#on the one hand lies darkness‚ and on the other only hope / third age | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ LOVE ME WRONG ❞ + HIROMI HIGURUMA !

[ content & themes ] :: submission of my entry for what’s done in the dark by @semisgroupie + ultraviolence collab under ❝ brooklyn baby ❞ by @vilsoo; f!reader ( s!her pronouns / third person pov ) , OCs, college & uni au + corruption & crime au { mention of infidelity ( not by Hiromi or the reader, but its there), mention of accidents, hospitals, death, attempted murder }, age-gap, family drama, absent parenting, angst & feels, insecurity, jealousy, unrequited feelings, one-sided pinning, sexual tension, co-dependency, $mut descriptions, poetic usage of italics.

[ synopsis ] :: After the deprivation of her father's shadow, y/n’s world slowly started to fall apart. Higuruma tried to set things right but feelings turned against him, depravity was the reward in this web of emotions. word count — 4.5kish

[ notes ] :: redirect to blog navigation; also available in my ao3. Beta-read by my beloved bae, fae ( @emissaire) , the m.list of love me knot will be released later. this is just a sorta kinda prequel/backstory.

PROLOGUE [ part one ] of ❝LOVE ME KNOT.❞

Four years. Four years of confinement — being deprived of a luxurious lifestyle, healthy foods, wife's touch, and daughter’s love. Kento Namami’s body would rot in the dark corner of a lonely cell all these years, teaching him a lesson for his crimes or so the authorities have claimed. Kento Nanami was not the first one and certainly would not be the last one to be arrested and punished for tax evasion. And, no jail is strong enough to hold him, in other words, no human is strong enough to deny the luxury of life. And if that were to be provided more than the necessary amount, then the sky is just the starting point, not a limit anymore.

“Still no luck?” Nanami speaks in a low tone. It almost sounds like a low growl of a wounded creature, a wounded creature that is asking to be pitied yet ready to pounce if it were to smell any sort of mercy around itself. Higuruma, one of his dearest friends who had the power to pull strings from behind the curtains and wreak havoc on the front stage, was Kento’s only hope at this point. Although he has retired from his duties, he was not willing to risk his life and the lives attached to him anymore.

“I’m afraid it’s the best I can do. They are not going to decrease the time of imprisonment.” Higuruma spoke with an inert expression on his face standing at an arm’s length from the bars with two cell bodyguards by his side.

“I see.” Nanami murmured so low, so pale that Higuruma had to glance at the bodyguards; they disappeared at his gesture while Nanami’s cheeks stretched wickedly exclaiming, “I knew you wouldn’t come empty-handed, pal.” A scowl seemed to appear when Hiromi looked away from his decaying friend.

“You’re right,” he rolled his tongue inside his mouth, “I came with a surprise.” As soon as his voice vanished, Nanami's face was aghast as Y/N Nanami, his one and only beautiful young daughter, stepped into the light.

“Papa”, she asked with fear choking her throat, and hopelessness in her body, “Are you mad at me?. . ‘cause I came here?”

Nanami was on his knees, fingers still curled around the bars as a support to provide for himself, “No. No. my darling, why would I be? I’m not mad, not at all ” His hands extended in order to run his hands over his daughter's head but recoiled quickly. What was he thinking? He shouldn’t. He mustn’t. He should not cast his shadow on his daughter. There is still hope for her, hope to become not like her father.

“Pa-pah” She started again, “is what they’re saying true?. . .that you stole money from many?”Nanami could see how afraid she was, how her lips were shaking, eyes full of water to their brim. And, even if he told the truth it wouldn’t matter and lies seemed safer than the truth, at least for now.

“Don’t believe them. They’re saying whatever they can to keep me here. . . You don't have to worry about them, baby,” his tone was flat, emotionless. If she were to hear her father properly, from the bottom of her heart, then maybe she could pin only one emotion: rage. And it touched her too as she said, “But papa, Mama said it's true. It's all true,” with a firm tone.

Nanami could see how polished she was overnight. If he was a wounded creature, she was an eagle that is out for its first hunt

“So, it's true then!” Her face contorts. “Okay. I understand. Don’t worry, I'll be fine. I’ll wait till you come back.” Her footsteps were so quick, like the flap of wings of a bird who does not intend to return home, not anymore.

“Unlike mama”, she uttered under her breath as she was escorted by the guards.

“Why the fuck did you bring her here, Hiro?”Nanami snapped. His hands tried to reach out to grab his friend by the collar but it was all in vain.

“Uh-Uh. Careful. You’re already at the other side of these bars. Do you wish to stay longer?” Hiromi was the forgemaster of monsters. Back in his day, he was the best public defense lawyer. Even through the layers of lies, he could pluck out the facts needed to protect the weak, and fight for the wrongly accused. But with power comes sacrifice and with sacrifice comes glory. Though it was a mirage for most people, Higuruma had tasted it easily at the tip of his tongue. His moral compass rarely turned against him, and this is one of those times. Nanami was just a case of ducks and drakes.

His face relaxed, voice softened. “She is your daughter. . .what did you expect? She is more stubborn than you are, Ken. You should know that of all people.”

A strong exhale echoed amongst the dark corridor as he finished, “ I need to sit with the judge. Many got away, you’ll too”, he gives Nanami’s crooked shoulder a squeeze exclaiming with a pinch of hope, carefully tucking in a little bit of empathy to keep the prisoner on track, “just stay away from trouble. I’ll get you out of here soon, pal”

“Is the coffee here not to your liking?” Higuruma asked the young girl who was sitting at the opposite chair of him, as he added three sugar cubes in his coffee. She takes a sip without sparing a glance at the man opposite to her, her mind is busy searching those reveries that she lived, as a child. Her father, her mother ,and her — happy, smiling and so in love. Her eyes ached as she tried to hold back the tears for god knows how many times! How do people fall out of love again?

“You know, even if I meet with the judge. . . there are lesser chances of him getting out. All the evidence just points towards him, even if he hasn't committed what he is getting punished for. His crimes are —” The retired lawyer was silenced by the splash of hot coffee on his exquisite outfit, barely touching the collar cuffs.

“Tsk, I was aiming for the face,” she murmured under her breath, strolling towards the exit.

“Wait…”, Higuruma calls out but it did not surpass the tinkling of the bell, it failed to reach her too. The bodyguard who watched all this mess unfold tried to follow y/n but Hiromi raised one of his hands, the other being preoccupied with cleaning his expensive suit and dress shirt. “Fuck, she's gonna be in real trouble for that attitude.” He cleans a little portion while the bodyguard steps back. “Fuck you, Kento.” His voice fills the corner of the silent atmosphere of this lonely cafeteria before he dashes out of there.

Y/N tried calling her mom but seemed to have no luck. She dialed her chauffeur’s number, but no luck either. It went out of reach. She raked her fingers through her messy, unruly hair and crouched down, taking long deep breaths, trying to force back those tears at the back of her skull. She was aware of why her mother was not able to take her call. “Sure babe. Love you too.” flashes every time whenever she closes her eyes and thinks of her mother, trying to unsee it, erase it, forget it.

"There you are, girl.” Higuruma’s mellowed voice touches her banging silence, light yet enough to make her be up on her feet. He follows her as she crosses the road, compact steps trying to match her reckless ones.

“This really looks embarrassing, you know, suspicious even.” For a moment Y/N stopped and turned around to have a quick scan of him. Careless as ever, she blinked and turned on her heels quickly walking towards the bus stop. Higuruma’s nerve has already started to tick off, still, for the sake of his friend, he tries to humble himself in front of her.

“Huh . . . y/n, if you are going to the bus stop.” both of them halt at once. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, “It's the other way.” She bows her head trying to mentally calculate the roads and well, he is correct but she is not wrong either. Her route is a really long one whereas the other would be quick and short.

“You do realize that you can't go home alone, especially when I specifically accompanied you from your home, right?” It is astonishing how he is not running out of breath, perhaps the morning jogging paid him off well.

With reluctance hanging heavy in her heart, she was now sitting in the passenger seat facing the windows even though there was nothing to watch. Higuruma did not try to stir anything with her, and no more conversations. Part of him feels guilty for being unable to look after her like he is expected to do, part of him wants to hug her and say everything is ‘going to be alright, it's going to be okay’, part of him thinks it is wrong to harbor such thoughts, thoughts that involves taking care of her, doing right by her, providing everything she deserves, everything she desires. . .How do people fall out of love again?

“We're here.” The man remarks, parking near the turn of her house. No, he can not go up to her house. She would not like it, she would hate him for that, for being kind when he has every reason to be angry at her.

“Thank you for the ride, Hiro”, she blurts out of her habit before getting out of the car and shutting the car door cautiously. Higuruma jerks in his seat, letting out a hefty exhaustive huff. “Ah! Geez. . . glad that I don't have kids.”

Hiro. Hiromi. Hiro . . . a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. There is a nice ring to that, isn't it? He has spent half of his life with her; her being the light of his life. Many a time he visited Kento, sometimes for work and sometimes just for the company, y/n would always greet him, and ask about his wife, and children. He would ask how life is treating her. Is the studying going well? In Kento's absence, she would always seek Hiromi— for anything, even to share a smoke and tell him that her life is falling apart and that mama and papa are ignoring her shrill cries for help.

It is a great tragedy to be there for someone at their lowest point of vulnerability and not to fall for them. It is even scary when realization turns up.

His phone lights up, shifting his attention from her fading figure toward the freshly received message. In his life, he has never taken such a rapid U-turn. Well, this is the third time as of now. The first was when he received the news of an accident, his five - year old son. The worst part was that it was a spot death. If it were a result of one of his deviations in his career, he knew exactly where and how to take it out and who to punish but he was not that lucky.

“Fuck, you feel so good Kiyo. . . Oh—oH.”

“Oh yeah ?”

“Um-hm” loud moans echoed throughout the drawing room as y/n reached the top floor of the building. She gulps, unable to, actually trying to disconnect the dots that have led to a deadly dirty secret. The lounge was silent, and the whole apartment was. All the servants were on holiday. She exhaled deeply, knuckles tightening as she tried to take a few steps towards her room but the moans of her mother touched her most delicate parts and mutilated her.

With a huge bang, she opened the door. It was bolted but now the lock was broken. Mrs. Nanami Kento quickly wrapped the bed sheet around her naked sweaty body while the man headed toward the restroom. Y/N fixated her eyes on the floor so as not to get an imprint of such . . . filthy . . . behavior.

The older woman started to speak, “baby, this is not what it looks like . . . ”

“Are you serious right now? Are you even hearing yourself?. . .” A sob left her body, “I —I really wanted to deny this, I really wanted to. . ,

“baby, listen to me. . .” She approached towards her daughter, extending her hand to pat her.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” y/n swerved the touch of the mother for the first time in her life. She exhaled, closing her eyes and composing herself to speak further, “How old do you think I am? I'm not a child anymore. I know what love you too means. . .and I know when people say that . . .” Her voice was barely audible. It was a trail of pained gasps, full of sobs and ragged breathing like a creature begging for death yet declined by it.

“. . .Fuck you. I can't do this anymore.”

—

“y/n. Meet me in the staff room after the class.”, Satoru muttered before leaving. There was a rustle of voices among the students. It had been like that since the beginning of the class. Satoru ignored it blatantly, and since it didn't bother the top students in his class he couldn't care less about it. Y/N was one of the tops in her grade, thanks to her dad for supporting her in every way she asked for.

“How are you?”, Satoru asks, barely sitting on the desk with his long arms clasped together in his chest.

A smile breaks on her face like a plague.

Everyone had a crush on him, but not y/n, and Satoru remained to steer clear of that kind of girls. Why wouldn't he? Suguru had to shift institutes because he was too caught up to be out of the web. It still haunts him.

“Okay. Got it. Bad question,” the professor quipped, pulling the drawer to take the post-graduation brochures of several universities. “I’ll go straight to the point”

“So, many universities approached us like last year and these are the ones we prefer the most. Now, as you know, a few hand-picked students will get a recommendation letter from me. I'd like you to take a look at these. ”

Satoru handed out some brochures. Y/N could not believe what she was hearing. At such a time of emotional turbulence, she has to prepare for higher studies exams — modeling and fashion designing. One thing about Kento was he fought for her daughter against his wife just so she could study what she wanted, what she is good at. How could she let this golden opportunity slip off?

Satoru clicked his tongue. “Hey y/n. You're a good student. Try to stay in line and you'll be able to crack this exam. It'll be good for you, especially since you already are a model for some cosmetic brands, and with your background, it'll be easier.”

With her background? Or her father's or her mother's? Plus, Why should everyone go out of line yet not her?

“Is that clear, y/n?”

“Yes Sir”, she exclaimed with a firm voice while receiving the brochure of the post-graduation programs. “ Thank you,” she said before leaving the staff room.

With her bag in hand, y/n was near the far end of the campus. Generally, she would go straight home but lately, it feels like there is no home. She roamed around the campus and decided to clear her head, and focus on her goals. Too many things happened last night. Her eyes met a pair of almond eyes as she hurried to get a cold drink. There must be some inter-school match, otherwise, students from other colleges were not allowed, especially when they certainly don't have the manners to behave.

As soon as she turned around, she jolted out of shock.

“Can I get your autograph please?,” the blonde’s voice mellowed as he stood shirtless in front of her with lipstick in his hand holding in front of y/n’s face. “I’m a big fan,” he amended.

“Oye. Miya. Quit it,” a boy, probably of his age interjected, while the other twin remained seated with a neutral expression.

Miya? She blinks and the name along with that message flashes in her mind. Kiyoshi Miya: “love you too ” Y/N tried to take the other route but was blocked again by the blonde boy. What bad timing! She was at her limit.

“Hope your mom's bed is still warm now that mine's done by your daddy.” She chimed with the most girlish voice she could ever produce, taunting the manhood of the guy who blocked her path. The flashy grin of the blonde disappeared. The boy with snake eyes immediately tackled his friend out of the way otherwise it would have been another headline of tomorrow’s headline and stories for gossip in high societies.

“You fucking bitch. . .” the other twin uttered advancing towards y/n but was immediately shut down by her retaliation.

“What? Are you a fan too?” She turned around to face him head-on. “Then, you didn't do your homework properly.” She added, locking eyes with the blonde who had no intention to fight. It was going to be revenge, a slow poison. Many times, she was asked for autographs but this one took the prize. Ah! Geez. Perhaps, it was because of a ‘silly bet’. By the time she reached the main exit of the campus, the drink tasted so bad. It was not cold anymore, ecstasy touched her bones. She could see what fate had in its store for her, a life of fame and flimsy love. The most frustrating part was she had no one to blame, not even her mother when Hiromi is having such a devil’s luck bailing her father out. Fuck

For the first time in her life, y/n felt that she did something for herself and not for others. Sure, modeling and fashion was her choice but it was mostly influenced by her mother, her beautiful sexy mother. As a child, she would always try to imitate her, talk like her, walk like her, follow her footsteps, and abide by whatever she asked for. It was a happy time but then one day, Crest-fallen.

Either women can be very jealous creatures or they could not give a single flying fuck about whatever is happening in their surroundings. There is no in-between.

“Are you sick or what? Our girl is growing. You shouldn’t hug her or kiss her like that.”

“Like that? What are you talking about?”

A wicked grin flashed on Mrs. Nanami’s face. She clicked her tongue: once, twice, and thrice. And that was all it took to break the family apart. It was never perfect to be with. It was always picture-perfect. Fights and arguments became frequent while y/n outshined in her career and her mother’s possessiveness for her turned poisonous. Cameras flashing one after another, eyes watering, eyelid jumping, unable to figure out the cause of tears: whether it was her parents or the lights. And in all this mayhem of emotions, Hiromi was the only one who would make a joke about it or laugh it off over a shared cup of coffee or over-the-counter smoke. Who was she running from?

A week. Within a week she has to apply for the student exchange program. Within a week she had lost her father, and her mother and pushed away her only shelter. There was no time to lose. . . to do what? To make things right? Was there ever any to begin with?

“Yep. I’ll take that.” y/n quipped before paying the florist for the bouquet. Mrs. Higuruma likes to decorate her house with flowers. Since her childhood, she has always seen her father, Kento takes a bouquet for her and she would be so bubbly about it. It felt like life smiling back at her whenever she received flowers. And, after the death of their son that is the only time when she smiles, as per Hiro. Hiro . . . her hero.

The wisteria blooms were close to vanishing as if death walked all over this place. As Y/N walked into the huge building of his house, she felt death creeping on her back too. She was greeted by his secretary, the flowers in her hand that were supposed to bring a smile to someone wilted when she heard that Mrs. Higuruma was involved in an accident and was now in a coma.

It was almost midnight when she reached the hospital. The corridors are empty, the receptionist was busy with paperwork. There were people sitting outside the patient ward. Does she really have to do this? As she took the turn her exhaustive pupils spotted him. Hiromi was sitting crossing his legs, elegantly placing his elbow on his thigh having the perfect reading position, but he was not reading. He was staring at a photo.

At every bench, a person or two was sitting, radiating more hopelessness and despondency. Y/N could breathe it in. But Higuruma was cut out from the rest. He is a retired lawyer, he has seen death as much as a doctor, heck he even fueled death and sometimes tricked it. And, now he was trapped. She walked towards him with slow steady steps trying not to make much noise, damn those heels. Hiromi ripped the photo. She was at arm's length as he threw it in the nearby dustbin and before recoiling back to his seat, his eyes landed on her, Y/N.

Hiromi who was about to yell seeing her standing so close to him, instead, he whispered with rage smeared on his face, eyebrows congested and face contorted, “Are you alone, again?” Hiromi held her arms as she almost threw herself to his chest. How can he be so calm about death and destruction? “How many times have I told you not to go anywhere alone? Look what happened to her?” Hiromi was worried, not for his wife but for this girl. She had her whole life ahead while his wife was already decaying. It was another arranged marriage that had not the right stars aligned, as put by him.

She gathered enough courage to ask, “Can I see her?” Hiromi nodded and led the way. Even in all these metro streams of endless suffering, she did not forget to put that flower bouquet in the vase. The only sounds in this awful silence were the tick of the clock, the whizz of breathing, and the click of her heels as she walked out of the ward. She took a look on both sides of the corridor but could not spot Hiro. Ah!she has to drink that bitter coffee again.

The cogs of her fate turned again. The monitor beeped tremendously like a monster cackling maniacally for death. The doctors, nurses, and other staff rushed all at once. While most of the people were rushing towards the room, Y/N was walking away from it. She stopped when she saw Hiromi walking with the crowd, slower than his usual pace with two cups of filtered coffee. Life ran at light speed while two souls were howling in agony. No one could hear them except themselves. It was the longest sleepless night she ever spent.

She reached home by three in the morning. Hiromi asked two of his staff to drop her. He would have volunteered but they both have been misunderstood. The first period was at twelve so that was a relief but there was something else that was weighing her mind, a message, a sign of affection, a cry for help.

[ Hiro-san : “Tomorrow. 10’ o clock. Don’t be late.” ]

The guests dispersed as soon as Mrs. Higuruma was buried. Higuruma went inside the house. It was lonelier than before but less silent than before. He checked his phone to see if there was any message from her. There was none, which means, she is coming. He sat on his couch, spreading his legs and leaning against the headrest. If he reeked of anything, it was neither sadness nor death but repentance. He was after something that did not belong to him, not in this life. But maybe, in another place and time . . . God! He is such a jealous man.

When Y/N checked her watch, it was already one o’clock. The burial ceremony was over. Fuck. Well, after the last meeting, she was reluctant to see him again but she has to go, otherwise who will? Certainly, not her mom. Plus, she specifically scoured her whole wardrobe to find that one black outfit that is her least favorite, actually, her mother’s least favorite. She is definitely going.

It’s silent. It’s quiet. It feels like she is looking into a bottomless well waiting for some sort of miracle. The wind blows are strong, so strong that she could hear the low whistle with it. His hands were inside the pocket, perfect for someone to hook their arms around hers. She is so wide open, and again she is without any guard. . .

Higuruma grabbed her elbow, and as her body turned against his, Hiromi pressed his lips onto hers. Soft, sweet-fruity smelling and there was no resistance in her body. Her hands grabbed onto the collar of his long stygian overcoat tightly, fighting for her life as if she was drowning in the sea grasping onto a twig while the storm rises.

“I regretted not doing this last night,” Higuruma said, holding her in his arms.

She exhaled and looked at him, with embering eyes exclaiming, “Your friend is going to kill you when he is out of jail.” Y/N murmured still relishing the aftertaste of the smokey kiss she shared with Hiromi, still catching up her breath with her face cupped by Hiromi’s warm palms, still trying to process what the fuck actually happened . . .?

“Better him than you”, he added, pressing another kiss at the corner of her lips.

Y/N felt her chest being torn apart, the bones of her rib cage cracking, and yet flowers blooming out of it. To be loved yet be afraid of it, to be born as a bird and then be a wingless bird when asked to fly. . . That’s how she felt when she watched him carefully take her hands in his, tightening his hold, and interlacing his fingers with hers as they walked toward the exit of the graveyard.

She made up her mind. She was going to apply for the post-graduation student exchange program. Either she has to walk away from this or embrace it. There is no in-between.

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 1 year

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I love the seer au so much btw. If you write it / finish it would it have a happy ending?

I don’t wanna say I don’t do happy endings, because that sounds like edgelord shit, but I do much prefer bittersweet endings. The planned one for the fic I was gonna write ages ago was Tommy basically fully giving up on ever being a person again so that one. Fell very deep on the bitter end. But that wasn’t planned on being Tommy's proper ending. I actually have four or so things in mind there, neither being wholly happy nor wholly sad. This would be after the SBI basically kidnap poor Tommy again to use against Dream and get attached to him, to a slightly less extreme extent than Dream (I really wanted to try out Dark SBI sorry it means you are stuck with angst)

The first would be if Dream ended up gaining control of Tommy again, which would predictably lead to Dream being even more absurdly overprotective and controlling over the poor kid, not letting him out of his sight for even a second, and falling deeper into his paranoia and being convinced that he and Tommy are the only decent people in the world. He's much less violent to Tommy in general, but lashes out at others a lot more, and when he does lash out at Tommy it tends to be a lot crueller. He dedicates himself solely to both spending time with the only family he has and modernising and fixing the flaws in his nation, falling as deeply into his perceived role as Tommy did. The nation ends up flourishing, but both Dream and Tommy basically have fell into such a self destructive cycle that they’re miserable outside of each other. Eventually, Dream would declare Tommy his co-ruler (uncaring of the religious implications anymore or the fact Tommy has learnt to show 0 autonomy) and there they'd stay, forever.

The second would be an SBI victory, which ends up driving Dream completely insane in grief, dying in battle. The Antarctic Empire would take over the Essempi, finally having complete control of the whole continent, though the extreme cultural differences would make things difficult. Tommy, losing out on his home and what he'd been conditioned to see as his family, falls into a deep depression, despite genuinely liking and caring for the SBI. They do attempt to help, but they don’t know how to handle Tommy's trauma very well and basically end up stripping absolutely everything from his old life in the hopes he'd forget, and keeping constant supervision over him. Tommy does end up recovering somewhat, but he's still incredibly traumatised and clingy, afraid to lose everything again, which the SBI think is a good sign, both selfishly and also naïvely.

The third would be the four of them managing to come to a diplomatic resolution, both over the little brother and their nations. Opening up a cultural exchange between their nations, this initially creates a lot of tension but works towards a more unified, equal state for both nations, including their two religions syncretising a surprising amount. There’s rapid cultural and technological advances- on the backs of the eternal rule of the immortal king and emperors of the two nations. Tommy ends up being traded back and forth as a diplomatic tool, unable to find any form of proper stability, and ends up becoming very paranoid and jumpy, while both Dream and the SBI grow even more obsessive and possessive, seeing Tommy as a trophy along with everything else and being willing to do anything for just a bit of extra time with him.

The fourth would be Tommy taking his fate into his own hand, and after finding Tubbo going on the run with him away from either nation. Living in fear, constantly hunted and assured a horrible fate if either of them are caught, yet being somewhat free for the first time in a long time, they're running towards where the maps end to see, maybe, what lies beyond. Maybe, something better lies on the horizon. Maybe it’s worse. But whatever it is, they'll be free there if they can make it.

#Dream smp #Seer AU #Primeboys (derogatory)#Dark SBI #tw abuse #tw possessive behaviour #tw obsession #Tw dehumanisation #tw kidnapping

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burdswritersblock · 2 years

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An Imperfectly Remembered Life, Ch. 2

Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)魔道祖师 / 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying (as Mo Xuanyu at first)

Tags: Modern AU, Plenty of OOC Moments, Memory Loss, Grief, (Mentions of) Alcoholism, Some Physical Violence (eventually), The Lies We Tell Ourselves, Hidden Identity, Found Family, Fake Marriage, Story Told Partially Through Flashback

Summary: Mo Xuanyu didn't know when he took the internship at one of the largest companies in the city that he'd be running into a face he'd thought (hoped) he'd never see again. Filled with regret and guilt over the accident, and a dark secret about his life before the Jiang family took him in, Wei Wuxian can only hope that Lan Wangji doesn't recognize him and that he can survive the internship unscathed.

This Mo Xuanyu sparks traces of memory in Lan Wangji the day he shows up to start his internship. He can't place the too-familiar face and it bothers him, though he tries to deny the familiarity. But the more it eats at him, the harder it is to ignore the dark haired man with the easy smile that keeps reminding him of something... something important... something that's been missing...

Title from this quote: “An imperfectly remembered life is a useless treachery. Every day, more fragments of the past roll around heavily in the chambers of an empty brain, shedding bits of color, a sentence or a fragrance, something that changes and then disappears. It drops like a stone to the bottom of the cave.” ― Barbara Kingsolver, The Lacuna

Chapter 2 below the cut.

2... The days passed slowly. Mo Xuanyu kept his head down, did his work, and did his utmost not to draw the attention of those around him. He spent his days comparing physical files to digital ones. Leave it to him to show up right as the company was trying to move from the paper age to the computer one, but at least it kept him busy. The more he stayed in one place, the less likely he was to run into people he didn't want to face. In his third week, he started to relax and took a few more chances to get up and visit the break room. They usually had good coffee and pastries in there, he'd found. It was a Thursday and Mo Xuanyu was feeling particularly tired, but with a crying toddler at home, it was expected. He was stirring some sugar and creamer into his cup, yawning as he turned to go back to his desk when he was stopped short by a figure in the doorway. Nearly dropping his cup, Mo Xuanyu took a step back and nodded politely, greeting his manager softly. His eyes darted around for an exit, but Lan Wangji was standing squarely in the door frame, his sharp eyes boring into him. "Good afternoon, sir," he said, licking his lips nervously. "Coffee's fresh if that's what you're here for."

Lan Wangji didn't move, simply continuing to star at him as he fought to keep from fidgeting.

"Sir...?"

"You're Mo, correct? Mo Xuanyu?" Lan Wangji's voice seemed deeper than it had seven years before and Mo Xuanyu swallowed hard.

"Yes, I am. Is there something I can...?"

"You're rather diligent in your work."

"I do what I'm told, Mr. Lan. That's all."

Lan Wangji studied him for a few more moments before stepping fully into the breakroom. Mo Xuanyu suddenly realized no one else was in the room with them and he gripped his coffee cup harder in his hands.

"You'll be joining the other interns for the welcome dinner tomorrow night, correct?"

Lan Wangji was still moving into the room and Mo Xuanyu was running out of space to retreat. When the other finally stopped, he realized that Lan Wangji must have hit another growth spurt in high school because there were at least two more inches of height between them. The next thing he noticed was the way Lan Wangji's button down shirt lay across his shoulders and chest, his lack of suit jacket making his fit stature more than obvious. It made Mo Xuanyu a little self-conscious in his own clothes. He took care of himself, but not to the same extent, apparently.

"I, uh... I haven't decided yet, sir." He cleared his throat, trying to get his vocal cords to calm down. "I'd have to check with... well, I haven't decided. I might, though."

"You should." Stepping around him, Lan Wangji picked up and cup and selected a teabag from a box. "We managers go to great lengths for this dinner."

"Yes, sir. I understand." Mo Xuanyu smiled brightly, nodding his head a few times. "Like I said, I might. It will depend. If you'll excuse me, I'll get back to work."

He made his way across the room, trying not to look like he was running away. He was almost to the door when Lan Wangji's voice stopped him again, halting his steps immediately. Mo Xuanyu turned enough to look over his shoulder at his manager.

"Mo Xuanyu." Lan Wangji still had his own back turned toward him, his neat braid hanging neatly against the middle of his shirt. "I expect to see you there. Despite whatever excuses you might make."

Mo Xuanyu made some sort of noise in response, remembering well how that tone always had him doing whatever Lan Wangji told him to do in high school. Though mostly he used it to force him to study properly for exams. Clearing his throat, he gave a light affirmative and continued his escape back to his desk.

When he arrived home that night, Mo Xuanyu sat in his car for a few minutes. He was tired, but he knew relaxing was not in the cards for him. Letting out a breath, he got out and headed into the little house, a bright smile already on his face.

"Uncle 'Anu!"

Mo Xuanyu barely had time to drop his bag on the floor before his arms were filled with squirming three year old boy. Sticky kisses were planted on his cheeks and he laughed, feeling much of his days stress melting as he carried the child into the living room.

"A'Yuan, what is all over your cheeks?" he asked, shifting him to one arm so he could poke at the mess on the boy’s face.

"He just finished a popsicle." Wen Ning stepped out of the kitchen, a wet cloth in his hand. "I was trying to clean him up when he heard you coming in. Sorry."

Mo Xuanyu smiled, shaking his head as he held A'Yuan still so Wen Ning could wipe his hands and face. A'Yuan fussed and wiggled, but in the end the two of them were able to get most of the mess off of him.

"Popsicle before dinner?" Mo Xuanyu eyed Wen Ning with a teasing smile. "I'm guessing your sister isn't home yet?"

Wen Ning's cheeks colored and he fidgeted, his hands gesturing helplessly.

"He's been a good boy today," he said, his voice stuttering a little. "Took his nap like a champ and ate all of his lunch. I didn't think it would hurt. Please, don't tell my sister."

Mo Xuanyu laughed, reaching out his free hand to grip Wen Ning's shoulder, giving him a soft shake.

"It's alright. I won't. It will be just between us, as long as A'Yuan doesn't tell." He gave another shake to get a little smile out of his brother-in-law.

"Let me get changed and I'll watch him while you get dinner started. Alright?"

Wen Ning nodded and took A'Yuan, hushing his fussing as Mo Xuanyu went back to the front hall to collect his bag and went upstairs to his bedroom to change out of his suit. There was a large sticky handprint on the shoulder now, so he put it aside to go to the cleaners.

Settling onto the edge of his bed, he tugged the elastic band from his hair, letting it fall around his neck and shoulders. Sighing, he ran a hand through it, giving it a shake before bringing his hand to his lap. Lan Wangji's voice had stirred so many memories, so many moments in time that he had forced himself to not think about in the last years. Memories he didn't deserve.

***

Wei Wuxian was the last person to step into the classroom, the fingers of his right hand twirling a pen deftly between long fingers. Dark eyes skimmed the room, ignoring the curious looks he was being given. He was no stranger to being the new kid in class, spending much of his childhood moving from place to place with his parents. He'd long since gotten used to it.

His eyes lit up as he found an open seat near the back and he headed for it. Dropping into the hard plastic chair, he set his books down and looked to his left and right. On one side, a girl was immersed in her phone, ignoring the world. To the other, a guy with long black hair sat ramrod straight, already reading the chapter of their textbook. Wei Wuxian snorted and shifted, turning toward him and forgetting the girl.

"Hey. I'm Wei Wuxian." He held his hand out across the aisle. "It's my first day. What do they call you?"

There was a brief moment where the other guy didn't move, his eyes continuing to skim the lines printed on the page. Wei Wuxian's smile began to fade and he was just about to withdraw his hand when he moved. Closing the book, the long haired boy turned enough to reach out and grasp Wei Wuxian's hand, the grip surprisingly firm as their eyes met.

"Lan Wangji."

Wei Wuxian was caught off guard by the voice, more-so than he was by the strength of the handshake. His smile brightened and he gave a squeeze before releasing the hand in his own.

"Lan Wangji. Nice to meet you. Do you always just read the textbook?"

Lan Wangji's eyebrow twitched minutely and he turned back to the book.

"I like to be prepared."

“On the first day? Wait, don’t tell me you read them during the breaks. Do you?”

There was a twitch in Lan Wangji's eyebrow again and he made a sound that Wei Wuxian took as an affirmative.

"But... why?"

Lan Wangji glanced at him, a tiny frown pulling the corners of his lips down for a moment. Instead of answering, he turned his attention back to the book, carefully turning the page. Wei Wuxian laughed and sat straight in his seat again, fingers twirling the pen once more.

"Suit yourself."

He barely paid attention when the class started, following along only enough to look the part, but he spent more time doodling on his notebook paper and casting glances at Lan Wangji to his right. He was intrigued by the guy, in the way he kept up, the way he never slouched, and although he looked smart as hell and probably knew the material, he never raised his hand to answer a question. Shifting, he looked over at the notes Lan Wangji was taking and was not surprised in the slightest by the immaculate handwriting.

When the bell rang, Lan Wangji was packed and out the door quickly, leaving Wei Wuxian laughing in his wake. As he made his way into the hall to his next class, Wei Wuxian realized he really wanted to be friends with Lan Wangji.

***

Mo Xuanyu shook himself from his thoughts and began unbuttoning his shirt. He was just hanging it on the closet door when there was a knock at the door and Wen Qing let herself in. He gave her a smile and a nod, continuing his efforts to change his clothes by tugging off the white T-shirt he wore beneath the dress shirt.

"Welcome home," he said, tugging his belt free from his pants. "How was your day?"

Wen Qing sat on the bed with a shrug. She was still wearing her scrubs, but she'd unpinned part of her hair.

"Same as ever. Too many people coming to the emergency room lacking emergencies." She shrugged again, reaching to pull more pins from her head. "It was quiet, at least. Yours?"

Wei Wuxian finished changing, pulling on sweatpants and a dark T-shirt before he responded.

"I need to ask you a huge favor," he said, turning to face her. "Mo Xuanyu needs his wife tomorrow night. Do you think you can free yourself up for a few hours?"

Wen Qing smiled and raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly.

"What happened?"

Mo Xuanyu went to the other side of the bed and flopped down onto it, groaning as he rubbed his face.

"I've been told I have to attend the dinner tomorrow night. The one I told you about last week. Lan Wangji cornered me and basically told me I have to show up." He turned his head as Wen Qing laid back beside him, giving her his best pout. "I can bring a plus one. Will you please try to come with me?"

She looked back at him and considered it quietly.

"I know you work the night shift tomorrow and it would cut into your sleep," he went on quickly. "And you know I'll make it up to you, but I just really need you to be there. Mo Xuanyu needs his wife."

"You're really shaken by this, aren't you?" she asked softly after a few more moments of letting him squirm.

"Shaken... maybe." Mo Xuanyu sighed, turning his eyes to the ceiling. "But if he remembers... I just need a reason to not speak to him. Or anyone, really. And you're better at the social thing than I am. I tend to make an idiot of myself. I need you there to keep me from being stupid."

Wen Qing laughed, reaching over to pat his arm before sitting up. "Fine. I'll go with you for a few hours, but I have to leave by eight thirty to make my nine o'clock shift. And you owe me big." Rising from the bed, she turned to face him, hands propped on her hips. "I'll figure out your payment later. Right now, I'm going to take a shower before dinner. Go play with A'Yuan so he lets go of A'Ning's leg."

She left the room, but Mo Xuanyu stayed put on the bed for a little longer. He was beyond grateful for Wen Qing and all that she'd done for him in the last few years. She knew some of his past, but only enough to understand his current situation. But she was loyal and solid, and he really could have done worse. Far worse. It took him another minute or two before he got up and went back downstairs, greeting A'Yuan's delighted greeting with a laugh and a smile.

***

Mo Xuanyu was back on full alert in the office the following day. He kept his head moving any time he was away from his desk, trying hard not to get snuck up on again. It was stressful, but he was enjoying his work and he really didn't want to leave it. Not yet, anyway. This city was a far cry from his family and that part of his life he was trying to avoid, much less think about. He took his lunch in the breakroom, facing the door. He had a book on the table to make himself look distracted if he needed to, but he mostly picked at the container of leftovers from dinner the night before.

Just as he was giving up on eating and putting the lid back on, a familiar figure appeared in the door. Mo Xuanyu couldn't reach for the book without dropping the food container, so he froze as Lan Wangji crossed the room to make his cup of tea. God, the man had not changed the tiniest bit in almost eight years. It was almost infuriating, but he had no right or reason to be angry.

He was still sitting there staring when Lan Wangji turned and spotted him. There was that subtle twitch in his eyebrow before he approached the table and took a seat, setting his cup down quietly.

"Did you decide?" he asked, his voice as flat as ever, though his gaze was sharp.

"Huh?" Mo Xuanyu twitched and blinked. "Oh... right. I did." He busied himself packing his lunch away, refusing to look up as he did so. "I'll be there tonight. I'm bringing a guest, since we were told we could."

"Oh? Who, if I may ask?"

"Um... my w-wife." He glanced up with a smile. "She said she'd like to meet the people I work with, so she's going to join me before she goes to work tonight."

"Wife?" Lan Wangji's expression shifted subtly for a moment and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, it will be nice to meet her."

"I'll be sure to introduce you. Excuse me, please."

Mo Xuanyu grabbed up his things and hurried away, leaving Lan Wangji at the table with his steeping cup of tea and his thoughts.

Mo Xuanyu's file didn't mention that he was married. That portion was left blank. Probably an oversight on the man's part. For some reason, the thought that Mo Xuanyu was married irked something in his mind. He turned his head, catching a last glimpse of dark hair as the man exited the breakroom. Letting out a soft breath, Lan Wangji did his best to push the feelings away. There was no reason to feel that way, he had no idea why he was even bothered. Taking his tea, he returned to his office to prepare for his afternoon meeting.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mxtx #mxtx fanfic #mo xiang tong xiu #lan wangji #lan zhan #wei ying #wei wuxian #mo xuanyu #wen qing #wen ning #a'yuan #wen yuan

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finarfiniel · 4 years

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@celeborn-of-doriath sent : ‘ i love you so, so much. ’

FABRIC WHISPERS ACROSS THE WOODEN FLOOR of their talan as she turns from her view of the trees, piercing eyes finding his face, and the sight of him brings a soft smile to her lips. light steps bring her near him, white fingers reaching to brush aside a lock of star-bright silver hair, the touch almost reverent.

“ and i you, meleth nin — perhaps more with every passing year. ”

they had been lovers for three ages of the world, yet her affection had never waned. he was constant, steadfast — a heavy stone in a turbulent river, or the great roots of the mallorn they live upon. a wise, grounded voice to counter her own.

soft family things. accepting.

#CASSSS #i love them your honor #celebornofdoriath #✧･ﾟ: * — answered ask.#verse tbt #✧･ﾟ: * — on the one hand lies darkness ; & on the other only hope ( third age. )

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 23 - The Witch's Cabin (Part Two)

Thanks to my gif maker and friend of course, @abimess.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: +18, smut.

Series Masterlist || Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 23 - Part XXIII - The Witch's Cabin (Part Two)

You weren't sure if Wanda wanted some time from you as well, as you watched her walk through the garden, sit alone on one of the benches while looking at the rocky mountains in the distance.

What you were sure of was that she was distressed. So much so, that even as she blocked out her emotions, strands of her discomfort escaped, and you felt your body shiver slightly.

Sighing, you put your hands in your pockets, resisting the urge to join her as you watched her from the balcony.

"Here, Miss." It is Charles who says beside you, with a mug of reheated tea. You raise your eyebrow in confusion, and he smiles tenderly. "I thought a hot drink would bring you some comfort." He explains, and you mutter a thank you as you accept the cup.

Charles stands beside you, watching the landscape in silence for a moment. When you take the first sip, and sigh lightly, he asks, "Did it help?"

"Not much." You reply. "I appreciate the intention, but I won't feel good over tea until she is."

It's a simple statement. And Charles just murmurs in understanding, not needing you to explain further.

There is another pause, before he speaks again.

"Then I think you should talk to her." He says.

"She said she needed some time alone." You retort, scratching the back of your head with your hand quickly, and placing the cup on the large one on the balcony. "I'm giving her space."

"Oh, I see." He murmurs. "Are you sure that the alone time included her protector?"

You give a short humorless laugh. "You know, people have weird ideas about this whole thing. We're still two separate people. Wanda can have her time without me."

"Of course she can." Charles agrees quickly. "Forgive me, I think I expressed myself badly. I didn't mean to say that you two aren't independent, or to put me on the same level as sensationalist wizards who don't know anything about ancient magic." He speaks, causing you to frown. "I only meant that it is my understanding that scarlet witches and their patrons have a special relationship. If I remember correctly, it is written that the patrons bring a profound sense of safety and comfort to their sorceresses when present."

You feel your cheeks flush, and you look away quickly. Charles doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he says nothing.

"So...do you think she'll like it if I talk to her?"

" Well, she's your sorceress, you know her better than I do, Miss Stark." Jokes the man. "Don't let an old book tell you what you must or mustn't do."

You bite the inside of your cheek, lingering your gaze on the crestfallen figure of Wanda meters ahead.

"Thanks for the tea, Charles." You mutter before starting to walk toward the gardens.

To avoid frightening her, you make a noise with your steps, but Wanda only lifts her head when you are practically at her side.

And you swallow dryly when you notice the tears on her face, approaching calmly to sit beside her.

You don't have to say anything really, and you don't mind waiting for her to tell you whatever she needs to. But Wanda just waits for you to sit down, and then she leans against your body, sinking into your embrace as you run your hands around her.

She relaxes immediately with your touch, sighing. You think Charles was right after all.

Her tears cease, drying against your shirt, and she inhales deeply against you.

“Thank you.” She whispers, making you smile shyly, as you run your fingers through her hair.

"For what?" you whisper back, half-joking, not knowing exactly what you've done.

"For staying."

You sigh, hugging her tighter as your fingers gently scratch the back of her neck, and Wanda shivers against you, before relaxing completely. "I told you I'm never leaving."

You stand like that for a few more moments, until Wanda starts to move again. She pulls her face away to look at you, and you just smile at the intense way she does so.

"I'm sorry." She says, and you frown in confusion. She straightens up before continuing, taking a deep breath, as if she is finding the right words. "With everything Agatha showed us, I finally understood that I never had a choice on my fate. And before, when I was going to erase your memory, how angry you got, I didn't understand why. Because to me, I was making the right thing, sparing you somehow. But now, I understand." She confesses quickly, gesturing as her eyes fill with tears. "It was your choice. And I don't think you would ever forgive me if I moved on without you, when you chose to stay with me. And as much as I hate how dangerous this is, and I don’t want you to get hurt, you have the right to choose to stay by my side if you want, because those are your feelings and I had no right to try to take them away from you."

You nod, sighing, and raise your hand to her face, caressing her cheek.

"It's okay, darling." You say. "I haven't been angry in quite some time. But I appreciate that you apologized."

You move closer, kissing her softly on the lips before pulling away. "I guess in the end I broke my promise about not touching you before the apology." You joke making her smile. "I couldn't help it, you're just too irresistible."

Wanda laughs shyly, raising her hands to your neck, looking at you fondly.

"Do you want to talk about what we saw?" You ask next, and she sighs, nodding.

You spend the next few minutes talking. Wanda feels bad about the whole thing. About all the lies, schemes, and about never having had a real choice. No matter what would happen, she was always going to become the Scarlet Witch. And no one asked if she wanted that.

She didn't talk about Natalya, and you respected her time.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive Agatha completely for the things she did." Wanda confesses a moment later, you two are sitting side by side, looking at the mountains. "But a part of me will never be able to hate her entirely. And I detest that."

"It doesn't bother me that she matters to you, Wanda." You say. "Even with everything that happened, she really believed she was doing the right thing. And now she's helping us. And I know you've spent a lot more time with her than I have." You clarify quickly, and Wanda looks at you with a slight frown. "I just mean that even with the pain she caused me, it's okay for you to still care about her. I won't hold a grudge over it."

Wanda nods, reaching your hand up on the bench. She entwines your fingers together, and moves closer to lean against you, resting her head on your shoulder.

"Can we stay here just a little longer?" She whispers. The sunrise is approaching. You were going to say you would stay as long as she wanted, but your speech becomes a yawn halfway through, and she laughs softly. "Maybe the bed would be better."

You laugh softly too, and Wanda squeezes your hand before moving to pull you back into the house.

When you go through the kitchen, Agatha is there. She and Wanda exchange a look, but neither of them says anything, and you just follow the brunette in front of you upstairs.

You think you'll sleep until lunchtime at least.

//-//-//-//-//-//

You grunted in pain as you fell to the ground.

"Everything okay there, Stark?" Agatha's softly teasing voice made you give a wry laugh.

"Perfect." You grumbled as you stood up, wiping the dust from your pants. "Again please, and try something stronger this time, Agatha, I think you're starting to go soft on me."

The witch laughed, raising her wand quickly. The next spell hurt more than the first.

It had been eight and a half weeks since you had been in Agatha's house.

Things were going well, if you could put it that way.

After that day when Agatha showed the memories out of the pensieve, she and Wanda were on thin ice, and no memories were shared again. They treated each other politely, with occasional sharp pins, but nothing ever too aggressive.

Meanwhile, Agatha was really helping the two of you to become better sorcerers.

You think you never learned so much magic at once, but you weren't complaining.

Even Charles was helping you with potions, a passion he seemed to share with Erik.

And with the intensity of your studies, Agatha hoped that soon you would be worthy of pulling Rowena's diadem out of the hat, but she never seemed to find the right spot, and it was making everyone slightly frustrated, even if no one would admit it.

You haven't heard from the order.

With Fury's death, the radio went silent. You believed that no one but him had been arrested, or killed, because nothing was said in the Daily Prophet. But it wasn't easy to ignore the tightness in your chest at not knowing for sure.

Now that you were practically considering yourself a master at dueling, even if Agatha wouldn't admit that you had far more knowledge in defense against the dark arts than any other witch your age, you expected her to continue the lessons in Occlumency and Legilimency that Erik never managed to finish.

"You're not ready for that yet." She replied, for the third time you brought up the subject, and you sighed impatiently.

"But professor-"

"Erik taught you the basic level of that magic, Y/N." She interrupts, moving her hands so that the objects in the kitchen begin to prepare lunch around you. Wanda is in the house library, studying with Charles, and you had spent all morning practicing dueling spells, and learning to become more resistant to them as well.

Your whole body was sore from the times you fell to the ground when you were hit by stupefy and the most common duelling spells , but it was better than being knocked out at the first attempt if you had never practiced before.

"A master of legilimency would be able to dominate the minds of an entire city at once. You're not ready for that kind of magic yet."

"But I don't need to control an entire city, Agatha." You argue back, following her through the kitchen around the house. "You can just continue from where Erik started and-"

"Enough." She interrupts by turning to you, but she doesn't look angry, just impatient. "You won't leave me alone if I don't agree won't you?"

"No."

She sighs. "I can teach you Occlumency, Stark. But I won't teach you Legilimency, it's...against my vows."

You frown in confusion, "Your vows?"

But Agatha gives you only an insinuating look, and you understand.

As Legilimency is directly considered a forbidden, and dark magic, it would break her vow to only do the right thing by the scarlet witch, her promise to Natalya.

You've never been more curious to know how Agatha got around the perpetual vow for so many years, but the way she’s back walking tells you she's not going to share that with you anytime soon.

"Charles is a master legilimens." She continues talking, moving downstairs where the library is. You in her trail. "He can teach you."

"Really? That 's great!."

As you arrive at the study room, the huge piles of enchanted books surrounding you, your gaze immediately seeks Wanda's.

As Agatha tells Charles to teach you, you approach the girl, finding her distracted with a reading. You smile at how lovely she looks, and can't help but move quickly closer, and steal a surprise kiss from her that makes her sigh.

"Hey, you." You say as you pull away, and she giggles as she relaxes.

"Hey, you." She repeats as she stops you from moving away by holding you by your arm, pulling you back to kiss you properly.

"Hey little love birds, your first lesson in Occlumency is going to be tonight." Agatha warns in a tone of teasing, as you give an embarrassed chuckle breaking away from Wanda, leaning on the pilaster next to the chair she is sitting in. "And you, Miss Maximoff, can practice your natural legilimency skills with Charles on the same schedule as well."

"Yes, ma'am." You and Wanda answer together, and Agatha gives a warning sneer before turning, squeezing Charles' shoulder gently before leaving.

The man turns to you. "Miss Stark, please do not spill mud on my parchments."

You look down to your clothes immediately. Well, it wasn't your fault that Agatha had knocked you to the ground so many times. You were a mess, and you raised your hands in a sign of surrender.

"Sorry, Charles." You mutter as you walk away. "I just came to give my beautiful girl a kiss, I'm going upstairs to take a shower. See you two at lunch."

You give Wanda a wink of goodbye before walking away, being careful not to bump into books along the way.

//-//-//-//

You grumbled softly in pain as you removed your tangled sweater, realizing that perhaps you should have asked Agatha to go easy on the spells instead of challenging her.

Distracted, you startled when you heard knocking on the bathroom door, but relaxed completely when you saw that it was only Wanda, who smiled and leaned against the doorframe, looking up at you.

"Hey, babe." You greeted her, working to remove your shoes. "Do you want anything?"

"No, I just decided to take a break from the books." She replies. "But I would like to know how you convinced Agatha to teach you Occlumency so easily." She comments in a mixed tone of teasing and impressiveness and you laugh softly as you kick your untied shoes away.

"With my charm of course." You return, making her laugh.

When you motion to remove the shirt, Wanda bites her lips. "Allow me."

You stand still then as she steps up to your front, looking at you with the same tenderness that you look back.

Wanda works on the buttons of your shirt, and when she is finished, she pushes the material away, sliding it down your arms until it falls to the floor. You blush slightly under her curious gaze, but say nothing, letting her move the straps of your bra, and then open the clasp, soon the garment falls too.

She moves her fingers down your waist, to reach the zipper and buttons of your pants, and unzips them. You move timidly to remove the item as well, taking your panties with it.

Wanda gives a soft giggle, and you look at her curiously.

"What?"

"It's nothing." She says shyly. "It's...I just realized that it's the first time I've seen you naked."

You blush, but respond. "I wish I wasn't covered in dirt."

"I wish you weren't covered in bruises." She retorts sharply, and you swallow dryly. The purple marks around your body are a result of the spells, but you don't care about that. The pain isn't exactly strange after all.

"It was worth it, though." You retort softly, and think that part of you is really referring to getting stronger, learning new magic. But the other part, the part that knows it's all for the girl in front of you, adds, "You're worth all the effort."

Wanda looks away, swallowing dryly as well. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth, Wanda." You say simply, and she sighs, straightening her posture softly.

"But you don't have to say it."

"You want me to lie then?"

"I just don't want you to say it so proudly." She retorts almost scoldingly, and you bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to argue. She sighs, and puts distance between you, turning toward the exit.

You clear your throat, and call out to her. "I don't want you to be angry." You murmur. "I can't help it to say things like this, you know that."

Her expression softens. "I'm not angry, darling." She assures you. "I'll just get a towel for myself."

She leaves before you understand what that implies. Wishing you didn't look like a complete mess, you quickly step into the tub you left ready as soon as you arrived in the bathroom, and sink against the hot water, waiting for Wanda to join you.

Wanda doesn't take long. She leaves the towel in the sink, and smiles at you before she starts to undress, right there in front of you, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

You blush, but don't look away. And she doesn't seem to mind that you follow every movement of her hands, although her cheeks redden when she has her breasts exposed in the air.

Soon, she steps into the tub with you, taking the seat in the opposite corner, smiling softly as you hug your legs, looking up at her.

"I'm sorry I said that, I know you don’t like it and I shouldn’t have." You mutter. But Wanda just shakes her head, steeling herself to move closer, her hands touching your forearms.

"Don't worry." She says. "It's the truth after all. You are my knight in shining armor, and I can't do anything to change that."

You laugh softly, and Wanda smiles, stroking your skin with her thumb.

"I want to try something." She says next, making you look at her curiously. "Something I read about it this week. Can I?"

"Of course, darling." You say, and then she is pulling your forearms gently so that you stop hugging your legs, and you sink your hands into the water, waiting, as Wanda moves her fingers, guiding you so that you sit properly, and she sits between your legs. "What are you going to do?"

You ask curiously, even half embarrassed to have her so close, but Wanda just smiles, moving her hands out of the tub, where she makes the soap magically fly to her.

"First, I'm helping you get clean, babe."

She says, dipping the soap in the water before bringing it to your skin, lathering your shoulders gently. You relax under her touch, looking at her intently.

"Can I do the same to you?" you ask in a whisper, and she smiles.

"Of course."

Wanda raises the soap at face height, and with a flick of her hands, the item doubles itself to another. You raise your eyebrow. "Show-off." You tease, making her chuckle, as she hands you the other soap.

For the next few minutes, you help each other soap up amidst giggles, and stolen glances. Wanda's touch is as gentle and affectionate as her gaze, and you are so comfortable that you don't even have time to think about how intimate the whole moment is.

As you finish washing off the soap, Wanda begins to run her fingers along your shoulders. "Will you stay on your back for me?" She asks lowly, and you murmur in agreement before shifting to obey.

Without seeing her, your curiosity makes you tense up, and Wanda smiles as she moves closer, her hands on your waist. "Relax, darling." She asks against your ear, her fingers moving up your skin slowly as you obey.

"Do you remember last summer?" She begins, and suddenly you are feeling soft twinges on your skin. It's Wanda's magic. You don't know what she's doing, but it feels good. Little shocks around your back.

You just murmur, relaxing against her hand.

"When Papa taught you about mirroring magic, I mean." She continues, her tone low and soft. "So that you could take my damage from possible attacks."

"And you were so upset about my wrist breaking when you fell off a broom that you put me to sleep in Pietro's bed." You complete making her laugh.

"But I didn't send you away because I still wanted you in my house." She retorts and you laugh in agreement.

"Yes I do, darling." You say next. "I remember everything I went through with you."

Wanda bites her lips, blushing at your statement. But she continues to talk beyond that.

"There is another kind of spell like that." She says. "Charles was reading with me a line that said If the protector can take the pain, the witch must learn to heal the pain as well. You understand what I mean?"

You sigh softly as you feel the pressure of her fingers increase on the points where you knew you were injured. But it's not discomfort that you feel. It's a different sensation, like an electric shiver that turns into a gentle tightness.

"Yeah, I think so. You'll be able to heal my wounds now, right?" You ask with your eyes closed, instinctively leaning even closer against her hand as the pressure increases, and Wanda just murmurs in agreement, concentrating on her task. "That's pretty cool."

"I still need to learn it properly." She continues. "And I don't want to have to practice."

You chuckle softly at the comment. Of course she doesn't. For her to learn to heal your wounds, you would need to hurt her so she gets to practice, and that possibility is horrible for Wanda.

"I'm sure we'll find an alternative to that, Wands." You murmur lazily, so relaxed against her touch that you begin to feel sleepy.

Wanda continues for a few more minutes, and when she finishes, she goes around your waist with her hands pulling you gently against her, making you sigh.

"How do you feel?" She asks with her face resting on your shoulder, her arms hugging you as you relax against her.

"I feel incredible, love." You reply with your eyes closed. "Thanks to your magic fingers."

Wanda giggles, turning her face to kiss your neck, her lips touching your skin softly and making you smile and sigh.

"Can I make you feel even better?" She asks as she returns her mouth to your ear, playing with the lobe between her lips and teeth, making you hold your breath. "I could use my magic fingers."

You bite back a smile, nodding. Wanda inhales softly, settling herself better against the tub.

Her hands go around your belly with her fingertips, moving upward. You gasp when she reaches your breasts, stimulating your nipples between her fingers.

You let out a satisfied murmur, and your body gradually warms up.

When your nipples are hardened enough, and Wanda has you shivering, she wraps your breasts with her full hands, pressing the flesh against her palm, and you gasp, throwing your hips forward unter water.

"Wanda." You sigh softly as she continues to play with your breasts. "Don't tease."

"I'm not teasing darling." She murmurs back, returning the gentle caress against your nipples. "I'm just getting you wet."

"Just... touch me." You whisper, starting to move back into her, the tightness in your belly growing, and all she did was touch you softly. "Please."

Wanda lets out a sigh, like a giggle, and you don't have to look at her to know she's smiling. "I didn't know you were the begging type, babe."

You grumble under the teasing, but Wanda finally lowers her hands, and you shiver in anticipation, forgetting to respond.

She runs her hands down your inner thighs, but never where you want her. And when you sigh impatiently, she chuckles against your ear.

"Say pretty please again." She teases and you feel your cheeks burn, quickly turning your face to the left, putting distance between her mouth and your ear. All Wanda does is chuckles again, but this time, her fingers go straight to where you want her, caressing your entrance and you gasp.

“M-more.” You ask but she just stands still, her fingertips against your clint while her mouth kisses your shoulder and her other hand goes up to your breast, to repeat the moviments from earlier.

You have trouble keeping your eyes open, and when you try to force her finger against you, she just moves them away with a giggle while you grumble of dissatisfaction.

“Wanda.” You warn, but her hand just rests against your thigh.

“C’mon, babe.” She says. “You sounded so hot when you said please. Do it again.”

“No.” You retort stubbornly, but your affected tone makes her smile, her fingers moving closer to your warm center but still not touching and making you clench your closed fists.

"Say, please fuck me." Wanda whispers against your ear, and you feel a sharp, tightly pulsation in your belly, sighing heavily. "And I will."

But you didn't want to give Wanda a taste of victory, even as you came so close to begging for her touch. All you did was press hard against her, your ass fitted against her hot core, and she gasped in surprise and arousal, digging her nails into your thigh.

"Cheater." She murmured breathlessly, making you smile, but your advantage was short-lived when she pressed your breast into her palm, and without any warning, slid a finger into you, entering easily through both the water in the tub and your arousal.

"Oh." You moaned loudly, one hand gripping the edge of the tub as Wanda moved slowly inside, making you squirm. "More, babe. Please."

Wanda chuckles at your hopeless tone, but obeys, inserting another finger now. It slides between your edges with ease, and you bite your lips to avoid being loud. But when Wanda presses her palm against your clit as her fingers move in and out of you in a slow, torturous rhythm, you whimper, squeezing your hands on the edge of the tub until they turn white.

"You're so tight." Wanda whispers against your ear, her hot, wet breath sending shivers throughout your body. "My sexy baby taking my fingers so well."

You moan softly, becoming even more aroused by Wanda's words. She sighs against your ear, quickening the pace of her thrusts, and you begin to feel the tightness under your belly reaching the limit.

"W-wanda... I'm clos-oh" You can't maintain a coherent sentence, thrusting your hips in the same rhythm as Wanda's fingers move in and out of you, and Wanda grunts against your ear, her fingers sinking into you.

"Show me how it feels, Printsessa" She asks and you need to concentrate beyond pure pleasure to be able to share your sensations with her. When you do, Wanda moans loudly against your ear, the hand on your breast squeezing firmly, pulling you against her and making you gasp. "Is this how you feel with me, baby?” She asks with a breathless whisper. “It’s so fucking good." She whimpers, increasing the pace of her fingers, and now stimulating both you and herself, and you use your free hand to keep yourself from screaming, knowing that the noise would attract the attention of the other residents.

"I can't hold it." You whimper, your body beginning to spasm out of rhythm with the strokes, you are so close.

"So don't." She gasps back against your ear, and it's the next second that you come, your walls clenching against Wanda's fingers, and you see stars, your loud moan is muffled by her hand on your mouth when you can't keep the gesture and clench your hands under the water.

And you are barely recovering from your orgasm when Wanda reaches hers, sharing it with you, and you moan deeply, turning a complete mess against her, feeling your body explode with pleasure again.

You stand in silence, trying to normalize your breaths, Wanda's fingers slip out of you, making you sigh, but she keeps her hand on your thigh, until she joins the two at your waist, smoothing you better against her.

"I can't feel my legs." You mumble breathlessly, your body tingling completely from the intensity of the orgasms. Wanda just gives an equally affected laugh, moving one of her hands up to push her wet hair out of the front of her face.

"Too bad, I still want to taste you."

You grunt softly, feeling your face heat up. But you sure as hell won't protest when Wanda's hands start coming down again.

//-//-//-//-//-//

“It really worked.” You murmurs impressed, as you button a clear shirt up, getting ready for having some food since you and Wanda skipped lunch, being busy with things. The bruises that you once had, are all gone. A few red spots were seen, but nothing too remarkable as before.

Wanda bites her bottom lip, kneeling in the bed, still naked. The vision was a gift from heaven you could say.

“If you feel any pain, tell me.” She asks as she watches you dressing. “I could try to ease that too.”

“You’re too good for me baby.” You commented with a shy smile, getting closer to her again. Agatha liked well dressed manners, she said. That’s why almost every set of clothes she gave you had ties, and sweaters. You and Wanda teased her about being old.

And that's why you're knotting your tie, and Wanda is unbuttoning your shirt. Wait, what?

"Hey, hey." You quickly warn, holding up her fingers, as Wanda giggles with her gaze gleaming in mischief. "We can't stay here all day, sweetheart."

"Can’t we?" She retorts in a mixed tone of defiance, making a pout that makes you want to kiss her.

"You know we can't." You retort with a smile, caressing her cheek before buttoning the buttons she has opened. Wanda bites her lips as she watches you. "I can bring you something to eat, but eventually we have lessons."

"No, that's okay, I'll come down with you." She says but doesn't move from her spot, and you raise an eyebrow curiously, but Wanda was just waiting for you to finish buttoning your shirt before pulling you up by your poorly tied tie, rising to kiss you on the mouth.

You smiled against her lips, bringing one of your hands to her neck, kissing her firmly.

"Are you sure we need to go downstairs?" She murmurs breathlessly against your mouth, and you sigh.

"Maybe another ten minutes."

It takes another half hour for you to leave the room.

Wanda accompanies you, straightening your crumpled clothes before you head to the kitchen.

Fortunately, Charles had saved some lunch for you, and between smiles and stolen glances, you ate in silence.

And when Agatha asked you to join her upstairs, for her occlumency lesson, Wanda kissed you on the cheek and wished you good luck.

Agatha's private study room was dark.

Unlike the library, or Charles' offices, which were extremely cozy.

Here, you felt almost intimidated. But Agatha seemed relaxed, and you felt confident enough with your magic to enter.

"You know the fundamentals, Miss Stark, so let's not stall." She says as she walks over to one of the cabinets, working to remove her rings and place them on the wood. "Sit back and relax. And know that I'm going to try the real thing, Y/N. Just like an opponent would."

You swallow dryly, but murmur in understanding, walking over to sit in the armchair that Agatha seems to have left ready for you.

She turns around, and takes the seat in front of you. With a flick of her fingers, one of the books on the bookshelves in the room comes flying toward her, floating in the air, open at eye level.

She grumbles softly as she reads, probably checking the spells correctly, and then the book closes and returns to the bookshelf.

"In a fight, a wizard's mind can be their greatest enemy, Miss Stark." She begins, rolling up her sleeves, and you hold your breath in anticipation. "That's why you need to protect yours as best you can."

"Professor Erik taught me a few things." You mutter, but Agatha raises her eyebrow in disbelief, and you are almost offended. "Hey, I'm not that helpless."

"Is that what you think?" She challenges. "Look closer."

You frown in confusion, and try to understand what she means.

Then you notice the other figure in the corner of the room and almost jump out of your chair.

An illusion, Agatha never sat next to you, and she disappears the same second you noticed her.

"What the fuck....?"

"Illusions, Miss Stark, will be the least of your problems if the dark lord has access to your mind." Agatha warns as she moves from the shadows of the room, her hands folded on her belly, looking at you, who was still in shock from the last trick. "But I will teach you to recognize and escape false images first."

The first lesson is not easy.

Honestly, it is so exhausting that by the time Agatha frees you, you are stumbling sleepily to your room.

You fall into bed still in your study clothes, and are almost closing your eyes when Wanda walks in.

"Hey, sweetheart, aren't you going to dinner?" She asks, but you don't even open your eyes, muttering that you were going to sleep.

Wanda walks over to you, gives you a kiss on the cheek, and turns out the lights.

//-//-//

It takes another three weeks for something to happen.

Technically, a lot has actually happened.

You have learned to break illusions, create them, protect your mind from mid-level invaders, lie in a way that rings true in your mind and fools any invader.

Agatha won't admit it, but you are a very talented Occlumens.

And Wanda, is quite the opposite of that.

Charles often comments that maybe it's the power of scarlet magic, but he''s never seen someone who could manipulate the mind of others so easily. Not since Agatha, and the witch makes a sarcastic remark, but has a proud smile as she goes out to harvest carrots.

Where you are expert at protecting the mind, Wanda is at attacking it.

She doesn't have the same strength as you in blocking Agatha, but you can't invade anyone's mind without putting in a lot of effort.

"I think it's an interesting thing, actually. " Charles comments next to you, in the fourth week of studying mind magic, with the four of you sitting in the room, and Agatha in the armchair in front of you, while you have your wand raised and try to get into her thoughts. "You balance each other perfectly, you know? Y/N can protect your mind while you attack, Wanda. It's quite useful."

"Great observation, Charles." Agatha congratulates impressed, not seeming to have any difficulty blocking you even while talking to someone else.

"Does that mean I can get inside your head through her magic?" Wanda deduces in curiosity, but didn't expect anyone to confirm, her eyes glowing red and connecting with your mind.

You choke, firming your touch on your wand, and because you were already trying the spell, you manage to get into Agatha's mind without any problems with Wanda’s magic.

A small girl is running down a hallway; it's Hogwarts.

"Freak!" " Weirdo!" are the whispers of the crowds of children she is passing through.

And then the whispers change to "watch out, she's the principal' daughter" "I heard she killed that Ravenclaw boy"

A mirror. Agatha must be sixteen now, she looks young. She stares at her reflection, and then punches the glass.

"You are a disgrace to this family." A woman says in front of her as the memory fades to another, looking at her with contempt. "A scandal like this. Our coven will recommend your expulsion."

"I never wanted to be a part of this, Mama!" Agatha exclaims in a mixture of anger and hurt. "I hate those old backward women, I want to learn everything I can and -"

The slap is loud. "Rules exist to keep everyone safe, Agatha. You're too selfish to realize that."

It gets faster, the flashes. You watch Agatha grow up, study in hiding, kiss a girl behind the candy store who pushes her away when the older schoolmates laugh, you listen to the cruel comments, watch her buy the cottage, meet new people, and many colored lights, the spells she has already cast blending throughout the memories.

"Please, daughter, forgive me" She pleads in a crying voice, but Natalya looks at her with contempt. "I will do the right thing this time, please, I-"

"Swear it."

You see a flash of the day she took the perpetual vow, her hands entwined with her daughter, and then you see more quick flashes of lost moments, until you focus on the day she was alone in Magda's house again, her hand on the cheek of baby Wanda, now asleep.

"Forgive me, I have failed again."

The memory shifts, you watch Erik crying at a memorial service, many other people dressed in black beside him.

She talked to Erik about the girl, asking if he had noticed anything strange.

Visiting a mansion, your home. You see yourself, about five or six years old, playing in the backyard with your brother, the emaciated image of your father talking to her in a low tone, delivering a letter.

More unclear flashes.

Agatha writing the acceptance letters from the school that year, the name Wanda Maximoff emblazoned on the paper.

The day Wanda and Pietro enter Hogwarts, Agatha rummaging back into her old journals and books.

Agatha starts to resist then. You see two more flashes of class, before she pushes you and Wanda out of her thoughts, and you choke breathlessly, stumbling away.

The teacher gets up quickly, aggressively throwing herself at you two, and you cover Wanda with your body immediately, but she calms down, because Charles puts his arm around her waist.

"Agatha, breathe." He asks softly, and she seems to come to her senses, shaking her head, and casting an almost embarrassed look at you, before muttering apologies and leaving the room.

You and Wanda are wide-eyed, in shock at all you have seen for long seconds, as Charles sighs and moves to organize the books you had messed up when the lesson began.

"She's going to need some time." He says turning to give you a tender smile. "But don't worry, I can continue the lessons with you two. For now, I suggest a cup of tea to everyone, and we can continue tomorrow."

"S-sure, that sounds great." You mumble awkwardly, turning your face to Wanda, who looks troubled. "Everything okay?" You whisper to her, and she forces a smile, nodding.

You won't push it, so you even squeeze her hand gently before following Charles into the kitchen for tea.

//-//-//-//-//

Agatha doesn't leave her room for six whole days.

Charles just says that she is tired, and brings her meals.

You only study next to Wanda; it's not as if you can feel guilty about something she has done to you so many times.

And then, as if no time has passed, the former headmistress comes into the kitchen in travel clothes, while you are eating lunch.

"Good morning?" You exclaim in surprise, and the teacher only murmurs with a nod, picking up an apple from the fruit tray and turning toward the front door.

You exchange a confused look with Wanda before the two of you quickly stand up.

"Agatha, where are you...?"

"Hogwarts." She replies without stopping walking, as you follow her down the hallway to the exit. "Stephen has hidden the darkhold in the spiritual plane of the castle. I'll get it, and read it to Miss Maximoff as promised."

"I-" Wanda starts half uncertain, but Agatha gestures quickly.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." She clarifies. "We'll need him to perform the ritual as well. Please help Charles with the house, and if possible don't damage my vegetables."

And on the porch, she apparated.

You and Wanda stared at the empty space for a long moment.

"What just happened?" You mutter.

"Did our spell drive her insane?" She retorts back, and you sigh, turning to go back inside, and close the door, Wanda following you inside.

"I have no idea." You say. "Let's let Charles know she's gone, and try to keep him from blowing up other cauldrons while she's out."

//-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-//

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#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x yn #wanda maximoff x you #marvel imagines #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry IX

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), mild violence, male-iinduced anxiety

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The first day of the tournament arrives.

Note: My pupper had surgery yesterday and it was my longer day of work for the week so lots going on. Also had some bad Chinese but managed to get this out before it came back up. Feel better now and I'll have a shorter day today.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Lord Barnes’ mood did not improve in the days leading up to the first of the tournament. It grew colder in the capital and many feared the events would be cut short by an early winter. You didn’t care much either way. You had no interest in the sport or much of anything. You just abided the duke and in those times he left you alone, you laid in a void.

His want of you didn’t wane nor did your despair or the disgust you felt when he touched you. It was one thing to be a servant, to be a tool, a means to an end, but what he used you for now seemed little more than torture. He delighted in what he did, in how he made you suffer. Those times you remained unmoving and unfeeling angered him the most.

You dressed in yellow that morning. The horns announced the beginning of the tournament as you made your way to the stand amid the sea of guests. The wives, daughters, sons, mothers and fathers of those who would compete. You were out of place as you climbed the wooden steps between the benches and a green sleeve shot up to wave to you.

“Dearie!” May brushed past her husband to stop you at the end of their seat, “here, with us,” she insisted, “we did save you a place.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly. You hadn’t seen her or her family since the night of the feast. Since Barnes had…

“I can’t have you sitting alone,” she trilled as she pulled you along with her and sat beside Lord Benjamin who bowed his head and issued a gentle greeting. “And I always longed for a daughter, you know? Peter’s a good boy but so troublesome. I did try to persuade him not to enter the lists but he just never stops.”

“The boy’s old enough,” Benjamin said, “when I was his age--”

“You married me,” May cut in, “a foolish decision indeed. He is on the roster for today. Sparring. I fear he might not make it past the early rounds but so long as he is not hurt.”

You nodded and covered your hands in your sleeves. Even with the fur-trimmed cloak Barnes allotted you, it was crisp. Your matching cap barely kept the cool air from your cheeks. Your leg shook from more than the cold as you recalled that Barnes was set to compete with the sword as well.

“A fine cape,” May commented as she touched the edge of your cloak, “with sleeves even.”

You looked down at the fawn-coloured garment that only allowed a peek of the canary yellow beneath. You fidgeted and kept your eyes on the field, “a gift,” you lied, well, maybe it wasn’t a lie, or maybe you’d bought it in sweat and tears.

Another horn blew and she quieted and clapped as all looked to the center of the arena. The wooden stands were hung in all shades of silk, the banners of each house, high and low, covered the rafters. By the end of the day, only one would remain. Lord Barnes’ blue and ivory flapped opposite your side and Benjamin pointed out his family's slender red and black crest amidst the panoply.

You were thankful for the distraction, not for you but for them. You didn’t know how many lies you could conjure or if you could keep the false smile on your lips. You clamped your hands together and watched a man in gold stroll out to the centre of the stadium with a cone to project his voice. You stood with May and Benjamin and the rest of the onlookers

“Fine ladies and gentlemen, princes, paupers, and everything in between, we welcome you in name of King Samuel to the Games of Goblets. For each competition, the victor is to be prized a goblet to bear as a symbol of his prestige. For the ax-throwing, bronze inlaid with amber, for the bow-and-arrow, silver set with citrine, for the melee, gold set with sapphire, and for the joust, a fine piece in gold set with opal and ruby.”

The crowd applauded and shouted. The man waited for them to quiet again, “This day, we begin with the melee, on the morrow, the axe, the next day, the arrow, and on the final day, we ride!”

Again, the audience grew rowdy and you were deafened by the cheers. The man laughed at the excitement and held up his hand for a final lull.

“Without further delay, let us begin. In our first round, the lower lords and the untested, before the second where they shall meet our season veterans, and so on…” he gauged the fervent tension of the people, “you will see me again upon the finale and perhaps you will be surprised by whoever stands with me.”

Again, the stand quaked with the energy of the people. You would have liked to sit but you stayed on your feet, afraid to draw unwanted attention. The first pair was announced but you didn’t watch. You stared at the sky or a rippling banner but had no interest in the games.

You only stopped to look as Peter’s name was called out and May grabbed your arm. She squealed as her nephew came out decked in his used armor, beaten out from its former user’s wear, and he unsheathed his sword to face his opponent. When the handkerchief was dropped, you were as stunned as his fellow competitor and the crowd by his swiftness. You’d never seen anyone move so fast, and in at least twenty pounds of armor.

The crowd awoke from their awe and cheered as his sword beat against the other man’s suit with tinks and tunks. It was like a bell, ding, ding, ding. It wasn’t until the other man was on his knees that the spar was ceased. Peter was declared the plain winner and sent on to wait for his next engagement. May wiped away tears of joy and Benjamin grumbled his approval.

You smiled, just a little. You were happy for Peter. You’d seen how joyful he was, he was likely dancing behind the curtain right now.

🏰

It wasn’t until the second round that Lord Barnes was introduced. He walked out fully armoured like any other combatant but his left arm was permanently bent, a shield strapped to it as he gripped his pommel in his right hand. He showed his steel and faced his match. He dealt hard and heavy blows until his opponent was on his back.

You shuddered at his unboasting victory as he wasn’t even patient enough to hear himself declared the winner. You touched your cold cheeks and puffed into the bitter air. The bodies around you warmed the stands but you were chilled to the core.

Peter appeared again in the second, then the third, fourth, and to his aunt and uncle’s delight, he soldiered onto the final. To your fear, he was to meet Lord Barnes. You tried not to squirm, not to show how nervous you were for Peter. You thought of running down and begging him to withdraw but what could you say? If anything, you’d both be worse for it.

As the last two banners were presented to the crowd, you sensed movement to your right. A familiar head of blond hair approached and the tall duke pushed past the row of people along the bench. Lord Rogers smirked as he came close, his sweaty hair drooping down his forehead from his last bout, the one he’d lost to his closest friend.

“Ah, I found you,” he said, “lady.”

You felt May peek past you and you gave a meek “my lord” as he stood close. He looked around you at the older couple.

“You have friends,” he stated, “please, do introduce us.”

You looked down and chewed your lip. You turned slowly to May and Benjamin, the latter peering past her only as he was torn from his fixation on the field.

“Lord Benjamin and Lady May Parker, baron and baroness,” you rubbed your hands together nervously, “Lord Steven Rogers, duke of Astrens.”

“Oh, we’ve heard of him,” May chirped, “my lord, it is an honour.”

“Indeed,” Benjamin agreed, “my lady, you did not inform of us of your lofty friends.”

“She is modest,” Rogers intoned, “we met by chance, really, through a common acquaintance.”

“You were skillful on the field, it is a pity you were bested,” May said.

“Very pitiful, I did put some gold on you, Lord Rogers,” Benjamin added, “alas it was a fine showing.”

“Wasn’t it?” he turned to stand with his arm pressed to yours, much too close for your liking, “however this one should be intriguing.”

“It’s our boy,” Benjamin said, “and your friend, my lord.”

“Perhaps you’d take another bet?” Rogers countered.

“I’ve lost enough this day,” Benjamin snorted, “I’d rather watch and be pleasantly surprised than paupered.”

“Prudence is wise but always so boring,” Rogers mused.

As the lower of the lords, Parker was announced first and you were saved from more uncomfortable banter by the man in grey. Rogers nudged you and bent as the introductions went long as the man with cone went into detail about the day’s fights all the way to the present match.

“I did look fine out there, didn’t I?” he whispered, “good form, even if I did lose. Barnes is in a mood and we both know that makes him… unpredictable.”

You lowered your head, “my lord.”

“You are quiet since last we met,” he remarked, “perhaps your thoughts linger on how else to use your mouth?”

You squirmed and stared at the competitors as they awaited their signal. Rogers laughed and stood straight as he focused on the field in kind. He played with your sleeve and tugged your arm down. He caressed the back of your hand and stepped even closer.

“When he wins, he might just be cheerful enough to share in his celebrations, hmm?” he said under his breath.

The gold cloth was dropped and the two men circled each other, eyeing their opponent cautiously. Barnes was the first to act but was evaded by the younger man. He didn’t not falter however as he swung again. Peter rolled under the strike and met it with his own steel, batting it away so that it nearly struck its holder.

Barnes dodged that time, then the boy spun again. They danced around each other, both swift, both calculating, both determined. Steel met steel but never that which clothed the fighters. May grabbed your other wrist as she held her breath.

Barnes laid a hit across Peter’s chestplate that made him stagger but he turned it into another lithe evasion. He snaked around the higher lord and hammered his false arm. The shield cracked in half and Peter ducked again.

Barnes was angry as he stabbed out. His blade was shoved away again and Peter jumped over the foot that tried to trip him up, a true achievement in armor.

You realised as Barnes laid a flurry of blows at the air that he was angry. The crowd silenced as the realisation fell over them and they watched as time seemed to slow. The duke was losing and he was enraged.

Peter jabbed the other man’s chest plated with his sword then hit his true arm. The sword bobbled in Barnes’ grip but he regained his hold on it. Too slow as Parker struck over and over, throwing him off balance, and sweeping him off his feet with a low lunge.

As Barnes clattered onto his back, the breath went out of him and every other person in the stadium. The man in grey shook away his shock and finally stepped forward.

“Our victor!” he grabbed Peter’s arm and raised it, “the Lord Parker!”

May hopped up and down and hugged her husband. Steve tutted and shook his head. Your eyes clung to Barnes as he sat up, forgotten in the dirt. His left arm was stuck at an angle away from his body and he reached up to force it back down.

Peter offered him his hand and was ignored. Barnes sheathed his sword and offered a curt bow before he exited. Rogers’ hand crawled up your arm and he gripped you. “Well, looks like we both will suffer his loss.”

For once, he spoke the truth.

422 notes · View notes

harrysgoldenbum · 3 years

Text

Don’t Blame Me for Falling

part 1

word count: 7.3K

Warnings: Language

Since graduating college last year, Y/N and her friends have had a standing monthly “Girls’ Night”. They rotate turns to pick what they are going to do together, and they usually meet up during the night but every once in a while one of them would pick a daytime activity. Depending on the plan, they could range from laid back or extravagant, but more often than not, when they got together their activities fell somewhere in between.

Y/N usually looks forward to them. She doesn’t see her friends as often as she did in college. But she had not been looking forward to tonight whatsoever. She had been disgusted when Ameena had gleefully announced that their night out was going to be at a bachelor auction that was being held to benefit her mother’s pompous Women’s Club. Not only was it degrading, but getting all dressed up and sitting in a ballroom with a bunch of older ladies the chance to ogle at men half their age, and watching young women needily bid for attention. And that is the last way Y/N wants to spend her night. She was hoping the others would agree with her, but she was outnumbered.

To Y/N’s surprise, Annie had been the first one to hand over a check to Ameena. She had declared, with unrestrained excitement, that it would be exciting to watch from the sidelines as women’s claws came out. Annie had gotten married last year to her college sweetheart Garratt, so she wasn’t going to do any bidding herself. And Jessica and Marie didn’t put up a fight at all.

So it was then Y/N found herself gritting her teeth while she made out a check.

She glares down at her name, decorated in elegant script, the table number “7” centered beneath it.

“Don’t worry babe. I am already planning our next outing to a male strip club. I think we’ll need it by then. Just think about, oiled up naked men to beat the summer heat. Now, where is the open bar? I need booze and I need it now. Work sucked ass today.” She rotated her wrist to show the bruises that lined her skin with clear indentations of teeth marks. “The fucker really didn’t want his booster shot.”

With a shake of her head, Y/N let out a quiet chuckle. Jessica’s war stories as a rookie pediatric nurse are never anything less than entertaining. They all involved graphic details and graphic language. Y/N has a theory that because Jessica has to mind her language all day working with children, it means her more than average foul mouth works on overdrive when she finally leaves work. But, Annie, who is a third-grade teacher, doesn’t seem to have the same problem.

“Come on ladies!” Ameena calls over her shoulder, tossing her dark hair and rubbing her hands together.

“Is it really an open bar if we paid 50 bucks for it?” Annie whispers in Y/N, as the five of them walk through the decorated lobby, toward the ballroom.

“It’s for charity!” Ameena hisses over her shoulder at her friends, her brown eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Please, for the love of God, please shut up. This is supposed to be fun!”

Y/N shakes her head and aims a glare at her friend’s back. A root canal would be more fun than what lies in store for them this evening. Y/N wasn’t planning on bidding on any of the bachelors on display, no matter how many times Ameena brags that these bachelors will be some of the best looking guys in the area. Not only does she not have the funds to toss around for something that has little importance, but she also thought that it was really pathetic to buy herself a date. She hadn’t been with anyone for over a year and she simply isn’t ready to move on either. Her vagina was closed for business.

She adjusts the top over her strapless dress, easing the tight fabric higher over her breasts. At least she’s making good use of the bridesmaid dress from Annie’s wedding. Not having to buy a new dress was about the only thing that worked in her favor tonight. Her funds seem to stretch thinner and thinner now that she was working toward her master’s degree. Unlike her friends, who went right into the job force, Y/N will need a few more years before she could become a physical therapist. Her disposable income largely comes from her part-time job at Barnes and Noble.

“This is so cool!” Marie gushes. Her neck twists from side to side as she takes in her surroundings. Even Y/N had to admit that the ballroom looked the fanciest she’s ever been in. Annie’s wedding was lovely, but it wasn’t black-tie, like this. There are scores across the tables strategically arranged throughout the room, all facing a platform that has been set up in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. It offered a beautiful backdrop of the cityscape. Y/N imagines it will be only more stunning once the sun fully sets, with all the city lights lit and the stars in the background.

Once the group located Table 7, Jessica tosses her clutch and immediately beelines for the bar. Ameena presses her lips together as she searches for her mother. But it looks like, for the first time they seemed to beat her mom to an event. Ameena points out the silent auction room, and Maria drags Y/N to go check it out. She watches quietly as Marie beds on a number of things, folding her slips in half and dropping them in the crystal bowls. Her friend’s squeal startles her.

“Y/N!” She feels her arm being grabbed tightly. Marie motions to the last bowl on the right. “Look! You totally need to bid on that trip! Look at the destination! Isn’t that the same resort as-?”

Y/N feels her stomach clench and her heart stutter. She clenches her fists hoping to get control of her emotions. “Yeah, no. I think I am going to pass Mari. I don’t think I’ll be heading back to Mexico any time soon.”

Marie’s blue eyes grow heavy with sympathy. “It was such a good time, wasn’t it?”

Y/N smiles weakly. “Umm, yeah. It was fun while it lasted… I need a drink, why don’t we go get one.”

While Y/N was consumed in self-pity when she reached the bar. She ordered a Jack and Coke while ignoring the questioning gaze Marie cast her way as she ordered her sour apple martini. Drinks in hand the two of them walked back to their table. While they were gone, Ameena’s mom and her twin sister had arrived. Y/N exchanged customary greetings before she directed her attention to her whiskey. Her mouth waters at the anticipation of taking her first sip. She hadn’t touched Jack and Coke in over a year. There were too many memories associated with it. It’s better if she didn’t think about him. She usually does a good job keeping him out of her thoughts, but it’s her dreams when she is really exposed.

The salads are served just as the chandeliers flicker, telling everyone they should take their seats. Y/N pokes at the romaine leaves, looking for the honeyed almonds that are likely to be buried under the mozzarella in her Caprese salad.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the yearly Women’s Club bachelor auction!” Y/N looks at the overly excited MC. A petite blond woman strutted across the stage while holding a microphone. Her blond curly hair bounced with each step. Y/N watched her walk on the stage wearing pencil shape stiletto heels. Her bright pink cocktail dress swished around her knees. And she was wearing an identical lipstick color.

“The committee would have gotten her,” Ameena’s aunt hissed to her sister.

“I am Taylor Brown, and I have been given the honor of presenting twelve of our most eligible bachelors for our 4th annual charity auction! Tonight is a big, big night! I just want to give everyone a reminder that it's for a good cause. So bid often and bid generously!” She paused and waited for the applause to die down.

A short man with the brightest teeth she has ever seen walked across the stage and was introduced as the auctioneer. Y/N paid no mind to his introduction and turned her focus to Jessica’s salad. While her friend was preoccupied, and already had her paddle in hand, Y/N stabbed one of her mozzarella disks. Y/N couldn’t help but snicker as she hunted a cherry tomato just before Jessica’s eyes cut to her, sending her a side glare while making stabbing motions with her fork.

“All right ladies, get your checkbooks out and your pens ready!” Taylor says. “Let’s meet the first bachelor!” She looks down at her cards and starts to read the brief biography on Bachelor Number One. As soon as Y/N hears the word “heir” she stopped listening. Now that doesn’t mean she won’t appreciate the good-looking men, but spoiled trust fund babies go right into the reject pile. Taking a quick look around her table, she sees Ameena, her mom, her aunt, and her cousins are wearing the same smiles. One of Ameena’s cousins, whose name Y/N fails to remember, engaged in a heated bidding war with four other girls. In the end, she lowered her paddle, upset that she didn’t win the man. The auctioneer announced the winning bid was 1,500 dollars, and an older woman leaps out of her chair and celebrates with a much younger brunette. No doubt the actual recipient of the date.

“Jesus,” Marie whispers. “$1500? How did I actually think I was going to be able to snag one of these guys?”

“You didn’t miss out on that one,” Jessica whispered back, leaning into Y/N’s space. “Forty bucks says he’s bad in bed and isn't creative. Probably only does missionary. An heir to a cracker company? Are you kidding? That’s the most boring food on the planet!”

Y/N sighs and reaches for a bread roll. It’s her third but she might as well eat her 50 dollars worth of food. Marie was right. She could never afford a date, not that she was looking for one. She’s not even sure if she has 1500 dollars in her bank account at the moment. And she didn’t want to look.

They paused the auction for dinner after the fourth bachelor was introduced and bid on. But it doesn’t feel like twenty minutes had passed before Taylor walked on the stage again. She tapped her microphone and gained everyone’s attention once again. As she introduced Bachelor Number 5, the biography was oddly familiar, and Y/N nearly choked on her steak when she heard her childhood best friend’s name called.

“Ben!” Y/N cried out in shock. “Oh my God! Who put Ben up to this?” She watches, as Ben stepped onto the stage, and Y/N has to admit, her childhood best friend cleans up nicely. His looks alone will probably have the women in the audience eagerly flashing their paddles.

“Fucking hell, Ameena!” Jessica calls across the table, as Ameena starts the bidding at 100 dollars. “You know he would have slept with you for free years ago!” Ameena spins in her seat, her complexion turned scarlet while she shoots a deathly glare.

“Jessica! Shush!” Annie says.

Y/N chews the last of her tenderloin and observes the bidding for Ben. There’s no doubt in her mind that Ameena could convince him to participate. She’s had a crush on him for years and Y/N can’t figure out why the two of them never went for it. She silently roots for Ameena, because she always thought they would be a cute couple. At least if the two hooked up, they can split the difference with Annie and Nick on the nauseating PDA they subject her to.

When Ameena’s winning bid of 2,200 dollars is made official with a slam of the auctioneer’s gavel, Y/N wonders how much Ameena’s mother is going to be covering. Ameena sends a beaming smile at each one of them and then leans in to whisper something to her cousins. The three of them giggle themselves sick. While Ben is being escorted off the stage by one of the leggy stagehands.

“Oh you know God hand-made this one,” Jessica states dramatically as he uses her paddle to fan herself. Y/N tilts her head and studies the man that is standing on the stage. He is bulky and has bleach blond hair. Taylor says his name is Chad… rather fitting Y/N thought. She immediately lost interest in him. He gave off this cock, douchebag attitude, and Y/N wasn’t interested.

She discreetly took her phone out of her clutch and dropped it on her lap. She took the opportunity to go through her missed messages to pass the time. She vaguely could hear the bidding war that was taking place, but it wasn’t until she heard Jessica exclaim how she would love to climb that tree, did she look away from her phone.

Y/N has to admit he’s also very attractive. Tall, clearly well built beneath the tuxedo, skin like cocoa, great smile. He goes fast, as the bidding escalates from 100 to 500 to 1800 dollars.

“Amazing! Amazing!” Taylor applauds, as the blond escort leads him off the stage. “The two of you will make a beautiful couple!” She smiles at the girl who won the date. Taylor glances down at her cards before she releases a dreamy sigh. “And now we have my personal favorite, Bachelor Number 8! He’s a UCLA graduate, so you know he is brilliant, and up until recently he was the editor for Food and Wine Magazine, so you know his way around culinary arts.”

Y/N dropped her fork and the clatter earns her several glares from adjacent tables. She offers an apologetic smile and takes a long sip of her water. It’s just a coincidence… right? There can be tons of men who write for that magazine.

Taylor continues to read the provided biography, “But now he’s Los Angel’s newest restaurateur, having opened his own bakery and cafe last month!” She pauses dramatically, “Mr. Harry Styles!” The curtain shifts a little bit before parting, revealing the tall, curly-haired man. He walks confidently onto the stage, and Y/N swears her entire body went into cardiac arrest. She watched the man who haunted her dreams walk onto the stage, ready to be bid on.

“Oh, God,” she whimpers.

Annie looks at her in concern, “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

She tried to catch her breath, never taking her eyes off of Harry before finally replying. “It’s him.”

~~ Fifteen Months Earlier~~

“Shit!” Y/N cried as she bit down on her lip. She mumbled an apology to the couple she was standing by and took an awkward glance at their son. “I’m really sorry.” She winced as she put weight on her stubbed toe. She righted her carry-on and lifted it from the handle. She scanned the seat numbers as she quickly walked down the tight walkway. Once she found seat 15C she looked at the overhead compartment, it was already bursting with suitcases, duffle bags, and a pair of golf clubs. She frowned, pulled out her earbuds, and jammed them into her skirt pocket with her iPhone. She set her suitcase down on the floor of the aisle, so she could get a better grip, and hoisted it over her head, and started to push it into the overhead bin.

“Shit,” she swore again. Stretching up and pushing harder, she felt her tank top rise, exposing her belly. She grunts softly as she tries to find a sweet spot for her case to fall into. With a huff, he sets her suitcase on her seat and reaches up to move the golf clubs. Finally, she managed to wedge her bag into the tiny space she created. Smiling triumphantly, she pulls her tank top down and drops into her seat.

“Quiet the workout you just gave yourself.”

The masculine tone sent a shiver down her spine. She turned to her left, and nearly gasped at the sight of the beautiful man seated by the window. That was the only way to describe him: beautiful. It could have been the sunshine that was pouring in from the window. He had a strong brow and jaw. His tanned cheeks were flecked with stubble like he hadn’t shaved for a few days. He had full, lush lips. And his muscular arms were covered in black ink. His eyes gave her a pause as they raked over her. There wasn’t an accurate way to describe how green they were.

“I nearly threw those golf clubs into the aisle myself. Pretty sure those things are supposed to get checked.” He grinned at her.

“Hate people like that,” she replied, combing back the lock of hair that fell from her ponytail. Curling it around her ear, she offers him a polite smile. She does her best to ignore the acceleration of her heart. She moved her eyes from his, only to land on the collection of Jack Daniels and Coke cans. She looked over to the guy’s seat and saw empty plastic cups on his tray table. Only the melting ice cubes remained.

“Is, um…” She didn’t know how to ask the question. The flight had only begun boarding half an hour ago. Was whoever supposed to be in that middle seat already getting sick in the restroom? A pit of anxiety formed in her belly as she thought of the possibility of sitting next to some drunk who reeked of whiskey and God knows what else.

“Is this seat taken?” He finished for her, amusement twinkling in his forest, green eyes. “Is that what you’re asking?”

“Ah, yeah, I guess so.” She smiled shyly.

He picked up the empty cup and swirled it in his hand. The ice cubes bounced off each other. His lips curved into a smile.

“That seat would be mine too.” Bitterness laced the words. “So feel free to get comfortable.”

Before Y/N could register why this incredibly attractive man had two seats, and why his tone was like acid, and why he was assembling a collection of empty mini-bottles.

“Sir, would you like me to take those for you?” The pretty, blond flight attendant asked. “We will be taking off soon and the trays need to be stowed until we’re in the air.”

The smile he aimed toward the stewardess had Y/N’s stomach clenching. God, he was sexy.

“Take me, sure. But I’ll need another, please,” he requested. The acidity had gone out of his voice. Now, it dripped honey. With a seductive grin, the stewardess leaned forward, giving Y/N an eyeful of her generous cleavage, thanks to the top two buttons she failed to secure. Or more likely had undone when she saw the man in seat 15A. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the interaction that is taking place in front of her, she reached for the SkyMall catalog and started to flip through the pages. She put her earbuds back in and queued up a playlist, then pored over the ludicrous items that were being advertised. She lost herself in her music and read every single word of print in an effort not to pay attention to the brown-haired Adonis to her left.

The seatbelt signal brought her back to reality. She noticed that they had reached cruising altitude. She hesitantly glanced to her left. The magazine slipped through her fingers as he made eye contact with him. His beautiful face had a thoughtful expression. He didn’t say anything, just clutched his Jack and Coke and continued to watch her. Finally, he motioned for her to yank her earbuds out.

“I wasn’t aware that there was going to be complimentary in-flight entertainment was going to be so good.”

“Sorry?” She gave him a tentative smile and gathered the discarded catalog. She jammed it back in the pocket in front of her, as she waited for more clarification.

“Your singing, You have a beautiful voice.”

“Oh, god…” She shook her head and slid her phone out of her skirt pocket. She quickly reached under the seat to tuck it into her purse. So much for that, no more accidental singing to the rest of the flight she reminded herself. No singing especially when there was a hot guy sitting next to her. She continued to look in her back, hoping the heat she felt in her face would fade. Pulling her raunchy romance novel out, she settled back in and turned on the device.

“So… how long are you going to give me the cold?”

“What!” she exclaimed and twisted in her seat to face him again. He gave her an unnerving sexy grin and drained the last of his drink. The moment he set the empty cup down he pressed the call button. Her eyes couldn’t help but look at the two tray tables.

“It’s my eighth if you’re counting.”

She glanced down at her lap as she felt the heat come back in her checks.

“It’s fine. I’m not embarrassed. You shouldn’t be.”

“I’m sorry… it’s none of my business,” she apologized. “I’m sure you have a good reason for it.”

“Good reason for getting drunk?” He arched his brow at her. She nodded. “Does anyone need to have a reason for getting drunk on a plane?”

She bit her lip and studied him. His wide green eyes were focused on her, they didn’t show any trace of being bloodshot and his speech was still coherent, and he articulated his words clearly. He didn’t seem drunk, not yet at least.

The flight attendant appeared with his already-poured drink in hand. She bent her knees a little and leaned way over Y/N, offering the cup to him. Y/N could hear the throaty purr of the stewardess’s voice as she informed the guy that if he needed a shoulder to cry on, or something more stimulating, she would be happy to oblige.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” he said.

Y/N couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose as she caught the scent of the blond’s overpowering perfume. The flight attendant was just straightening back up when he spoke up.

“Did you want something?”

Y/N felt a warm hand on her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her seat at the touch. The heat of his palm on her bare skin sent a series of tingles racing down her arm, but the heat of his gaze was almost as electric, penetrating her with those intense green irises. He motioned to the flight attendant and looked back at Y/N.

“Pick your poison. It’s on me. It’s more fun to drink with someone else.”

“Oh! Um…” Y/N glanced up and saw the blond glaring down at her with unhidden irritation and envy. “I’ll have what he’s having.” She normally wouldn’t pick whiskey and there is a good chance she will regret it, but the selection was limited anyways. The stewardess gave her a tight smile and spun on her heel.

“So, um, what’s your good reason?” she prompted.

He raised the cup to eye level and analyzed the dark liquid. “You see this seat?” He gestured to the empty seat between them with his head. She watched as pain seeped into those beautiful eyes.

“It wasn’t supposed to be empty,” he continued, closing his eyes. “She was supposed to be here with me.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She. Her eyes instantly went to his hands searching for a bank on his left hand. He was holding his cup at an angle so she couldn’t get a good look at his fourth finger. From the pain in his voice, Y/N could only assume that this mystery woman was no longer with him. Was he a widower? He looked young, probably only for a few years older than her.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked with a lack of emotion. He tipped his cup back. She couldn’t help herself; she watched his throat as he took two big gulps, finishing the drink off. Watching his throat muscles move was sensual. He smacked his lips together as he opened his mouth to speak again. “I haven’t told you who she is and why she is not here.”

She didn’t miss the hatred in his voice, not knowing what to say, she stayed quiet. A patronizing cough caught Y/N’s attention. The flight attendant gave her a bitchy smile and thrust the cup toward her. She said a polite thank-you and was rewarded with silence.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his empty cup toward her. Startled, it took her a second to raise her drink to his. “You know, before I pour my heart out to you, it might be nice to know your name.”

Taking a skip of her mixed drink, she was surprised to find the taste smoother than she anticipated. She took another sip, letting the liquid courage begin its journey into her veins.

“Y/N,” she replied.

“Y/N,” he tested. His eyes traveled down the length of her, “suits you.”

All she could focus on was the way her name rolled off his tongue. She’d never heard it spoken so sensationally. None of the guys she had dated made it sound so good.

“What’s yours?”

His lips pressed together. “Harry.” He didn’t wait for her to react, she shifted in his seat to face her better and cleared his throat. “If I’m correct more stories begin with ‘Once upon a time’?

“Fairy tales do.”

“Well, this definitely isn’t a fairy tale. More like a horror story. How do those start?”

“I’m not sure,” Y/N started. “But I do know that they usually end with everyone dead.” A frown formed on her face, causing Harry to laugh.

“Well, this story isn't that dramatic.” He took a deep breath and scratched the stubble on his jaw. “This was supposed to be my honeymoon flight. I was supposed to get married three days ago.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped, less violently from before, but still. She felt a strange sensation of loss as she listened to Harry explain how his fiancée called off the wedding the night before the ceremony, confessing that she had met someone else and she couldn’t marry him. The pain in his voice and the ache in his eyes had Y/N’s heart clenching. She barely knew this guy, and yet she felt his pain. She also felt anger toward this Genevieve woman who so carelessly shattered his heart. She shook her head in disbelief and that was enough for Harry to pause.

“What?” he asks cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

She gave him a humorless smile. Running her finger around the rim of her cup, she tried to figure out the best way to describe her feelings. She knew she didn’t have the right to slander his former fiancée. No matter how hurt he was, or how wounded his pride and ego were for being cheated on, he obviously loved enough to want to marry her. Y/N had to be careful how she spoke her thoughts.

“Why-why are you taking your honeymoon? Isn’t this only going to remind you of her?” Once again, she felt her face warming. She knew it was none of her business and that she shouldn’t ask such an insensitive question. But she couldn’t help herself.

Harry didn’t look offended. “Yeah. Mexico was her idea. I wanted something a little more exotic, or maybe even something more adventurous. But she didn’t want to go anywhere else and I wanted her to be happy. So I booked a week at one of the best all-inclusive resorts, right on the beach.” He responded dryly. “I tried to cancel the trip. I could have switched the plane tickets, but the resort said no refunds. Couldn’t get my money back. So here I am. Me and seat 15B and Jack Daniels.”

“That’s… uh… brave of you?” She tried to make light of the situation, knowing that nothing she said would make him feel better, she knocked back the rest of her whiskey.

He grinned. “Yeah, well, life goes on. And what’s that cliche saying? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? I figured a whole lot of tequila and sunshine and some good hands and maybe some meaningless sex will at least help me temporarily forget.”

Y/N nearly choked on the ice cube she was rolling in her on her tongue. His grin nearly feral as his finger pressed the call button once again.

“A little too forward for you?” he said thickly, his words started to slur. He set his elbow on the armrest and leaned closer.

“No! No, of course not!” She responded quickly, heat started trickling along her neck, down her chest, and a spear of warmth between her legs. But she had never been a good liar, especially not when her body always manages to give her true feelings away.

“It makes you uncomfortable that I’m telling you my plans for the week so openly, doesn’t it.”

She tried to shake her head in denial, but she felt exposed under his gaze and was grateful that she had put a bra under her tank top so he couldn’t see her nipples puckering.

“You see, Y/N, I am going to enjoy myself for the next seven days. I am a young, attractive guy, right?”

She nodded. Her throat tight and her body tingling.

He leaned close, and she could see that his green eyes had darkened and they were harder to recognize from his dilated pupils. “Do you find me attractive, Y/N?”

Fuck, the way he said her name… each time he spoke her belly tightened and another stroke of heat speared through her and she felt moisture drip onto her panties.

“Y-yes,” she whispered. “You’re really, really attractive. You’re…” She swallowed, seeing his eyes stare at her, waiting for her to continue. She wasn’t the best flirt, but the knowledge of what Harry had gone through the past few days, pushed her to continue. She wanted this beautiful man to feel wanted. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“Well,” a smirk formed on his face. She swore her clit throbbed at the sight. “Thank you.”

Then abruptly she sat up and looked over her shoulder. “Ah… could you take these away, please, and bring us two more?” Y/N twisted and saw the disapproval look the flight attendant gave them. She found it funny how quickly her attitude changed. A little thrill curled through Y/N at the thought of another woman being jealous of her. But the stewardess did her job. She gathered the trash on the tray table, though Y/N didn’t think the sharp elbow into her shoulder was an accident.

As soon as the tray was cleared, Harry reached forward and locked it into place, and motioned her to undo her seatbelt. “Come, sit next to me.”

Her hands shake as she undoes her seatbelt. She slowly rises from her seat and settles into the middle one. Suddenly all she is aware of is how much closer she is to him. She could smell the whiskey from his breath, but she could also smell his cologne. It was something spicy, with a touch of something woodsy and very male.

“I might be a little drunk now,” he whispered, “but my vision is still intact, and you need to know that I find you incredibly attractive too.” He reached over and took hold of the strand of hair that fell out of her ponytail. The touch had her body humming. “You probably don’t even know how pretty you are.”

She shook her head. He made a scoffing sound and twirled the hair around his finger. “You are. You are so very pretty. He leaned around her and unlatched the tray of her former seat. He nodded to the flight attendant to place both new drinks on it, and as he moved back to his seat, her breath caught in her throat when he lingered beside her for a beat longer than necessary.

"Tell me Y/N, why are you headed to Cancun?"

She grabbed one of the Jack and Cokes and took a long drink, trying to settle her nerves. She swallowed, letting the whiskey lull her veins into submission. Then she explained she was on Spring Break, and since this was her senior year in college, this would be the last hurrah for her and her friends. They were meeting in Mexico for four days of the stereotypical fun in the sun. The others had flown down yesterday, but she had an exam she couldn't reschedule and that's why she was flying by herself.

"Would they miss you?"

She blinked, "What do you mean?"

"My plans."

"Your plans?" she asked, still confused.

"My plans for the week. I think they might need some changing."

Her heart beat wildly.

"This is the alcohol talking again, cause I'm not usually this bold. Don't hold it against me. I boarded this flight with the intent of getting drunk and having meaningless sex to get over my ex. If all I wanted was a good dick sucking or a quick fuck, that flight attendant would be more than happy to help me. And I am sure there might be a few other girls on this flight who would jump at the chance. But from the moment you sat in that seat, I knew I was fucked. And I knew I wanted more."

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Are you with me, love?”

She nodded, and he smiled at her. He gestured for her to pass him the other drink. The liquor sloshed up the sides of the plastic cup from her hand shaking so violently. His eyes dropped to her hands but didn’t say anything.

“So, I’m wondering if your friends will miss you if I propose something and you accept my offer.”

“Um… I’m not sure,” she croaked. She wished she had more experience with this kind of flirting.

“I have this big, beautiful suite at the Playa Joya…” He started to tell her about the luxury resort, listing off the amenities, and she felt her eyes get rounder as he went on and on. Everything sounded like pure bliss, from the food, to the pools, spa treatments, and the facilities available to guests.

His green eyes sobered for a moment. He tossed back the rest of his drink and leaned across her again to set the empty cup down, but this time he did not settle back into his seat. He placed one hand on her knee, just below where the hem of her skirt ended, and one finger tipped her chin, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. Her entire body felt like it was on fire. He was going to be the death of her.

His voice was quiet when he asked her not to judge him for what he was about to say. She stared at him and let her eyes respond for her, he gave her a relieved smile and then told her his plan of finding a different girl every night to help him fuck his ex out of his head.

“See, I haven’t slept with many women,” he whispered. “So it seemed like a good idea at first. I mean… she fucked someone else, why shouldn’t I return the favor?”

“I can see why you think that,” she said quietly, struggling not to imagine what he might look like naked during the act he kept referencing so casually.

“But I don’t think that I want any strange woman. I can’t do anything meaningless. I can do no strings, but it can’t be meaningless… And maybe what I’m about to ask you isn’t entirely fair of me, because I am pretty fucked up right now, in more ways than one. And you probably didn’t plan on this happening when boarded the plane today, but the worse thing you can say is no, and tell me to fuck off, and I never see you again.”

He was rambling now; she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the nerves, or maybe both. She waited for him to take a breath and compose himself. But she was distracted by the tingling sensation that was traveling up her thigh, as his fingers danced along her bare knee.

“Y/N?” He was practically panting her name.

She inhaled sharply and tried to focus on him. Her stomach was in knots and her mind was buzzing with anticipation.

Harry’s fingers ghosted a little higher on her knee, disappearing under her skirt just an inch, and reflexively she closed her eyes.

“Here is what I want, Y/N; I want you.” His blunt confession had her eyes opening, and the fire crackling in his eyes had her squirming in her seat. Which resulted in his hand traveling higher up her thigh. His fingertips teased her sensitive skin and she struggled not to clench her pussy as it flooded with more moisture. He would definitely feel it if she tensed right now.

“You want me?” she whispered in awe. Even with the heated looks and not-so-innocent touches he’d been gracing her with, she still couldn’t believe he actually wanted her.

He cupped her cheek and let his pinky trace her lower lip. “I want you so much. Can I have you? Tell me I can have you.”

“Harry… I…” she glanced around the cabin and took in the arrangement. The plane was full; not a single empty seat to be found. It would be impossible for them to go unnoticed if the both of them left their seats. But the thrill of possibly fucking him, even in the cramped airplane lavatory had her practically panting, and it wasn’t like she was going to see any of these people again.

“I think all the restrooms are-”

He pressed a finger to her lips, gently tugging it downward. His breath was hot on her lips as he bent even closer. “Not here,” he murmured. “When we land. I have that big empty suite and no one to share it with. Think about it, Y/N. We… could… be… so… good…”

He started to lurch forward, and she held her breath. He was right there. He was going to kiss her. He was going to... lay his head on her shoulder? His finger slipped from her lip, and a loud puff of air fell from his parted mouth. His eyes are closed.

He was asleep, more accurately, he was passed out.

Frustration and relief flowed through her.

She wasn’t ready for the moment to end, especially when she thought he was going to kiss her. She just knows that if he had pressed his lips to hers, she would have given into him and let him use her however he pleased.

But with him sleeping on her shoulder, she crashed into reality. His blunt confession echoed in her mind. He had admitted that the alcohol might have been talking, but would Harry remember his original intentions when he woke up? When it was all said and done, she would be that warm body in the aisle seat, an outlet for his heartache and his need to prove his sexual stamina, while they were up in the air. Once they landed, he would go check into his ritzy resort, seduce a few lonely women, have his way with them, and life would go on. He’d heal from this, and someone would mend his broken heart. There is no way a guy like Harry wouldn’t get his happy ending. He would slip a ring on another woman's finger someday and she would actually show up on the wedding day.

She stared down at the man who slept on her shoulder. She studied the arch of his brow and the straight slope of his nose. His breath came out of his nostrils in soft snores. Usually snoring would irritate her, but there was something calming about the noise Harry was making.

He was beautiful in this state. There was something soft about him and how he looked so vulnerable while his weight rested on her body. She felt like she would look at him for the rest of the flight.

It was the sudden rush of air that came from his mouth that brought her back to reality. With a deep breath, she reached over to her original seat and grabbed her romance novel and dove into the steamy book, only to pause every once in a while to wonder if fate did actually have a hand in guiding you toward your soulmate.

When the pilot announced their descent into Cancun, Y/N closed her book and set it aside.

“Harry,” she whispered, gently shaking his leg. She couldn’t resist splaying her palm over the solid muscle and squeezing his meaty flesh. “Harry, we’re going to land soon.”

With a groan, followed by his eyelashes fluttering, he angled his neck and fixed his forest green eyes on her.

“Hi,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. He blinked a few times as he became aware of his surroundings. “Fuck! How long have I been out?” He raised his head, wincing, his fingers massaged his temples. “Oh, god, was I on you the whole time?” he asked embarrassed.

Y/N felt her face heat up again. “Um… yeah. It’s fine though! I spend the time reading anyway.”

He ran his fingers through his curly hair and sat back into his seat. She watched his jaw move and she could tell he was running his tongue across his teeth. He glanced out the window and smiled.

“Quite a sight.” He gestured to her to take a peek. She hesitated momentarily before finally leaning as far as her seatbelt would let her. But all she could pick up on was how close her left breast was to his inked arm.

“Y/N.” His hand clasped hers as she settled back in her seat. Holding her in place with his eyes, “I was serious about what I said… right before I fell asleep.” He ran his knuckle against her cheekbone, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. “I still want you. I don’t need an answer right now. Just… promise me you’ll think it over.”

She trembled, she definitely would think about it. She knew that she wouldn’t stop thinking about it. Whether or not she could act on it was an entirely different story.

When she stepped off the plane twenty minutes later and walked up the jetway to emerge at the gate, Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side. He crushed his lips to hers and the contact immediately ignited a flame that had been building since she sat next to him. His mouth tasted slightly stale from the whiskey and sleep, but his lips moved feverishly, with passion, and force.

“You know where to find me,” he said roughly, caressing her hop tenderly, while his other hand’s pressure on the small of her back contrasted the touch. He dipped his mouth to hers in another demanding kiss, teasing her with just a swipe of his tongue before he broke free.

He turned on his heel and started walking in the direction of the baggage claim. Her entire body pulsed with desire, and her skin tingles when he turned around for one last look. With a shit-eating grin, he turned back and walked out of her sight.

Part 2

~~~~

A/N: This isn’t me freaking out. *insert nervous laugh* This is the longest fic I have ever written and am not sure how I did or where it came from. I want to send a quick thank you and some love to ly ladies @fromyourstrulyh and @summertimestyles for the encouragement and hyping me up along the way! With that being said, hope y’all enjoyed the first installment :)

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bruhstories · 3 years

Text

Fate

Summary: The Abduction of Persephone or how Levi couldn’t get you of his head.

Pairing: Hades!Levi x Persephone!Reader

Warnings & Content: nsfw, mentions of rape & incest (cause, you know, Zeus is a fucking entitled asshole and nobody fucking likes him), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, language, loss of virginity

Word Count: 5.1 k

A/N: literally the only thing I have to say is that for the purpose of this fic, Hanji has she/her pronouns, and the first few paragraphs are written in third person xD happy reading!

Help me...

Please...

Help... me...

Sweat drips from his forehead and his eyes shoot open. That damned dream again. That sweet voice again. Levi Hades can't comprehend why he was dreaming. Gods don'tdream. His bed seems empty, but he never needed anyone in it. For some reason, now he feels like someone is missing. He gets up, naked body and blank eyes watching over his realm from the balcony of his castle. Empty. Other than the souls of the dead that quietly dance around like little flames, it's empty. Other than Cerberus sleeping peacefully, it's empty. And so damn cold. Mortals mistaken the Underworld for a scorching hot place, but in reality, it's as cold as Levi Hades' heart. If he even has a heart.

He wraps his toga around his sculpted body, a wreath of laurels on his coal-black hair, donning his arms with silver bracelets and rings. Time doesn't exist in the world of the dead, but Levi Hades sticks to a strict schedule. He waves his hand and a scroll and quill magically appear on his marble desk. He can't trust Hermes with this message, and so he gives it to one of his dogs to deliver it to Hanji Hecate. Who better to interpret the meaning of his dream than the goddess of witchcraft herself? LeviHades surrounds himself in thick, grey smoke before he disappears from his bedroom.

Somewhere on Earth, Y/N Persephone is being watched by Zeus. The powerful god cannot resist such a beauty, and he is known for having his way with anyone, even his own daughter. But it's not her time, he thinks, not just yet. She knows this, she knows what will happen to her when she reaches the age of marriage, and at night, when not a soul is awake, she sobs and prays that someone will find her and help her. She is willing to do anything to escape her father's clutches and her dark future. And every night she cries, it rains — it pours.

At the outskirts of the Underworld, Hanji Hecate receives a message. She reads it carefully, and a knot forms in her stomach. The goddess heard the pleas of a girl, whom she believed to be a mortal, but if Levi Hades heard her, too, then it could only be another deity. HanjiHecate closes her eyes and performs a spell in the hopes of locating the desperate girl. It doesn't work. It doesn't work because, unbeknownst to her, Demeter is hiding her daughter from the preying eyes of Zeus.

They searched for weeks, mortal weeks, for the crying goddess, but none of them had any luck. Y/N Persephone is somewhere in the shadows of Demeter, but even she knows her mother can't protect her forever. Zeus gets what Zeus wants eventually. The sun rises over the meadow, but Y/N Persephone doesn't know that because she's stuck weaving in a cave, sweat dripping down her forehead, hairs sticking to her face. The drakons Demeter placed at the entrance of the cave followed Y/N Persephone outside, guarding her as she washes herself in a nearby stream. He isn't supposed to be there. Levi Hades isn't supposed to peer at her naked body and the way she splashes the crystal-clear water. He was supposed to meet with Hanji Hecate and take a walk. He was supposed to go back to the Underworld after that. Yet here he is, spellbound by her gestures, her face, her eyes. And then, she sings. Y/N Persephone begins to sing and all the flowers around him bloom. Levi Hades goes into a shocked state, eyes wide open, brows raised. He knows that voice. He knows it because he's been dreaming it. His scent is picked up by the drakons and he disappears, leaving behind a trail of smoke.

"I found her, Hecate. I found her, but I can't get close to her."

"What do you mean you found her? Just like that?" Hanji Hecate's fingers trace the bark of a tree.

"It was fate. It must be." Levi Hades is desperate now.

"Calm down, Hades. I've never seen you so... twitchy." She laughs, kneeling in the grass. The witch plays with some fallen leaves, brown hair flowing in the wind.

"That's because you didn't see what I did. She started singing and flowers bloomed! I don't know what kind of nymph she is, but she is beautiful. Nothing like I've ever seen before."

"Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day Hades falls in love." Hanji Hecate laughs again. "So why didn't you approach her?"

"Tch, because she was surrounded by drakons. I don't understand why a mere nymph would need so much protection."

The goddess gasps, all traces of happiness gone from her face, replaced by disappointment and anxiety. Levi Hades takes notice of this and places his cold hand on the witch's shoulder, but she flinches.

"You can't have her."

"You knowher?" His voice is condescending, offended that his good friend hid something like this from him.

"Hades, she's Demeter's daughter, Persephone. She's not just some nymph, but the goddess of spring." Hanji Hecate brings her palms together, forming a triangle. "We can't talk here."

Levi Hades nods and lets himself transported to the Underworld, back to the familiar souls lingering in the air.

"Talk, Hecate." He is impatient and demanding, arms folded across his chest.

"Zeus wants her, and Demeter and I are keeping her hidden." The deity explains with pain in her voice.

"Yes, well, you're not doing a very good job, now, are you?"

"Oi, the drakons noticed you. You don't think they would notice Zeus?" She snaps back, traces of arrogance in her voice.

"Hecate... it's Zeus. What would stop that brat from turning into a drakon fool her?"

The goddess shivers, shifting her weight from side to side.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I do, actually. I'll bring Persephone here." LeviHades proudly states, but his face is still blank, not once betraying his true feelings.

"You'll... what?" Her mouth is slightly open, bewildered by the god.

"It's the only place Zeus doesn't have access without an invitation. Face it, Hecate, it's a good plan. Better than yours, anyway."

Hanji Hecate is speechless, completely at a loss for words. She ponders over the idea, a hand brought to her chin to think better.

"Alright, but what makes you think she'll just stroll through the gates of the Underworld without a complaint?"

"Oh, you've mistaken my words. I'll forcefully bring her here." He tilts his head, a semblance of a smirk on his lips.

"For fuck's sake, Hades, she's not what you'd expect. And what about me? I promised Demeter I would protect her!" HanjiHecate throws her hands in the air, her shadow taking the form of a raging dog.

"Do notchallenge me, witch. You know I can destroy you in the blink of an eye." LeviHades growls and her shadow restores itself to its natural shape. "Besides, you would still protect her. The Underworld is where you abide."

She knows she shouldn't carelessly be out in the open one hour before her coming of age. But Y/N Persephone, with tears streaming down her beautiful face, embraced her future. She knows Zeus will come for her, and so she willingly gives herself to him. With poppy seeds, she put the drakons to sleep and left the cave, clad in a sheer toga, her body visible through the transparent fabric.

"If you want me, come and get me, father!" Y/N Persephone screams at the skies, the flora surrounding her slowly turning a dark shade of brown and dying, just like her innocence would die tonight. The earth shatters behind her, marigold flames and ashy smoke cracking open the soil. Shadowy figures emerge, grasping the young goddess' limbs and they drag her down, down, down to the Underworld. She is afraid, her heart beats faster as the moonlight disappears, and all she can see is darkness.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be gentler, but I didn't want Zeus to get the wrong idea."

"You're Hades, aren't you?"

"Yes, but please, call me Levi. Persephone, I presume." Levi doesn't smile, but his voice is warm, contrasting the cold that surrounded your body.

"Don't call me that." You spit back, confused as to why you were in his realm in the first place.

"You should be a little more grateful that I saved you, brat." He narrows his eyes down at you.

"Saved me? You abductedme. You're no better than him."

Hanji Hecate was right, you had fire in your soul, and an attitude that would drive Levi over the edge.

"Tch, don't compare me to that pretentious cock." The god scoffs and your expression softens.

"Zeus is a... cock? With a beak and feathers?" You giggle and he almost wants punch himself. How could he forget how innocent you are? Clearly, he's been spending too much time with Minthe.

"That's one way to put it."

"Is there another way?" You ask with your index finger brought to your lips, pure curiosity in your eyes.

"Forget that, you said you didn't want me to call you Persephone. How else should I address you?"

"Y/N." You tell him, eyes peering to the balcony of his castle and you skip to it. "Oh, this place is huge! What are those?" You point at the colourful flames dancing in the air.

"Souls." Levi joins you, resting his arms on the marble railing.

"They're beautiful!" You are in awe, and he is just as mesmerised by your beauty. Not one sane god or goddess would consider the souls of the dead beautiful.

"Look, Y/N, I heard you. In my dreams, I mean. I'm not going to hurt you, I brought you here to rescue you." He lies through his teeth. Levi did want to save you, he still does, but he can't deny the fact that he wanted you all to himself. "I'm gonna mind my own business, you mind yours. Try not to break anything. And don't, under any circumstances, make a mess out of my castle, or my realm."

You lean on the railing, nose scrunched and a hand on your hip.

"What am I supposed to do, then? And what about my mother? What about when spring comes and I have to bring it? What about Zeus?"

Levi grits his teeth, almost regretting his decision of saving you.

"Tch, I'll deal with Demeter. I'll tell Zeus I'm marrying you. You can go bring spring when it's due. Happy?" He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"And you won't taint my innocence?"

Oh, he will taint it, alright. But not just yet.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"You still didn't answer my first question. What am I supposed to do?" You shift your weight from one leg to the other, impatiently waiting for a proper answer from your captor.

"Anything you want, just don't get in my way when I'm dealing with the dead."

"You're an aggressive little man, you know that?"

Levi can feel a blood vessel bursting on his forehead. You were truly annoying, but he couldn't just sit around and wait for Zeus to have his way with you.

"Anyway, I suppose it is safer to be here." You rolled your eyes. "Got any books?"

"What, you read?" He snorts, a condescending brow arched.

"Don't patronise me. You're the one who abducted me, you could at least try to be nice to me."

Levi sighs. This wasn't how he imagined things would go. He imagined you'd make the perfect housewife and keep him some company.

"First floor. Just stay out of the restricted section."

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Zeus' beard, are you always this irritating?"

"Are you?" You chuckle, a hand hiding your smile.

With another sigh, Levi disappears, leaving you alone. "Great job, Y/N, you made the only person who took a crumb of pity on you to go away." You say to yourself, a pout on your lips.

The Underworld wasn't as bad as you thought. Sure, there was the occasional fire popping from the ground here and there, and you had to be careful not to burn yourself, but overall, it was serene. Some parts of it were scorching hot, but mostly it was cold, and you always brought an extra cloak with you when exploring the realm. Levi wasn't always with you, in fact you haven't seen him in days, but you met his three-headed puppy. Well, puppy wasn't the best word to describe the creature, and it did try to eat you the first time, but you stood your ground and tamed the beast with your singing and eager belly rubs.

"This is a sight I never thought I'd live to see." Levi is shocked, watching his raging dog so calm. "Cerberus never lets anyone but me touch him." He gives the dog a few pats on his back.

"Well, Cerberus likes me better, don't you? Who's a good boy? You are, yes, you are!" You kiss all three muzzles and hug the gigantic beast, the heat of its fuzzy body warming you up.

"Oi, don't get ahead of yourself. Come here, Cerberus." Levi extends his arms and the creature is confused. "I said, come here."

The dog stops wagging its tail and plops next to you with a groan, one head resting in your arms. The shit-eating grin on your face is enough to make Levi sigh.

"See? I told you he likes me better." You poke your tongue out in triumph. You wave your hands and the god watches how you place three daffodil wreaths on each of Cerberus' heads. "Much better!"

"Y/N, he looks silly."

"No, he looks adorable! Here, I made you one, too."

Levi takes the flower crown and inspects it, careful not to crumble the petals.

"What is this?" He asks, marvelling at the beauty of the ice-blue colour of the plant.

"Uh, a flower crown?"

"Yeah, no shit. I meant what flower is this?"

"Oh, it's a blue poppy. One of the rarest plants in the world." You smile. "I think it suits you."

"You're an oddball."

You sit in a lavish chair, all kinds of foods displayed on the table in front of you. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you decide to wait for Levi anyway. It's bad manners to start eating without the host, Demeter taught you that. Gods and goddess don't eat mortal foods, but sometimes they indulge in it, and tonight was one of those nights.

"Here, try this." Levi offers you a strange fruit, something humans have on earth, but different.

"What is it?" You poke your finger at the juicy fruit, sucking the sweetness from your digit.

"It's a pomegranate that only grows in the Underworld."

You pick at the seeds, popping one in your mouth. You couldn't believe something so good could grow in a cold place like this.

"So, what's the occasion?" You ask Levi as you eat three more seeds, the crimson juice staining your lips.

"Our wedding."

You accidentally swallow, choking on saliva and the pomegranate seeds, your fist hammering your chest as you gasp for air.

"What?"

"I told Zeus I'm marrying you and now he wants proof." Levi bluntly states, a chalice of nectar in his hand.

"No."

"You don't have a choice, unfortunately."

"But… I'm supposed to be a virgin. Marriage implies consumption of it." You slam your fists on the table. "My mother-"

"Your mother lied to you. You're a goddess of fertility for fuck's sake." He shrugs and you're shocked by how chilling his voice sounds. Sure, Levi was always brooding and silent, but now he was just inconsiderate. "However, I'm not a man who breaks his promises. I told you I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"Oh, how niceof you. I'm leaving." You stand up, pushing the chair away.

"And go where? Demeter can't protect you forever, and you don't stand a chance against Zeus."

"You know why I hate my name so much, Levi?" You growl, fingernails digging into the wooden table.

"Do, tell."

"Because it means destruction. A fitting name for a goddess of ‘fertility’, don't you think?" The table splits open and all the plates fall to the ground. Your normal, bubbly aura changes suddenly and there's a hint of red in your Y/E/C eyes. "You think I don't stand a chance against Zeus? I'm his offspring." You snap, and instead of flowers falling out of your hair, there's thorns, spikes and rusty leaves all over the place. The uglies, most poisonous plants sprout from the ground and you're no longer the goddess of spring, but the bringer of slaughter, and Levi is impressed. Now he really knows it was faith that brought you together, he knows your place is with him — with the dead.

"Marry me." He says, unmoved by your little show. Unmoved on the outside, because on the inside he wants to bend you over and fuck you silly. His words shouldfuel your rage, but you're too surprised by the fact that he still wants to marry you, despite your outburst.

"Why? Because Zeus wants that?" Vines protrude from your skin and your fingernails turn black. You were completely different than the helpless little girl he rescued that night. You were terrifying. But not to Levi — to him you were fascinating.

"Because I want that."

It was safe to say you had fallen in love with Levi in those nine months since you came to the Underworld. He accepted you the way you were, he accepted your darkness, something not even your mother could do, and that's what triggered your feelings for the god of the dead. You still didn't allow him to call you Persephone, because you still hadn't fully embraced that part of you. Spring was almost due, but you promised Levi you'd go to earth after your wedding. Everyone would be there, including Demeter, which you haven't seen in a long time.

A soft knock interrupts your thoughts.

"Y/N, are you ready?"

"In a second, Hanji!"

"Oh, thank the gods for calling me that. I keep telling everyone I'm tired of Hecate but they don't care." The witch scoffs from the other side of the door.

"Has my mother arrived?" You ask, concern visible in your voice.

"Yes. And she's not happy."

"Hey," you open the door, "thanks for taking the blame and explaining things to her." You hug the goddess and she holds you tight.

"Don't worry about it, kid. It's me who should thank you. I don't know what you did to Levi, but he seems happier. He won't show it because he's a prick, but I can feel it."

You flash Hanji a genuine smile and ask her to fix your veil, to which she gladly accepts before escorting you to the castle grounds. Your mother should do this, but she hated her future groom, or your father, but he was a sick man who only decided to leave you alone because he respected Levi.

Every god and goddess of Olympus is here, even your uncle Poseidon. You emerge from the castle, arm looped around Hanji's and you smirk at Levi's shock. He never thought you could be more beautiful, yet here you are, dressed in silk, flowers on your hand and a thin veil clinging from the peony crown on your head. You catch a glimpse of Demeter before drifting your eyes to your future husband.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gods and goddesses, we have gathered here today to witness and bless the union between Levi, god of the Underworld, and Y/N, goddess of spring." Hanji proudly declares. The ceremony doesn't last too long, and when Levi's lips crush yours in what is your first kiss, thousands upon thousands of plants sprout from the soil, colourful flowers blooming and letting out the sweetest smells known to mankind. Love, he thinks, that's what love smells like.

You're tired from the party, tired from all the talking and mingling, tired from your mother's lecture, and tired from avoiding your father. At least Hera was nice enough to wish you a happy marriage. You pace around your bedroom, sitting on the bed, then standing up again. Levi went to his chamber after the party, but you were expecting, no, you wanted to consume the marriage. You walk to his room, a toga lazily draped over your shoulders, and open the door without a single knock. He's in bed, the only light source being the colourful souls levitating outside his windows. You carefully push the covers and climb into the bed, gently scooching closer to him.

"Psst, husband, are you sleeping?" You poke his shoulder.

"Tch, not anymore." He sighs, not bothering to open his eyes and look at you. "What do you want?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked! Seeing as we're married now, I thought it's only natural for a wife to sleep with her husband." You roll on your side, propping yourself on your elbow. Tentatively, you tug on the fabric of the toga, exposing your shoulders and part of your breasts.

"So sleep." Levi finally lolls his head to the side, facing you. He did not expect to see you sprawled on his bed like that, in a lewd position and a playful smile on your soft lips. "You don't have to do this just because we're married.

"I'm doing it because I want to. And I know you want it, too, Levi." You purr, your fingers grazing over your collarbone.

"It's going to hurt." He warns you, but his hand is already on your thigh.

"I know. But you'll take good care of me, won't you?"

Levi has no idea which one of you is talking — Y/N, goddess of spring, or Y/N, goddess of destruction — and frankly he doesn't even care at this point. As long as he has your approval, he knows he can do whatever he wants. You pull him into a sloppy kiss, obviously inexperienced, but he likes it that way. He likes that you have no idea what you're doing because he can be in control. His hand runs up and down your thigh and you can feel heat building in your core.

"Tingles..." You mumble in his lips with a hazy smile.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" Levi pulls away and you nod. "Show me."

You feel embarrassed and small, but obey nonetheless. Your hand travels between your legs and your fingers touch your already swollen clit, rubbing it in circular motions. Levi watches you with hungry eyes, wanting very hard to abstain, but he can't, and so he takes your nipple in his hot mouth. You whimper at the new sensation, electricity shooting through your body as he snakes a hand between your thighs, two fingers diving into your cunt.

"Ah! L-Levi! So big!" You mewl and he throws his head back, releasing your poor nipple.

"That's nothing compared to what you'll get, you needy brat." He curls his fingers, hitting that sweet spot, and you buck your hips. Despite being a virgin, your body naturally knows what to do. Your spongy walls clench around his digits and Levi can already feel how tight you'll be around his cock. "You're so wet."

"Is t-that a good thing?" You're innocent and pure and you rock your hips back and forth, pathetic moans escaping your lips.

"Fuck, yes." Levi kisses you, and it's nothing like the kiss from your wedding. It's desperate and greedy, and he wants you all to himself. The pace quickens, he's pumping his fingers in and out of you faster and you don't know what to do, so you keep rubbing your clit and the familiar heat of your orgasm flushes through your body. You come undone on his hand, the sinful, squelching sound echoing in the bedroom.

"It didn't hurt at all!" You look at your husband, but there's a hint of mischief in your voice, a playful glisten in your eyes. Levi clicks his tongue, because the worst — and best — is yet to come, and you know it — you're no saint.

"Come here." Levi orders and yanks you by the hair, his aggressive gesture sending a shiver down your spine and into your cunt. "Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth for me."

You obey and part your luscious lips and then you see his cock for the first time — thick and veiny, it slaps your face as it pops out of his undergarments, the tip grazing over your cheeks.

"Levi that's... that's too big." You chew your lower lip and lean back.

"You'll be fine. You said it yourself, I'll take good care of you." He cups your face with one hand, thumb caressing your chin. "Now suck it. Make sure to use lots of spit."

You feel your cheeks hot and test the waters by giving the glistening tip a few licks, tongue swirling around it. It tastes salty, and you find yourself liking this. Levi pats your head, but you feel him tensing with each movement of your tongue.

"Shit." He curses under his breath and when you look up at him with doe eyes, his heart pounds into his chest. You courageously take the tip into your mouth, and with hollowed cheeks, you move further. "Yeah, just like that. Take it all."

Bobbing your head up and down, you try to take it all, but the girth and length is just too much, and tears pool at your eyes from the lack of air, but also from how good it feels to have a fat cock in your mouth. Muffled moans reverberate in your throat, and Levi can feel the vibrations tickling him. He firmly grabs your nape and holds your head in place.

"Trust me and relax, can you do that for me?"

You half-nod, anxious and somewhat excited for what is about to happen. Your husband rocks his hips back and forth slowly before aggressively fucking your poor throat, and you feel the arousal building in your core again. So much for promising your mother you'd always stay a virgin. You want to touch yourself again, but Levi slaps your hand away and thrusts into your mouth, holding your head still until you choke, your fingernails digging into his arm. The god pulls out and you gasp for air, and he almost feels sorry when he sees your pathetic state.

"A-again!" You flash him your pearls in a sultry smile, spit dripping down your chin. Who knew you liked asphyxiation?

"Needy brat."

"Please!"

"Tch, later. Right now, I want to fuck you." Levi growls and he already has you pinned on the bed, arms above your head and legs spread open for him. His cock presses against your slick slit and you brace yourself for the incoming pain. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

You don't have the time to nod when you feel a burning sensation between your legs. Squeezing your eyes shut, you bury the back of your head into the pillow and grip the sheets so tight your knuckles begin to lose their colour. Levi slowly pushes further, another inch buried in your cunt, and you bite on your lower lip. But you don't tell him to stop, instead your spongy walls clench around his cock and another inch gets lost in you.

You never thought gods could feel such immense pain, yet here you are, with a bloody lip from digging your teeth into it and a sore pussy. But the worst thing faded bit by bit when Levi bottomed out into your cunt. The two of you sit still, your husband allowing you to get used to his girth.

"Do you think I bled?" You ask, eyes filled with tears.

"Probably, but I promise it will never hurt like this from now on." He comforts you before licking the blood from your lips. The gesture makes your cunt flutter and Levi takes it as a sign to go on. Slowly, he rocks his hips back and forth, and the molten pain is replaced by tingles and arousal.

"You good?"

"Y-yes, oh, f- yes!"

"You can say fuck, you know?" Levi thrusts once, and it's so deep you feel his cock brush over your cervix.

"Fuck!" You cry out, legs wrapping around his waist to make sure he doesn't pull out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Good girl."

There's no more room for gentle touches and soothing words when your husband fucks you raw. Your hips buck against his to feel that sweet pressure you never knew you longed for. In and out, his cock makes you feel sore and hazy, and you want more. The sound of his balls slapping your ass makes your mouth water and your eyes glossy, and Levi feels selfish. He pulls out, turns you over and takes you from behind, like a rabid dog fucking a bitch in heat. And you are in heat — you love the way his thrusts make you feel dumb, the way his cock stretches you, the way he uses and abuses your tight little cunt. Everything is so new to you and you adore every bit of it.

"Shit, I'm close." Levi warns you, his fingers digging into your hips, and you want to be good for him, so you drag your hand between your thighs and rub your swollen clit in frantic motions.

"L-Leeevi! I think I'm-"

"Fuck!"

When you feel a hot liquid shooting into you, your legs begin to tremble and you come on his cock, head falling onto the pillow with a heavy sigh. He pulls out and you already miss the feeling of being full, your juices mixed with his own dripping down out of you, down your thigh. You curl up next to your husband, hand holding his arm before you drift to sleep.

A sweet smell fills Levi's nostrils and when he looks at your tired body, there’s flowers in your messy hair. He still can't get used to the way your divine, disorganised powers work, but at least now he knows what's been missing from his life, and the corners of his mouth slightly twist upwards into a genuine smile. The god of the dead, in love with and married to the goddess of spring. Order and chaos blending together in one beautiful, perfectly arranged mess.

It’s fate. It must be fate that brought you together — but it’s love that will keep you together.

tagging @starrynightlys @stolemyheart12

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radiantcrown · 3 years

Text

@ardasung sent : “ i had a marvellous time ruining everything. ”

“ oh? ” lips twitch, and a cup is raised to cover the smile that blooms, cerulean eyes sparkling as they regard her cousin. it is such a characteristic statement, full of the irreverent humor that she so fondly remembers from their youth. “ do i dare ask for details? i trust you at least left imladris still standing, i would hate for the children to have to rebuild the whole valley. ”

#gal internally : this already sounds funny please dish #ardasung #ardasung tbt #answered ask tbt #on the one hand lies darkness‚ and on the other only hope / third age

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punemy-spotted · 3 years

Text

The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #mob!au #political!au #dark!fic #steve rogers smut #andy barber smut #dark!steve rogers #angst #series #mob!steve rogers x reader #i really am gonna die here

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maletfsstories · 3 years

Text

The International ("Soju 🇰🇷")

Requested By linxiaopei

"Newcastle"

-"You are here" Said Matt’s boss in a drunken tone as Matt walked towards the table his boss and some coworkers were seated in.

-"Jesus Christ how much have you guys drunk already" Said Matt as he sat down and observed a mountain of empty shots and beer mugs.

-"Not enough and you haven’t had any yet" One of Matt’s coworkers said as he continued drinking from his mug.

-"If you guys forgot I'm the one driving all of you home so I can't drink" Said Matt rather tired as he wanted to be at home instead of in a bar filled with drunk and obnoxious people.

-"Just buy yourself one and bring us another round of beers" Said Matt's boss as he passed him a coupon for a free drink.

Matt begrudgingly got up from his seat and walked towards a small area where a female bartender was passing a few drinks to a waiter.

-"Hello Sir how may I help you?" Asked the bartender as she pushed a menu in front of Matt.

Matt turned around and counted the number of people that were seated around his boss.

-"Could you give me four pints of beer please?" Said Matt as he looked back towards the bartender.

-"Sure" Said the bartender as she rapidly started to fill four large glass mugs with beer.

-"You seem a little stressed sir, are you alright?" Said the bartender once she noticed Matt's blatantly obvious impatient demeanor.

-"Sorry, the thing is that I shouldn't be here at all" Said Matt with a little bit of anger in his voice.

-"Same here, today is my first day on the job and I already want to call it quits" Said the bartender as she placed the first mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Why haven't you?" Asked Matt

-“Even though I don't like large crowds and this bar is the worst I at least get more than the minimum wage” Said the bartender as she placed the second mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"So are you going to continue working here for the rest of your life?" Asked Matt

-"Not at all, I'm working here to pay for my studies, unlike the rest of my family I prefer to work for my stuff” said the bartender as she placed the third mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Your family is rich?" asked Matt with little intrigue in his voice.

-"Yup, they are a bunch of snobbish idiots, my father doesn't work because he inherited a lot of money from our estate and my brother is an influencer who wins a lot of money by posting revealing images of his gym routines on his Instagram" Said the bartender as she stopped filling the last mug of beer and turned back to face Matt directly.

-“Wow, I can't imagine you see your family very often" Said Matt

-“No I don’t, my father lives in our family estate which I don’t normally visit and my brother is currently traveling around the world with his group of roided meatheads”. Said the bartender as she rolled her eyes.

-"It must be a fun life, kind of wish mine was like that" Said Matt with a little bit of melancholy in his voice

-"It does seem desirable but I frankly believe in working hard for one’s stuff" Said the bartender with a smile on her face.

-"What are you studying?" Asked Matt as he made himself comfortable in a small seat placed in front of the bartender's workstation.

-'' I'm studying accounting at Newcastle University" Said the bartender.

-"Well I'm an accountant ..." Said Matt with a small amount of surprise in his voice.

-"Really? How is the job? I mean I love the classes I'm seeing but I don't know anything about how to apply them in a real-life scenario" Said the bartender with a glee in her eyes.

-"Well I've been an accountant for the last five years and believe me when I say that the scenarios in class are way easier than the ones I've experienced in the job, it's hard and complicated but I still kind of like what I do" Said Matt in an attempt to reassure the bartender's career choice.

-"Why are you taking so much!"

Matt turned around and saw his drunk boss moving slowly towards him.

-"Sorry I was just speaking to the bartender," Said Matt as his boss leaned on the bar, meanwhile the bartender immediately completed filling the last mug of beer and placed it in front of Matt.

Matt's boss looked at the four beers and immediately frowned -"Where the hell is yours?" He asked.

-"Sir I can't drink I'm driving you and everyone else home" said Matt in an attempt to stop his boss's insistence.

-"Nonsense, just drink a small bit, that's all I'm asking from you" Matt's boss said as he moved closer towards him.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender as she grabbed the smallest glass size possible, while she was doing that Matt looked at the menu that had been placed earlier in front of him.

In the meantime, Matt's boss rapidly drank his beer and walked away toward his table with the other three that were left.

-"Is this good?" Asked the Bartender as she showed Matt the small glass, Matt immediately looked up and nodded.

-"Do you have something that is similar to vodka but isn't that powerful?" Asked Matt as his boss approached him again.

-"Well, we do have Soju, it's from South Korea and it's in a way an exact match to Vodka, the only difference is that it's mildly less alcoholic, will that do?" Asked the bartender.

-"Please give me one in the small glass you showed me earlier" Said Matt as his boss was now standing next to him.

-"What did you order?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"I ordered some vodka" Lied Matt.

-"Wow Matt, I thought you didn't want to get drunk tonight" Said Matt's boss as he laughed like a clown.

In the meantime, the Bartender had poured Matt's drink from a small green bottle with Korean lettering onto a small transparent glass.

-"I hope you enjoy it sir" Said the Bartender as she placed the drink in front of Matt.

-"Here goes nothing" Though Matt as he swallowed every drop of Soju in an instant, because of this he immediately felt a burning sensation in his throat, luckily it wasn't as bad as the one produced by drinking vodka.

Matt then gave the empty glass to the Bartender and looked at his boss. -"Are you happy now?" Asked Matt with a little sarcasm in his voice.

-"Where is the fun in only one?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"You can't be serious, do you want me to get arrested" Said Matt in a raised tone of voice as he was tired of being pushed around by his middle age child of a boss.

-"Don't you dare to speak to me that way, I'm your boss, if you don't drink another shot I'll fucking fire you" Said Matt's boss in an aggressive tone.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender who had a sad expression on her face while still having the green bottle of soju between her hands.

-"Another one please," said Matt as he finally relented to his boss's order.

The bartender immediately grabbed the empty glass and filled it with the crystalline liquid -"Here you are sir" said the bartender as she passed the drink to Matt.

As Matt grabbed the glass and drank its contents he wished he could end it all, to have a new life where he didn't have a boss or any type of responsibilities.

Once Matt placed the empty glass in front of him the bar where he was in seemed to disappear and was rapidly replaced by the interior of a luxury hotel room.

-"What the hell" Said Matt in a worried tone as he was about to get up from the bed he had suddenly materialized in, before Matt could completely get out of the bed a strange pain made his stop.

This pain was due to Matt's five feet nine stature increasing to six feet three, while that was happening Matt's slim build changed into a more muscular one. His flat chest developed a pair of juicy and muscled pecs, down below in Matt's stomach a few small tires of fat were rapidly removed out of existed which left him with a flat surface that was rapidly replaced by the growth of a six-pack.

Meanwhile, in Matt's skinny arms his biceps, triceps, and forearms grew as new muscle mass filled them, a few veins also appeared here and there, as that was happening Matt's back also became incredibly shredded.

While all the changes to Matt's upper body were occurring all the healthy patches of hair that covered the majority of his body disappeared leaving him completely waxed.

As the majority of Matt's upper body had gone through a certain amount of changes the next area to change was his lower body.

At first in Matt's pelvic area his equipment grew larger and larger. This made him immediately aroused as a moan escaped from his mouth, this moan however was very masculine and in a way, it sounded like that of a huge beast.

When Matt's dick reached the ten-inch mark his ass became the next target of the changes, it grew until what was left was a perfect round and bouncy bubble, then Matt's thighs and calves grew larger leaving him with a pair of powerful legs.

Because of the new growth in muscles around Matt's body, his clothes became extremely strained, as Matt suddenly moved his clothes finally gave in, they broke into small pieces which immediately disappeared, the larger pieces which were still attached to his body also disappeared leaving him completely naked.

A few seconds after Matt's clothes had disappeared a pair of black underwear and black swimming shorts now covered his private area while still leaving his upper body completely exposed.

-"Shit" Said Matt out loud as he noticed his new body and the weird clothing that had replaced his shirt and dress pants.

While Matt continued looking he felt a weird sensation as his face lots its Caucasian features which were replaced by more Eastern Asian ones

Matt's lips inflated only a small bit, his nose became fair and straight, his eyes became slightly slanted and his pupils became dark in coloration, the last thing to change was Matt's hair, it became coal black and his previously office neutral haircut was replaced by a more trendy one.

With the changes now complete Matt got up from the bed he was laying in and grabbed an ultra-modern Samsung phone that was placed on a sleeping table next to the bed.

Matt unlocked the phone with his new face and immediately opened the camera, he was obviously shocked and amazed at the beautiful young Asian face that was looking back at him.

-"너무 이상해" (This is so weird) Said Matt in fluent Korean with his new deep voice, the Adonis looking back at him through the camera shared nothing in common with his old nerdy self, the only thing that was the same was the pair of black glasses he was still wearing.

After exploring his new face with the camera for a little more Matt finally decided to look at Instagram for any info about his new self, Matt opened the personal profile which had the name "Gan Sangwook" displayed next to a picture of Matt's new self flexing with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

Matt after looking at the name and picture also noticed that the new him had a following of almost a million people and that his account was verified meaning that he was relatively famous and well known.

Matt then proceeded to scroll down, as he did he saw dozens of images of the new him working out in gyms surrounded by similarly muscled men, there were also some pictures of him in different locations from around the world and a few pictures were modeling and sponsor type posts.

As Matt continued looking at the pictures a new personality and identity became more dominant in his head, during the process of Matt's old life and memories being eliminated the door of his hotel room opened with a loud bang.

With the door now wide open a group of five heavily muscled Korean men entered the room, Matt remembered seeing some of these men in the Instagram profile but now he somehow recognized all of them and felt a deep personal connection with them.

-"이봐, 여기서 뭐해? 늦었 어. 해변에 가야 해" (Hey dude what are you doing here, it's late. We should be on the beach) Said the bigger of them as the others around him cheered with their deep dumb sounding voices.

-"해변 친구들을 위해 준비된 것 외에 제 인스 타 그램을보고 있었어요" (I was looking at my Instagram, other than that I'm ready for the beach dudes) Said Matt as he started flexing his muscles, the men he now recognized as his gym crew also started flexing their muscles.

-"그럼 가자!" (Then let's go!) Said another one of the muscled men as Matt got up from the bed and walked with the men through the large hallways of the most luxurious resort in Jeju Island.

After a short elevator ride, Matt or Gan Sangwook walked with his friends toward the private beach owned by the resort.

-"수영하러 가기 전에 여러분 사진을 제 인스 타 그램에 올려도 될까요?" (Dudes before we go swimming can I post a picture of all of you to my Instagram?) Asked Gan as he and his crew were a few feet away from the sea.

All of the men said yes and Gan got into position, once he took a few hundred pictures he posted the one he thought looked the best with the caption "해변 준비 😎💪🏻" (Ready for the beach)

After Gan took the picture he continued walking toward the sea, as he did the last vestiges of his old identity of a thirty-year-old British accountant were eliminated what was left was in its place was Gan Sangwook, a young and muscled South Korean jock whose only worry in the world was to keep his body in shape and his one million Instagram followers happy.

#reality change #race change #mental change #age regression #request #the international #dumber

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visd3stele · 3 years

Text

The beauty and his beast - wolfstar fic

summary: two different nights, years passed, some things changes, but some never do

TW: nightmares, PTSD, trauma, non depictive child abuse, themes of suicidal thoughts

A/N: I loved writing this, but I am so nervous about it. What do you think?

requests ; masterlist

fanart credit picture down below: @lunopal

Ragged voices licked his ears. Three different ones overlapped in a cacophony of hissed whispers and dooming laughs. From where he stood in the middle of his cell, Sirius could see a silhouette standing in the open door. Open, because there was no way he could escape. Three Dementors floated in a circle around him, so fast he could barely tell them apart. Black smoke, a burning smell and shadows whirled under low hoods, bringing him to his knees.

The man in the door curled his lips in a terrible grin. The Dementors were his and with each mind they broke, with each soul they ate, the wizard gained a sense of pride and morbid joy.

Sirius knew it. He knew the man, back in his school years - how far they seemed now! But Sirius also knew he was delusional. The Dementors bow to no one. They have no law, no caretaker, no master. Only their purpose.

Continuing to swirl around his frail body, sinked in to a third of what it used to be, bony edges poking out through dirty thin layers of clothing, the Dementors closed in on Sirius. Flashes of memories flew before the Animagus' eyes. James' empty ones, still open in a silent plea for his sacrifice to be enough to save his family, his brown hair dipped in his own blood, body angled in an unnatural position with his hand stretched forward above his head as if reaching for his best friend. Lily's tears, yet to dry and evaporates, stained her too pale face, the red of her hair sprayed around too lively; no blood pools formed around her lifeless body, laid on its belly as it fell onward, as if leaping away from her son, so the baby won't have to see it. And finally Harry, his godson, crying in his crib, a brown-red crust shaped like a lightning forming on his forehead; his green, small eyes, swollen, puffy and trimmed with red followed his godfather as the man turned his back on him and ran outside.

Sirius cursed loudly, beginning to shackle the chains trapping him in place in case he tried to escape the daily visit of the Prison Warrant and his guards. But the now twenty five years old has stopped trying to run a long time ago. What good would it be? There was nothing - no one - waiting from him out in the world. No, Sirius trashing around the cold, dirty dais, snapping the metal biting in his wrists, bruising his effervescent skin and almost cracking his bones as well was his attempt to run from his own mind. If he could just wipe the haunting memories away with a shook of his head, a twist of his back or punching and kicking the thick walls.

Fragments of thoughts he wasn't sure belonged to him invaded his mind. "Your fault. Traitor. Another Black." And, worst of all, one pained howl, a desperate scream in the night. Sirius wasn't sure if he heard it, or the dark creatures around toyed with him, but Remus' wild, feral yell of pure hurt reverberated inside the bars of his mind. The young wizard shut his eyes closed tightly, hoping to brush away the sound, the voices. Failing to do so, he released a scream of his own, only a hint of Padfoot, the big, black dog, his alter ego, printed in it.

The thirty four years old man yanked up. The bed sheets were soaked in his sweat, the blanket throwed on the floor. Sirius passed a shacking hand over his face, feeling the hot air leaving his mouth in short breaths, than big inhales with no exhale, the burning of tears on his warm red cheeks and the running nose. His lips felt sewed together all of a sudden, as chill after chill entered his body, cooling off his face too quickly.

It was just a nightmare, he knew. He escaped Azkaban, has been a free man from over a week already. But Sirius Black couldn't let the twelve years in prison go. The things he saw there, what the Dementors showed him day after day, carved their way in his brain, refusing to leave. Yes, he may have been wrong: his family and living friend welcomed him back. Harry was warming up to hid godfather, Nymphadora Tonks was eager to know her uncle, Andromeda even reached out, sending letter after letter and Remus - well, Remus hugged him tight and apologized for believing that filthy rat's lies. The werewolf spent his days, from first ray of sunshine until the last drop of sunlight. But the nights he went home. The nights when ghosts came to play, wounds teared open and pain leaked like blood from Sirius' heart, Remus was gone.

He tried to remember a time they didn't share a bed - before Azkaban, of course. Not in a sexual way, though it came to that in the late years of Hogwarts too. But simply for the comfort they each found in the other. It started in the second year, Sirius recalled.

Four twelve years old boys in a room seemed like a receipt for disaster. In a way, it was. After finding out their friend's secret, James, Sirius and Peter decided to sneak in the herbology cabinet, get Mandrake leaves and become Animagus. Seeing as they got away with it, the four created their enchanted map and become the Marauders, messers Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail, waltzing their merry way through Hogwarts.

Not everything was merry and joyful, though. And despite their reputation, the wizards could be grave and serious when need be. Like one night, when Sirius woke them all up with his cries. The grey eyed boy stood on top of his bed covers, knees drawn to his chest, hands tangled in his shoulder length hair. He leaned back and forth, trembling. Front teeth bit in his lower lip to prevent him from making more noises as silent tears rolled down his face.

The other three boys thought Sirius saw a mean spirit, the haunted glassy look in his eyes only proving their theory further. But no danger threatened in the shadows of their room. No monster lurked in the darkness.

James was the first to get up and surf his way to the pure blood. Remus followed closely behind while Peter watched everything from the safety of his bed. Sirius' episode truly spooked him.

"Padfoot, mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. 'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

James and Remus changed worried looks at the sourness of Sirius' voice. Their friend would usually be the epitome of confidence, yet now he seemed to desperately try to shrink and disappear. But it was late and they were tired, so the boys decided with a swift nod that they'd pick up the subject in the morning and climbed back under their covers.

Remus jolted awake. Two out of his three best friends were sound asleep. Sirius still stared at the wall in front of him, breathing jerky. Due to his fine, superior hearing, the werewolf discerned the Black boy's muffled whimpers, sounds that kept him from sleeping.

"Sirius, why are you so afraid?" Remus whispered.

" 'm not afraid, Moony. Sleep."

"Can't. Werewolf remember? I hear you trying to not cry. You can cry, you know."

"I know." Sirius said in a tone that clearly showed he doesn't. With a sigh, Remus threw away his blanket, slipped his feet in his shoes and trailed his legs over the dorm's brick daises until he reached his friend's bed. The brown haired boy signed Sirius to scoop over, which he did, to both wizards surprise.

Later, when talking about that night, Padfoot admitted he was too tired, too shocked and too lost in his mind to think and only acted on auto pilot.

Remus brought the blankets to cover them both, still seated as they were. "Do you need a hug?" Sirius hesitated before answering, but eventually he nodded twice, a quick movement as if the boy was ashamed to admit it and wanted to pass unnoticed.

But Remus smiled softly and wrapped his hands around him. Sirius clinged onto his friend. The warmth of the gesture, the cozy closeness of a settled, stable body, a person that cared deeply about him and only him as a being, set the restrained tears free. Remus held Sirius until his body stilled and he could feel no more tears soaking his pajamas.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sirius swallowed, but the words demanded to be spoken. "Yes."

"Alright. I'm gonna ask you questions and you can answer with yes or no. It's your choice if you want to elaborate. Sounds good?"

"Yes." Sirius said and for a moment his usual, ironic self showed up.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes."

"About your family?"

With a shudder, the grey eyed boy forced out another "yes."

"Your brother?"

"No."

"Your parents, then. Did they - did they do something to you?"

"Yes." Remus' arms tighten around him and he clunged harder to his friend as well. In the safety of the Gryffindor dorm, shared with his most trusted peers, comforted by the scarred boy he became an Animagus for, Sirius stumbled over his thoughts. The dream weighted heavy on his mind, but he didn't know how to let free of those horrible images that haunted him. Not images, memories. Sirius feared that if he said anything they'll become real. Not that they weren't, but they happened in the past. Talking about them, invoking them, would feel like living through them again.

And yet, part of him wanted to talk. He needed someone to know. Sirius couldn't be sure why. Maybe to hear that it was nothing, that it was ok and he shouldn't be such a weak ship. Or maybe to hear it was normal and he wasn't alone. That is how parents love and his didn't hate him after all. Or just to show someone how broken he were, hoping to be picked un and patched.

So, speaking slowly, but evenly, Sirius retailed his nightmare to Remus. In his sleep, the twelve years old boy was hanging some muggle posters in his room: bands, promo for concerts, normal things a boy his age would own. He smiled broadly, music turned on quite loud, muggle music, when his parents bursts in. Walburga and Orion both yell, but Sirius can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s pretty clear they are very upset with him, though. And the reason couldn’t be more obvious.

“Sirius Orion Black!” his mother shrieked. “Ungrateful, worthless child! You are a stain on the family’s name.”

“You should be ashamed of you. As much as I am for being your father. Well, say something. Look how upset you made your mother!”

“Sorry,” he’d try to say, but his voice would break, too small to be heard by the angry adults. Which only worsened their state. Sirius watched frozen in terror as Walburga took her wand. Only his head seemed to be able to move, and he was shacking it vigorously, wiping his cheeks with it. The young wizard tasted tears on his tongue as he repeated the same words over and over again “no, please, ‘m sorry!” It did nothing to help.

Remus stayed in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The moon shone mockingly on the window. Last night has been a full moon and Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail failed to properly contain Moony. It happened quite a lot in their first days as Animagus. As normal, they got better over the years, the four boys falling in rhythm like an oiled machine. By the time they reached excellency, though, mistakes happened. James, Peter and Sirius thought less of it, but Remus took it badly.

As he laid in the dark, blanket drawn to cover his head as he hugged his knees on the side, the young werewolf tried to remember what happened last night. What if he killed someone? What if he will next time the boys won’t be able to restrain him? Is it worth living like this, a danger to himself and the ones around? What if he hurts his friends?

“I can hear your mind working from over here y’know?”

Remus straighten up in shock. “Padfoot?”

“Well, it’s not the Fat Lady. What’s on your mind?”

Remus shrugged, but Sirius wouldn’t stop pestering him until he poured his deepest fears and doubts.

“You won’t”

“How do you know this?”

“You won’t, Moony,” Sirius said more firmly this time.

“Alright.” Remus clearly didn’t believe him and his worries still troubled him as he turned to lay back down. He heard footsteps, then felt the mattress shifting as another body climbed over his bed covers. “I know because I am Sirius Black and you are my friend.” Less than an hour later, both boys were sound asleep.

Sirius slept in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It became a tradition. At first, they'd wait until one of them woke frozen in pain and panic, then they'd stay together and talk silently until they could sleep again. Later, Sirius and Remus would wait until James and Peter were out to decide who's bed to sleep in, knowing one of them - or both - ought to need the comfort.

The man kept trembling. His sobs caught in hiccups, leaving him out of breath. He did it. He left Harry for revenge. He practically made the choice for James and Lily, selecting Peter as secret keeper. His brother died and instead of mourning him, Sirius rejoiced bitterly in his cell - until he found out how he betrayed the Dark Lord.

He was just another Black. An evil presence in the world, despite his efforts. Gryffindor or Slytherin, it mattered not when his genes crafted him. Sirius tried so hard to be good, brave, loyal and the only thing he managed was to disappoint everyone. He was a nuisance and a burden and the a stain on the world. It'd be better if his sorry, useless existence would be wiped off the surface of the Earth.

Such thoughts clouded Sirius' mind when a light knock pulled him out of his head. "May I come in, Padfoot?"

The man almost broke at the nickname. Only one single person now would know to call him that. The weight of the realization hit him and another wave of tears carried the air from his lungs.

Receiving no answer, Remus kicked the door open, worry written all over him. The werewolf was panting and sweating from running, eyes wide close to terror. "Padfoot!" Seeing his oldest friend's state, he rushed to his side and hesitated only a moment before drawing him in for a hug.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Azkaban?"

"Yes."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. They-" Sirius gulped, shame tightening up in his throat. He was a thirty four man, for Godric's sake! And yet he cries like a baby. But the path he and Remus trailed off to, simple questions, any type of answer, so familiar and soothing he couldn't stop. "They tortured me. Showing me their - James and Lily's - death over and over. I left Harry, Moony. I stepped inside the house, saw that beautiful, brave child, suffering and I took off after bloody Pettigrew!" Before Remus could say a thing, Sirius continued, teeth so barred that words barely spitted out. "I heard you screaming too. I don't think that was real, but it sounded so broken, Moony. Twelve years, over twenty four full moons alone. 'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Remus inhaled sharply, pulling Sirius even closer to him. He rubbed circles on his back, leaning to whisper in his ear "It was not, Padfoot. I should have trusted you more, star. If anything, it's my fault for spending so much time alone. So much, in fact, that it seems I neglected you, our agreement."

“It was my fault.” Sirius insisted.

“No,” and not letting him time to argue, Remus added “I know so, Sirius, because I am Remus Lupin and you are my... friend.”

Sirius pulled away only to find a reluctant smile playing on Remus' face. His body reacted before his mind could process its moving. He moved on the right side of the bed, still avoiding the other wizard's eyes. "Why are you here, Remus?"

"I couldn't sleep either. Thought to check on you as well. And good thing I did. You looked..." The professor didn't know how to finish that sentenced. Hollow. Empty. Dead. Scaringly close to death, in fact.

"Merlin! Thank you, Moony. You don't look bad yourself."

Remus chuckled. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Both men laughed. A bitter sweet sound passing through silence, taking with it any sign of discomfort that existed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 12 - ao3 -

The dinner lasted until late, late enough that Lan Qiren had to make his excuses and even then only just barely got back to his room in time to fall asleep at the appropriate hour; he didn’t even have enough time to do more than remove his shoes and outer layer before his eyes had closed.

Surprisingly, unlike most social dinners in Lan Qiren’s memory, it hadn’t been awful. Most of that had been thanks to Lao Nie, whose exuberance, as he’d suspected, could carry just about any social interaction to victory. After exhausting himself in thinking of ever more increasingly ridiculous toasts and forcing Wen Ruohan to drink them – they’d switched to wine at some point, although to Lan Qiren’s relief neither offered him any – Lao Nie had turned the subject to the type of music appropriate to be played at a wedding feast, and his opinions on music were, as always, so horrifically wrong that even Lan Qiren had been lured into arguing with him.

At some point, the conversation had shifted to the subject of marriage and weddings more generally, though to Lan Qiren’s relief both men clearly considered him too young to have thoughts about his own future in that regard the way his teachers might have. Instead, they’d spoken about the origins of various wedding traditions – there were some that Lan Qiren had thought were set in stone and handed down from ancient times which Wen Ruohan could recall having seen invented within his lifetime, which was a fascinating advantage of age that Lan Qiren had not previously considered.

It was equally interesting to see Wen Ruohan at his most charming. It was not a mask that the sect leader bothered putting on very often, as far as Lan Qiren knew, and it was a mask, one that was a little loose around the edges – even Lan Qiren could tell. Wen Ruohan would say the right words a beat too late, with his eyes a little too focused and his smile a little too sharp to be believed; his quips were a little too cutting and his suggestions just a little beyond the boundaries of common decency, his cruelty and indifference leaking out around the edges of even a casual chat with people he considered friends.

But at the same time, it was difficult to deny that he was brilliant. Regardless of whether he’d obtained his superior cultivation through dark and dirty means or not, he’d been the master of his sect and about a third of the cultivation world for at least a generation already, and no one managed that without being extremely clever and more than a little ruthless.

It made for interesting conversation, if one beset with a constant feeling of danger…

“I hope you enjoyed the bed.”

Lan Qiren nearly jumped out of his skin in fright, spinning around to stare at Wen Ruohan standing just within the doorway to Lan Qiren's room – he hadn’t heard him open the door, nor close it behind him. The other man was in his wedding finery, the brilliant fiery red of his sect turned to joyous purpose, and yet there was something sinister in his self-assured smile.

“The – bed?” Lan Qiren repeated blankly, and glanced at it. “It was…fine?”

“You complained, last time,” Wen Ruohan said, continuing to stroll into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Too hard, I believe you said…I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Lan Qiren vaguely recalled having said something along those lines and blushed in shame. “It’s fine,” he said. “I slept deeply and well. Thank you for your concern.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Wen Ruohan said. “You and I are brothers, are we not? My every thought should be of you.”

That didn’t sound quite right.

Before he could say anything, though, Wen Ruohan clicked his tongue lightly and stood in front of him, looking him up and down. “Your Lan sect’s formal clothing is truly a masterpiece of the embroidered arts,” he said. “A brilliant sight – especially all in white.”

Lan Qiren lowered his head, embarrassed again. If pressed, he would argue that his clothing was a little more silver than pure white, so he wasn’t actually dressed in mourning colors, but it couldn’t be denied that he was much closer than most, making it a little inappropriate for a wedding. Unfortunately, he only owned the one set of formal clothes, and there hadn’t been time to commission another; there was nothing for it.

“I like it,” Wen Ruohan said unexpectedly, his hands settling on Lan Qiren’s shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. Lan Qiren looked up and was caught by that intense red gaze. “My sect colors are red and white, after all – just like the two of us. A matched set.”

His hands burned too hot on Lan Qiren’s shoulders.

“White is a traditional color for the Lan sect as well,” Lan Qiren said, and his voice only quavered a little bit. “Anyway, it’s…mostly grey.”

“White,” Wen Ruohan disagreed. “As pristine as a pearl resting in the palm of your hand.”

His thumbs pressed lightly just by Lan Qiren’s collarbone. There were acupoints there, he thought, although he was having trouble recalling which ones or what they did.

“Yes, a pearl is truly the most apt comparison,” Wen Ruohan mused. “Simple and natural, yet shining with its own luster – I’d thought rubies, to make you fit to my taste, but perhaps pearls will suit you better.”

“I have no need for jewels,” Lan Qiren said, a little alarmed. Had Wen Ruohan really drunk so much the night before that he was still intoxicated, confusing his new sworn brother and his new bride?

“And yet I may wish to give them to you,” Wen Ruohan said. “Surely you won’t deny me – after all, I need to repay you for the charming gift you gave to me.”

Lan Qiren had a sinking feeling.

“Uh,” he said. “You saw it? Already?”

He’d searched the room briefly earlier that morning for the personal gift he’d bought for Wen Ruohan, intending on packaging the bowls away in his return clothing – why hadn’t it occurred to him to simply give it away to one of his fellow disciples, or even to trade or sell it? That way he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself by giving such a simple gift amidst all the opulent luxury of the Nightless City.

It seemed, however, that it was too late for that.

“Oh yes,” Wen Ruohan said, looking amused. “A set of drinking bowls, painted with a flowing border reminiscent of vermilion birds – made by your own hand?”

“I only applied the glaze,” Lan Qiren said hastily. “There was another gift, too –”

“I have dozens of golden crowns of better make and greater utility,” Wen Ruohan said dismissively. “Such a heavy thing. If you told me that you’d picked it yourself, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“No, I did pick –”

“Without constraint? Or from a selection of predetermined choices, each one deemed ‘appropriate’?”

Lan Qiren fell silent.

“Do not tell lies,” Wen Ruohan said, rolling the familiar rule in his mouth as if tasting a wine of fine vintage. “Yes, the guan is a very appropriate gift, neither too distant nor too familiar, too rich or too restrained, perfectly reasonable yet conveying nothing, giving nothing away...I’m quite certain your brother picked it out. But you were the one who picked the bowls, weren’t you? Did you pay for them yourself?”

Lan Qiren felt certain that the conversation was leading to some sort of trap, but he didn’t know what, or how, or how to evade it. “I did,” he admitted. “With my sect allowance.”

“How many months’ worth did it cost you?”

Lan Qiren thought back, calculating. “About three?”

He’d thought to get something nice enough that he wouldn’t lose face in giving it, though naturally he’d underestimated the luxury of the Nightless City. Still, it wasn’t as though he needed the money for much, anyway. The sect supplied him with basic clothing and gear, equipment to tend to his sword and musical instruments, and even access to books; he did not buy himself too many luxuries beyond that. Other than the fees he paid for various sect purposes, it was really only the occasional trinket that caught his eye or rare books on foreign musical techniques that he purchased with his own money.

It wasn’t anything like a sacrifice, not really, but Wen Ruohan still looked pleased about it, smug and satisfied as a cat right after the hunt.

“Three months’ worth,” he murmured, and his hands which were somehow still on Lan Qiren’s shoulders slid inexorably inwards to rest on the sides of his throat. “Even assuming you were extraordinarily parsimonious, little Lan, you could only save a third at a time; that’s nine months of your life that you spent for me. Nearly a twentieth of all the months you’ve lived so far.”

What a strange way to calculate time.

It wasn’t even right, since Lan Qiren had turned seventeen in the interval and that made the interval closer to a twenty-fifth than a twentieth, but also – who thought like that, treating time like a percentage, as if it could be measured and spent like coin? Perhaps it was simply that Wen Ruohan was so old already…and perhaps that, in turn, was why he looked at him so strangely, so unnervingly –

Lan Qiren swallowed, decided he didn’t need his pride more than he needed to get away, and ducked out of Wen Ruohan’s loose grip.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready or something?” he asked, turning and pretending to fuss with his robes to avoid making eye contact. “It’s the morning of your wedding.”

“Indeed it is,” Wen Ruohan said from behind him. He was standing too close: Lan Qiren could feel his breath on the back of his head. “Tell me, little Lan – little brother. What do you think of my marriage?”

Lan Qiren hesitated.

“The truth, if you will,” Wen Ruohan added. “I would hate for the purity of our relationship to be tainted by misdirection, even if you wouldn’t go so far as to lie.”

His voice was mild and even, almost sweet, and Lan Qiren was abruptly convinced that it was far more threatening than any of Lao Nie’s rages or his brother’s ice-cold sarcasms.

“I think you made it up to distract people from swearing brotherhood with me,” he said, turning back to face his fears and sworn brother, and felt his face go red as he realized how self-involved that made him sound. But it was what he thought, and Wen Ruohan had asked him not to lie. “You made a mistake, underestimated people’s reactions, and Lao Nie yelled at you because it was affecting your reputation and mine, so you came up with a better story and made everyone else believe it.”

Wen Ruohan hummed. “What an interesting theory. You don’t think the engagement was merely kept private before being revealed at an appropriate time?”

“No.” Lan Qiren shrugged. “If I’m wrong, of course, I’m wrong. But you asked what I thought.”

“Is that why you got me a gift?” Lan Qiren, surprised, glanced at Wen Ruohan, who was still smiling. “To thank me for clearing up the mess I made of your reputation?”

“I got you a gift because you’re my sworn brother, and you’re getting married,” Lan Qiren said, bemused. “What does my reputation have to do with anything? You’re not the one making everyone gossip, and even if you were, you cleaning up something you did is only what you should do. I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

This time, Wen Ruohan gave a little huff of amusement, and he sounded almost surprised. “Charmingly blunt.”

“You told me not to lie or misdirect!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, feeling betrayed.

Now Wen Ruohan was chuckling in earnest. “Ah, little Lan,” he said. “Someone is going to get you into trouble one day, and it may very well be me…you’re right, you know.”

“What?”

“About the wedding,” he said lazily, and put a hand on top of Lan Qiren’s head. “Both in terms of motivation and timing. You’re entirely right, except for one part.”

“What part?”

His fingers tightened, the too-sharp nails digging into Lan Qiren’s scalp and pulling at his hair until his head was forced back to look up at Wen Ruohan.

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Wen Ruohan said. His eyes were boring into Lan Qiren’s own, the pressure of his will strong, as insistent as his voice. “You were not a mistake, little Lan. You’re mine.”

“Of course I am,” Lan Qiren said, suddenly irritated for no reason he could tell. “Your sworn brother. Doesn’t the whole world know it by now?”

“Mm. I suppose they do.”

“And on that note,” Lan Qiren said, “what are the terms, anyway? I never got to see them.”

“The – terms?”

“Of our brotherhood! My brother confiscated the paper you gave me before I could look it over, and naturally I don’t remember, so you have to give me another copy. I think I’m entitled to one, since I’m a part of it, and presumably you did the drafting. Was it one of the classical oaths? Which clauses were included? Provisions? Curses? Was there any consideration of – stop laughing!”

Wen Ruohan had released Lan Qiren’s hair in order to brace himself on the wall, he was laughing so hard. Laughing with big laughs that came up from his belly and stuck in his throat, and no matter what Lan Qiren said he didn’t say one single thing in response. Lan Qiren eventually gave up with a huff and stormed out.

Let the irritating bastard be late to his own wedding, for all he cared.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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finarfiniel · 4 years

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tag drop!

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

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It's Delicate: PART I

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Content Warnings: Mention of NA meeting, some case talk, mild language

Author's Note: This is my first chapter fic! I've only written one shots before, so bear with me. I truly do appreciate all reblogs, likes, and comments. Thank you!!

It's Delicate

Spencer doesn’t really care for gas station coffee, but at 2:00 am it’s the only thing that’s open. He pulls into the parking spot and turns off his Volvo. The check engine light is on, he needs to get into a mechanic, but between his NA meetings and work, it’s difficult to even catch his breath.

So that’s what Spencer does. In the middle of the gas station parking lot at 2:00 am, Spencer sits in his blue Volvo and breathes. He takes deep breaths, the ones that he uses when he has to calm down victims when they’re rescued. It’s grounding, breathing like this he thinks. It’s the kind of breath that Spencer takes when his head is fuzzy from sleeplessness and the only thing that can keep his eyes from drooping is a steady stream of coffee.

He unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of his car. Shutting the door, Spencer surveys the rest of the parking lot. He sees a couple other cars in the lot, he supposes it’s the gas station attendants, but he feels his shoulders tense at the thought of trouble. The bell attached to the door rings as Spencer opens the door. It's a small convenience store, one that Spencer has been frequently at odd hours after the BAU’s jet lands. He’s grown to know the owner, Jeff, who for the past 4 years hasn’t been around all too often.

“I’ll take a regular coffee,” Spencer asks the young man behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything in return, but nods his head in understanding as Spencer hands him a $5 bill and tells him to keep the change.

“Night,” Spencer tells the man, who he’s never seen before, when he hands him his coffee. Again, the young man doesn’t answer. Spencer tries to salvage the awkward encounter by chalking up the man’s coldness by it being so late.

As Spencer pushes against the door with the sleeve covered part of his arm, a poster that’s eye level catches his eye. It’s one of those posters where you can rip off the phone number and contact the person. But instead of a 20-something looking for a roommate, it’s a book club advertisement.

Spencer, quickly for a normal person, but slowly for himself, reads over the sign. The book club is hosted at the local bookstore, Hooked on Books, that Spencer has always meant to check out. From what he can gather, the list of numbers are from people looking for what the poster refers to as “book buddies”. Spencer’s eyes scan the list. There aren't any names attached to the numbers, Spencer supposes that the idea behind that is so bias won’t come into play.

It almost seems like the perfect trap: rip off one of these little pieces of paper with a phone number and call that person with the intention of being their book buddy. It’s something that Spencer knows deep in his bones he’s meant to avoid. But it’s like there’s an invisible string pulling at him to rip the third piece of paper from the group and stuff it carefully into the safety of his wallet.

It’s been five days since Spencer visited the cold man at the gas station and took the number from the poster. In those five days, Spencer slept for two and was back on plane to the middle of Montana for the next three.

After a long day in the sun, Spencer relishes in the cold water from the hotel shower. Even though he had to crouch slightly, Spencer still appreciated the way the chilly water seems to wash him anew. He never sleeps well when the team is on a case, it’s like his mind can’t rest. Well, his mind can never really rest, since it’s technically always growing and changing, especially during sleep.

Spencer’s thoughts travel from his messed up circadian rhythm to the piece of paper that burns a hole in his wallet. He steps out of the shower and dresses in his pajamas. It’s cold in the hotel run, as JJ likes to sleep in the coldest temperature humanly possible. Spencer knows that she finds the weight of blankets comforting. He makes a mental note to put some of his pillows on JJ’s bed, so she can pretend it’s her boys and Will in the bed with her. Spencer can’t help but wonder what’s like to have a child or a partner that misses you. It must be so bittersweet: the promise of coming home, but the threat of having to leave them all behind at moments notice.

Letting his hair air dry, Spencer unlocks the door and enters his and JJ’s hotel room. Out of the whole team, Spencer likes sharing with JJ the best. She’s the most organized and usually, they’ll spend the night on FaceTime with the boys and Will watching a movie, depending on the time.

“You’re all good, JJ. Thanks for letting me get in first,” Spencer says, flopping down on his bed. He shuts off his light, essentially telling JJ that he doesn’t want to talk about the case, or Henry, or anything really.

“Good night, Spence,” JJ says, before shutting off the rest of the lights and heading into the bathroom.

For a couple of minutes, Spencer lays in the all consuming dark. He tries the breathing exercise that’s scientifically proven to make you fall asleep. He counts, one, two, three, four breaths in and holds for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven and let's go for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He tries it for a couple of rounds, but suspects thinking about numbers makes him think about the phone number. Spencer can’t exactly pinpoint why he’s nervous to reach out to the number. Maybe it’s his constant fear of judgement or fear of not being enough, he can’t tell.

Knowing that sleep is probably not coming anytime soon, Spencer rolls on his side so he faces the window overlooking the hotel parking lot. He can’t stop thinking about the case. The way the victim’s mother and father walk around the precinct with a lifeless look in their eyes, staying villgiant no matter how many times JJ tells them to go home and rest.

Spencer doesn’t want to think about the case, so his mind flits to another subject: Hooked on Books Book Buddies. He can’t really pinpoint why he didn’t reach out to his book buddy. But laying there in the bed, Spencer feels strongly compelled to do anything to get his mind off the case, so he climbs out of bed to reach for his phone.

It’s tucked away neatly in his go bag, unlike JJ, Spencer doesn’t have anyone that’s waiting for him at home. Sure he has his mother, but if she needed him, the home would wait until 8 am to call Spencer. He unlocks it and the blue light illuminates the room. Somehow, Garcia had convinced him to get an updated phone. Spencer hardly uses it, but does appreciate being able to get pictures of JJ’s boys and his mother.

He memorized the number in the ten seconds or so it took him to rip the little slip of paper from the poster and put it away in his wallet. Spencer punches the numbers into a new contact, but hesitates when he’s prompted to give a name. He doesn’t know the first thing about this person. Seriously, this is like FBI 101 on the do not listen, he thinks.

Spencer pushes the thoughts of serial killers, for what feels like the first time in ten years, from his mind when he hits the button to message his mysterious book buddy. He types out a message a couple of times, but ends up deleting them because he sounds so incredibly stupid.

Spencer: Hello. I do apologize for my late message. I work odd hours, but I came across your number at the gas station on the corner of Richmond Street and Connor Avenue in Woodbridge. If you are interested, perhaps we can have a conversation about Hooked on Books’ Book Club?

Spencer, realizing that the message he wrote is going to be as good as it gets, hits the little arrow for “send”. He watches as his message turns blue and the little gray delivered pops up. He doesn’t expect the person to send a message back yet. He’s all the way in Montana and they’re in Woodbridge, Virginia, presumably. If it’s 2:30 am in Montana, it’s 4:30 back at home. That’s a little too late for someone with a normal 9 to 5 to be up for work and a little too late for a person that’s joining a book club to haven’t gone to sleep yet.

Don’t profile them, Spencer.

“What’s got you glued to the phone, Reid?” JJ says, with a smirk as she walks out from the bathroom and climbs into her bed. She came in so quietly, or rather, Spencer was staring so intensely at his phone that he didn’t realize.

“Something with my mother, JJ,” he lies, and he doesn’t even know what he can’t tell her the truth.

“Okay, Spence. I just want to make sure you’re all good,” JJ says quietly, her back must be facing Spencer because her voice is muffled a little bit.

“Thanks, JJ, uh good night, now,” Spencer says, effectively ending the conversation.

JJ doesn’t say anything after that, perhaps she just understands that Spencer doesn’t want to talk. Spencer rests flat on his back and tries a couple more rounds of the breathing exercise, but nothing seems to make his brain shut off. Despite the way his eyelids droop and the way it’s almost painful to continue to think, Spencer can’t seem to fall asleep.

He thinks about his Book Buddy, whoever they might be. Spencer hopes that they are around his age. He can’t remember a time that he had a friend his age that wasn’t through work. He has people. JJ is the closest thing to a sister that he’ll ever get and he knows that Derek loves him like a brother, despite his teasing. Emily and Penelope are Spencer’s rock. And then there’s Tara, Matt, and Luke, though Spencer has really gotten a chance to know them all too well, he knows that they’re a team.

But Spencer has always dreamt of having a friend. As a little kid, he used to make up imaginary friends that would listen to his science facts and perform chemistry experiments from him. When he got to high school, his dreams were occupied by someone who’d reach for his hand after he’d been beaten down or strung to a football post. Sure he had Ethan, but that was something charged and electric that left Spencer longing for someone again.

Spencer hadn’t had dreams about a friend in a long time, but tonight he dreamt of coffee and books in a small café and a faceless stranger that would listen to him and laugh with him.

Even though he fell asleep relatively shortly after thinking about his Book Buddy, Spencer did not feel well rested. He turns around in his bed and notices that JJ’s bed is already neatly made. The bathroom is empty, so Spencer reckons that JJ and Emily must already be at the police station.

He wants to savor the last couple of minutes in bed, maybe chase a dream or two of strangers swapping books and making memories over expensive coffee and scones. But reality calls him back home. Spencer checks his phones for work updates (and maybe a message or two from his Book Buddy), but the only notifications on his phone is a Forbes article and a couple emails from Georgetown.

Spencer, heading to the bathroom, gets interrupted by a loud and persistent knock on his hotel room door. He opens the door, revealing an equally tired looking Luke. He waves Spencer good morning before slumping down in the desk chair in the corner of the hotel room.

“I’ve been sent by JJ to get you, she thinks you’re acting weird,” Luke says, expecting Spencer to explain himself.

Awkwardly, Spencer makes something in between a grimace and a frown. He rolls his eyes, but plays along with what he thinks Luke’s little game.

“Well I’m always weird, it would be weird if I wasn’t being weird,” Spencer says, heading into the bathroom with a pile of work clothes. He shuts the door, both literally on Luke and metaphorically on their conversation.

In the bathroom, Spencer dresses out of his pajamas and into a pair of well worn pants and a light purple button up. He forgot his contacts at his apartment, but luckily had a back up pair of glasses in his go bag. Spencer, looking in the mirror, never particularly carried for the reflection that looks back at him. It always seems like his hair is too messy, or his collar is all twisted, or his eyebags are too prominent.

At least the glasses can kind of cover up his eye bags, Spencer thinks as he shuts off the light and closes the bathroom door behind him. Luke, who still is slouched in the chair, looks at his phone.

“Waiting for Penelope to send you a picture of Sergio or something?” Spencer asks, the snark in his voice isn’t missed by Luke.

“You’re one to talk, JJ was telling me how you’re being kind of secretive for the last couple of weeks,” Luke counters.

“Yeah, that’s my work mandated therapist, Luke. You know from the time I was in jail,” Spencer shoots back a little harder than he intended. The look that Luke gives him is something akin to a hurt puppy and Spencer can’t help but feel a little bad for snapping at Luke’s teasing.

“Sorry, man,” Luke says, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “I get it, and you know I’m here for you, Reid. We might not be as close as you and Penny or you and JJ, but I’m here to listen to you,” Luke says, his hand on Spencer, who’s usually so hesitant to touch, is something Spencer never thought he would find comforting.

“Thank you,” is all Spencer can manage and somehow, Luke just gets it. They walk quietly to the parking lot where the SUVs are. The silence continues as they drive to the police station.

It’s still early, only 7:13 am. Spencer can only hope that they catch the unsub in the next couple of hours, so they can file the paperwork and be on their way to Quantico by 8:00 pm. Luke’s steady driving threatens to lull Spencer to sleep. His quiet presence, however, is interrupted with a buzz. Luke’s eyes dart to his phone that navigates them to the police station. He refuses to take direction from Spencer, who has a habit of being a terrible co-pilot.

“Check that for me,” Luke says, “it’s probably Penelope,”

Spencer raises his eyebrows and attempts to suppress a smirk at Luke’s blatant transparency.

“You know with updates about the case and whatnot,” Luke says, brushing Spencer’s teasing off and putting his attention back to the road.

“It’s not Garcia and for what it’s worth, Luke, I don’t see how she’d say no,” Spencer offers, genuinely wanting to see his two friends, who are so perfect for each other it’s almost ridiculous, get together.

Luke shuffles in his seat uncomfortably and pulls into the station. He shoots Spencer a lot, as if to say drop it. The last thing Luke wants is Tara and Matt to get wind of his excitement at Penelope texting him.

Spencer, who’s phone lights up alerting him that he has an unread message, feels a sudden surge in his heart. He’s so used to only getting messages from JJ about the cases or pictures of her boys, that a text not related to his work or his family leaves a smile to his face.

Spencer tries to not profile the message, but to just read it like a normal friend would.

Book Buddy (Y/N): Hey there😊! I can’t believe someone actually grabbed my number...I’m glad you’re interested in this. I’m Y/N and I don’t think you mentioned your name, I don’t make it a habit to meet up with strangers before not knowing their name.

Reading the message twice to make sure he can recite without any hesitation, Spencer’s face falls as he realizes that he forgot to tell them his own name. How could you be so clueless, Spencer, he thinks.

Quickly, because he knows that the rest of the team is waiting inside the police station, that is like a portal to the past, Spencer types out another message.

Spencer: My name is Spencer.

Spencer: I tend to be away for work quite often, so I do apologize for the late message. And for hiding my identity-- not that that was on purpose. Is it okay if we plan something when I get back to Virginia?

Spencer doesn’t expect a message right away, but he can tell that there’s going to be something Pavlovian about the way that little swoosh sound makes his fingers reach for his phone.

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