuasive cleverness. Clara never anticipated that child would be her sweet nephew, Charles.

They all charged Clara with doting too much, spoiling a boy who was already well spoiled by the army of nannies and housemaids who looked after him, but it was his Aunt Clara who did the most damage by easily succumbing to his expectations, setting very little by the way of limitations where sweets and cuddles and bedtime stories were concerned.

Everyone suspected it was because Clara still loved those things herself, cuddles and stories and sweets, but with her busy schedule, a bedtime routine like the one Charles Shelby expected was a demanding bit of upkeep. The boy knew exactly how to make his aunt comply though, with a sweet smile or a nonchalant reminder that she’d been away, passing a few evenings with other family or in her old bed at the house on Watery Lane, instead of with him at Arrow House.

Charles stuck his hand between the pages of the book when his aunt made to close it, an infamous pout coming to his lips. “Can’t we read just one more?” he asked, prying the tome from her hands and settling it in his own lap.

Clara was tired. She had felt her eyes pulling closed as she struggled through the last paragraphs of the chapter they just finished. It was school and Shelby Company Ltd. and traipsing back and forth between Birmingham and Warwickshire and occasionally as far as London that was tiring her. And it was the constant cycle of waking too early after falling asleep far too late, the constant motion and demand for more and more and more.

“You’ve already—”

“Charles, you’ve already had one chapter,” he said, bringing a smile to Clara’s face as he mocked a tone very characteristic of Tommy. “That’s what dad always says.”

“Used to say the same to me and Uncle Finn.”

Clara burrowed further into the warmth of the shared covers, resting her head against one of the pillows as Charles skimmed through the first page of the next chapter.

It was a mistake on her part, getting under the covers in the first place. She couldn’t afford to go to bed yet, had a few pages of the ledgers left to go over with Tommy and after that, she had an assignment for school to read through one last time, which was why she hadn’t yet bathed or changed into her nightgown and robe. Her day wasn’t nearly close to finished.

But she would have liked for it to be, would have loved to stay cuddled up with Charles, reading until they both fell asleep, not to be disturbed until Frances called them down for breakfast the next day.

“It’s late, Charlie.”

“Please? Just one more chapter? We were supposed to be through chapter five by now.”

Clara sighed, pulling the volume back into her grasp. They were moving more slowly through the book than she had anticipated. He had originally asked after the Sherlock Holmes novels Clara stashed on her brother’s office bookshelves, but Charles had been deemed too young for them still. He had put up a fuss at that but the affront was easily rectified when Clara brought home something newly published, a story of a boy and his loyal teddy, something Charles quickly identified with.

Clara glanced at the clock on her nephew’s wall. They’d been at it for close to an hour. She was a bit surprised no one had come in to remind them of bedtime, or in Clara’s case, to remind her of the papers that still needed reviewing.

She fingered the pages of the next chapter as she continued considering the clock. It was a short one, something they could be through in a quarter of an hour or less, but her eyes were so tired and the bed was so warm and she could easily see herself never leaving the bed if she had to read even a few more sentences of the wholesome story of Winnie-the-pooh.

“Please, Aunt Clara?” Charles prompted again.

“My eyes are very tired, Charlie boy. Can’t we read it tomorrow?”

“But what if you’re not here? Sometimes you say you’ll be home but you aren’t.”

Clara rubbed at her eyes. The boy had a very good, not so very easily argued against point because Clara had developed a habit of not being at Arrow House when she said she’d be there.

“Alright,” Clara said, attempting to sit up into a better reading position. “One more chapter, Charlie boy.”

Charles smiled, squirming happily at the success of his persuasions. He grabbed the book from her before she sat up properly.

“I’ll read to you,” he said. “You lie down and rest your eyes.”

Clara smiled, kissing the boy’s forehead before following his order, placing her head on the pillow beside him so she could see the quaint illustrations and follow along with him to help with the larger words as needed. She didn’t last past the second page though, and when Frances did come up to remind the pair about the importance of bedtimes, she found only one of the Shelbys neglecting their sleep. Charles was wide awake whispering aloud the words from his storybook while Clara slept soundly beside him.

“Can’t I finish the chapter?” he whispered across the room to Frances. “To help her stay asleep?”

Frances smiled at seeing them both so content. She was honestly grateful to see the girl resting at such an early hour. Though Frances should have told him no, she had no plans to wake Clara or stop Charles mid-chapter. She would let her boss know where his sister had fallen asleep, let him decide how to proceed. And she would give the boy time enough to finish up and only then come back and see to it that Charles kept his word.

“Just the one chapter,” she said, “then you best turn out the lights and join your aunt in getting some rest.”

Charles nodded at the woman, checking on his sleeping aunt before turning back to the book, his whispers still heard out in the hall where Frances stood listening to the pair for an extra moment after closing the door.

-----

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #charles shelby #charlie shelby #clara shelby #little lady blinder #i love you prompts #300 follower celebration

104 notes · View notes

fagundescamila · 4 years

Text

Power Couple #7 (Severus Snape x Reader)

Heeeeeello again! I'm sorry it took so long again! I promiss I'll try harder to update the story faster 😅

Some reminders: english is not my native language, so expect errors and if you asked to be tagged but weren't, send me a message and I'll try to fix it on the upcoming chapters

Tagzzz: @lizlil @misselsbells06 @mitchiesdungeon @sleepiesapphicxoxo @severuslovebot

As soon as they left the room, Severus' mind started to race and he thought about what he would say and the awkward silence that would inevitably fall upon them while they walked towards the dungeons.

But again, as it always seemed to happen to his impressions about their interactions, he was wrong.

"It's so weird to talk to all of them without feeling judged or under evaluation…" Y/N commented.

"Your former teachers, you mean?" He asked, almost relieved by the fact that they had just so easily started a conversation.

"Yes! They seemed weirdly interested!"

"It happens whenever they see old students. It was like that with me, when I started teaching here, then with Lupin…"

"What do you mean by 'old', may I ask you?" She asked, pretending to be offended.

"I didn't mean… After all, I'm..." He turned to her as they reached the corridor that led to the potions' room.

"I know, Severus! I'm just teasing." Y/N laughed. Snape chuckled and shook his head.

As they were about to enter the classroom, they heard some hurried steps behind them and, right after that, someone calling for Y/N. Severus recognized Hermione's inquisitive tone without having to turn around. He rolled his eyes in annoyance before facing the girl.

"Sorry to bother, Y/N! And you too, Professor Snape…" Hermione hesitantly said. Y/N smiled at her and signalized for her to go on and Snape had to fight the urge to roll his eyes again. "But I wanted to ask you something! I was wondering if you had any recommendations on books about Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh, I see!" Y/N said, impressed by the girl's attitude. "Since you're asking, I assume you covered all the titles recommended for the school year, am I right?" Hermione confirmed with a shy nod. "Okay, so I'm going to make some not-so-obvious recommendations, since it seems you already dominate the basics, is that ok?" Another nod. "I'd say you look for Confronting the Faceless…" At that Severus couldn't help but be impressed. "Quentin's bibliography is also really good, I think you probably have already read some of his books, but it's always a good choice and…I probably shouldn't…"

"Please do! I'd love any recommendation, really!" The girl asked.

"Alright. This will sound a bit unorthodox, but you're a clever witch!" Y/N stated and Hermione smiled proudly. "I'll recommend that you look for the Dark Arts basic theories and practices. Search for books like Secrets of the Darkest Art, Confringo Spellbok and Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed… That's a fair starting point, I believe." Y/N then looked intensely at the girl that seemed in shock. "Don't get me wrong! I'm only recommending this 'cause I believe in your good intentions and I know that you'll only get to read them if one of your Professors allow it. I know it sounds weird, but I have this theory that in order to fight something, you have to understand it first. Trust me, if you know how a spell works, it's easier to learn a counterspell, if you know the poison, you can make an antidote and so on!"

"I see! You're absolutely right! Thank you so much!" Hermione said, already looking forward to her next study sessions.

"Anytime!" Y/N smiled. "Just be a little critical with those readings and keep foccused on your actual goal, these books can be very persuasive sometimes…"

"Don't worry, I'll keep that in mind! Thanks again!" She was about to leave, but refrained herself. "Professor Snape, would you… write that permission for me?"

"I'll think about it, Miss Granger." He said with an eyebrow raised, but there was something in his tone that gave her some hope and she left with a smile.

"Did I just put you in an awkward situation?" Y/N asked, her tone and smile already asking for an apology.

"You mean making an insufferable teenager start bothering me about books? As if they didn't annoy me enough?" He asked sarcastically, which made her chuckle. Severus smiled at himself, almost proud of the fact that somehow - he didn't know exactly - he seemed to always make her laugh.

"My bad… But you can always refuse to let her read those books…" She said as they entered the room. "I mean… They are a bit disturbing, but…"

"I know… But I agree with everything you said to her… It's an unusual study approach, but it works. And if there's any student I would ever allow to read those kind of books at a young age, it would be Granger…" He said sitting at his desk to write the permission. "But you never heard me say it."

"My lips are sealed." She smiled at him, amused by the way he tried to appear cold and distant to his students when he actually cared about them. "So, those essays…" She started, leaning against the table, looking at his writing.

"Yes, I read them and got quite intrigued by that one with the brazilian herb…" He took a moment to process the fact that she was so nonchalantly standing really close to him. It wasn't exactly intimidating, but he felt his cheeks burning, so he decided not to look at her. "I actually did some experiments of my own…"

"Really?" She sounded impressed, which made him smile a bit and raise his head to see her amused face. "Can I see?"

Severus struggled with himself, debating if he would share his experiments with someone or keep them private, as he always did. He didn't know if he actually trusted the woman in front of him or if he just wanted to impress her, but he was inclined to show her his studies.

"You don't have to, though." Y/N was quick to say, seeing he wasn't sure about showing his work. "I mean…" But Severus didn't let her finish.

"Come." He said getting up, a smirk on his face as he led her to his private chambers behind the classroom. He held the door open for her and she entered his living room.

"So this is where a Hogwarts' Professor stays during the school year." She said taking a look around.

"A potion master, yes." He confirmed. "It was Slughorn's chambers before me."

"I see! It's nice! I mean… to have a house inside Hogwarts." She trailed off.

"It is, I guess…" He went to the kitchen and signalized for her to follow. With a wave of his hand he made the water in the tea kettle start to boil. "Fancy some tea?"

"Sure!" Y/N said, with a smile. Another wave of his hand and two cups of perfectly brewed tea were ready. "Okay, you gotta be kidding me, right? You're a potion master, so you make better tea than the rest of us, mere mortals, is that so? Are you an amazing cook as well? That's so cliché, Severus…"

Severus laughed lightly and opened the door to his personal lab, allowing her to enter before him. "I don't know about the cooking…"

"I don't believe you." She teased. "But that's a topic for some other time, let's see what you've been working on! I just have to remind you that I probably won't understand a single thing about your experiments."

"Now I don't believe you." He teased back and allowed himself a smirk, one that she couldn't see because his lips were hiding behind the cup of tea. Severus approached one of the cauldrons that was covered by a heavy cover. "I began by reproducing the author's recipe, which turned out quite well… The effects of the herb she mentioned really perform as she predicted. The calming draught that resulted is basically as effective as the original one." Snape explained as Y/N stepped closer to take a look at the potion. He observed her features as she seemed to really pay attention and for a moment or two, he forgot to continue. "But then I figured that, since this herb can replace a large number of ingredients, it meant that, there should be a way of making this potion stronger by the use of other supplementing elements." He then took the cover from three smaller cauldrons. "I've been able to manage some minor advances, but there are some ingredients missing in Hogwarts' storage."

"Really? Rare ones?" Y/N asked, still looking intensely at the potions, amazed by his progress.

"Some of them, yes. But mostly foreing insumes." Severus explained.

"Do you have a list? I could check the Ministry lab and storage and fetch you some of them, if they happen to be available there." She said looking up to face him, Snape raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Severus, the Ministry has more ingredients than we care to use. I'm sure no one will even notice some of them are missing. And even if they do, as head of the department, I'm in charge of the storage." She shrugged. "It's better that you use it than to let everything rot inside the aurors' cabinets."

"In that case, I can make a list and send it over to your office." Severus said. "Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me!" Y/N tried to suppress a smile. "It's not like it's gonna be free of charges, you know…"

"No?" Somehow, he couldn't take her seriously.

"Definitely not." She took a sip from her tea. "You didn't think I would simply give you the ingredients, did you?" Y/N had this almost devious smirk playing at her lips as she watched Severus become more and more confused. "I mean, I have to see your list to know the actual price, but I'm guessing that at the very least, you're gonna have to buy me some drinks."

Snape almost choked on his tea. Was she really implying what he thought she was? Sooner that afternoon he was thinking about possible ways to ask her out and gave up on that idea because it seemed completely ridiculous and here she was, making it look like a joke.

"Is that so? That's how the Ministry charges for potions' supplies?" He managed to ask, trying with all his might to sound nonchalant.

"Hey, I don't make the rules…" She feigned innocence. "If you still want those ingredients, send me the list tomorrow and we can discuss the payment later." She shrugged again. "You know better, of course, but I'd say a dinner is a fair price considering you'll get to develop your researches."

"I'm sorry, did you say dinner?" He asked, already playing along. "I thought you said earlier it was just some drinks…" His sarcasm was finally being put to good use against her.

"I believe I said 'at least' some drinks. Who knows? Those ingredients can be really expensive sometimes…"

"Right…" Snape said, trying to keep the serious façade.

"Anyway… If you still want them, send me an owl with your list and I'll see what I can do." She said finishing her tea.

"I'll think about it…" Now he was just trying not to agree with going out with her right away.

"Of course you will." She chuckled. "I guess I'll leave you to your thoughts for the night then! It's getting late... Can I use your floo network?" Severus nodded and led the way to his living room.

"I'll send you the list tomorrow." Severus said as he watched her step into the fireplace.

"Good!" Y/N smiled at him. "Bye, Severus!" With that, she left his chambers in the green flames brought by the floo powder.

Severus stared at the empty fireplace for sometime, thinking about the nonsense of everything that happened.

For some reason, he didn't seem capable to stop smiling for the rest of the night.

#severus snape #severus snape imagine #snape #snape imagine #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #severus #severus x reader #professor snape #snape fanfiction

226 notes · View notes

canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 137

Trying to figure out Author’s notes is hard.... Sometimes I just don’t have anything pithy to say, or have too much to say and don’t know where to put it all.

Obviously I am an overthinker.

So, for the sake of everyone reading: Let’s cut to the Shoutouts!

The obvious first: @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog! I love all of you, you are the best.

Special mentions to: @zommbiebro bc I miss you and hope you’re okay. @nekohuntslight for being the OG person to message me about liking the story (yes, Bael, this is the dirty secret behind why I thought you lived in Australia when we first started talking.... shhhhhh). And alllllll the binge readers who blow up my inbox every day, Iloveyousomuchyoudon’tunderstand. Very much adore all of you, you have no idea how serious I am being right now. I need to go through and make one post just screaming all your names to the universe.

Tyche brought drinks and snacks from my kitchen before flopping on the couch in my quarters. The guys were at work, along with Antoine, but my office was closed down for the day. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Vati and Hannah have everything planned to the smallest detail,” I shrugged. “They’ve already coordinated with Xio and Evan for all the crowd control and monitoring shifts, and the murals are going up today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the logistics stuff. I literally handle all the staffing for the humans on the Ark, and Antoine was also part of the crowd control conversations.”

“Then why did you ask?” I laughed, grabbing a cracker and carefully stacking cheese and other toppings on it.

Before I could get it to my mouth, she snatched it and held it out of my reach. “Because I’m asking how you feel. You’re only attending as… well, an attendee. No monitoring, no calling the shots, no working from the floor.”

She surrendered my cracker, but I found myself setting it down, appetite gone. “I’m okay - “

“Lie.” There was suddenly a finger levelled between my eyes like a gun. Just as quickly, it was lowered, and my sister was tilting her head at me. “Come on. You know you can’t lie to me - I’ve known you longer than literally anyone on this ship except yourself.”

“Fine! It’s weird!” I admitted in frustration, standing to pace and shoving my hands through my hair. “My skin is crawling with anxiety, my hands are twitching to snatch up the files and nitpick everything to the smallest detail….”

“Except they locked you out.”

“Except they locked me out, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I could get Derek to let me in, which is why I’ve made a point to tell him not to, no matter how much I ask.” Dropping my hands, I sighed. “But if I ever want to leave this position, I have to let them do this.”

She shrugged and stole my cracker, this time chewing and swallowing before she responded. “You could have kept some involvement in it, you know.”

“Pfft, yeah right. I would have taken it over, and you know that.”

“Yep.”

“Then why even ask.” I dropped back down on the couch.

“‘Cause you needed to hear yourself say it,” she explained, nonchalant as ever, snagging an olive and watching me calmly.

I sat in silence, processing it. I hated when she outsmarted me like that, especially when she was right. “Can I at least eat first?”

She laughed and let it go, telling me how well the murals for the Festival were coming. I hadn’t even gotten to - allowed myself - to see the designs, and the more Tyche talked about them, the more I wanted to see them. By the time I finished my share of our snack, I decided to check out the progress.

We finally made our way to the decks where the Festival would take place, and I thought Tyche was going to die laughing at the way I gaped. The alcoves where the vendors would stage looked the same on first glance, but a closer look revealed very subtle shapes added that would give them a more savage, wild look in the right lighting. Metal sconces had been added to hold what looked like torches, but with special light emitters to simulate open flame. As we walked further, swirls of color revealed themselves slowly, first in light, curling tendrils, but slowly sharpening and taking on a more angular shape, twisting together into phantasmal images that vanished as soon as you tried to focus on them.

“It’s like walking through a garden, or a rainforest, but when I turn my head, I’m in a city.”

“Right?” she laughed as we came around the final corner.

At this point, we were surrounded by this mural. Just up ahead, there was a messy head of black hair tied back with a green piece of cloth. Bare feet and arms show smears of paint, and overalls covered a tank top - that, or the cloth for the hair had formerly been sleeves, I couldn’t tell. One hand propped up on hips while the other hung down, holding a very familiar paint pen.

“Christ on a triscuit, Vati, this is incredible,” I gasped softly.

She turned and smirked at me over her shoulder. “Not yet, but it will be when I finish.”

“I mean, all of it. The sconces…”

“Those were Hannah and Ivan.” Parvati walked over and touched one with her finger tip, stroking it gently.

Tyche made an impressed noise. “I’m only a little shocked that he had enough time.”

“The materials are on loan from the engineering departments, and we wanted them to be rather rough in the finishing. It helped. Sophia, no matter how curious you are, please do not lick the walls.”

A giggle bubbled up through my chest. “The thought never crossed my mind. I was trying to put together all the flavor profiles here. It’s… a lot.”

“Forgive me if I focused more on color than how the walls would taste. I don’t generally cook, remember.”

I stared down a swirl of pomegranate, popcorn, and gochujang. The colors - blue, pink, and yellow, respectively - worked well together, but the thought of the flavors made my stomach churn. “I solemnly swear not to lick the walls,” I promised. “How much of this are you expecting to still be up by the third night?”

“We have a team that will specifically come touch up the mural in specific places the morning before the second day.”

Tyche turned toward me and away from her study of the art. “Also, you would be surprised how much paint is on the walls. It will take a lot for Else to eat it all, once they are allowed in the area.”

“Before you ask,” Parvati cut me off. “We just asked them nicely. Well, Sam and Derek did. They’ve become quite the ersatz diplomats to Else.”

“Anything left?”

“Hannah is putting the final touches on the curtains for the alcoves and the seating areas. She’ll have a team installing them tonight once I finish.”

It was clever, and explained why she was only touching up part of the mural halfway between now and the closing of the event. “You two have really put your stamp on it.”

“Feel better?” She held one hand up gesturing at the entire entire project, eyebrow arched to show me that she hadn’t been fooled for a moment.

I rubbed my neck, and glanced at her from underneath my eyelashes. “Busted, I guess.”

“That would imply that anyone had believed your charade,” she smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around us again. “I honestly do. I could never have done all this. Holding on would have…”

“Kept you in a position you frankly hate,” Parvati interrupted gracefully. “It’s the same reason Sebastian went back to the Undine. He’s passionate about it, and it shows in the quality of his work.” When I gaped in insult, she held up a hand. “Not everyone can succeed through fear of failing and a determination that things be done right if they must be done at all.”

“Everyone talking about me needing to retire, like I’m old or something,” I joked, throwing my hands into the air. “Physically, I’m only thirty-five.”

Tyche nodded to concede my point. “What about the food? I haven’t seen a menu come out yet.”

The change in topic made Parvati’s face collapse. “What? It should have gone out yesterday…” She flicked open her datapad, which flickered from the overspray that covered it. Frantically scrolling, she groaned. “This was scheduled, why didn’t it send?”

“Did you check the date?” I asked calmly. “Specifically the year.”

“Three times, it’s scheduled for tomorrow,” she insisted. “Right here: May seventeenth, twenty-forty aw fuck….”

“At least you got the decade right,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many scheduled emails I’ve tried to automatically send out for ten or fifteen years ago.”

She nodded and seemed to get her bearings back. “So, protocol for this is… just send it right now and apologize for the late notification, don’t try to make excuses or explain?”

“Exactly. They won’t care why, they’ll just be excited the list is out.”

With a couple quick gestures, she sent the email and dismissed her datapad. “Okay, that was the last thing, then.” Turning back toward the wall she was working on before, she waved to us over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do need to finish this up. Thank you for coming to see everything… it was oddly reassuring to have both of you give us your stamp of approval before the Festival instead of making us wait until after.”

“For the record, you two have always had my stamp of approval, or I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my nose out of it.” I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still smiled. “We’ll catch up with you after the Food Festival. Remember: both of you need to plan on taking the day off afterwards. I’m serious. Have your unofficial advisors drop in and chat about everything, that’s fine. But no actual work, and I won’t let either of you see the survey results until the second day after. So rest.”

“Got it, boss lady. Have a good night!”

Tyche and I turned and headed back to my quarters. We remained silent as we took in all the preparations that had been done, waving to the handful of vendors who were bringing their supplies in already. Once we were back in normal corridors, the silence broke almost immediately.

“I think they’ve got this,” Tyche suggested nonchalantly.

“Oh, I know they do.”

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

50 notes · View notes

t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You are at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Pairing: Tom and y/n.

Word count: 3k

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: This story will contain themes such as kidnapping, murder, violence and smut. Also a lot of swearing. Also descriptions of injuries. Also alcohol, smoking and mentions of drugs. this is a +18 story

A/N: This is a relationship that I wouldn’t recommend in real life. Also, the Firm was the name of the Kray twins gang. I was just too lazy to come up with a name of my own.

READ PART I HERE

READ PART II HERE

1961, London.

Years later, when you look back on that night, it doesn’t seem real to you. Your memories like snap shots in a photo album. Just still pictures in your mind of the night that would change the course of your life forever.

Sherry holding court, arms waving animatedly as she tells her guests a funny story. Flash. Mark’s sullen face, uninterested and dull. Flash. Sherry’s wide and panic-stricken eyes as you heard the gunshots. Flash. Tom’s back, aiming his weapon at Mark. Flash. Sherry bloody body on the floor, forever wide eyed. Flash. Your bloodstained hands as you try to save her. Flash.

Tom’s hand reaching out for yours.

His hand had felt surprisingly real in yours. Warm and firm and calloused. When he pulled you up to your feet it felt a lot like being dragged back into reality.

(Once as a child your father had taken you ice skating. Further out on the lake the ice had broken, and a girl had fallen through. Down beneath the surface she went; into the icy cold water. She would have died, had not one of her friends successfully managed to pull her up to the surface again.

A part of you wonders if this is what she had felt like then. Icy cold to the bone and struggling for air; feeling as though the ground itself has broken underneath you.)

But Tom wasn’t your friend. In fact, you had just seen him murder a man in cold blood. You could read no signs of remorse or guilt in his face. You knew then, that this was not the first time he had taken a life. It likely wouldn’t be his last either.

He’d dragged you back to his car and you’d followed him obediently. It never occurred to you to fight him, there was no point. Not only had you seen him fight boys much bigger than himself on the school yard, but he also had a gun. So, you moved after him, feeling numb all over. Thoughts moving slowly in your head, like your head was full of cotton, and your body seemed to move almost of its own accord. He guided you into the passenger seat of a beat up car, before he got into the driver's seat and then you left East Ham behind you.

Now here you are, captive in a dingy apartment in Mile End; with fading wallpaper and windows so dirty you can hardly see the view outside it.

It’s filthy.

With gentle hands he’d lead you to the bathroom where he sits you down. With a wet cloth he washes you clean of blood. Squatting in front of you his hands swipe and scrub until you’re free of red stains, though there is nothing to be done about your pink silk dress.

There is something so tender in the way he touch you, his face so close to yours, a look of deep concentration on his face. You feel like a wounded and frightened deer as he cleans with great care; as if he’s scared you’ll fall apart at the seams. Any moment now

A funny unwanted thought strikes you then; if you’re the dear, is he the huntsman?

After you’re clean he leads you out to the living room and he ties you up in a chair and asks you if you are comfortable. There’s shame in his voice and all you can do is stare back at him.

“Are you in pain?” he asks instead.

That paused you to think. There is nothing physically wrong with you; no cuts or bruises or broken bones. But numbness was evaporating, and panic started to rise like bile in your throat.

“No” you answer at last.

He searches your face for a sign of lying. Content that you’re telling the truth he takes a few steps away from you, turns his back to you, drags a hand through his hair.

“Look, I don’t want to do this but until I have figured out what to do next you’ll have to stay here, alright?”

No, you want to say. No of course that’s not alright, let me go!

But you’re cleverer than that. Antagonising him is not the way to get out of this alive. You must stay calm, keep your feelings under control. Even more difficult than that; you must make sure that Tom stays calm too.

He’s sat down on the threadbare sofa, head in his hands, lost in thought.

And here is where it can all go wrong. If his thoughts move in the direction that he must get rid of you the easy way, you’re done for. However, if you can steer his mind to a trail where you make it out alive then maybe then you have a chance of survival.

***

“Why did you kill Mark Randall?”

Outside he can hear people laughing, drunks singing and people fighting. From the apartment next door, he can hear a couple’s argument loud and clear.

Yet your voice, quiet and gentle as it may be, shakes him like the sound of a gun. There’s something so matter of fact in the way you ask the question and Tom almost wants to laugh. Because here you are, tied up to a chair in his apartment, wearing a blood-splattered pink silk dress; having just witnessed the killings of two people, one of whom was your friend. Yet, you’re as calm as can be. Voice even and soft and your head held high.

And here he is, and his hands are shaking, and he can feel the panic rising like bile in his throat.

He looks away from you. To look straight at you feels too much like staring straight into the sun and it burns his eyes to see you like this. It feels surreal. Part from the blood you look like a fucking lady, and the contrast to his dirty apartment; a place he avoids most of the time, is bizarre.

“Mark hadn’t needed to die if he’d just listened and come with me,” he says eventually.

“You didn’t want to kill him?” You ask, and Tom sighs. He needs to remain in charge of himself, in charge of the situation. He needs to remember his training.

Remember who he is, and what he’s capable of.

So, he stands up and walks over to you, with his hands in his pockets and with a put-on air of nonchalance.

“I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, princess. Especially not shoot them like that. Hasn’t stopped me though” he says and looks you in the eye. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, because they’re necessary.”

There’s a warning in his words, you both know it.

“You’re awfully calm about all this” he says and kneels in front of you, looking up at your face, close enough he can see every detail in your face. A strange and unwelcomed image flashes before his eyes; of a knight kneeling in front of the queen, awaiting her judgement. But it is not fitting, the dynamic all wrong. You have no power here, and he sure is no knight. He doesn’t know which role he’s set to play in your story but he doubts it’s the hero.

“You’d prefer it if I screamed?” you ask, and he’s impressed, because your voice doesn’t waver. It’s sounds gentle and steady still. But he sees it in your face. There’s fear in your eyes, buried deep. There’s a gleam of sweat over your forehead, and he’d bet more than this apartment that your heartbeat is beating like a drum right now.

“God no” he huffs, “just wondering what you're thinking”. He can’t seem to look away from your face and warning words from half a lifetime ago about not looking straight into the sun comes back to him. Warnings that it will blind you.

“Well, I’ll have to admit, I’m a bit curious about a few things”

“Such as?”

“What did you want with someone like Mark Randall?”

Tom is taken aback at that, it was not a question he had expected. “He hurt one of my friends,” he says, after some hesitation.

“So you wanted to hurt him back?”

“No,” he says. “I just needed some information from him.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling you this. Letting you be a witness to a murder is bad enough. Now he’s sharing strictly confidential information with someone outside the Firm. But talking with you delays the moment where he must leave you and tell Fabien about what happened tonight.

“I knew Mark, he was not clever nor resourceful. I doubt it very much if he’d have any information to give you.”

He doesn’t know why you’re doing this, but your calmly delivered questions clears his head. He follows your path, like a light in the fog, guiding the way. “You’re right, but he wasn’t working on his own initiative. He might have had information on his people”

“You think he’d part with that information?”

“I’d make him”.

You go silent for a moment, and he wonders just how scared you are of him right then. He’s still kneeled in front of you, looking up at you, at the eyes he’s admired since he first saw you in school, a million years ago. You blink, and he’s reminded of the fluttering wings of a butterfly.

“How was your friend attacked?” you ask, and your choice of question surprises him again.

“Mark shot him in the arm, though the fucker aimed to kill”

“Were you with him?” You blink again, another fluttering pair of wings, and Tom wonders if this is what it’s like to be hypnotized.

“No,” he answers, “no he was on his way to meet me, but Mark was waiting for him and attacked”.

“And how did Mark know your friend was supposed to be there, at that moment?”

Your question is asked in such a low and gentle voice, and the full meaning of it doesn’t strike him at first,

But then,

“I, I don’t know” he confesses, and the realization startles him.

The telephone rings. Loudly it screeches from it’s table and Tom feels like he wakes from a trance. He pulls himself away from you slowly to answer it.

“Yeah?” he says, keeping his eye on you as he speaks into the receiver.

“Fabien wants a report” Harry tells him.

“On my way” Tom answers, “but Harry?”

“What?”

“You and Sam need to get to Mark Randall’s apartment. There’s two bodies to take care of.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Why didn’t you take care of it immediately?” his brother asks at last.

“Was called away, alright?” and before Harry can protest he snaps “Just fucking do it, yeah?” and he hangs up.

Silence fills the apartment, though the street outside continues to roar in drunken songs and fighting cries.

“I have to go now,” he says, staring down on the telephone, suddenly unable to look at you.

“What will they do to me once they realize there’s a witness?” you ask, and the question Tom thought would come before all others is asked at last. Truth is he should have gotten rid of you right then and there in East Ham. He shouldn’t have let a witness live. It was sloppy and just the kind of sentimental bullshit that would end him in a prison cell one day.

Truth is Fabien will make him kill you himself, probably in the most brutal fashion he can think of, just to make Tom prove that he hasn’t gone soft. That there’s no sentimentality left in him.

He couldn’t let you go either. Didn’t trust you wouldn’t run straight home to your daddy and tell him everything. It didn't help that you knew Tom in school, knew his full name and would have no problem pointing him out in a line-up. Then he’d end up in prison, or dead, and Fabien would go after you in ways Tom didn’t even dare imagine. Just the thought of what the man is capable of makes him shiver.

“I have to go now” he repeats, ignoring your question. “There’s no use in screaming while I’m away. This is not a friendly neighborhood. They won’t come to your rescue.”

But before he steps out the door he stops in his tracks.

“You know, you helped me once,” he says, remembering that time you’d protected him from Jamie.

“And this is how you repay me?” You’re still so fucking calm, even though you both know you’re done for and Tom’s heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he says, eventually.

You smile, and it is gentle though it is without humour. “For how long though, Tommy?”

***

Tom sits in Fabien’s office, a glass of amber-coloured whiskey in his hand and your voice ringing in his ears. ‘And how did Mark know your friend was supposed to be there?’

He had thought about it the entire drive to Fabien's house. The only solution was this. Someone had told them. Someone had told Jack and his men that Harrison would be walking that street at that time on that night. And the only people who knew about it were the men in the Firm.

He airs his suspicions to his leader.

Fabien hums, and inhales from his cigarette. “I see we’ve been thinking along the same lines” he says, blowing out smoke in the air between them. His voice is low and even, his quiet and held back rage evident but controlled. “There’s a traitor in our midst, Tommy.”

He studies Tom’s face, his cat-like eyes shrewd.

“I’m going to find out who’s been ratting on us, and why” he continues, voice smooth like velvet. “And God help the poor bastard once I’ve figured out who it is. However, our only lead was Mark Randall and you tell me you failed to bring him in for questioning and he’s now sinking in the Thames?”

Tom forces himself to keep eye-contact with his superior, resisting the urge to look away from those penetratingly shrewd eyes. “Yes, guv”.

“You failed.” He confirms, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s very unlike you, Tom. I’m disappointed.”

To anyone who didn’t know Fabien they might say the man sounded bored, but Tom knew better. The man was boiling underneath the surface. He didn’t need to shout and threaten to make his anger known, it was like a physical presence in the room. “Very disappointed indeed”.

“It won’t happen again,” Tom promises.

“Oh, it better not. I have big plans for you.” he says, and takes another sip from his drink. “Were there any witnesses?”

“No one left alive” Tom lies, and takes a sip from his own drink.

***

A/N: OH MY GOD this one was difficult to write. I had to rewrite it four times and I’m still not too sure about it. Their dynamic is really difficult but hopefully it’ll be easier in parts to come.

***

taglist: @londonmademedoit @isthataladybag @ceexreverse @daygiowvibe @averyfosterthoughts @applenter @viwihere @youcompletemess @marvelpeters @youngsenpaibaby @duskholland @vanillanestor @panicattheeverywherekid @primadonnasdream @adorestarkey @johnismyreason @fancybrittrash

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland headcanon #tom holland #mob!tom holland #mob!tom #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem #tom holland x oc #tom holland x y/n

215 notes · View notes

apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter One — Don’t Panic

Summary: In which our hero panics

Read on AO3

“All of us are done for”

-Don’t Panic, Coldplay

It was no secret Killian Jones lived a charmed life. How could it be when his handsome face was plastered across glossy magazines covers and splashy websites on a daily basis? Dark hair carefully tousled to look as if he woke up that way. An athletic figure always encased in the latest fashion and, more often than not, topped off with black leather. A smile said to cause an increase in heart rate for those lucky enough to experience it firsthand. And perhaps the most defining feature, one gossip columnists and celebrity photographers waxed lyrical about, impossibly blue eyes that could charm or chill in equal measure depending on his mood.

He inherited his father’s roguish good looks and, fortunately for the world, his mother’s better nature.

As he rolled out of bed early one fall morning, it was with the deep sense of well-being one could only achieve from a pampered existence, free of the stress and worries normal people carried like millstones around their necks. He walked through a hallway laid with Italian marble liberated from a Renaissance era villa to a bathroom featured in Architectural Digest as the most luxurious in the world, causing an Arabian prince and a Russian oligarch to accuse him of sleeping with the journalist who produced the piece.

He had, of course. But that didn’t mean the title wasn’t deserved.

He stepped into an enormous shower that provided an expansive view of skyscrapers and the ocean beyond through the one-way windows forming the walls of the room. It was one he was so familiar with he didn’t even notice it anymore. As he washed off the lingering scents of the night before—stale cigarettes, spilled booze, and expensive French perfume—he rolled his shoulders under the perfectly calibrated water pressure of his rainwater showerhead and let the massaging jets work their magic, precisely hitting all the important hydrotherapy points as they had been designed to do.

Stepping out, he wrapped himself in towels of the softest Egyptian cotton embroidered with the Jones family crest. As his father always said, just because they were in the colonies, it didn’t mean they had to forget where they came from. Never mind that the colonies hadn’t been colonies in well over two hundred years. His family had always preferred to live in the past.

Killian’s father was also keen on never forgetting who they were. As if such a thing would even be possible when all articles about them started with a brief reminder their roots could be traced back as far as the monarchy and noted they were in possession of a bank account rivaling the tech giant nouveau riche of the vast city quite literally laid at his feet every morning.

Although, it should be noted his father would never be so tasteless as to discuss money. Comparing bank accounts was the province of those who didn’t have enough. No, the elder, esteemed Mr. Jones preferred to simply let his massive wealth speak for itself, silently scorning those who had less while appearing to think nothing of it. And why should he? It’s not like he had done anything to earn it other than being born into the family.

Generation after generation passed down entitlement and piercing blue eyes like they had patents on them. His father offset his lack of the most noted Jones feature by putting his blue blood on full display whenever possible. Some might even accuse the head of the family of overcompensating.

The truth of the matter was, Killian was the product of a long line of smug snobs so it was amazing he had turned out as well as he did.

Or perhaps not so amazing when you considered his mother had been a stranger to this world of glittering privilege. That’s not to say she was completely without resources. In the real world, she would have even been considered wealthy in her own right. But in the Jones sphere of reality, the general view was his father married so far down the ladder, he was practically romancing pond scum instead of a clever, beautiful soul who devoted her life to helping others and raising her two sons.

Killian realized at an early age it was, in fact, his mother who could have done better.

His parents had been an odd couple that never stood a chance. While no one would ever know for sure, because the only thing worse than talking about money was talking about your feelings, the general consensus was when his father saw his mother exiting the courthouse one day it was love at first sight. She was leaving her latest case as a Human Rights lawyer and he was coming from being the defendant in a string of slumlord lawsuits.

His father had always appreciated a pretty face, a trait he definitely passed down to his youngest son, and his mother could never resist the chance to save someone. Even if it meant losing herself along the way. Even, and perhaps especially, if the person didn’t want to be saved.

Doomed from the beginning.

Shaking off the odd sense of melancholy that threatened, he threw his towel into the corner and walked unashamedly into a closet so large it could easily house a family of four with room to spare. It was a grand space, two stories softly lit by Baccarat chandeliers and filled floor to ceiling with custom clothes tailored to his exact, and enviable, measurements.

Another longstanding family expectation was to always look your best. Nature had been kind to the Jones clan but it never hurt to play up what you were blessed with. Clothiers practically threw garments his way knowing they would reap the benefits of a timely paparazzi snap. The three piece suit he wore when he proposed to his fiancée sold out within seconds after the picture went viral and the designer currently had a two year waitlist for his creations.

The pressure of being a trendsetter never bothered him. Honestly he couldn’t care less what people thought of him. Being universally adored did wonders for your confidence.

The same could not be said for his estranged older brother. While Killian received the lion’s share of swagger, Liam had inherited their mother’s self-righteous streak with none of her sweetness to temper it. He was a chore to be around at the best of times so it was no surprise barely a year after the death of their mother, and only a few months after his graduation from university, Liam proceeded to thumb his nose at centuries of Jones tradition by defying their father and enlisting in the Navy thereby renouncing any claim to the family fortune.

He hadn’t even had the decency to join Her Majesty’s Naval Service. In a complete break with the family, he visited the nearest strip mall and was recruited by some of Uncle Sam’s finest.

From that day forward, their father insisted he had only one son. Liam was painted out of family portraits, his name stricken from the family tree, his signature removed from the vast network of accounts and properties. Killian still remembered the last time he saw him, laughing as he waved from the backseat of a cab, looking as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.

It was the only time he’d ever been jealous of his brother.

Now, more than fifteen years later, he often wondered where Liam had landed. If he was still laughing or if the harshness of a world without means, without the Jones family name to soften any and all blows, had crept up on him. The abandoned boy, the one who had watched from a spotless mansion window as his best friend and hero walked away without a second glance, hoped so. But it was a mean, half-hearted wish. Hidden beneath layers of hurt, the reality was he would never want any harm to come to his brother.

Deep down, he wished he had followed him out the door.

Selecting a black suit and contrasting tie at random, he started getting dressed. Normally, his valet would be on hand to smooth wrinkles and polish off his look. However, the man had taken a long overdue vacation to tend to his ailing mother. Killian wasn’t so far removed from the real world he couldn’t dress himself for a few days but the sense of being out of sync wouldn’t dissipate.

He couldn’t account for the feeling. Admittedly, this time of year was harder than most. It never failed that autumn brought falling leaves and personal loss. First his mother, then his brother. To complete the trifecta, a vision of a blonde with a guarded smile filled his mind, green eyes flashing and chin tilted up in challenge.

With a ruthlessness that was completely unnecessary, he tugged his tie in place and risked a glance in the mirror for the first time that morning. Or maybe it had been months. Carefully cultivated nonchalance stared back at him. He wondered when he had lost the fire in his eyes and how long it would be before he gave a damn about something again.

Perhaps it was easier this way.

And perhaps if he kept taking the easy way, the next time he saw his reflection he wouldn’t recognize himself at all.

—

It was with some surprise he found he had thirteen missed calls when he bothered to check his phone. While his social media accounts were heavily trafficked, there were few who had his number and even fewer who actually used it in this day and age. The fact all the calls originated from a single source—his best friend of sorts—made it even more shocking.

There was a time when it would have been rare for Robin Locksley, heir to an ancient title and completely bankrupt estate, to be awake before noon. What was the point really when all you had to look forward to was crippling debt? That all changed when he settled down and started a family only to lose his wife less than two years later.

Normally he would have given into his curiosity and returned the calls but for once, he had someplace to be. The family’s legal and financial advisors recently called an emergency meeting and requested his presence in addition to his father, who normally handled these types of things. It was an unusual move to say the least but his father assured him it was because they wanted to talk him out of a risky investment. Misguidedly, they thought his son might get him to see the sense of their arguments.

Killian could have told them not to bother. His father no more listened to him than he did anyone else. Still, it was nice to feel wanted for something other than a free ride so he cleared his non-existent schedule and took one of the family’s fleet of limos to the tastefully understated brick mansion serving as a headquarters for their business ventures.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had bothered to visit. Honestly it seemed like everything ran a lot smoother if he didn’t get too involved. This laissez-faire type of leadership was the only way men of his class ran things. Anything more would be a disgrace to the honorable name of Jones. Or at least that was what his father said. Since he didn’t have any real interest in the day-to-day runnings of their portfolio and numerous acquisitions, it worked out well for everyone. The fancy business degree currently gathering dust somewhere in his penthouse could have been wallpaper for all the use it got.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized his time would be better spent at the yacht club or with his eminently suitable fiancée. She had been inexplicably absent the prior night and hadn’t returned the texts he sent to check on her. He was sure she would breeze into his arms at some point today with a perfectly absurd excuse and be delightfully motivated to make it up to him. The faint wave of nausea presenting itself at the thought was immediately dismissed as the result of too much caffeine.

He mounted the steps with a level of trepidation he normally reserved for babies and churches. The hard facade suddenly seemed imposing and it occurred to him the only vehicle in the cobblestone driveway was the one he arrived in. He would be joining the meeting as it started so the absence of his father’s preferred antique Rolls Royce was disturbing to say the least. Mr. Jones prided himself on his punctuality. Truly, it was his only redeeming virtue.

Shrugging inelegantly out of his overcoat, he knew he wasn’t imagining the brief look the staff exchanged when he crossed the threshold. Tension, an infrequent visitor in his cosseted life, formed in his shoulders, muscles bunching under the clean lines of his suit. He made his way unaided to the second floor, pausing on the landing when he heard the emotionless drone of some random news anchor echo down the hallway. It wasn’t until he heard his name fill the space his feet started moving of their own accord. He reached the boardroom at the tail end of the story but it was enough to get the gist of it.

There on the television, the ribbon running the details even as the reporter gleefully narrated it for an rapt audience, was a picture of his father. Time had been kind to the senior Jones, his hair still dark and falling in wavy perfection around his handsome face. Dimples winked charmingly as dark eyes twinkled with a sense of mischief that was totally an illusion. He was a hard man who had petrified after the death of his misunderstood, but nonetheless cherished, wife.

‘Anonymous sources reveal Brennan Jones, widely considered one of the richest men in the state, fled from authorities last night...’

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he noted everyone was focused on his reaction, or lack thereof. Those brave enough to face him head on would notice the twitch of muscle in his cheek, a nervous tell the people closest to him knew was a sign of deep emotion. He felt like he stood there for days before someone stepped forward. It evidently fell to Marco, a friend of the family who had the distinction of being the only advisor hired by his mother, to be the messenger. “Killian, I’m so very sorry.”

Not sure what this man had to apologize about, he asked with a bemused grin, “Whatever for?”

Shuffling nervously, Marco stared at him again. Looking around the room at the shell shocked faces, he didn’t resist when the older man took him by the arm and led him back into the hallway. “I guess you haven’t heard. Of course, we had no idea it would come to this. I wish I could give you happier news.”

Mind uncomprehending of the scope of tragedy waiting for him, he said, “I would settle for any explanation at this point. Why was my father on television this morning?”

“Oh Killian, my boy, you probably should sit down...”

“I prefer to stand,” he murmured, internally bracing himself. Marco had always been one of the least annoying of the host of advisors employed by his family. The unassuming man had the kind of face that made you think of grandparents and unconditional love, or at least that’s what Killian thought when he was a child. Now he knew while grandparents were real enough, unconditional love was a fairy tale.

“Your father raided the meager funds left in the family coffers and left the country to avoid prosecution for wire fraud and tax evasion.”

“Meager funds,” he repeated, feeling lightheaded. “I’m not sure I understand. The last time I was at one of these little get-togethers, we had over half a billion dollars in assets.”

“That was many years ago, my boy. Your father made some poor investments and he never was the best at curbing his lifestyle to fit his income.”

Swallowing thickly, Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to remain calm. If what Marco said was true, poor investments was the understatement of the century. In a pale imitation of a joke he offered, “So what? We’ll have to sell some property and maybe a couple of the yachts? Start sharing a helicopter with another family?”

“Unfortunately, the situation is more dire than that. Most of the property is already gone. The only yacht left is the one he stored in Maldives, probably in anticipation of his getaway.” With a kindly hand on his shoulder, Marco gave him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid it gets worse.”

In disbelief, Killian shook his hand away and propped himself against the wall. It was an artful pose that didn’t hint at the real reason he was leaning, namely he needed the hard surface to keep from sinking to his knees. “How could it possibly get worse?”

“The family money wasn’t the only thing he took. Your fiancée went with him.”

—

Killian was surprised to learn the hardest part wasn’t listening to the substantial inventory of assets already lost. It wasn’t seeing the short—far too short—list of property still in play that would be offered in a fire sale to end all fire sales. It wasn’t the fact people he thought of as friends were already circling like sharks, ready to take a piece of the family prestige home with them at a fraction of the cost.

It wasn’t the media demanding answers to prying questions every time he left his building. It wasn’t the news cycle replaying the details of his embarrassment over and over again on an endless loop. It wasn’t that somehow his name had become a punchline overnight, cannon fodder for late night talkshow hosts and comedians.

It wasn’t watching his family home, the last tangible thing connecting him to his mother, being emptied out. Observing the gentle landscape surrounding it being surveyed in an attempt to siphon off parcels from the main section to try to bring in more money at auction was surreal but unavoidable considering the circumstances.

It wasn’t the hushed conversations that followed him, fracturing into silence as soon as he was within earshot. Nor was it the pitying glances the staff gave him when he had to dismiss them with excellent references but a fraction of the severance they deserved.

It wasn’t crawling into an empty bed and pulling cold sheets over his head every night. It certainly wasn’t missing his fiancée, a woman he had committed to but, in hindsight, hadn’t liked all that much. If he was being completely honest, her leaving was the only silver lining in this particular rainstorm. Although her manner of leaving left much to be desired.

It wasn’t even the sudden lack of everything. His whole life he had been comforted by possessions he used as a replacement for love. Every article of clothing a substitute for the affection he never received, every priceless piece of art a proxy for family photos never taken much less displayed, every impressive technological gadget a surrogate for the support sorely missing from his life. His six car garage was now empty, a willing sacrifice in order to compensate the slate of advisors needed to carve up what was left of his life and repay the debts of his father.

Now that the clutter was gone, he actually felt a certain freedom in the emptiness.

No, the worst part was the silence. The feeling of being utterly and completely alone despite doing everything in his power to keep it from happening. With the shock of a lifetime to provide perspective, Killian realized now he had twisted himself into someone he didn’t know in a misplaced attempt to please a man who would never be proud of him. He let go of all the things that made him happy—the people who made him happy—to try to meet some unattainable standard of perfection in the eyes of the horde he had mistaken for loved ones. People who had abandoned him the second he was no longer the darling of their social stratum.

Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the buzz. He knew it was meaningless but the constant hum of activity gave him the illusion of being a part of something.

He knew some of the silence was his own fault. He had turned off him phone and frozen all his social media accounts. It seemed wise given the shit show that was currently his life and all the expensive advisors agreed laying low was the best course of action in situations like these.

Luckily, his dwelling and a few pieces of furnishings were his outright, bought with the small trust he inherited from his mother so at least he wouldn’t be living on the street. He had a comfortable cage to crawl back into every night. A lonely place to be sure, but no one could take it from him. It was a lot more than most people would ever have and a lot less than he wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he looked out over the city and truly saw it.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there lost in thought when the elevator bell rang. Someone made it past the doorman and the front desk. Trying to figure out how his visitor managed to get all the way to the penthouse was a welcome distraction from his gloomy musings. The ringing kept up a steady pace but he didn’t make any effort to key open the door.

That is until the noise took on a familiar tune.

The unmistakeable though slightly off-kilter sound of Hooked on a Feeling rang out in the harsh meep of the doorbell. With something approaching wonder, Killian ran over to the security pad and punched in his code. Instantly, the elevator opened revealing a sight he never thought he’d see again.

Staring back at him through blue eyes identical to his own was the face of his long lost brother. Through the intervening years, Liam grew his hair out and it now curled in a way that made him think it was probably raining outside. Faint scores of wrinkles defined the areas of his profile showing Liam had continued to find joy in the struggle of life. Completing his perusal, he noticed his brother had bulked up, muscles replacing the softness of an idle life, probably a side benefit of his years in the Navy. His clothes were of the outdoor variety, navy utility pants topped with a gray fisherman sweater and pea coat, and they made him look like he stepped out of a travel magazine catering to ecotourists. “Liam, I...how did you find me?”

“Finding you has never been a problem, little brother. You don’t exactly fly under the radar. Reaching you on the other hand...well, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to find a different way in since you won’t answer your damn phone and there isn’t a lock to pick on this contraption,” Liam explained, looking Killian over with a worried expression that gradually gave way to a bright smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Good to see you too,” Killian answered sarcastically, still trying to get his bearings. While Liam had changed in a few superficial ways, his determined expression and uncompromising attitude seemed unshakeable even after all these years. The bruised ego and hard feelings of their long separation faded away like it never happened and he was fifteen again, basking in the glow of a beloved brother. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think? I’m rescuing you from your ivory tower.”

“I don’t need to be rescued,” he scoffed. Times made be bad, but it wasn’t like he was starving. He still had his pride and it forced the next words out of his mouth before he could stop to consider if they were true. “Certainly not by a man who acted like I didn’t exist my entire adult life.”

Stiffening, Liam advanced into the room, taking no notice of the breathtaking view or the recently minimalist design. Suddenly Killian was engulfed in a fierce embrace, pulled into his brother’s strong hold. He heard Liam say in a gruff voice, “Our father has a lot to answer for but know this, I thought of you every single day since I left.”

A little piece of him broke, even he couldn’t have said if it was his resolve or his heart, and he felt tears well up. Uncomfortable with the stir of emotions, he joked as he hugged Liam with equal intensity, “Aye, serves you right you bastard.”

“Too right,” his brother agreed, pulling away to clap him on the back. Barking out orders in a way that gave Killian a glimpse of the other man’s military background, he didn’t even argue when Liam said, “Pack your bag. I’m taking you home.”

12 notes · View notes