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shadeysprings · 1 year

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Anything for You

— Loki x F!Reader x Vision

Summary: Your Valentine's Day date with your boyfriend is interrupted by his childhood best friend.

Warnings: This is a dark fic. Noncon, smut—spit roasting, oral (m receiving), coercion, betrayal & allusions to sex trafficking. There may be more that I missed.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Let's break some hearts. Italics are flashbacks and thoughts. Shoutout to my momo, @mochie85, for being a rockstar beta. This fic is part of my sleepover gift to y'all.

Your feedback is highly appreciated and encouraged. Reblogs would be really amazing. Enjoy! ❤️

Heart full and elated, you smile while staring out the window of Loki’s car as he drives down the highway. The lights from the lamp posts are the only one that shines into the dark vehicle, soft jazz music playing in the background accompanied by your boyfriend’s soft humming while he taps against the leather covering of the wheel.

Your eyes drift to the rearview mirror and the smile on your face only grows further, the bouquet of red roses sitting idly in the backseat, a reminder of how the evening began that only cruised through into something bigger than what you’ve expected.

You give a smile of thanks at the maitre d’ when he shows you to the private booth. A surprised gasp leaves your lips upon seeing Loki standing to greet you, the bouquet of roses nestled in his arms a bright contrast and a striking compliment to the black suit he dons.

He meets you halfway, a chaste kiss pressed to your cheek, one you respond with a blush that scatters from your neck up to your face. “You look beautiful, darling.” He breathes and the compliment is enough to take your breath away.

“Did you have fun tonight?” He asks, turning your head to face him.

His eyes are still glued to the road while his other hand finds purchase of your thigh, deft fingers skimming over the exposed skin, sending a tingling sensation to your core.

“Tonight was beautiful, Loki.” You smile, taking his hand in yours and lacing your fingers together. “I could never have imagined an evening as perfect as this. Thank you.”

“The quartet wasn’t too much?” He chuckles at his question and you sense the nervousness rolling through him with how his fingers tense.

Lifting his hand to your lips, you press a light kiss over his knuckles, the gesture seemingly calming him as he lets out a breath and glances at you before turning his focus once more back on the road.

You look curiously at the door when it opens on its own accord, your breath catching in your throat when a string quartet files into the private dining space, the soft sounds of violins echoing throughout the room.

“Can I have this dance?” Loki asks and you stare at him dumbly when he holds out his hand to you from across the table.

“I—I don’t know how—”

“Don’t worry.” He says with a smile, standing from his seat and taking your hand in his. “I’ll lead and you follow.” Giving your hand a gentle tug, you slip the napkin off your lap and follow him toward the open space by the side of your table. His hand slips around your waist while keeping his grip on the other. “Slow steps,” He instructs and you obey.

You keep your head to the ground, watching your feet, not wanting to step on his toes and ruin the moment. But you then feel your hand move, Loki tipping your chin up for you to face him, emerald eyes shining as he keeps them locked on yours.

“Eyes on me, darling.” He coos and you smile shyly up at him. “I’m here.”

The ivory building of his condo comes to view and you feel a small wave of nervousness wash over you.

It’s not like you haven’t been over to his place before. You’ve stayed a couple of nights when it’s too late to grab a cab and you didn’t want to burden Loki with driving you home. If anything, the place is something familiar, the living space you’re able to navigate even with your eyes closed.

But for some reason, you feel this night to be different than the previous ones. With how magical it has been, your palms begin feeling clammy as your thoughts drift to the conversation you had with Carla before leaving to meet Loki at the restaurant.

“What if we have sex and I suddenly tell him that I love him?”

“Okay—TMI.” She visibly cringes before asking, “But, do you?”

You sigh before turning back to the mirror and nodding in response.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” You argue, feeling your cheeks heat up from the sudden surge of emotions. “What if I tell him that I love him and I scare him off? Or worse, he laughs at me.”

“Girl, he’s been showering you gifts left and right. He’s been hogging you for the last five months that you don’t even know where we put the pots and pans anymore.” Carla explains a matter of factly and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. “How do we know for sure that he’s not the one afraid of blurting out that he loves you? That he’s not worrying he’ll scare you away if he told you how he felt?”

“I—”

“You don’t and we will never know unless you take that leap.” She stands from your bed and walks towards you, resting your hands above hers when she wraps her arms around your waist from behind. “If he doesn’t feel the same way, I have tequila you can drown in and a knife you can use to slash his tires.”

That makes you laugh.

“But if he does, I have tequila to celebrate and a knife I can use to threaten him if he hurts you.”

You’re breathless as Loki pins you against the elevator wall, his lips devouring yours while his hand runs up the expanse of your thigh, the fabric of your dress riding up along with his movement. You gasp in his mouth when he digs his fingers into the curve of your ass, feeling your core flicker to life and your cunt slickening, dampening your panties.

“Loki—” You mumble his name and tilt your head back when he reaches from behind you, his fingers brushing along your clothed cunt and pressing down on your clit.

“You’re already so wet for me, darling.” He drones against your lips and your eyes flutter close when he captures them with his once more.

The ding of the elevator signals your arrival and you’re left panting when Loki withdraws his hold from you, a chuckle of amusement leaving his lips at the sight of you left wanting. A blush forms on your face, embarrassment looming over you that you scurry out of the elevator, leaving him to follow, to hide the shame bubbling in your chest.

“Don’t worry, darling.” His voice comes close and you stop in your tracks when you feel his arms wrap around your frame, mewling as his soft lips press down on the column of your neck. “I want you just as much as you want me.” You feel his desire against the small of your back, feeling a sense of relief that it’s not just you fueled with lust but also the man you call your own.

His door comes to view and you wait for him to enter the security code before pushing down the brass handle.

All at once, your confidence blooms anew and you grab onto Loki’s hand to pull him through the threshold. But you stop in your tracks when you see a blond man standing by the couch, a glass of bourbon clasped in his hand and a smile of mirth playing on his lips that quickly morphs into a smirk.

“Victor,” Loki calls from behind you, your shyness coming forth at the unexpected visitor. “You’re still here.”

“Yes, I wanted to wait for you to discuss some important matters.” The man—Victor—explains, taking a sip of his drink before nursing the glass against his chest. “But it seems I may have interrupted your evening.”

“Darling,” Loki’s hand rests on the small of your back, taking small and measured steps as he guides your forward to meet his guest. “This is my best friend since childhood, Victor Shade.”

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Victor says as he extends his hand. You take it to shake but startle when he lifts it to his lips and places a gentle kiss over your knuckles. “And please, call me Vision. I’m unsure as to why Loki here insists on such formalities.” He chuckles, his thumb grazing against your fingers before releasing you and tucking his hand into his pocket.

You’ve heard of him before, from the stories Loki would tell you during dinners or on lazy Sunday mornings. His best friend, who is also his partner in the trading business he’s in, and another one of the investors that help fund underprivileged schools.

He’s taller than Loki, is what you first notice, and his blond hair is kept short and neat, tousled in a swoop. His smile is kind but his eyes look electric and darker behind the rose-tinted glasses that sit gingerly over his nose. He’s as well dressed as Loki, the navy three-piece making his shoulders look broader and his frame, bigger.

You look up when Loki holds your chin, a wide smile etched on his face. “Why don’t you head on to the bedroom, love and I’ll just finish up some business with Vision.” He suggests and you accept the kiss he places on your forehead before giving Vision a small wave goodbye yet feeling a shudder at the back of your neck when he nods in your direction, his blue eyes never leaving you which makes you scurry on down the hall and to the master bedroom.

Closing the door from behind you, you huff in relief, the sudden appearance of Vision having rattled your senses. You don’t understand why Loki never mentioned that his best friend would be here, and from the way he greeted him—“You’re still here”—and the lack of surprise in his voice, he knew beforehand that Vision was present.

He was having a fun night with you. That’s why he forgot. The little voice in your head reprimands you and that itself allows you to relax, pushing the thought of Vision in Loki’s penthouse to the back of your mind.

You hang your clutch on the back of the door and run your hands down the length of your dress while walking towards his bed, attempting to smooth out any wrinkles that must have formed in your little romp at the elevator. The corners of your lips curl upward as Loki’s scent of earl grey tea mixed with a hint of mint wafts over your nose; an aroma you found comfort in since the day you first met him.

The mattress dips from your weight as you take a seat on the edge, taking his pillow in your hands and pressing it against your chest before burying your nose against the soft cushion.

“You look like you belong here, darling.”

You turn your head to the door when Loki’s voice surrounds you, seeing him leaning against the doorframe while holding two flutes of what you think is champagne. He stalks over to you and joins you on the bed, the pillow taken from your hands and replaced by the bubbly beverage.

“I hope Vision being here didn’t ruin your evening.” He begins, lacing the fingers of your free hand with his. “I thought he’d have already left and found no need to warn you about the matter.”

“It’s okay.” You smile, tightening your hold on his hand. “I was just surprised. Is he still here though?” You ask, looking past his shoulder and to the open door.

“He’s on the phone in my study. He knows better than to bother us.” Loki grins and holds up his flute toward you. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

Love.

He called you ‘Love’ the second time around and it makes your heart jump with happiness. He’s never uttered the word before, not even once in the months you’ve been with him. But now, after hearing it again, you can’t help but think that all your fears from earlier were for naught, that Carla was right. Maybe Loki truly feels the same, that he loves you and has been wanting to hear you tell him those three precious words.

Love.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” You respond shyly and take a tentative sip of the champagne, the bubbles tickling your nose.

As soon as you finish, he takes your glass and sets them atop the bedside table along with his. He sits closer and so do you, and you feel the spark once more setting a flame to your blood that you reach out when he leans in, wrapping your arms around his neck as he captures your lips.

His kiss is soft and slow, lips exploring yours while his tongue remains at bay in his mouth. But his hands begin to wander and you let him, your own moving down to grab hold of his coat and pushing it off his shoulders, hearing the fabric fall to the floor.

You part your lips when his tongue pushes past them, moaning against his mouth as he twirls the soft muscle against your own. He tastes of champagne and sin and it makes your heart pound hard against your chest, the swell of emotion taking control of your very being that makes you decide then there that you do love this man and you would do anything to make him happy. You’d do everything to keep him.

“I love you, Loki.” You whisper when he pulls away, your eyes glistening when he stares down at you, caught off guard by your sudden confession.

He inhales deeply and you feel his hands tighten around your frame. “Oh, my darling girl.” He murmurs back and you smile against his lips when he kisses you once more, lifting you off the bed and having you straddle his lap.

You mewl in delight upon feeling his desire pressing against your cunt, your hand skimming down his solid chest and cupping the tent in his pants. He groans and you preen in success, fingers moving to massage the growing erection before expertly flicking them to unhook the lock of his pants from the latch, the sound of his zipper echoing loudly in your ears.

“Will you—” He mumbles and you give him no time to finish.

You stand from the bed and giggle when he leans back against the headboard, following suit and kneeling before him to help shimmy his trousers and boxers off his thighs.

His cock springs free and you gasp at how hard he is, the tip engorged and pink with precum already leaking from the tip. He takes hold of the base and pumps himself a couple of times before you take over with your own hand. You hear his voice shake and it's enough to urge you on, leaning over to press a kiss on his clothed chest—where his heart is hidden underneath—before leaning down to lay a kiss on his tip.

Your lips part when you feel his hand rest on your head, a silent command for you to take him. And you do, wrapping your lips around the head and sucking on it slowly, feeling Loki shudder from the deed.

Inch by inch, you take him deeper into your mouth, gagging when the tip grazes the back of your throat. But you don’t relent, pulling back to trace the vein on the side of his cock with the tip of your tongue before taking him in once more and setting your pace as you suck on him hard.

Each moan and groan that escape his lips you take as a sign to go further, to take more and more of him and quicken the momentum you’ve set. You take the base of his length and give it slow and languid strokes, your lips kissing the edge of your fingers as they move in sync yet contrast with each other.

His fingers weave through your locks and you moan when he tightens his hold on them, pushing your head down on his shaft so that you move your hand away and grab tightly on his thigh when you begin gagging once more at his size.

Your pussy clenches on nothing as lewd noises continue dripping from his lips, feeling your walls slicken and soak through the lacey fabric that suddenly feels too constricting as heat crawls up your skin.

You feel him grab onto the hem of your dress, pulling the fabric and bunching them to your waist. You pull away from his cock and gasp when he gives your ass a sharp slap before grazing his fingers over your clothed cunt. He pushes the flimsy, soaked fabric to the side and moaning against his cock when he rolls his digit against your swollen bud.

“She’s ready.” Loki intones and you blink in curiosity at his words.

“Wha—”

You’re instantly filled with panic when another pair of hands grab hold of your hips. You push yourself up and look over your shoulder, your eyes widening in shock to see Vision standing at the foot of the bed, his fingers digging into your flesh and pulling you closer to him.

You try to get off, pushing away from Loki but he restrains your wrists with his tight grip, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at you.

“Loki—what’s going on?” Your lips tremble as you ask, grunting as you try to pry your hands from his hold. “Why is he here?”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” Vision says from behind you, your body shaking and tears falling from your eyes when you feel his hot breath fan over your cunt, a kiss being laid over the expanse of your ass. “I’m just checking the goods. A little…quality control if you will.”

The chuckle that he emits makes your heart constrict and you face Loki once more, eyes pleading that he saves you from this monstrosity. But his eyes are blown wide, and you see no remorse, no compassion in them, only lust and it shakes your very core and shatters your heart that everything you believed him to be, the sweet and kind gentleman you fell in love with, was all a lie.

Your body jolts and you clench your fingers into fists when Vision laps his tongue against your cunt. You try to kick your legs, to stop him from his malicious act but his hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide in the process. You’re left helpless on the bed, splayed open for him to take while Loki keeps his hands on you, making sure you don’t escape.

“Be a good girl and suck my cock, darling.” Loki intones, hiding your face from him as your tears continue to roll down your face. “We can’t let Vision have all the fun.”

“No!” You shout and pull your hands and knees inward, struggling against them to set yourself free. “Let me go!” But you let out a yelp when a harsh slap lands on your ass.

“Don’t be a fucking brat and do as he says!” Vision berates, going still as fear runs up your spine with the intensity of his voice.

“Please—” You beg, shaking your head as you look into Loki’s eyes once more. “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone—I swear.”

You wince when your hair is grabbed from behind, Vision’s clothed chest pressing down on your back and you feel his hot breath fanning over your cheek. “You don’t get to make that choice, sweetheart. So you either be a good girl and listen or I won’t be kind and break you myself.”

“Now, now, Vis. Let’s not be brash about this.” Loki tuts, feeling his hand caress your cheek and Vision releasing his grip on your tresses. “She’s a good girl, right?” He says while looking down at you, fingers pinching your chin with his thumb grazing over your lower lip.

You nod in reluctance.

“Now, do what Vision says and we’ll be gentle with you.” He smirks and leans down to nuzzle his nose against yours before pressing a light kiss over your lips. “Between the two of us, he’s the nice one.”

You swallow thickly at the revelation. If Vision is the nice one and he’s already angry with your defiance, you don’t want to know what Loki would be like if you pushed him over the edge. And the thought itself scares you for you’ve never seen him angry, even once. You don’t want to see him angry. The small voice in your head whispers and your tears flow anew as you take Loki in your hand and part your lips to push him into your mouth.

Vision pulls back, his hands once more framing your hips, and you whimper when you feel the tip of his cock press against your clit. He teases you, rubbing his length over your folds with the tip of his thumb grazing over your cunt. You stop your head from bobbing and pull away from Loki’s cock when you gasp as Vision pushes himself in, your walls squeezing him tightly from his intrusion, your back arching at the size of his cock, feeling him stretch you wide.

“Oh, shit—!” He curses into the air. “She’s fucking tight.”

“Told you,” Loki responds, pushing your head back to his length. “No matter how much I fuck her, she always squeezes me good.”

His words make your chest clench in pain—the realization that he never cared for you and was playing with you all along, stringing you around like some puppet all for whatever purpose he and his friend have—and disgust, that he sounds delighted to share you with another.

Vision starts a slow rhythm, his cock rubbing against your aching walls with languid strokes. But such reprieve quickly fades as he begins to thrust at a faster pace, rough hands holding onto your hips tight, keeping you grounded on the bed, allowing him fuck you faster and harder.

You groan when Loki moves to stand on his knees, his hands framing your face as he, too, fucks your mouth relentlessly, your nose flaring as you try desperately to breathe. Your jaw aches and your throat burns in pain as his tip hits the back of it repeatedly. You keep your mouth wide open, tears mixing with the saliva that drips down your chin.

They groan in sync, abusing you with their strength, their thrusts brutal and their touch unloving with how they grab on you—Vision’s hand curling over your thigh and rubbing his finger against your clit that makes your knees ache, fueling your arousal which you forcefully keep at bay—and Loki, grabbing a fistful of your hair before burying his cock deep, your hand, finally free from his grasp, slapping against his thigh for him to pull back.

You can’t believe this is happening, how these men were able to force themselves on you. How you allowed yourself to fall for Loki’s lies which eventually brought you here and it makes you cry further that it’s all because you allowed yourself to love.

You feel them throb inside of you, your pussy clamping down on Vision’s cock as you feel yourself edging closer to your peak. Loki groans, garbled moans spewing out of his lips and you shut your eyes tight when the salty essence of his come spreads throughout your tongue.

He pants, his body seeming limp from his orgasm but his hold on your hair doesn’t falter, keeping his cock lodged in your mouth as he continues to spurt out his seeds. “Swallow.” He commands with a shaky breath and you moan your disapproval. But his hand wraps around your throat, thumb, and forefinger massaging and pinching the sides, leaving you no choice but to do as he demands.

Loki pulls out and you gasp lungfuls of air, thankful for the respite you’re given. But Vision pushes on and your face is pushed on Loki’s thigh, moaning incoherently as he snaps his hips at a frantic pace.

“Come for me, sweetheart.” He growls, your hands pushing hard against the bed as he pulls you back to meet his thrusts.

You gasp once more, the breath knocked out of your chest when he hits that sacred spot from within. He pinches your clit and your walls tighten further around him, a slew of moans escaping your lips when the dam within you finally breaks and you cry as your orgasm consumes you, your chest dropping down on the bed while your legs shake from the intensity of your release.

You’re left hollow when Vision pulls out all of a sudden, his grunts bouncing off the walls and filling your ears. You then feel something warm splash and trickle down the back of your thigh then the tip of Vision’s cock poking against it before smearing all over your skin. A whine spills from your lips when he fills you once more, thrusting into you slowly before stilling yet keeping himself nestled within your cunt.

“She’s perfect.” Vision breathes and you sniff as you cry again, whimpering when you feel his lips press against your lower back and then trail up the length of your spine. “That attitude needs work though but nothing we can’t fix.” He chuckles darkly and your knees finally collapse on the bed when he pulls out once again.

You hear the rustle of clothing and a zipper setting in place. Vision’s shadow looms at your periphery and you pull your head away when he kisses your temple.

“We have a meeting with Stark in 2 weeks and we have to make sure she’s ready by then.”

“Don’t worry, Vis.” Loki laughs and you turn to hide your face when he runs his fingers through your hair. “She loves me and she’ll do anything for me. Isn’t that right, darling?”

You yelp when he pulls on your hair, turning your head to make you face him, green eyes laced with darkness as he keeps them on you. You want to say no, to fight back and tell him you don’t want to be part of their sick plan, but the tick in his jaw scares you, seeing the anger brewing within and waiting to be released.

So you nod, lifting your hand to wipe the tears from your eyes, and take a deep breath.

“Yes.” You acquiesce, lips quivering in fear as you speak. “I’ll do anything for you.”

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#loki #vision #victor shade #loki x reader #loki fanfction #vision x reader #vision fanfiction #loki x reader x vision #dark loki #dark!loki #dark vision #dark!vision #dark fic #loki au #vision au #mcu au #valentine's day fic #anything for you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Stuck in the Middle

Sequel to All in the Family

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, age gap, cheating, cutting, blood, boring sex, fuckboy energy.

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

Summary: Your return to campus brings some unexpected changes.

Characters: silverfox!Loki, glimpses of Heimdall, shades of Victor Shade (Vision)

Note: Well, I decided to get messy so expect at least a third part.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Mario loves pipes. Take care. 💖

"Has anyone been to the Nornheim Museum?" The professor asks as he pokes his slender glasses up his nose.

You're of the few to murmur and raise your hand in affirmation. You shift in your seat, leaning your elbow heavy on the foldout desk as the memories tingle in your core.

"Not many have this privilege, darling," Loki's long finger tapped on the glass above the forged buckle, "it is said to have belonged to the great Ragnar but often those of the same name are confused for one another and few names were rare in those days."

The echo of his voice in your head distracts your from the lesson as the slide flips and you sink down in your chair, crossing a leg over the other as you fight the other memories. The tickle of wandering fingers and intonation of less informative words in your ear. The way Loki strode confidently in the barren museum as if luring you into his maze of tricks and traps.

'It is a pity my son was too enamoured with his video games to join us,' Loki nudged his office door open, his name etched into the golden placard mounted on the wood, 'he surely is missing out, though he never does seem to see the whole picture.'

You sniff and tap your pen on the desk. You squeeze your thighs together and push the end to your lips, biting down as your skin spatters with heat.

'Darling,' his words rumbled against your thigh as you lay across his desk, your jeans on the floor and your sweat pushed above your chest. 'Mm, I have been thinking of the taste of you and nothing else.'

His teeth clasped around the top pf your panties and he urged them down slowly with a snarl. You quivered as he dragged them lower, hands on your knees as he felt your flesh cloyingly. You moaned as your body responded, as the warmth seeped in anticipation.

"...I recommend you invest in this trip, it will be vital to much of this course and invaluable to you as an aspiring historian…" the dull voice of the lecturer drones on.

You gripped the sides of desk, knuckles aching as you curled your fingers tighter with each thrust. Your legs stretched up Loki's torso, your feet at his shoulders as he kneaded your thighs and he stared at the way he slid in and out, the wet noises filling his office. You admired the grey hairs along his chest, curly and soft.

'Touch yourself,' he puffed, 'let me see what makes you cum.'

You were quick to obey, fingers gliding easily along your wet cunt and flicking around your clit. You pushed an elbow into the wood and raised yourself as you arched your spine and whined. He did not let up as he kept his motion rampant.

'A creature like you should never be so neglected,' he bent his head to kiss the top of your foot, his rhythm turning rough and ragged, 'cum for me, darling, for you have me at the cusp.'

You clear your throat and shrug off the thoughts though they tug at the nape of your neck. You need to focus. That was a mistake. Regrettable. Messy.

You lean your chin and your hand and make yourself focus on the image projected across the front of the lecture hall. That's what youth is for, isn't it? Mistakes.

Another hour slogs by as you fight the holiday hangover. Finally free from the introductory monologue, you pack up and slip your phone free from the side pocket of your bag. You drag your feet down the centre aisle as you light up the screen with your thumb.

Finn, again. He didn't take the news well. It was the only thing you could do. Breaking up was inevitable. You just didn't mesh. And his father…

No, that didn't happen. Nor will it happen again. By cutting ties with Finn, you'll make sure of it.

You ignore his messages and swipe away the missed calls. You know he's a man baby but this is a bit much. He didn't care before, not when you were fucking. He reminded you constantly how much better he could do, well so could you.

The winter perseveres into the new year, hardly making for a fresh start as the snow is stained grey with dirt. Your boots crunch along the pathway across the campus courtyard and you send up a cloud of breath into the crisp air. The library furnace chugs a steady billow of smoke into the sky and adds to the mid-afternoon dim.

You shuffle into the lobby of your building with the beep of your fob and the door catches behind you. You don't think much of it, assuming it's another resident as you cross the floor littered with slush and water dripped off of boots. You're pulled back by your arm before you can reach the stairs.

"You think you can just ignore me?" Finn spins you to hit the wall and you let out a low oomph.

"What the fuck–"

He startles you as he slaps the wall on either side of your head and looms over you, "you won't even give me a chance. We could talk this out, babe."

"Finn, please, it wouldn't have worked out, we're just too different."

"That's what makes it work," he pouts, "please–"

"Don't act like it was more than it was. I shouldn't have agreed to go all the way to Jotun with you."

"Then why did you?"

"Because… I don't know."

"What changed?"

"Nothing," you take a breath, "it was never that good to begin with. Please, Finn, go to a party, find another girl."

"I want to know why," he snarls and leans in, "tell me."

Your throat constricts. You could tell him. You could confess. No, that's stupid because you forgot. It didn't happen. It can't have happened. His parents are married and you and him are done.

"Just… you really want to know?"

"I have to know," he balls his right hand hits the wall, "how can someone like you dump me?"

You frown at the backhanded question and shake your head, "the sex was awful and dry.

He snorts and pushes away from you, pivoting on his heel as he laughs, "sure, and you were all that."

"Finn, let it go. It was two months–"

"You're lying. The sex was great," he rambles as he prowls back and forth in front of you, "so there's something else. Or… someone else."

You clamp your lips guiltily and fight to keep your cool, "no, just you. Finn, you spent the whole visit with other people. Let's not make it more than it was."

He rolls his eyes and screeches to halt as he faces you, "fine, I'll go hit up Samantha. She always was a good time. You know–" he points a finger in your face as he steps closer, "she tried to fuck me at her little birthday bash and I said no. For you."

You glower and look at the door, "so what? You've obviously been thinking of it ever since. You're free, go fuck Samantha."

“You don’t mean that,” he whines.

You flick your eyes in his direction and he scowls. Your face says it all. He curls his lip and kicks his foot over the floor in frustration.

“You always were so fucking stubborn,” he snaps and stomps to the door, “have fun. Alone.”

He swings open the door and storms into the lobby, the door falling heavy behind him. You flinch and part from the wall as you shake off the encounter. Being alone can’t be so bad if he’s the alternative.

🐍

“I see Finn is pulling out all the stops,” Neve remarks as you blindly wander into the front room, rubbing your eyes with the fraying cuffs of the oversized sweatshirt.

“What–” You cross your arms in the chill of the dorm and check the window. It’s closed, “why is it so goddamn cold?”

“Apparently, the water heater is broke for this entire block,” she shrugs and you notice the layers of turtleneck, hoodie, and robe around her, “lucky us.”

“Fuck,” you sneer, “just what we needed.”

“Not like the water ever gets hot anyway,” she says as she scrolls on her phone, sipping from a tall porcelain mug, “whatever, you got a surprise in the kitchen.”

“Surprise?” You shiver and drag your feet across the cramped front room and enter the boxy kitchen with its half-sized appliances.

A plinthed vase with two branches of orchids stands on the only counter space left, the white petals tipped with a deep purple. Flowers? Really? Not what you expect from your ex, especially after your last conversation. It makes you wonder if he did fuck Samantha after all. Is this guilty planted in stone?

There’s a card perched on a plastic stick dug into the dirt. You’re ready to tear it up already. Two months and now he cares. You don’t think for a moment that some flowers will cure his selfishness. You take the envelope and tear the flap carelessly. You slip the card up and flip it open.

‘Thinking of you, L.’

Ohhhhh.

Oh.

Shit.

“So, you gonna forgive him?” Neve frightens you as she shuffles in and brushes by to rinse her coffee cup.

“Um,” you quickly push the card back in the envelope and hide it up your sleeve, “I don’t think so.”

“They’re pretty flowers. Didn’t think he had taste beyond labels.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t,” you scoff, “I’ll get these out of the way.”

“Still, I’ve never had anyone send me flowers. Guess girls don’t work like that,” she chuckles, “not the ones I’ve dated, at least.”

You give a small snort as you lift the vase and nearly drop it. It’s heavier than you expect. You carry it back into your room and push an empty container out of the way to set it on your dresser. You really need to start throwing away your shit.

You grab the empty cardboard and the half-finished cup of soda and go to dump it out in the kitchen. Never hovers in the front room, her slippers scuffing on the floor as she chatters.

“I was gonna take a shower,” she bemoan as she rubs her hands together, “fuck this building.”

“Did you talk to the building manager?”

“I talked to Ariel across the hall. She called. Maintenance is three days out.”

“What? Three days?”

“I guess that’s what we get for being poor as fuck,” she scoffs, “not the first time I’ve had a cold shower.”

“Me either,” you resign as another shiver crawls up your back.

“Well… you could call Finn, go on the rebound for a few days and get us access to that nice condo shower–”

“No,” you huff and she laughs at your scrunched expression.

“I’m kidding, but a girl can dream,” she chimes.

“I got class,” you grumble.

“I’ll probably chill at the library, they always got the heat cranked to hellfire.”

“Good idea, I’ll meet you there after,” you turn on your heel as the envelope chafes in your sleeve, “fuck, things just keep getting better, don’t they?”

🐍

Professor Shade nods at another student as you wait anxiously. Two weeks into classes and you feel as if you’re running from behind already. You step up when the path is clear, your nerves pinging off each other. Talking about money is never an enjoyable experience.

“Professor,” you say as he gathers up the pile of proposals handed in at the beginning of class. He glances at you with pale blue eyes as you shift on your feet.

“Yes?” He says evenly. His mood is always placid, always measured, and entirely hard to read. You can’t tell if he’s bothered or interested.

“About the trip to Jotun, um, my work study was only just confirmed so I won’t have the money by next class. I can bring a deposit though–”

“Very well,” he agrees easily, “I’m no debt collector.” He stands straight, the silver woven into his yellow hair catching the bright lights of the lecture hall, “As long as you can have it all by the day of.”

“Alright,” you say with a sigh of relief, “thanks, professor.”

You smile and turn to scurry away, “I believe you are of the few who’ve seen Nornheim before?”

You pause and face him again, “yes, I went… last month. Over the holiday.”

“Ah, it must’ve been busy.”

Your neck burns as you swallow, “um, yeah, not too bad.”

“Are you from Jotun then? Visiting family?”

Despite his words, you find it hard to gauge his interest as his tone remains unaffected.

“Yeah,” you lie, well, not entirely.

“And did you enjoy the museum?”

“Yeah, it was nice,” you say as you struggle to recall any of the actual displays. You were too distracted.

“They are opening a special exhibit on Norse mythos for our visit, we’ll be there upon the first day,” he explains as he shoves away the papers in his bag, “so it won’t be all old hat to you.”

“Great,” you say sheepishly, “sorry, I gotta go. My work study–”

“Ah, yes, good luck, where is it?”

“The library,” you answer breezily.

“Oh, very good. When I was your age, I ended up in the Economic office. What a miserable plight that was.” He shoulders his bag, “anyhow, I’ll let you go.”

“Thanks, professor,” you force a smile and quickly flit out behind the last of the stragglers.

You button up your coat and wind your scarf around your neck as you head out into the crisp winter welcome. You carefully plod down the icy steps and your boots crack through the already shattered sheets across the campus pathway. The library bustles with activity as you approach, the cafe visible through the front windows is crowded with bodies waiting for their warm treats.

You push inside through one of several heavy doors and pull out your student card to scan through the gates into the main floor. You dust off your shoulders and head to the counter where a librarian works at filling a cart with returns. You pick at the edge of your pocket as you clear your throat.

“Excuse me, um, I’m a work-study student.”

She peeks over at you through her thick lenses, “which one?”

“Uh,” you give your name, “I’m supposed to be working with–”

“Heimdall,” she finishes for you, “so not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I… where would I find him.”

“Well, you’re working in a library, you’ll have to figure out how to find things, won’t you?” She says tersely as she continues her labour, “they always send me the worst…” she mutters, “always late.”

You bite your lip and frown. How in the heck are you supposed to find your supervisor? You can’t just walk behind the desk. Are you just supposed to stand her and hover like a moth?

“Lorelai,” a deep voice underlines the silence of the library, “must you be so adverse?”

You glance over as a man with bright hazel eyes appears from around the other end of the desk. His irises almost look golden as they reflect the lights above. He is tall with straight shoulders and a calm gait. His dark hair is marked with a single streak of silver.

“Heimdall, you must be…” he introduces himself as he lifts the door of the desk and steps through, “early. Good start.”

“Oh, hi,” you say as he keeps the door up on its hinges.

“First thing, let’s get your stuff away,” he gestures to the bag bulging against your hip, “then we’ll have a tour.”

“Oh, sure, thanks.”

“Try not to track that muck everywhere,” Lorelai warns.

“Ignore her. Bad break up,” he beckons you through and follows you, directing you away from the prickly woman.

“Her? I can’t imagine why,” you say under your breath. He chuckles and you regret the careless comment.

“Complicated, I hear,” he remarks, “right, in my office here.” He points you into a doorway, “coat racks in the corner, I’ll be out here.”

You step into the office, the scent of sandalwood laced with vanilla greets you warmly. A desk lamp glows amber over an open book and a deep red carpet sprawls over the worn wooden floor. It’s cozy and makes you want to linger. Despite the maintenance coming in every other day, the heat in your apartment still lingers between entirely kaput and boiling hot. You could spend a week here, nice and warm.

You hang your coat on the rack beside a dark brown coat with a blue scarf slung over it. You leave your bag at the base and reluctantly retreat. Heimdall stands at the desk, scribbling on a scrap of paper before handing it over to a student. He gives a nod as the freshman blinks up at him and slowly leaves. He is rather intimidating.

“Lorelai, how about we do the returns so I can show her around?” Heimdall turns to his coworker coolly.

“And what about me?” She whines.

“When do you ever leave the desk?” He challenges smoothly and she winces.

“Yes, I suppose, Heim,” she quickly backs down, “damn kid is late anyhow.”

“It’s not even five yet. He’s not late, you’re just impatient.”

Heimdall gets behind the cart as Lorelai backs away with a scowl. You hurry forward to lift the door for him and he thanks you as he rolls through. You follow at his heels, though he keeps his pace slow but steady.

“Don’t let her bother you. It’s just her nature,” he says, “truly, nothing is so complicated here.”

“Yeah, no worries,” you say.

“Just do your work, listen, be helpful where you can,” he says as he leans on the cart, somehow even hunching he seems massive, “and never hesitate to ask questions.”

“Sounds good,” you turn your hands out plaintively.

“Oh, and feel free to use the kettle in my office, the one in the breakroom is dangerous.”

“Er, alright,” you say lightly, “thanks.”

“Right, now, here’s your first lesson, from our pleasant Lorelai, don’t do this,” he turns to cart and points along the spine, “the easiest thing to do I find is to follow the decimal system. You want to arrange these…” he starts moving books and shifting the rows, “so that as you’re putting them back, you’re not going back and forth.”

“Makes sense,” you nod as you watch him.

He steps back and looks at you, “why don’t you finish this and we’ll see how you do?”

“Right,” you step forward, “sure thing.”

🐍

You take your tea latte off the counter and barely save it from being splashed across your coat as you stop short of the body behind you.

“I heard you were working in here now,” Samantha trills as she sweeps her fingers through a bouncy blonde wave, “good idea since you dropped Finn, I guess.”

“Hmm, hi Sam, what’s up?” You blow over the lid and sidle out of the way of another waiting customer.

“Oh, you know, same as usual,” she gives a trite smirk.

“Mhmm,” you’re put off by her tone and abrupt greeting. Her name is called and she takes her latte with a derisive flick of her lashes, “so,” she moves with you as you try to avoid blocking others from the order shelf, “this is what you’ve been doing? Counting books?”

“Well, uh–”

“You really hurt Finn.”

You frown and swallow back confusion, “yeah, we broke up after Christmas. Just wasn’t working–”

“Oh, I heard all about it,” she sneers, “he doesn’t shut up about you.”

“I don’t– did I do something wrong?”

“Well, let’s start with you dating him. You knew I was into him.”

“No, I didn’t,” you tilt your head.

“Come on, you knew,” she whines.

“You never said anything–”

“Don’t act so stupid,” she huffs, “now he won’t stop going on about you. About what you did to him.”

“Well I’m sorry but I can’t do anything about that. I broke up with him. It’s done. If he won’t let go–”

“You cheated on him. That’s disgusting.”

“What…” you wince, “what do you mean?”

“He told me. He said there’s no other reason for you to break up with him. And we both know how much he talks in bed. So who was it?”

You give a look of revulsion and shake your head, “you’re getting one side of the story, alright? We dated for two months, it’s not that dee–”

You step back as she raises her cup but not quick enough as she dumps it over your head. The foam and hot coffee soaks through your hair and waterfalls down your shoulders and chest. You barely keep hold of your own cup as you gape and exclaim at the nip of heat that scalds the nap of your neck.

“What the fuck–”

“You really fucked him up and now I have to pick up the pieces,” she snarls and throws the cup in your face, “I always knew you were trash.”

You hold out your arms as you drip with espresso and the foam melts into your hair and coat. She shoulders past you and marches out on her heeled boots. You turn and a dozen other students stare back, some laughing, some whispering about the scene.

Horrified, you put your drink on the counter full of sweetener and dairy and take a handful of napkins. You leave the cup and rush out as you try futilely to dry yourself off with the three-ply. You’ll just go home and call Heimdall to let him know–

Too late. You hear your name as you try to rush by the end of the desk that overlooks the front lobby. You stop and cringe before you force yourself to run back. You near as you pat your face with the napkins.

“Um, yeah, I was gonna call and say–”

“What happened to you?” He asks.

“Just… ran into someone by accident,” you lie.

“Yeah, looks like quite the accident.”

“I should probably run and get changed,” you say, “I’m sorry.”

“Sure, probably,” he says, “if you don’t feel up to coming back tonight, I won’t dock the hours.”

“No, it’s fine,” you sniff as the embarrassment swells behind your eyes, “I’ll just… go and be back soon. Okay?”

“Take your time,” he gives a pitiful smile, “you know where to find me.”

“Yep,” you nod and quickly spin away, “see ya soon.”

You slip as you cross the lobby, barely keeping afoot as your steps are hampered by the slush left by those entering and the drink leaking down your body. The overwhelming scent of vanilla chokes you and curdles in your stomach. It feels an awful lot like guilt.

🐍

You block Finn’s number, his TikTok, Insta, everything you can think of. Sam too. You just want to forget about it all.

The task is made all the harder as the day of the trip to Nornheim approaches. You have the last of your fee ready, a few meals sacrificed towards it, and you arrive early to meet the bus and Professor Shade. The other students are barely awake as they shuffle towards the door.

“Sir,” you approach the professor as he folds up the collar of his red coat, “here.”

He takes the envelope and doesn’t bother to look inside. “Thank you. Excited?” He tucks away the money inside his jacket and buttons it back up, patting his chest firmly.

“Yeah, pretty excited,” you say as you move to join the line waiting to board the bus.

“And the library, how is that?”

You’re surprised he’s remembered. You haven’t seen or spoke to him much aside from counting out your pennies for the bus ride. “It’s not bad. I mostly deal with library services like the computers and printers and stuff.”

As you get to the doors, you climb up the steps and pass the driver as you watch the bodies shambling into the seats. He trails you, almost too close as he assures the driver that all are present and ready to depart.

“Ah, looks like you’re stuck with me,” he waves to the only remaining row of seats, “do you prefer the window?”

“Either is fine,” you answer.

“Go on,” he directs you and you turn to shimmy into the far seat. He sits beside you at the front, his long legs confined in the tight row, “so, you said you have family in Jotun?”

“I know some people there,” you say evasively as you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You ignore it.

“As do I,” he says as he opens his scarf and lets it hang down his chest as he unbuttons his coat. The engine rumbles on as the driver calls for all to sit down. “At Nornheim, actually. The curator is a friend of mine, he was the one who offered us this privilege. Clever man, I usually run into him at conferences and the like.”

“The curator?” You try not to show your alarm, “wow.”

“Yes, well, I will admit, he did prevail over me in acquiring that position. Maybe friends is a strong word for us,” he gives a light chuckle.

Your phone buzzes several times and you try to ignore it but it’s heard in the lull. He glances down towards the noise and you push your bag against the wall of the bus to pull off your mitts. He rests his elbow on the armrest between you.

“Someone calling?” He wonders.

“No, just those dumb automated reminders, you know?” You are getting way too comfortable with lying.

“Ah, well, as we are on the subject, the museum is hosting a conference in the spring. I’ve yet to announce it so I must caution secrecy, but there will be some papers selected from the class to present there.”

“Oh,” you look at him in surprise, “that’s… big.”

“Yes, it would be a great opportunity,” he nods, “during today’s visit, perhaps we might run into the curator. He would have more details. Right now everything is a bit tenuous.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you promise.

“I do appreciate the discretion,” he smiles.

Your phone vibes again and you sigh, “sorry, let me just turn this one silent.”

You lift yourself slightly as you dig your hand in your pocket and pull out your phone. He distracts himself as he bends one leg over the other and attempts to get comfortable. Your screen is filled with notifications. You unlock it and pull down the menu to hit the mute button, but another deluge of alerts come in.

You click on the first one and find yourself tagged on an Insta page. At the top, you’re declared as a slut and nothing else. Your chest sinks as your photo is top and center below the nasty title. You should just block and close but the dread-filled curiosity urges you on.

You drag your thumb down and reveal several photos. Several stupid moments you wish you could take back in the moment. Images of you in your panties, some topless, others not, dumb decisions made at the behest of a pleading man child. Finn said he deleted them. He promised.

“Everything alright?” Shade asks and you quickly hide your phone.

“Yeah, yeah, missed a call from my mom but it’s fine,” you keep your screen tilted away as you hit the report button. Hopefully, it’s taken down before it gets any more traction.

“You look… upset. Is she okay?”

“Who?”

“Your mother?” He prompts.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just–” you put your phone in your purse, “I just want to enjoy the museum. I’m really excited.”

He smiles and his arm shifts on the rest, for a moment, you think he might touch your hand but he draws away, “I rarely see such enthusiasm in my pupils. I hope you do find it an enriching experience.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m sure it will be,” you say as you look out the window, “it really is awesome we get to go.”

🐍

As you arrive at the museum, you free yourself from the professor and keep to the edge of the group. He directs the lot of sleepy sophomores up the vaunted steps of the Nornheim and speaks briefly with the front desk before proceeding. You follow and try to ignore the odd glance of judgment sent in your direction. Phones are to be kept muted but not prohibited completely.

You’re led on a basic tour of the main wing and you find yourself slipping into reverie at your last visit, desperately trying to ignore the spattering heat as Loki’s ghost lingers there. The familiarity reminds you of what you did, of his office, of his goading words...

At the end of the curated part, you are led to a new wing where the Norse exhibit is set up. There, the silver-haired man awaits you. You hide in the back as Loki welcomes you to the Halls of the Nine Realms.

“Thank you all for coming,” Loki’s timbre sinks into you and you squirming. You close your eyes and try not to think. Just listen. “As a favour to your professor, I’ve allowed you a special preview of this exhibit. Your tour will be unguided but you can find staff as defined by their lanyards. They will be more than happy to assist.

“Without further ado, welcome. And I hope you enjoy this as it has been an especially dear labour to my heart.”

With his final words, the students slowly disperse, aimless at first as the hall dims and spectral lights cast across the walls. You make an effort to keep yourself close to another pair, to try to lose yourself in the crowd. With any luck, he’ll never know you were there.

You stop at the family tree of the legendary gods and keep your chin down. Before you can move on, you’re trapped by the voices that come not too far away.

“Victor,” Loki greets, “you’ve brought quite the rabble.”

“Laufeyson,” Shade replies, “you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Don’t give me all the credit, your help was much appreciated,” the response comes lithely, the men parrying in a sort of verbal fencing.

You sidles along, careful not to cause too much disturbance as you find a display of the World’s Tree to skirt around. Their voices fade as you drift into the background. You shouldn’t have come. The cost alone should’ve been enough to deter you. This is a mistake, you feel it in your core. If you have to face Loki…

“Oh, pardon,” the voice startles you as much as the wall you collide with. Not a wall at all, but another person. Professor Shade gently touches your shoulder as he takes a step back, “I should look where I’m going.”

“No, no, I should,” you say, “sorry, I–”

“It’s easy to get carried away in here,” he coaxes, “don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it’s so… elaborate,” you peer around, “I’m really happy I could come.”

“Me too,” he smiles and quickly turns to look at the placard on the side of the World’s Tree, “what I mean is…I think it is a worthy experience for all my students.”

“Oh sure, in Carfrae, we don’t have a museum anymore.”

“Carfrae,” he toys with the word, “ah, my hometown.”

“You’re from Carfrae?” You utter in disbelief, his accent would hardly betray his origin.

“Oh yes, not many who would guess but I do carry that chip on my shoulder,” he pushes back his jacket as he tucks his hands in his pockets, “let me say, you cannot let that place hold you back.”

“I try not to.”

“You haven’t. You’re here. You’re a smart girl,” he bows his head, “you’ll go far.”

“Thanks, uh, we’ll see,” you see Loki’s shoulders as he hovers along a cluster of students, watching as they gather around a display.

“Don’t let me distract you, sorry,” he steps away, “I too prefer to take things in on my own.”

“It’s not that–”

“Truly, it isn’t an issue, I would rather you get what you can of it, however you must,” he slips his hands from his pocket and pivots on his heel, “I am meant to be overseeing this lot as it is.”

He strides off, greeting Gavin brightly and you tiptoe further around the tree. You slouch and edge along the far wall, digging in your purse for your phone. You check the time. There’s at least an hour left. You can’t help but note the endless notifications stacking up beneath the bold digits.

You open your phone and check the page again. Still there. Sixty comments on the most recent post, more and more as you swipe lower. Your chest fills with terror. What do you do? What can you do?

You fumble and quickly dial Finn’s number. You wait for an answer but none comes. You’ve been blocked as well. You try Sam and the same. You swear and rip your phone away from your ear as you flip back to Insta.

“Excuse me, but I must ask that you make any calls–” Loki’s voice startles you and you spin to face him as your cell slides out of your hand. You try to catch it but only send it to his feet. He looks down then back at you, “darling.”

“Shit,” you hiss and bend to snatch your phone but he’s first to get to it. He holds it out of your grasp as he straightens and steps closer.

“Why didn’t you say hello?”

You swallow, “I… I broke up with Finn.”

“As I expected. My own son, I must admit, never deserved you.”

“Please. Don’t,” you plead, “I feel rotten enough.”

“Why? Because we had some fun? Because I treated you as you should be?”

“Can I just have my phone back?”

“Darling, what’ve I done? Did you not get my gift?”

“Oh… the flowers? Yeah, they’re nice but–”

“Is it someone else? I wouldn’t hold that against you, darling, you’re young and I hope I’ve shown you how much more you deserve–”

“Please, just–”

“It is rather improper to have one’s phone out in the museum,” he intones as he looks at your cell, “rather insulting to–” He pauses and blinks at your screen. You grab for the phone and try to cover it. He angles it away from you as his thumb scrolls, “ah, yes, my son. He does always make me proud.”

“He’s just upset. That’s it. But he doesn’t know about us, I promise.”

“Us?” He relents and holds out your cell. You take it.

“About what happened. Not us. There is no us.”

“There isn’t?” He asks flatly.

“I don’t… know?”

“I think about it every day. Don’t you?” He lowers his voice.

“You’re married.”

“And?”

“I dated your son. Your son who hates me.”

“And?”

“And?” You echo in exasperation. “We can’t do this.”

“Tell me, darling, it will not bother me if there is another. Does he treat you well?”

“There isn’t anyone else, okay? This is too much already. It’s messy and we never should have– ever–” You struggle to keep from hyperventilating, “you can’t just–”

“Do you not look fondly back at how I made you purr, darling? Of the feel of my lips? On yours? Elsewhere? Of how you fit me perfectly–”

“Please.”

“Please. I am consumed by you, darling, I must confess it. And I remain as chaste in my marriage as before. My wife will not have me and I would only have you.”

“No, it’s wrong.”

“You are young, mistakes are the gift of youth,” he slithers and you flinch as he reaches to your collar, he tugs down your sweater and traces the scar left by the knife, “stay. I can drive you back to campus in the morning. You can help close up again. Just you and I.”

“I can’t,” you draw back and look around. You see Professor Shade as he chats with Anna and he notices your gaze over her head. He gives a small wave before you turn back to Loki, “I have classes.”

“How do you like Professor Shade? Helpful?”

“I guess–”

“Handsome?”

“What?”

“He does have a certain allure, doesn’t he?”

“No, Loki, please–”

“Let us not pretend, you have very particular tastes, don’t you, darling?”

“You–”

“Stay,” he insists, “I’ll have you back for classes. We’ll get a suite and catch up.”

“Loki…”

“Do you really want to go back there? With all that has transpired? The chaos my son has sewn for you.”

“But–”

“Tell him you have family here. That you are staying to take in the sights and visit.”

“What?”

“The professor that does dote on you,” he intones, “I cannot blame him and I do not. Let him down easy.”

You rub your cheek and sigh. He’s not wrong, you don’t want to go back. Not yet. You’re not ready to face all the shit coming your way. And that twinge deep inside you won’t let you go.

You have to be honest, at least with yourself. You came knowing he would be there, that you would more than likely run into him. You came because of him, no matter how much you deny it.

“You’re wrong about him,” you say, “not everyone is you.”

“No they are not,” he agrees with a smirk.

“I’ll skip the bus,” you resign, “but not my classes.”

“Good girl, as always,” he winks and steps away, “I can suffer a few more hours for you.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #all in the family #silverfox #heimdall #vision #victor shade #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #au

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celiastjamesoscar · 9 months

Text

Exile

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: you and Wednesday were best friends when you were kids, but after Nero’s death, she became cold and distant, and your former friendship turned into a rivalry. Ten years after your friendship ended, unusual circumstances force you two back together.

Trope: childhood friends to enemies to lovers

Warnings: small violent at beginning, angst, death of Nero. Let me know if I missed any!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 12.3K (what’s a word count?)

The sound of children laughing rang throughout the woods on a crisp fall morning. The trees were beautiful vibrant colors that painted the landscape with shades of fiery red, golden yellow, and earthly orange. The crisp air that one could taste in their lungs carried a gentle rustling of fallen leaves while the scent of decaying foliage filled the atmosphere. The ground was adorned with a carpet of fallen leaves that created a soft crunch when the two children ran through the serene woodland.

Even though one child chased the other with a small ax, the two had the same fun. The one with the ax was a taller girl with jet-black twin braids who wore all-black clothing, expert for her white collar shirt. She wore a giant smile on her face as she chased her best friend, Y/N.

You were shorter than Wednesday but had just as much fire in you as Wednesday did. Where Wednesday’s eyes were as black as night, you had a gray and green eye that you used to hide behind sunglasses until Wednesday told you they were the most beautiful things in the world, “You shouldn’t hide what separates you from others, Y/N. Especially if it makes you all the more beautiful.”

You wore brighter colors than Wednesday, but you both shared a love for darkness. You were nothing without Wednesday, just as Wednesday was nothing without you.

The two made an odd pair, but one was never seen without the other. There were times when Morticia had to pry her daughter away from you to find that you had snuck back over sometime in the moonlight. Whenever Wednesday would practice her cello, she would invite you to play the piano, and together you two would create the most heavenly sound that would make angels cry. The contrast was there, but they fit together like puzzle pieces.

As they ran through the woods, you tripped on a small branch and fell to the ground, causing worry to overtake Wednesday as she sprinted to the fallen girl. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Wednesday asked as she knelt beside her friend, but her worry quickly disappeared when you sprang up and tackled her to the ground. You removed the ax from the taller girl’s grasp and held it to her neck. “I appear to be the victor,” you said with a giant smile contrasting Wednesday’s grim expression.

Wednesday leaned up and shoved you off her as she stood up and brushed herself off. “That’s hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday replied dryly as she helped you off the ground.

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you shot back while standing up. You lived for the playful banter with Wednesday and would rather lose your tongue than go without annoying Wednesday for a day. You handed Wednesday the ax back so she could be the Hunter again, and she placed it in its holster on her hip.

As you two were getting ready to start a new game, a voice rattled the trees around you, “Wednesday! Y/N! Time to come home!” The two shared a look and rolled their eyes simultaneously; they both hated it when Morticia ruined their fun, but they started their walk back to the house nonetheless.

As they walked, Wednesday felt bold and pulled you into a headlock and brought the smaller girl’s head against her ribcage. You didn’t even have time to protest before you felt Wednesday’s knuckles dig into your scalp. You squirmed against Wednesday’s hold, but it was useless; the taller girl was stronger than you. So, you did what any sane person would do; you bit down on Wednesday’s forearm that was keeping you in place. Not enough to hurt the assailant, but just enough to let go of you. And just as you predicted, Wednesday let go of you and grabbed the area that the smaller girl just bit. “Why did you do that?” Wednesday questioned as she rubbed her arm back and forth.

“Uh, because I can?” You retorted as you motioned with her hand, giving Wednesday an attitude that the other girl scoffed at. “Let us go, my compact companion; we have tasks at hand,” Wednesday said as she grabbed your hand, and the two ran back to the Addams’ residence together.

“You have to stop calling me that,” you whined. Wednesday had her collection of names to call you, and the shorter girl hated them.

“It’s not my fault you’re shorter than me; blame your genetics,” Wednesday replied with a dry tone but a slight smile that caused you to smile once you saw it. Wednesday never smiled at anyone except you; Wednesday made a lot of exceptions for the more petite girl, even though she would never admit it.

When they arrived at the mansion, both girls were out of breath as Morticia came outside to greet them. “Hello, my little doves. Did you two enjoy the hunt?” Wednesday’s mother asked them as they went inside and took off their shoes.

“Yes, Mrs. Addams, I always have fun with Wens. She’s the best,” you breathlessly replied as you followed Wednesday up to her room.

Morticia was always fond of you; she loved how her morbid daughter seemed to light up when she was around you, and she knew that her daughter could always rely on and trust you. But all great things must come to an end.

Wednesday held her bedroom door open for you as they entered. The room was dark and cold, but it had character, like Wednesday. There were two giant windows that Wednesday always kept covered on the opposite wall of the door. There were collections of knives hung up on the walls, and the shelves were littered with bookshelves, and in the corner of the room was a cello right next to Y/N’s piano. A small fireplace was built into the wall and had a black, round table in front of it that sat only two. A black bed was in the center of the room with its headboard against the wall, and at the end of the bed was a small bed bench that was purple, Y/N’s favorite color. Above Wednesday’s bed were two swords mounted onto the ceiling; one had a black handle with the purple initials of W.A. etched into the ricasso, while the other had a purple handle with your initials engraved in black. You found the swords a bit odd, but according to Wednesday, it made her feel like Damocles.

You messed with the record player beside the fireplace and put on your favorite record. Soon, the upbeat saxophone of ‘Bop’ by Dan Seals filled the room. Wednesday rolled her eyes when she saw you recreate John Travolta’s ‘Twist’ dance from Pulp Fiction.

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

I want to be-bop with you, baby, till the break of dawn

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

“Come on, Wens. You know you wanna dance with me,” You said as you started making the swimming motion from the dance. Finding that she could never say no to Y/N, Wednesday rolled her eyes again before copying Uma Thurman’s dance to match you. When Wednesday did the snorkel dance move, you laughed at the taller girl’s awkwardness, and Wednesday smiled at the thought of making you laugh.

Out of breath, the two finished the dance, and they both had giant smiles as their eyes copied their lips. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked as she stuck out your hand and slightly bowed.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday stated but took your hand and allowed the girl to spin her.

Twenty minutes had passed when the clock on the fireplace dinged, telling Wednesday it was time to walk Nero. “It’s time for me to walk Nero, but I will see you when I get back,” Wednesday stated as she moved toward the area that was reserved for Nero and got him out of his cage, and put him on his leash.

The three walked down the front door together and left the house together. “See you in a minute,” you said as you walked away from Wednesday. The taller girl sent you a small wave as she walked toward town with Nero.

You arrived home and did what you usually did when Wednesday was away; you waited. You knew Wednesday’s schedule to the tee: wake up at six, morning torture with Pugsley at six-thirty, breakfast at seven-thirty, play with Y/N at eight until her walk with Nero at ten-thirty, come back at eleven and practice her cello with Y/N until twelve-thirty and have lunch at twelve-thirty five. The hours between one and three were filled with any ‘spontaneous activities’ Wednesday might want to do, and at four, she read until five, had dinner at six, and did nightly torturing with Pugsley (or Y/N if you consented) at six-thirty until bedtime at eight-thirty.

So when you checked the clock and saw it was ten-thirty-five, you left her house and skipped to Wednesday’s. As you approached the house, there was a sudden shift in the air, and you could taste it on your lips: death had arrived. You cautiously walked up the stairs and knocked on the door, something you never did. You were always around Wednesday so much that Morticia told you that you didn’t need to knock anymore as she could ‘sense’ the girl’s presence.

When the door opened, you knew that something had happened; you just hoped that Wednesday was okay. Gomez was standing before you with a grim expression as he ushered you in. Your eyes landed on a weeping Wednesday, and your heart broke. You moved to sit next to the goth girl and opened your arms, and Wednesday immediately hugged you and buried her face in the crook of your neck. You rubbed her best friend’s back as she continued crying; you didn’t know what to do, but you only knew that you wanted to be with Wednesday.

The following day, Wednesday had a funeral for Nero, and no one but Y/N could attend. The two girls shed a tear as they both placed a flower on his grave, and you comforted Wednesday once more. Later that night, in Wednesday’s room, Wednesday had allowed you to sleep in bed with her. The two girls were cuddled together, staring at the swords above them, when Wednesday broke the silence, “You are far too dear to me, Y/N. The pain I have felt the past two days is something I never want to experience again, and I certainly do not wish to experience it all over again because of you.”

“Don’t worry, Wednesday. You’re stuck with me till life do us part,” you replied as you hugged your best friend, never wanting to lose the girl.

At just six years old, Wednesday had lost her beloved pet and experienced grief for the first time, and she knew that she would have to grieve every single person in her life at some point. So that night, she made a vow; never to be close enough to someone where she would shed a tear because of their death, and that meant letting go of who she loved most: Y/N.

At first, it was very subtle: Wednesday would smile less around you, and she would spend less time working with you on your music. It was so subtle that no one but you noticed, and it hurt you. Then, more significant things began to happen; Wednesday would purposely fill her schedule with things to do that didn’t involve you, and when you two did hang out, she made sure to try and distance herself from you. And then it all came crashing down on Wednesday’s seventh birthday.

You had a small box in your hand as you walked up the steps to the front door of the Addams mansion and knocked, patiently waiting for someone to open the door. Only a few seconds had passed before Morticia opened the door and towered over the small child. “Hello, my darling. Wednesday is in the greenhouse,” Morticia said as she stood aside and let you into the house before shutting the door.

“Thank you, Mrs. Addams. I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, so I hope she won’t be angry,” you innocently said as you ignored the pain in her heart that Morticia seemed to pick up on.

Eager to change the subject in fear of you becoming sad, Morticia asked as she led you to the greenhouse, “I’ve already told you that you can stop calling me ‘Mrs. Addams,’ My child, so why do you continue?”

You shrugged your shoulders at the comment. You didn’t know why you still spoke to the woman in a formal tone, but it felt weird on your tongue to call her anything else. “I don’t know, I think it’s a respect thing for me,” you replied as you opened the door to the greenhouse. Morticia nodded at the child’s words before whispering, “Have fun with my little death trap.”

You smiled at Morticia’s words as you entered the greenhouse. You knew precisely where Wednesday would be and didn’t pretend to look for the goth girl.

Wednesday was cutting black roses from their stem when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She didn’t bother turning around; she could recognize those footsteps in the crowd of a thousand people. “What are you doing here, YN?” Wednesday asked in a dry tone that caused you to stiffen.

“It’s your birthday, and I wanted to give you something,” you said as you approached Wednesday and set the box next to her. “I know you love your birthday, as it is one more year closer to your death, so here’s your present to celebrate.”

Wednesday gave the more petite girl a suspicious look before putting down the rose and scissors and picking up the box. It was unnaturally light, so she doubted it was a weapon or bomb. She slowly took the lid off the box, and any words died on the tip of her tongue once she realized what it was.

It was a small, black, crocheted scorpion that took you hours to make. She also saw a small note underneath the scorpion, but she didn’t pick it up as her vision became red.

She didn’t know why she was angry. All Wednesday knew was that she wanted you gone. “Get out,” Wednesday hissed as she set the box down and grabbed a knife from her boot.

“What? Why?” You asked as you slowly backed up from Wednesday as your eyes fell on the knife. Of course, Wednesday would make the occasional threats, but you had never believed them; until now.

“Friends are nothing but liabilities, and they only hold me back. So. Get. Out.” Wednesday repeated as she backed you against a small flower pot. She no longer had control over her emotions, and every second she spent with you only seemed to anger her more.

“Wednesday, please. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you would have liked the gift. Please, I’m your best friend, and I-” Any words you were about to say got caught in your throat as Wednesday brought the knife up, cutting a straight line on your left eye. The cut was three inches below your eye and an inch above it.

The two stood there in disbelief as neither could believe what happened. Only when blood started pouring out of your cut, and you collapsed onto the floor did Wednesday do something; she called out for her mother’s help for the first and only time as she held you in her eyes, trying her best to fight back tears.

Morticia ran out to the greenhouse and instantly scooped you into her arms as she yelled for Gomez. The man came burling down the stairs and could not contain his tears as she saw your blood-covered state.

The couple quickly rushed you to the hospital, and once you were checked into the ER, the couple notified your parents. They arrived within ten minutes of the phone call, and they were everything but calm, from questioning how Morticia and Gomez allowed this to happen to demanding that Wednesday be punished.

The two sets of parents seemed to be at each other’s throats while Wednesday tried her best to disappear. She felt nothing but guilt for hurting her Y/N, and she wanted to do everything possible to make it up to the girl. So when Wednesday got her chance to see you, she practically sprinted into your room.

You were lying in a hospital with the entire left side of your face bandaged up, and Wednesday could see some blood seeping through. Wednesday slowly approached the bed and gently grabbed your hand. As if repulsed by the touch, you quickly pulled your hand away from Wednesday’s and brought it to your chest. You glared at Wednesday with your right eye before hissing, “Get out.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand-” Wednesday started but was quickly cut off by Y/N.

“I’m nothing but a liability to you, Wednesday, so leave,” you said as you crossed your arms and looked away from Wednesday, refusing to cry in front of the taller girl. ‘I think I’ll miss you forever; like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies,’ you thought as you watched your best friend leave.

Wednesday nodded her head and slowly walked to the door, and turned to face you one last time. “Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere.”

You were once her crown, and now she was in exile seeing you out. She gave you so many warning signs, but you never learned to read her mind.

When she left the hospital, she felt nothing but shame and guilt that filled her body the entire car ride back home. She cleaned the blood off the floor before going to her room, where she sobbed for the second and last time.

School was different after that happened; the former best friends refused to meet each other’s gaze and soon found that their previous partnership turned into rivalry, constantly competing to be number one. It was an unfair competition, as Wednesday was more naturally gifted than you, and she seemed to beat you at everything, but you refused to give you. You would spend hours perfecting your craft, and when it came time for the archery competition, you beat Wednesday by a single point. Any chance for friendship was ruined when you accepted the first-place trophy and sent Wednesday an evil glare when she was awarded her second-place trophy.

Their rivalry continued like this for numerous years, always for captain for a particular activity or number one in their grade, but just as before, you always seemed to fall short. It continued for three years until you suddenly stopped showing up for school.

Wednesday believed that she had beaten you so far into the ground that you decided to stop coming to school. But after two weeks had passed and Wednesday had not seen her former best friend, she became curious and decided to stop by your house.

Only when Wednesday saw the ‘for sale’ sign in your yard, she allowed herself to be swallowed by guilt. She had pushed you too far in their competition for first and had made you move. Wednesday realized that she might never see her Y/N again, and regret flooded her mind as she slept on the purple bed bench with your sword in her arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think we are getting a new student today, and I'm totes excited!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped to Wednesday’s side of the room. The last person to arrive at Nevermore Academy was Wednesday herself, so naturally, Enid was ecstatic to meet someone new.

“You know I do not care for new faces who share the same boring personalities as everyone else here,” Wednesday mumbled while she typed on her type-writer.

Enid huffed at Wednesday’s remark before glancing at her roommate’s work. Wednesday noticed the action and quickly sent an elbow into Enid’s side, causing the girl to groan in pain. “You also know I hate it when you try to read my work. I have no idea why you keep trying to read anything; you know the result,” Wednesday stated as she continued typing.

“Whatever. Just humor me for a moment,” Enid said as she put some space between her and Wednesday, avoiding any elbows that might be sent her way. “I will not humor you but continue.”

“So, from what my sources tell me, she’s from Italy, not like the normal part of Italy, but the mob part!” Enid informed while using her hands to talk.

“Enid, just because someone is from Sicily doesn’t mean they are in the mob. And if she is, I would like to interrogate her about it; it could add a new element to my novel,” Wednesday said.

The brighter girl walked to her side of the room and grabbed her phone. When she picked it up, she made an obnoxious sound before sprinting to Wednesday. “She’s here Wednesday. You have to come and meet her!” Enid exclaimed as she lightly pulled on Wednesday’s arm, causing her to receive a death glare, but she allowed herself to be drawn from her seat.

The two quickly walked down the stairs and arrived at Weems’ office. “Why are we standing creepily outside Weems’ office?” Wednesday questioned as she glanced over her shoulder at her roommate.

“Because, silly, she’s in there talking to Weems right now, and when she comes out, I want to be the first to greet her. And I’ve already volunteered to give her a tour of the grounds,” Enid exclaimed in a hushed tone as if the stranger and Weems were pressed against the door, spying on their conversion.

“And what will I do? I am certainly not talking to another half-brain student,” Wednesday said dryly as she stared at the door.

Enid rolled her eyes at the goth girl’s statement; she had made Wednesday talk to someone new only once to find out that the person only talked about horses and the patriarchy. “You can glare uncomfortably on the sidelines then,” Enid replied.

Wednesday was getting ready to retort when she heard shuffling from behind the door and soft-spoken words that she could not make out.

“Howdie, friend! I’m Enid, and I’ll be giving you the tour!” Enid enthusiastically said as she attacked the girl with a hug.

All the air from Wednesday’s lungs had been sucked out as she stared at the stranger before her. She prayed to the old gods and new that this wasn’t some evil joke, her punishment for raising the dead. But when she saw the stranger smile, she knew this was her Y/N.

You stood before Wednesday with a human highlighter wrapped around your waist. You were wearing black slacks with a black button-up, and Wednesday felt a heart pick up as she admired you in her color. Where you once had chubby cheeks, they were now thinned out, and you had a jawline that could cut glass. You were once a short and stocky kid, but now you towered over Enid, and your muscular arms wrapped around the rainbow girl. It seemed like everything about you had changed, but nothing at all as well. You still had that bright smile and charming personality, as always, but Wednesday’s heart sank when she saw the scar on your eye. It took her a moment to notice it as you wore black sunglasses hiding your beautiful heterochromia.

“Ah, good, you’re already here, Enid, to give Miss Y/L/N a tour, and you’ve brought Miss Addams as well,” Weems said as she stepped out of her room and stood next to Enid and you. Wednesday nearly melted onto the floor when she saw you pull back from Enid and stand up straight, just a few inches shorter than Weems. She noticed how your smile faltered at the mention of ‘Addams’ before you played it off and plastered a fake smile on your lips. The air that was once filled with playful curiosity was one of tension, anger, betrayal, and longing.

“Addams,” you said with no emotion in a thick Italian accent as you extended your large and callused hand toward Wednesday that engulfed the goth girl’s small and cold hand. When your hands touched for the first time in ten years since the hospital, you both felt an electric charge pass between you two, and time seemed to stand still for a moment while the rest of the world disappeared around them.

Your covered eyes locked with Wednesday’s, and you both knew you felt an undeniable spark that sent shivers down your spines. Unspoken words seemed to flow between their fingertips as if their souls were communicating through the simple touch. They both felt the unexplainable and undeniable chemistry rushing back and flooding their minds as they looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

“Y/L/N,” Wednesday replied as she eagerly dropped your hand and wiped her palm on her pants as if it would erase the spark she felt.

Enid and Weems both shared a look as they watched the awkward encounter between the two girls, clearly displaying that they have a history between them. Enid cleared her throat as she stepped between you and Wednesday, “alrighty then, shall we get started with our tour?”

Your mood switched on a dime, and you instantly beamed at Enid’s words. You smiled down at the girl and locked your elbow with hers, and rested your hand gently on her arm, “Of course, my dear, let us begin our journey.” Wednesday pulled her eyes at your remark but walked a few paces behind you and her roommate; she knew this would be the start of a very unfortunate friendship.

“Welcome to the quad,” Enid said as she unlocked your arms and motioned around with her hands. “It’s a pentagon,” you replied as you looked at your surroundings.

Enid rolled her eyes at your comment; great, now she’d have to deal with two Wednesdays as if one wasn’t enough. “You know, Wednesday said the same thing when she first arrived too. I have a feeling you two will be the best of friends!” Enid stated in a cheerful tone after releasing that her roommate can have more than one friend.

“No,” the formal best friends said simultaneously and sent each other a glare, and if Enid picked up on it, you were glad she didn’t say anything.

“Allow me to give you a rundown on the social scene here at Nevermore,” Enid said as she walked around the ‘quad.’ “There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners, and Scales,” the brighter girl stated while counting her fingers.

As Enid gave you the tour, you half paid attention out of respect for the girl trying to sell Nevermore to you, but all you could think about was the more petite girl standing a few feet behind you. You could feel her eyes burning holes into your back, but you couldn’t face her again, not after everything you’ve been through. There was once a time when you would have laid down your life for Wednesday; now, you could barely breathe the same air as her without getting angry. You knew it was stupid to hold a grudge for this long, but Wednesday was your first and only love, and you would be damned if you let her see you weak again.

When you finished the tour, Enid took you to your room, which was, unfortunately, in Ophelia Hall. “O-M-G! You’re rooming with Yoko! She is my best friend,” Enid announced before looking over at Wednesday, “well, besides Wens, obviously.”

Your heart sank at the nickname for Wednesday. Only you were allowed to call her Wens when you were children, and she barely let you do that. And now, here she was, allowing someone dressed like unicorn vomit to call her that without so much as an idle threat.

“‘Wens?’” You questioned with an eyebrow raised as you looked between the two roommates. You were glad you started to wear your sunglasses again so that neither girl could see the sadness in your eyes. But Wednesday knew you all too well, and she saw how your posture faltered when Enid called her that, and she saw the barely noticeable frown that tugged at your lips. ‘My name should only ever leave your lips,’ Wednesday wanted to say, but she held her tongue.

“Oh, yeah. That’s my nickname for Wednesday. She told me that no one has ever given her one before, so I decided to give her one,” Enid said as she ushered the two girls back to her room, “Come on, I wanna show you mine and Wednesday’s room.”

At the mention of Wednesday never having a nickname, you dropped your fake smile and looked at Wednesday, who was refusing to meet your gaze. ‘Do I mean that little to you where you would erase even our happiest memories?’ You thought when Wednesday finally looked up at you, and for the first time today, you saw emotion in her dark eyes: regret.

“I love the window,” you said as you entered Enid and Wednesday’s room. You loved the contrast between the two girls and how they seemed to get along perfectly; it reminded you of when you were young and Wednesday’s favorite person. Now, the girl barely looked at you.

“Thanks; the first day here, Wednesday took off her side of color and then put tape down to divide our room. And now look at how far we’ve come! I’m like the only one here who Wens actually cares about!”Enid exclaimed as she spun in her circle with her arms outstretched, clearly happy to be buddy-buddy with Wednesday. You nodded your head, trying to push back the tears that weld in your eyes at the mention of Wednesday caring for someone else before your eyes snapped to something on Wednesday’s wall.

“What’s this?” You questioned as you moved to get a closer look at the object that had caught your attention, causing both of the roommates to follow you.

“Oh, that’s one of Wednesday’s favorite weapons. She doesn’t let anyone touch it, not even me,” Enid said as her eyes fell on the sword mounted to the wall above Wednesday’s writing desk. Your eyes scanned over the sheathed sword and fell to the purple handle before you turned and looked at Wednesday. “May I?” You asked in a barely audible voice.

You expected Wednesday to shoot you down before you even finished speaking, but the girl gave you a curt nod, not trusting her voice at this moment. Your hands reached up and took the sword off its mantle, and you slowly took it out of its sheath and set it down on Wednesday’s desk. You turned the sword over and admired the sharp edge as you carefully ran your pointer finger along the blade’s edge; you could easily tell that Wednesday had been sharpening it routinely. Your finger finally made its way to the helm of the sword, and you turned it over and sucked in air as you let out a small chuckle.

You read your initials that were still engraved in the sword before your saddened eyes finally looked up at Wednesday’s guilt-ridden ones. Wednesday thanks the gods that you had your eyes covered, as she knew her heart would have broken ten times over if she saw the sadness in them.

“Well, then,” you said with a shaky breath as you sheathed the sword and placed it back on its mantle, “it’s a beautiful blade, Wednesday.” Your eyes caught something in the corner of Wednesday’s desk, and you felt every single emotion wash over you like waves crashing onto the shore: a small, black crocheted scorpion sat on top of an unopened note. Before you could comment on it, Wednesday’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“I know it is,” Wednesday spoke honestly as her eyes danced across your face while you picked up on the double meaning behind her words.

After several seconds of awkward tension, you cleared your throat and walked to the door, “Alright then, I’ll, uh, leave you guys to it.”

Wait!” Enid shouted as she skipped over to you with her phone in hand. “Let me get your Snapchat so we can talk some more,” she said as she pulled up Snapchat. You smiled politely as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and opened up Snapchat, and allowed the werewolf to add you, and you accepted her friend request when it popped up.

“I’ll see you later, Enid,” you said as you opened up the door to walk out, but you stopped and turned around to face Wednesday, “see you around sometime, Addams.” As you left, only one thought ran across both of your minds: ‘I can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye.’

When you left the room, Enid immediately turned to face her roommate. “What was that about?” She questioned while staring down at the goth girl.

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Wednesday replied as she walked over to her desk and began working on her novel. She had emotions come back that she had not felt in nearly ten years, and she needed to get them off her chest, writing out different scenarios of her killing Y/N.

Enid stomped to Wednesday’s desk and turned the small girl around in her chair. She grasped Wednesday’s shoulders and tightly gripped them as she spoke, “Yes, you do. Do not lie to me, Wednesday, or I will paint the side of your hot pink.”

The more petite girl rolled her eyes at her roommate’s comment before prying the hands off her shoulders and returning to her typewriter. “We used to be friends, and now we aren’t; end of story,” Wednesday flatly replied.

“I don’t believe you, I know there’s more to the story, but I won’t pressure you,” Enid defeatedly said as she walked over to her bed and lay down. Of course, she was dying to know the history between you and Wednesday. Still, she would never force Wednesday to talk about something uncomfortable, so she decided to wait it out and see if she could get an answer from either you or Wednesday first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two roommates walked into fencing class and heard the ringing of metal crashing together, and saw that Bianca was in a match with you. The two watched as you blocked Bianca’s advances and matched each of her assaults with double the force, causing the siren to walk backward toward the end of the mat. With one final blow against Bianca’s foil, you cause her to step backward off of the mat and ultimately lose the match.

Bianca let out an angry huff at the loss but shook your hand afterward. “You gave me a nice challenge, and I respect that. I hope to go up against you again soon,” the siren said as she walked off the mat.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky next time and beat me,” you joked as you started to take off your gear when your eyes landed on Wednesday. Before you had moved, you and Wednesday were always in fencing competitions, and it seemed that the two of you were always paired to go against one another. Naturally, you lost every time you went against her, but that was seven years ago, and you spent the past seven years perfecting every little thing that Wednesday was better at.

“Coach Vlad, I was wondering if I could go against someone else before class ends?” You questioned as you stood up. You knew that if you publicly challenged Wednesday that she couldn’t turn it down, and you also knew that she believed she was still the better fencer, so both of those gave you an advantage.

Coach Vlad studied your expression and determined that you only asked to prove a point, so he let you. “Who will you be challenging, miss Y/LN?”

“Addams,” was all you said as you stared at the girl dressed in an all-black fencing attire. Wednesday’s ears perked up at you challenging her, and she knew she would clear you.

“Very well, Wednesday, if you accept the challenge, stand the opposite of Y/N,” Coach Vlad stated with a hint of excitement. He loved watching the way the Addams sparred with his students; she was graceful yet coarse, which reminded him of when he was a student here at Nevermore.

Wednesday walked over to the mat you were standing on, her eyes locked with your covered ones. She wondered what made you wear those sunglasses again, and she missed those eyes she once called home.

“En garde,” Coach Vlad yelled as the atmosphere crackled with tension. The room falls into a reverent silence as the match begins. With grace and precision, you and Wednesday engage in a mesmerizing dance of footwork and technique, each exchange showcasing your guys' skill and determination.

Their moves were swift and calculated, their attacks and defenses fluid, each striving to gain the upper hand. The crowd of students watched in awe as they witnessed a display of finesse and competitive spirit.

Wednesday made the first aggressive move, launching a series of rapid lunges, attempting to catch you off guard. But you proved your prowess with deft parries, countering with swift ripostes that keep Wednesday on her toes.

As the match progressed, the intensity escalated, and their footwork became even more intricate, seeking to exploit any opening in their opponent's defense. The clang of metal echoed through the hall as their foils met in a series of fierce clashes.

Neither competitor gave an inch, their faces showing steely determination. You and Wednesday are evenly matched, your skills complementing each other, creating a mesmerizing spectacle for the crowd.

With each point you and Wednesday scored, your fellow students held their breaths, afraid that if they cheered, it would mess you two up. Yours and Wednesday’s adrenaline surged, and your focus sharpened, all distractions fading away as you two immersed yourselves entirely in the moment.

Time seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching into eternity as the match neared its climax. With one final burst of energy, you executed a daring feint, catching Wednesday off balance. In that split second, you placed your foot on top of Wednesday’s and advanced, causing the more petite girl to fall backward onto the mat. You stood over her and shoved the tip of the foil into her chest armor.

“I appear to be the victor,” you said as you towered over Wednesday before she quickly jumped up from the ground and stormed out of the hall, with you right on her heels.

“That was hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday stated as she stomped toward Ophelia hall. “And stop following me.”

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you retorted as you quickened your step to walk beside Wednesday. “And I’m not following you; we live in the same hall.”

Wednesday said nothing; she couldn’t argue with the fact you two shared a hallway, but she still didn’t like it. You watched as Wednesday threw her door open and slammed it shut with a smile on your face; it felt good to have that playful banter back.

Naturally, your rivalry with Wednesday continued as if it had never left; you two constantly competed for the correct answers in your classes, and you two refused to fence with anyone else. It became so toxic that teachers started putting you two out in the hallway during class, like little toddlers who were being disruptive.

“I had a marvelous time ruinin’ everything,” you joked with Wednesday as it seemed you two were sitting outside your potions class once more. You had your back pressed against the stone wall next to the door, and Wednesday opted to sit next to you but kept a few feet between you.

“I do suppose ruining the activities of others is tolerable with you,” Wednesday said as she looked over at your beautiful smile that she once loved and felt her own lips twitch upward.

“I know my antics should be celebrated, but I’m glad you tolerate it,” you said once you saw her scary attempt at a smile.

At the week's end, Enid invited you to her room for some “girl talk.” You had no idea what girl talk would involve, but you wouldn’t pass up a chance to piss Wednesday off.

“Welcome to my dreamhouse!” Enid exclaimed as she opened the door and ushered you into her room. You knew it might be ill-tempered to say this, but you were jealous of Enid’s room. You loved the giant window in the center that emitted different colors throughout the room, highlighting and contrasting the two drastically different sides.

You followed Enid to her side and sat down on her bed with her. You allowed the werewolf to paint your nails a dark purple. She asked you questions about your past and what you wanted to do in the future. You told her that Criminal Justice intrigued you and you thought about becoming a detective at some point. In turn, you asked her what her future plans were, and she told you that if her parents allowed her, she would want to explore the world and see all the beauties she offered.

After you two had fallen into a peaceful conversation, she finally asked the question plaguing her mind since you first arrived, “So, how did you get that scar? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You swore you could hear a hairpin drop right when you felt the moment stop. It was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room and replaced it with tension. Your eyes shot to Wednesday, who was previously typing on her typewriter but stopped when Enid asked the question. You quietly cleared your throat before speaking, “I, uh… it was my fault. I did something stupid without asking for permission, and I paid the consequences. That’s all.”

Wednesday felt her heart shatter into a million pieces when she heard you blame yourself for what happened. She wanted to run to Enid’s side of the room and tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she would do anything she could to take it back, to have you back. She felt a single tear run down her cheek as she returned to her novel.

Not believing your story, Enid didn’t say anything else. She knew there was something more to the story, but she didn’t want to pressure you into telling her. “Well, I think it makes you look ten times hotter,” Enid confessed with a sly smile and a wink. She ignored how her hearing picked up on Wednesday’s heartbeat increased with jealousy at the comment.

You slightly chuckled at Enid’s comment before looking at Enid’s own scars that she sometimes tried to cover up. They were out of place on the brightly dressed girl, but it added a hint of toughness and bravery to her look that almost made you laugh. “What about your scars?” You politely asked, but Enid tensed up at your question.

“Oh. I got them from saving Wednesday last year,” she responded quietly as she continued painting your nails. She refused to meet your gaze, and you felt bad for asking about them, but you wanted to know more. “Why do you cover them up then? You shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars; they prove your loyalty to Wednesday.”

A slight grin tugged at Enid’s lips; she had never had anyone, but Wednesday tell her she was brave. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s just,” she paused as she glanced up at you before continuing her work on your hand, “my mother hates them and says I should be ashamed of myself for ruining any chance I have at finding someone.”

“You shouldn’t listen to your mother, Enid. I think those scars are beautiful, and they display your bravery,” you said as you reached up with your hand and gently traced the scar above Enid’s eyebrow. When a small tear fell down Enid’s cheek, you wiped it away and gave her a soft smile, and Enid knew right then that you were the most authentic person she had ever met. No one has ever been this honest with her, and she cherished your friendship.

Enid let a few quiet minutes pass by before she asked you about your first week at Nevermore, and you told her your honest thoughts. You enjoyed the classes but felt that some students cared too much about their social status and that you loved walking in the woods at night, causing the girl to stop painting your left ring finger.

“You do what at night?” Enid questioned harshly as her bright blue eyes stared into your soul.

“I go for midnight strolls by myself. Weems never told me not to.”

Enid scoffed at your words before glaring at Wednesday, who was working on her novel. “Wednesday is actually the reason we can’t walk around at night.”

At the mention of her name, Wednesday straightened her poster and turned around to face you two.

“Do not blame me for the shortcomings of the town sheriff for being unable to keep the people safe from his own son,” the goth girl stated in a threatening manner with an undertone of regret that you picked up on. You noticed the way Wednesday’s eyes seemed to gloss over with anger when she mentioned the sheriff’s son, and you could only assume something happened between them, which caused your heart to stink at the thought.

“I’m not blaming you, Wens. I’m just stating that you and your boy toy did play a part in ruining our time outside at night,” Enid said innocently as she went back to pairing your nails; she didn’t notice how you tensed up, and you're surprised that she didn’t hear your heart break in two. Your heartbroken eyes shoot to Wednesday’s pained ones, and you can practically read the thoughts behind her eyes, ‘I lost myself when I lost you.’

Even though you still had your eyes covered, Wednesday knew what you were thinking, ‘how could you betray me like this?’ You two were children when you last saw each other, but now as almost adults, you knew that all those feelings you felt for each other were more than platonic; it just took you two a lifetime and a half to realize it. As you two stared at each other, you felt all the love you once felt for each other return in an instant; feelings that come back are feelings that never left.

“‘Boy toy?’” You questioned as your eyes refused to leave Wednesday’s. You knew you would only get hurt by asking, but you had to know.

“It was a moment of weakness, Y/N. Nothing more,” Wednesday spoke with emotion for the first time as her voice broke off towards the end. She quickly cleared her throat and excused herself to the balcony with her cello before you had time to respond to her.

When Enid finished up your nails, you two were getting ready to do a face mask when she got a text. “Yes! Ajax just texted me to hang out with him! Is it alright if I leave you here? Or you can go back to your room if you want?” Enid asked as she stood up from her bed; you ignored the name at the top of her screen that read ‘Yoko.’

“I think I’m going to stay here for a while and hang out with Thing but go have fun,” you said with a faint smile as you watched Enid leave. Honestly, you missed Thing almost as much as you missed Wednesday. Anytime Wednesday would be away, and you were over, you would always hang out with Thing, and right now, he was definitely your favorite Addams.

You chatted with Thing over the sound of Wednesday’s cello for nearly twenty minutes as you did his nails and filled him in on what has happened to you in the past seven years. You told him stuff that you would be too afraid to share with Wednesday, not out of trust, but in fear of what she might do to the people that hurt you.

Only when Wednesday’s cello started to pick up and play a heavy melody did you stop talking. You listened to the way the smaller girl seemed to pour all of her emotions into her song, a song that was full of yearning, hurt, and regret. You listened as there was a slight shift in the music that resembled anger and frustration before turning into a declaration of love. And when the song finally ended on a note that sounded like longing, you got up and walked out to the balcony.

“That was a lovely song,” you said as you walked past Wednesday and rested your elbows against the balcony edge.

Wednesday gave you a quiet ‘mhm’ as a response as she set her cello to the side and joined you at the stone railing, making sure to keep five feet between you for homosexual purposes.

The two of you quietly enjoyed the starry night with a crescent moon above you.

“The sky is so beautiful tonight,” you said, gazing at the stars and moon with your sunglasses still on.

“It is,” Wednesday agreed, but she wasn’t looking up at the sky at all.

When you looked down at Wednesday, she was already staring at you with a tiny glint in her eyes. She subconsciously moved closer to you til she was standing a few inches away from you, and she slowly reached her hands up to take your glasses off. You turned to face her, quickly backing away, and put a foot between you two, “the fuck are you doing?”

“Take it off,” Wednesday stated in a dry tone.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this ‘nerdy girl takes off her glasses and everyone finds out she’s actually really hot’ will not work on you,” you replied with sass in your voice.

“No, it won’t because you are not attractive in the slightest way,” Wednesday retorted while still staring into your soul.

“Thank you, Addams.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know,” you said with a smile as you turned and leaned your elbows on the railing once more and continued staring at the stars. “You are my compact companion, after all,” you teased.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at comment; it felt like it was a lifetime again when she would call you that, and now you turned it against her. She had to agree with you, it was an awful nickname.

“All the pretty stars shine for you, my love,” you said after a couple of minutes had passed. “it’s from a song,” you added to clear up any confusion that might have been stirred.

Wednesday looked over at you, but you still had your eyes fixed on the sky, but she noticed how your hand slowly inched toward her own, and she picked up on the double meaning as she placed her palm over the back of your hand. She gave your hand three gentle squeezes before returning inside with her cello.

After that night, you two continued with your rivalry, of course, but something had changed that worried Wednesday. She didn’t know what that change was, but she felt it like a gentle shift in the air before a big storm; she knew something had changed between you two, but she didn’t know what.

On Tuesday of the following week, Nevermore was hosting an archery tournament that lasted all day that you and Wednesday were competing in. As the day dragged out, numerous Nevermore students were booted from the competition, and when it came down to the final two competitors, no one was surprised when they saw you line up next to Wednesday.

“I think I’ve seen this film before,” you said as you grabbed an arrow and notched it before slightly pulling back on the string. The memories of your last archery competition came flooding back as you watched the beautiful girl to the left of you grab an arrow.

“And I didn’t like the ending,” Wednesday finished as she notched her arrow, drew, and let it loose, nailing the target's bullseye. You scoffed at her words before drawing back your arrow and firing, hitting the bullseye a few centimeters away from Wednesday’s.

As the contest continued, you and Wednesday engaged in a back-and-forth display of remarkable archery skills. Each shot was precise, and the competition grew fiercer with every arrow released. The crowd of students that had formed around you two was captivated, witnessing a display of talent that would mold the archery competitions of Nevermore for ages.

As the final round approached, you and Wednesday were neck and neck. The tension was palpable, and the spectators held their breath in anticipation. You looked over your left shoulder at Wednesday as you notched and drew your arrow. The smaller girl’s eyes stared into your covered ones, and you saw the way her eyes danced across your face as if she was trying to place a curse on you.

With a shaky breath, you turned away from Wednesday and looked at your target before you slightly lowered the tip of your bow; it was so unnoticeable that no one picked up on it besides the girl who was soul bound to you.

You let the arrow loose and smiled slightly when you saw it hit the outer ring. Wednesday sent you a slight glance before drawing back on her arrow and letting it fly, nailing it right in the center of the bullseye.

The crowd around them let out a few cheers and applause as Weems got the trophies ready. “I knew you could do it, roomie!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped over to Wednesday and gently shook the girl’s shoulders. Wednesday nodded her head at Enid before she walked onto the makeshift sports pedestal podium for first and second. She stepped onto the stage for first and watched as you stood on the one for second, and you sent her a smile that confirmed everything she needed: you threw the match for her.

When Weems handed you two your trophies, you had a giant smile as people took your picture, while Wednesday bore an uncomfortable expression.

“I appear to be the victor,” Wednesday said as you two walked back to Ophelia Hall together. The sun was just setting, and the light seeped into the hallway, creating a romantic lighting that seemed a bit on the nose for you.

“It appears so,” you replied with a gentle smile as you flipped your trophy around and read the words “2nd place winner” underneath your name.

Wednesday scoffed at your comment before glaring up at your towering figure. “You aren’t going to finish the saying?”

You tapped your pointer finger on your chin, acting as if you were thinking profoundly. “Why would I? You didn’t cheat,” you said honestly and dropped your hand back down to your side.

“No, but you threw the match,” Wednesday said as she approached her door with you a few paces behind her. She wanted nothing more than to bring you inside and cherish you, but she would never stoop to her mother’s way of life.

“If I am capable of such an outlandish thing, I’m sure I would not do that just so you-of all people-could win,” you said with a serious tone but your smile told Wednesday you were joking and it made her cold, black heart ache for something for had felt once and only with you.

Deciding against her better judgment, Wednesday set her trophy on the ground, and before you had time to ask her what she was doing, her left hand gently grabbed your neck and pulled down as she stood on her tippy-toes to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. Your entire body heated up at the contact, and a smile overtook your face. The kiss lasted longer than it should have, as Wednesday’s lips lingered on your cheek as if she was making you a promise that she would one day taste your lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Wednesday said as she picked up her trophy and entered her room, closing the door on your shell-shocked expression. You had butterflies dancing in your stomach as you walked back to your room with a gentle smile on your face and went to sleep with the thought of Wednesday’s lips against your skin. As you drifted off to sleep, Wednesday stayed up all night writing out the way you made her stomach feel like a thousand spiders lived there and the way your hair warmed her black heart. She once vowed to push you away to avoid the pain of losing you, but every waking moment she spent without you had caused her to feel that pain tenfold. Even if she would lose you at the end of your lives, at least she would have had the honor of calling you hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The eerie gothic ballroom was cloaked in darkness, dimly lit by flickering candlelight that cast haunting shadows upon the ancient stone walls. Heavy velvet drapes, tinged with a rich deep crimson, adorned the tall arched windows, adding a sense of mystery and opulence. Gothic-style chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, their twisted metal work resembling gnarled branches, and their candelabras emitting a spectral glow. The air is filled with a subtle scent of incense, adding to the mysterious ambiance of the room as Wednesday prepared to entire the ballroom.

It was the Grimoire Soiree, Nevermore’s official gothic ball, that was hosted at the end of the Fall semester every year. Wednesday was naturally intrigued when she heard of a gothic ball and believed attending one might add a new element to her novel, including murder. Still, now, as she watched her peers walk into the ballroom, she felt out of place. Her heart yearned for the one who wouldn’t be attending.

It had been several months since the archery contest, and you and Wednesday had not talked to each other. Neither of you knew what to say, but you both wanted to say everything. You two continued with your rivalry, but there was a shift in the air when you two competed against each other, like you two were silently rooting for the other, and it gnawed at both of your hearts.

Deciding to face the music and the calling of her heart, Wednesday walked down the stairs and entered the room.

The polished black marble floors, etched with intricate patterns, mirror the gloomy setting as if reflecting the dark secrets concealed within the ballroom's history that enticed Wednesday. Elaborate gargoyles and stone statues of long-forgotten figures stood sentinel in the corners, their solemn expressions lending an air of solemnity to the space. Crimson roses, tinged with black, were carefully arranged in vases throughout the room, their haunting beauty contrasting with the darkness surrounding them.

As the haunting melody of a haunting organ filled the air, the students of Nevermore were clad in elaborate gothic attire and moved with an aura of elegance and enigma. The atmosphere was both haunting and enchanting, transporting the attendees to a realm of forgotten tales and otherworldly delights that overwhelmed Wednesday. Just as she was about to leave, an overly happy voice exclaimed, “Wednesday! You look amazing!”

The smaller girl wore a mesmerizing black gothic ball gown that is a sight of dark enchantment, featuring a flowing skirt that gracefully grazes the ground. Small black accents on the skirt add a touch of intricate detailing, enhancing its allure. The black corset, elegantly laced in the front, complements the gown's bewitching aesthetic and leads to long, puffy sleeves that exude an air of Victorian charm.

A small cutout on the chest, just above the corset, added a daring yet sophisticated touch, leaving a hint of mystery while maintaining an elegant appeal. The gown encapsulated a perfect blend of gothic elegance and captivating allure, making it an ideal choice for Wednesday's hauntingly beautiful ballroom event.

Wednesday turned around, and she noticed that her flamboyant roommate, who usually wore bright, borderline blinding colors, was in a darker-colored ball gown. The ball gown itself was a mesmerizing creation, enveloped in an enchanting dark purple hue that exudes an air of mystery and sophistication. It had a black corset adorned with dark purple accents that added an element of striking contrast, enhancing its captivating allure. Its intricate lacework and velvet accents add an extra layer of elegance. At the same time, its flowing silhouette gracefully captures the essence of gothic charm, something that Wednesday had never seen on Enid before.

The gown caught Wednesday off guard, and she believed that Enid somehow pulled it off, highlighting her piercing blue eyes that would blind anyone. Wednesday might have even given Enid some form of a compliment, but she knew that Enid didn’t need that kind of ego inflation.

“I appreciate your words, Enid. And you,” Wednesday wanted to be nice tonight but struggled with the words, “Do not look ridiculous.”

The werewolf beamed at her roommate's words, and a smile formed from cheek to cheek. “Awww! Thank you, Wens!” Enid said as she turned to walk toward Ajax but then suddenly turned back to Wednesday as if she had forgotten something. “Oh, and your lover was looking for you earlier; she said she has something to tell you.” And with that, Enid disappeared into the crowd of dancing students with Ajax. Wednesday’s cold heart picked up at the mention of you wanting to talk to her and beat rapidly against her chest. Her eyes scanned the room for you as an all too familiar saxophone interrupted the organ.

As if it was magic, Wednesday’s dark eyes immediately found your heterochromia ones in the vast sea of swirling gowns and powdered faces. You were standing on the opposite side of the room, wearing a gothic suit that consisted of a slightly ruffled white shirt, adding a touch of romanticism to the ensemble. Over the shirt, there was a black cavalier vest adorned with mesmerizing purple tapestry, creating a captivating contrast of colors and textures. Completing the look was a sleek black jacket, lending an air of sophistication and dark allure. The suit is further enhanced by a small yet elegant collar chain featuring a black scorpion on both collars, adding a subtle yet distinctive element of gothic charm to the overall attire.

Put on your Bobbi-sox baby

Pull up your old blue jeans

There’s a band playin’ down at the armory

Know’s what rock and roll really means

You two gravitated towards each other at a slow pace before picking up as your hearts quickened with excitement, and soon, you two were standing face to face. “Hi,” you said breathlessly as you got lost in Wednesday’s eyes.

“Hi,” she replied as she looked into your beautiful eyes for the first time in seven years. She had forgotten just how beautiful they were; the green eye seemed to dance with the room's lighting while the gray one gave Wednesday a feeling of comfort, the dark color reminding her of her own material home in New Jersey.

I want to bop with you baby, all night long

I want to bop the night away

I want to make it a night like it used to be

“May I have this dance?” You asked as you slowly started to do ‘The Twist’ from Pulp Fiction. Wednesday smiled and began doing Uma Thurman’s part of the dance as if you two were just six years old again and dancing in Wednesday’s room. You two smiled and joked the entire dance and felt the whole room disappear as the song drew to a close. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked when the dance was finished as you stuck out your hand and slightly bowed, just as you did ten years ago.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday replied when the room began waltzing to the beautiful melody of ‘Merry-Go-Round of Life,’ but she took your hand. You placed your free hand just underneath her shoulder blade as her spare hand rested upon the shoulder of the arm that was under her shoulder blade. As the music played, Wednesday allowed you to lead the dance and found herself in a trance as she stared into your beautiful eyes that she missed.

“Stop staring into my soul,” you commented as you spun around with Wednesday.

She huffed at your words and playfully stepped on your foot before continuing the dance. “I’m not staring into your soul; I am just admiring your breathtaking eyes,” she confessed honestly while you two continued your fluid movements. “Why did you start covering them again?”

You tensed up at her words but continued with the graceful dance. “The only person who found beauty in them was gone,” you said shyly as you gave Wednesday a tight-lipped smile. The smaller girl frowned at your words; she didn’t know what to say without confessing her undying love for you. So she stayed quiet and let her eyes drift over to the scar on your face and let regret and pain wash over her like waves on the shoreline. “I never meant to hurt you,” Wednesday mumbled out as she let the pain show on her face. You were her best friend, her soulmate, and her home, and even though she didn’t know that it was either you or no one when she was just a child, she now wanted to wrap you in her arms and never let anything or anyone harm you again; even if that meant protecting you from herself.

So, she dropped your hand while dancing and left you out there standing. Crestfallen on the landing as Wednesday left you in the ballroom and disappeared outside.

You snapped out of your disappointed state and were quick on her heels as you followed her outside. “Wednesday, what’s wrong?” You asked as you followed her to a water fountain and watched her sit down on the side.

She was sick to her stomach; she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she had an internal battle with her heart and brain. Her brain told Wednesday to run in the opposite direction, never to talk to you again. But her heart was telling her to run toward you, to embrace you with her loving heart that seemed to only beat for you. She felt nauseous as her thoughts bounced around; what if you didn’t feel the same way toward her? The last time you two were friendly with each other was almost eleven years ago when you guys were six. What if by showing you this much softer side of her, you reject her and use her weakness as a spear to her chest? Nearly killing her but leaving her alive just enough to continue living a life of nothingness. Your heart was glass, and she dropped it.

But what if you felt the same? What if your heart only beat for her, and you would rather die than not have been able to call her yours? All the moments you two spent at each other’s throats during competitions as you sent her little glances and silently prayed she would win so that you could see her eyes light up.

“Enid said you had something to say to me, Y/N,” Wednesday finally spoke as her thoughts ran rapidly in her mind. She needed to know what you wanted to say to her; she could not die in peace without knowing.

You stared at the alluring girl who refused to meet your eyes. There were thousands of things you wanted to tell her, but you didn’t know how. “Wednesday, there’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live,” you said quietly as Wednesday’s eyes finally met yours. Wednesday dryly laughed at your words as her eyes glossed over with tears. The last time she had cried was because she lost you, and now, she was crying because she had finally found you. All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, was killing her. Wednesday’s hands were shaking from holding back from you. When you said her name, everything just stopped; she didn’t want you like a best friend.

Wednesday’s eyes darted across your face, looking for anything resembling rejection. When she found only love and longing in your ocean eyes, she took in a deep breath and spoke in a broken voice, “I used to look at you and see my best friend, and now I can hardly look at you without picturing our bones resting together in a grave dug for two. I left you in there because I cannot live without knowing if it meant more to you too as well. I would rather die than bear these feelings alone.”

The words that left Wednesday’s lips took you off guard; you had a speech, and now you’re speechless. “What do you mean by that, Wednesday? Are you telling me that you have feelings for me?” You asked with disbelief on your face; you needed to know if she was confessing her love for you, but you weren’t quite sure if that’s what she meant.

“The sun rises and sets with your smile. At least it does for me. You’re the only thing on this planet worth worshipping. In simpler terms: I want you. I’ve always wanted you. It just took me ten years to realize it. I’m your jazz singer, and you’re my cult leader,” Wednesday confessed as she stared into your eyes, already accepting rejection.

“Wednesday, you don’t have to bear those feelings alone,” you stated with a sigh of relief. Wednesday’s eyes smiled for her as she pushed herself off the fountain, and slowly walked toward you. She stopped a few feet in front, giving you space to run away if you desired.

“I once had someone tell me I was destined to be alone, but I would like to be alone with you. If I’m enough - if you want me, if you’ll have me - I’m yours, only yours, Y/N,” Wednesday admitted with a silent prayer.

“Wednesday, I have only wanted you since we were kids. I only wanted you as a best friend then, but now, when I look at you, I only see my other half. I would rather die than not be able to call you mine, even if it’s just for a second.”

Slowly, Wednesday stepped to you until you were close enough to touch, begging you to make the first move she has always been afraid to take. “For the past ten years, I have been trying to form a way to apologize for the way I treated you, but every time I come up with something, I only see you in that hospital bed,” Wednesday admitted.

You gently reached out to Wednesday’s hand and brought it to your cheek. You gave a small kiss on the palm of her hand before moving it to cup your cheek as your free hand wiped away the lone tear that fell down Wednesday’s cheek. “I forgive you, Wednesday. I had forgiven you the moment I moved; I thought I would never see you again,” you whispered with tears in your eyes as you brought your forehead against Wednesday’s.

Wednesday sighed in relief as she brought up her other hand and cupped your cheeks. You pulled back from her, and Wednesday wanted to cry. You placed a kiss on her forehead that felt like a promise, then kissed her nose, silently telling her everything will be alright, another on her cheek that felt like you would wait however long for her, and finally, you kissed her lips with so much love Wednesday almost died. She let a small, choked-up gasp escape her lips before gently kissing you back. For the first time in ten years, you both finally felt at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A blanket of snow fell upon the Addams’ residence that coated the peaceful house as Morticia Addams shot up in bed. She gasped for breath as her eyes panicky shot around the room.

The action woke Gomez up, and he reached over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp before reaching out to his wife. “Cara mia, what’s wrong?” He asked with worry laced in his voice, but his worry faded when he saw a giant smile plastered on Morticia’s face that accompanied the tears of joy in her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him against her, in complete disbelief at the vision she just had of her daughter. She pulled back from the embrace before exclaiming, “Our darling viper has found someone to share her grave with!”

Gomez lit up with excitement at the mention of Wednesday having a lover; words could not express his joy when his daughter finally fell to the Addams Family Curse. “My love, this is dreadful news! I cannot wait to meet them,” he said with a smile on his face.

Morticia laughed at her husband's words before placing a hand on his cheek and stroking it with her thumb. “Don’t worry, Gomez. You have known her since she was a child.”

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AN: if you recognized ‘the sun rises and sets with your smile’ quote, I love you so much 🫶

#wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday #enemies to lovers

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tojjist · 4 months

Text

“At Least” S. Gojo

☆ genre: angst to fluff (kinda)

☆ pairings: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

☆ summary: After Geto left, nothing has been the same. Especially not your relationship with Gojo Satoru. Once you decide to move to Kyoto for good, Gojo is less than pleased. But fate does not seem to want to let you go.

☆ cw: mentions of sex, depressed gojo, not spoiler free, hopping between timelines but like i added non-canon events, smoking, drinking, getting drunk, high school Gojo being a high school boy, cussing, mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t happen, mentions character death (from the anime), gojo satoru (yes that's a trigger warning).

☆ wc : 5.6k

☆ a/n: this has been in the doing for so long? I've been waiting to have the chance to upload it for maybe a year now smh. Also was originally written for an irl of mine lmao

“Oh my god,” you emphasize each word, pushing the wooden chair away with your knee. “Satoru, is it yours?”

His black pupils, lined with iris the color of morning skies, study your figure from behind the shaded glasses, pink lips quirking slightly upwards in approval of your attention.

“Nah, it's only staying with me for a week,” he stated, watching nervously as you strode over to him. “His owner is away for some business.”

Your attention remained fixed on the pet in Satoru's long, long arms. Your face lit up when a bark escaped the infant animal. “Can I hold it?”

Satoru watched over you carefully, pleading eyes coming in line with his blues. You make it hard to say anything other than an immediate yes, but he tries to stretch out the conversation to his best ability.

“It's 400 yen for 10 minutes,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. He earned a look of amusement from you; a small victory. He then braced himself for the next part. Satoru bent down, meeting you eye-to-eye, and noticed your breath catching in anticipation. “Or... you can shorten your skirt.”

Your face took no time to grow hot, not giving any verbal answer besides the blank expression you stare at him with. For a second, Gojo let himself think he's the victor of this little challenge he started in his head. But he soon came to realize how grave of a mistake he's made.

You're not flustered, you're angry.

“You're such a fucking pervert,” you fume, eyes glaring daggers. He dares not move, noticing the way your eyes flutter over his face.

“You're truly unbelievable,” the shorter male chuckled, making sure he didn't bump into Satoru's now-bruised arm. “What were you even thinking?”

“I thought it was funny, y'know?” He huffed in response. Gojo's fingers ran through his own bright locks as he took a seat on the wood hung up by metal chains. "Besides, has she always been this strong? Physically, I mean."

Geto stared into the reddish sky of dusk, placing himself into a swing in turn and kicking the air so the swing would start moving. "I don't know. Girls are really full of surprises.”

He never thought, not in a million years, things would come to this. Ever since Gojo's last encounter with Geto after he, well, changed... Gojo became unable to face anyone quite the same way he did before.

How did he get here? How did things escalate to this? Thinking about it, Geto had shown signs of a change in his heart and mind. It was Satoru's fault, was it not? He should have done better. He should have noticed. How could he not have? wasn't he the strongest? Wasn't that his job? How could he be so bad at everything?

How could he fail everyone like this?

“Gojo-San?”

Your feminine voice cut his train of thought. He almost forgot the situation he is now stuck in. He's been doing that a lot: losing himself in thought, mind almost immune to the outer world until he temporarily lost his sense of self. Nothing felt quite the same any more. It was like the world had lost its color.

“Sorry- What's up?” He turned to you. Gojo-san, you called him. When did you stop using his given name? What's with the '-san'? Gojo hadn't realized that losing one person was the first step, and now he found himself deep in the road of losing everyone.

And now he's stuck in the elevator with the girl he had liked for so long. He couldn't find it in himself to say anything to you, to push your buttons like he always did or joke around. When did the world become so heavy? He does not know.

“Are you okay? You seemed off.”

Your face is devoid of any genuine emotion, seemingly expressionless. But your voice is laced with concern. Gojo could only guess you didn't want him thinking you pity him or anything of such. But if that isn't the case, he wouldn't know. He's too tired to bother thinking about it.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he smiled in assurance, “Just bothered by, well, this-” he threw his hand in the way of the control panel. The elevator doors have been stuck for almost twenty minutes now. How pleasant.

“uh huh,” you sigh, turning back around. How did you turn so cold?

When the silence stretches, you start a conversation, hesitant at first. “By the way, I got accepted as a helper in a nursery in Kyoto,” you mutter, gaze avoiding his own. “they're expecting me to start work right after spring break.”

Spring break?

Holy shit. It hit him like a truck. That’s barely a week and a half from now.

“Spring break? Why so soon?”

“That’s when the students file back in,” you mumble, fiddling with the watch placed around your wrist. You pause to read the time, then turn to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving in four days to get settled.”

“Oh…” His breath caught, “Train?”

What a stupid question. He knows. Satoru has never been unintelligent, especially in conversing. But now his unintelligence shines through as if it’s his only trait. He’s glad you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I have no other form of transport really.”

“Well, uh…” He hates himself. He hates himself for not doing anything. He hates himself for being so weak and cowardly, for being unable to keep his friends around him, for shutting everyone he holds close out. But now, he especially hates himself for being unable to feel happy for you, or to congratulate you on the opportunity, “come visit us every once in a while, yeah?”

Your mouth remains shut, only staring at the tall man before your eyes. The silence stretches between the two of you once again, and you don’t find it in you to speak of how you feel.

“You.. you know you could have died, right? We all could have b-but you…” You trail off, thoughts splattered like a spilled pot of ink. Although you seemed unfazed, in your mind you were anything but. Haibara, Riko, and all the losses that trailed and every event that followed has been stressful and nerve-wrecking. And even in the quietness and silence of the general atmosphere, it has been nearly impossible to find peace within yourself.

“Well, I didn’t. What happened had passed. Can you change that? I doubt so. No point in ‘if’ and ‘could’ve’.”

Before you could respond,the lights flickered back on. You grow unsure if you’ve struck a nerve, but that wasn’t what you meant. Gojo’s response had nothing to do with what you said, you were sure he knew exactly what your words were meant for. Why is he so scared of confronting it?

You don’t know. You could never hope to know because you and Gojo Satoru live in different worlds, the man who was only Satoru some time ago. You were worlds apart, yet Satoru loved to play pretend that he lived in the same world as you, even when he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he was no longer. Ever since Geto left… it’s safe to say everyone has been changing slowly, deforming from their previous lives and personalities. But Satoru flipped, like the head and tail of a coin, he got himself a new face. He turned into Gojo Satoru; the strongest. A soul unalive. A broken boy in an ever growing body. A stranger.

Two days later you find yourself still roaming the campus , searching so desperately for something. Anything. A reason to stay, perhaps? You don’t find it anyway. You have no attachment as this place holds nothing but misery. Or that’s what you told yourself over and over as you packed your things.

Your steps were graceful, walking so cautiously as if careful to not wake someone up. Your fingers find rest on the old, dusty door frame, pushing yourself into the room that hadn’t been used for a good month or so. The classroom looked the same as it always did. Except for the shadow that loomed over it; a gray shade that sent chills down your spine. Or maybe it’s just your imagination.

Then you spot something rather out of place. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before and although you know it’s none of your business, the way it tugs at the strings of your curiosity is undeniable.

It’s red, poking out of what you’re sure is Gojo’s desk. The gloomy classroom was no fit for paper with a color so vibrant.

Your heart skips a beat when you glimpse the seat next to Satoru’s. You do your best to avoid looking at Geto’s desk any further. You busy yourself with the task at hand, reaching out for the mysterious paper hidden in the wooden desk. Shivers run up your arm at the texture of the scrunched paper.

You attempt to straighten it to your best ability, strained by his hard work of crumbling it with obvious frustration. you can barely make out the letters of your name in the middle of the paper, outlined by a messy circle. How Gojo of him. A few lines stick out of the ‘circle’, one of them has the name of a steakhouse somewhere in Tokyo. Another has a date, reading somewhere along February. It’s near impossible to make out what the small combination of letters say, especially when Satoru’s handwriting is closer to symbols than a comprehensible language.

The thought of it was so funny it didn’t feel like him at all. Satoru never planned anything. Every breath he took was based on pure impulse. Never would it have occurred to you that he thinks through things, let alone brainstorm.

The thought makes you smile. But the realization that he never asked you out because he changed his mind or everything that happened getting in his way makes your stomach churn unpleasantly.

You decide it’s probably for the best to never bring it up. It would only make matters worse for both of you. Life ran its course; who are you to try and change it?

“I apologize, but my answer remains. I refuse to take part in this,” you spoke in an even tone. “I have a job and a life away from jujutsu. I’ve made it clear sorcery is not a part of my life anymore.”

"That’s completely understandable,” the old man argued, his voice hoarse with age. You’re pretty sure you hear anger further straining his voice, “but your technique is quite strong. That strength could be of great assistance if put to use.”

“Thank you, sir,” you dip your head, maintaining eye contact with the decaying man. “But I truly apologize. The decision is final.”

“If you ever do change your mind, please let us know. We’d be more than happy to hear it.”

You almost let a sigh of relief escape. Finally he gave up. You end up only nodding your head in response gratefully, retreating from the old man. As soon as you're safe and out of sight, you let your posture drop, eyes rolling back in annoyance. These guys are truly as relentless as ever.

You stopped upon a familiar scent catching in your nostrils. Lifting your head up, your eyes roam around, scanning the room for your friend.

“You look troubled,” Shoko approaches you, taking the cigarette out from between her teeth. “What’s with the face?”

“How is that man even alive,” you look at her, “he’s ancient.”

Your comment earns a light chuckle from the brunette. “I’m glad I never have to get caught up in this bullshit.”

“Blissed aren’t you,” you roll your eyes as you speak. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, I knew they were going to do this.”

“It’s alright, you’re all done now. Here-” Your friend then lifts the cigarette up, putting it near your mouth. When you don’t show any resistance she, being the bad influence she has always been, proceeds to place it between your lips. You waste no time, making quick work of the drag you inhale, bringing the familiar cloud of toxic chemicals and tobacco into your lungs. Your expression relaxes, shifting into one of relief. Shoko scoffs playfully, muttering that you’re dramatic under her breath before she pulls her cigarette from you, taking in a drag.

“Satoru’s here, by the way,” Shoko didn’t need to look at you to guess the way your eyes snap towards her. She bites back a smile. “He’s calmed down. He’d even seem the same as long as you don’t squint too hard.”

“Good for him,” you mutter, trying to seem as unbothered and nonchalant as your accelerating heart rate would allow. You avoid looking at Shoko, trying to seem disinterested. You know she’d pretend you weren’t gawking at her the second she said his name.

“He’s trying, you know. He’s just as nervous as you are.”

“‘M not nervous,” you scoff, “For god’s sake. It’s been ten years already.”

Satoru is stressed. He's nervous, as Shoko put it. He’d spent so long trying to ignore the past, pretend the past wasn’t at all. He couldn’t confront it. He didn’t want to. Satoru knows what he’s done, he's aware that he hurt you the last time you two had interacted. And that was ten years ago. He even let you leave without so much as a goodbye. How could he look you in the eye and pretend nothing has ever happened?

Gojo didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’s done. More so what he hasn’t. So many things were left unsaid in the elevator that day. They’ve been hanging over Satoru ever since, weighing his heart down and wearing it out.

What if he’s met by another woman? Ten years change a lot as is. What if the eyes that meet his aren’t yours? What if he finds himself talking to a stranger that carries around your name and features? Of all the horrors Gojo Satoru had faced in his life, nothing caused dread to pool in the pit of his stomach like this thought does.

Shoko seems to find something beyond you interesting. You don’t bother to turn to see as the brunette has always been a little in her own head. She’s probably just dozed off.

“Hey, think you can hold this for me?” Shoko muttered once Gojo crossed her sight. She stands facing you, averting his gaze. “I’ll be right back, nature’s calling.”

From his distance, Gojo couldn’t make out what the two of you were saying. He watched as your shoulders shook, presumably in laughter. Shoko then made her away from you, barely sparing Satoru a glance.

Every step he took felt heavy, weights landing on his shoulders as he moved towards you. He watched smoke emerge from over your head. He didn’t know you smoked. And even though he’s not completely sure what you do for a living now, he’s not expecting any nursery to accept a smoker in their team.

His long strides finally arrived, opting to remain a step behind you. Close enough to make his presence known.

The aura was unmistakable, almost as if it could be physically sensed. You freeze in place, the cigarette remaining a few inches from your lips. Even after he changed his perfume to one a lot more manly and appealing, and clearly grew taller judging by the shadow he cast over you, his presence still had the same strength as it did before. If not stronger. Anyone else would say it’s intimidating. But you find surprising comfort in it.

“That’s going to kill you,” his hand reached from over your head, making sure to not cause any unnecessary physical contact. His fingers slip the burning cigarette from your grip. You find yourself unable to make a single move in response, only watching his actions unfold.

He took a step, moving closer, dimming the light from the roll by rubbing it against the metal bars, then throwing it off the balcony. “You’re too young to kill yourself like that.”

“That bitch Shoko set me up,” You hiss, regaining your composure. “Will you look who showed up. You’re killing the ecosystem by throwing waste like this, Gojo.”

Although you haven’t glanced his way yet, You were every bit sure his mouth was quirked in the same smug smirk he wore so much when you were younger. You could even hear it in his voice as he spoke, “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

“Oh shut it,” you chuckle. “You’re still as immature as ever. How you could be a manchild at 27 is a wonder to me.”

27… It felt so weird to say it out loud. Weren’t you just 17 a few days ago?

“Oh, how you hurt me,” he says in exaggeration, his voice conveying anything but the hurt he claims to feel. “That isn’t very nice of you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” You say. He laughs a little, you do too. But the silence that follows is not that of a joke. He knew what you’re referring to. Maybe he underestimated your last encounter’s effect on you.

The silence speaks for itself. It’s louder than any conversation you’ve had before. What now? What have we become? Is it of any use to try anymore? Neither of you had an answer to the question that began to surface with this interaction.

The questions remain hung in the air, dimming the atmosphere around you. Was this fate’s doing? Or his karma? Gojo has always been told he’s a god, but how could he be a higher form of life when he struggled so much to hold a conversation?

He’s about to speak again when you cut him off, muttering “here-” as you push your hand down the coat you wore. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you search for the anonymous object.

You pull out a worn out paper, grown from what could have been a bright red to an orangish shade. His eyes study as you shove the paper in his direction, eyes avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Seeing your bashful expression made him rather curious, the contents of the wrinkled paper piquing his interest. He hesitates before he pulls the paper from your hand, half-expecting you to bite him.

The letters were scribbles, almost like they’re straight out of some cult’s ritual, that with the wrinkles of the worn out paper making reading it next to impossible. Still, he could make out just enough to realize what this paper is. His eyes widened behind the blindfold. It didn’t take much to remember this paper, trivial as it may be.

“You found this- how did you even…?” he trails off, confused.

“I guess I did,” You confirm. He’s unsure if you’re proud of yourself for your rather… interesting discovery. It’s bold of you to pull this out ten whole years later. But he can’t deny the relief he feels that at least this means you don’t completely hate him. For once, he’s truly at loss for words.

But he wouldn’t let a perfect opportunity like this slide.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me? You’re so obsessed with me that you kept this for so many years, what a loyal fangirl.”

Before he knew it, a weight so crushing landed on his foot. He turned off his infinity around you as a sign of trust. But he soon came to regret his rather unsmart decision. Your foot stomped and crushed his toes. It makes him groan in pain, bending slightly forward.

“Tomorrow, at Narisawa in Minato city, 5:30. I’m leaving for Kyoto in 3 days. Don’t waste your chance again, Gojo Satoru. You’re not getting another one.”

“I take it you’ve been in love with me ever since?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Say, did you fascinate about me?”

“Hmm..” you hum softly at his childish question, “only a little.” You show no signs of interest in his tactics as you sipped the wine in your hand. Undeniably, Gojo is taken aback by your lack of reaction. He hasn’t known you to be so reserved and smart at keeping him on edge. He couldn’t help finding your new behavior enticing.

Is there anything else you’d like to have?” You nodded your head towards the plates sitting on the table, some empty and some half-full. “Or do you wanna do something else before I go back to the hotel?”

“Hmm? Maybe I could join you at the hotel, actually. Surely it’ll be a lot less lonely with me around?”

You’re tempted by his offer, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. He looked strikingly handsome today. Maybe you were just really lonely and touch starved, or maybe it’s the way his lips quirk as he teases you that makes your brain a little hazy, inappropriate thoughts floating through it and send jolts to your core. Yet, you set your mind on refusing his advances. You haven’t had a decent conversation since high school, for god's sake.

He keeps his eyes set on you, shining before him. You looked glamorous. He’d lie if he said there wasn’t a certain allure to your matured looks. The years that flew by changed a lot of things about you two, but his breath still catches in his throat when your eyes meet his dreamy blues. The feelings rush back, memories clouding his train of thought.

He’s sure he’s going to pay. He didn’t mind it at all, what a small price for getting to spend an evening with you. But you surprise him when you bring up that you had already put your card down, courtesy of having been the one to ask him out. Or maybe this was your way of telling him that you are in pretty good condition, living perfectly well without needing sorcery.

“How’s working as a jujutsu teacher?” you quip, smiling softly. “Utahime says you’ve got some interesting kids in your pack? Two special grades, too. You’re sure a favorite attraction for wonders.”

“You’re still in contact with her too?” he dodges talking about his students, not meeting your gaze. “That’s ironic. Weren’t we friends too?”

A hoarse chuckle emerges from him. But nothing about it leads back to amusement, as it was a joyless sound devoid of life. Almost as if he were mocking you. The dark lenses of the shades sitting on the bridge of his nose served as a shield. He curses himself for being so weak. He's almost thirty but somehow you’ve got him acting like he did when he was 17.

“You didn’t try to contact me either,” you shrug, not willing to take the blame for your lack of contact.

“You could have visited then. Even Yaga talked about you every once in a while,” he isn’t too happy and it’s showing.

“All good things, I hope-“

“Don’t change the subject,” he frowns, an uneasy edge outlining his words. “He was enough. You didn’t have to go ahead and leave too.”

“I had to move on, Gojo,” the name felt like a jab every time you used it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. This is how you drew your boundaries. Calling them by their last names gives you a false sense of satisfaction, convincing yourself that your sorcerer friends are past figures now. Mere acquaintances.

“-I couldn’t remain hung there forever, I valued my mental health. You grew distant, the atmosphere was growing uneasy every day. I had to cut ties with Jujutsu before I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Yet you’re here now. Back to square one,” his playful tone was long gone, now replaced by an even, stern one. “Whether you moved away or called us by our last names. It’s a curse you can’t escape. you’ll always end up back in the palms or jujutsu.”

His words held some truth. You know that. But just as he refused to confront this past, you repulsed the idea of your reality. You truly want to believe that you could escape this part of yourself and live a normal life. You couldn’t come to terms with your inability. You held onto your hopes as if your sanity completely depended on it. Another thing that won’t change no matter how much you grew.

“I'll be okay as long as I refuse to interact with this world.”

Once you leave the restaurant, you find yourself wandering through the rich streets of Minato city. It felt as though the night was pulling you further into its welcoming embrace, with nothing rushing you.

“He was only thirteen,” you chuckle, arm linked in his. “It’s unbelievable how bold kids nowadays are.”

“I would’ve done the same thing, honestly,” he smirks, his gaze fixed on the stores around.

“Of course. You’ve got the brains of a thirteen year old.”

Satoru grins at your remark, pulling you into a clothes store.

“What’s this?” you look around in confusion, noting a woman in a suit welcoming you. The place looked a little too fancy, judging by the display of the items and the lighting of the place.

“It’s a western brand,” Satoru answers. Looking over at him, you can’t help but smile a little. He looks good tonight. His fancy outfit gave the impression that he’s a model to strangers. “Louis Vuitton, I think,” He furrows his brows, trying to remember the name of the brand stores he’s been to with Nobara and Shoko.

“Prada, sir,” The lady in a suit corrected him. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just browsing, thank you.” It’s a phrase he heard from Kugisaki countless times whenever they wandered into a store. His response makes you chuckle, watching as the lady takes a few steps backwards politely.

You’re soon comfortable, searching through the expensive coats and bags. Satoru watched tenderly. Even though the ten years that passed with no contact whatsoever definitely propose a wall between you, he's glad you're able to feel free. You might nit on the same page, but you two can work with what you have.

You stride back to the “S” shaped velvet couch sat in the middle of the checker-carpet store, where Satoru sat. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You walk around in hesitance and confusion, completely aware of the lady walking always a few feet behind you. Surveillance, you guess.

You find him standing in front of the white counter, taking a black bag with the brand’s name printed onto it in golden letters from the man standing behind the counter in a white shirt with the brand's logo on it.

“Gojo,” you call him, confusion fused into your expression.

He extends his arm to you, trying to suppress any sourness at you calling him Gojo. “Let’s go?”

You nod, eyeing him suspiciously before you link your arm in his. You make sure to flash a grateful smile at the woman by the door as you walk past the reflective glass door.

You almost forgot how busy the world outside is. It felt as though the glass building of the store was sound proof. Now you have to adjust to the noise of the full streets again.

Satoru remains silent for the most part. It’s not awkward, rather just neither of you knew what to say. He expected you to ask about what he bought, which you have considered. You decide against it though as you feel it’s none of your business. You’re not too surprised anyway as Gojo has always been a wealthy man. He could buy the entire Prada chain with half of his monthly spending.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

You think about going to the club to give the night the best closure. But neither of you were dressed for it anyway. You contemplate your choices. Then you grin at him, and Satoru knows it’s best to fear what comes after

You’re well aware that he has a high alcohol tolerance. While you would be wasted a few shots in. Yet you consumed so many drinks recklessly, thinking that maybe you could beat him in a drinking game.

That’s why he’s stuck to your side now, helping your sleeping body out of his car. Satoru is glad your hotel card was so easy to find in your purse, taking it out as he gets into the lobby.

A few people eye the man, glaring at him and at the way he held you in his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to think too much about it. His mission is to get you to bed now.

“Satoruuu~” You whine, rubbing your face into the pillow once he sat you on the white bedding. “Stay with meeee”

And Satoru is nothing if not human. Despite what everyone else says. It’s proven now that he had come to face a human flaw like this. He is weak, and you are all but practically seducing him.

“Stop crying,” He mutters. He finds himself smiling sheepishly at the unlikely scenario he found himself in. Tucking you in bed, your face hot due to the drinks you had. He really should have stopped you. “I’ll stay the night, so sleep already.”

He convinced himself it’s for the best. He should watch over you for tonight. No funny business. Deep inside he knew he was just finding a reason— any reason to stay around you for a little longer, heart yearning for the lost years. But he ignored the pathetic feeling, convincing himself it’s for your sake instead.

“But I’m uncomfortableee,” you whine again, hands running down your body. “The dress...”

Did you have to make it so hard on him? Satoru is tempted to kiss you, eyebrows knitted in the space between, eyes looking around the room for any sort of aid.

This is probably a form of invading your privacy, but he sees no other choice. He’ll have to hold it together for tonight.

“nngh..”

Your groan came with an impending headache. Your body moves against the rich covers of the bed, sunlight illuminating your physique.

He stopped in his tracks, feet bare against the gray carpet.

Your form is beautiful, one to compete with statues of goddesses. The rays of light complimented every inch of skin in all the right ways. Satoru had to physically shake his head to stop the flowing perverted thoughts in his head.

Your flinch when you catch him standing near the door, heart beating slightly faster. You thought that you’re alone. You don’t think much of it anyway, muttering a “holy shit” under your breath.

“Good morning,” he casually greets, brushing off the mutual shock, albeit for different reasons. “I made coffee, if you wanted some.”

“Oh... thank you,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as you sit up straight. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Not yet, no,” he says, holding his overly sweet coffee in both palms. “Thought I’d wait until you woke up.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, Satoru,” you yawn. His name slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You busy yourself with stretching your arms. “What a doting housewife God has blessed me with”

His response is only a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he sighs on the edge of the bed. “Well, at least I wasn’t begging a man to spend the night with me”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t remember anything of the prior night. Nothing that occurred after you sat at the bar, specifically. But then you begin to realize, eyes widening at the revelation. You feel dreadfulness landing in the pit of your stomach a little too late.

He’s shirtless, wearing only his suit pants. And even though you wouldn’t mind the sight any other day, the fact that you are in your pajamas isn’t helping at all.

“Did we...” You trail off, expression darkening. Your eyes meet his own, fear implanted in your pupils. You watch as his expression drifts from confusion to an awkward hesitance. Unsure how to break the news to you.

You don’t know what to expect, not realizing you’re holding your breath.

“I-I’m sorry,” He sighs, gaze faltering as his eyes look away from you. Your eyes widen further, oxygen becoming hard to consume.

What have you done?

“But- don’t worry. You know I’m not some asshole...” if anything, he sounded chivalrous. “I-I’ll be accountable for my mistake. When do you want to hold the wedding?”

You gasp, face feeling hot. “You piece of shit-“ You groan as your foot reaches him, forcefully pushing him off the bed. “As if!”

He breaks into a fit of laughter, the sound full of genuine delight. “I can’t believe you fell for it,” He manages between the laughter.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you mutter, a smile of relief breaking across your face. “I can’t believe you pulled something so childish.”

“Why are you so down?” He climbed back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot on the edge. “Are you disappointed? You know it’s never too late to just as-“

“Fuck off,” Your heart is pounding as you send him another kick, less forceful this time. “Say one more word about it and I’ll make sure you don’t make it out of this room in one piece.”

He laughs, asking you to pass his coffee. You reach for his coffee from the bedside table. Your fingers lift the glass mug to your lips, sipping at the hot beverage before handing it to him.

Your face scrunches up at the horrible taste. Too much sugar. Too much milk. It’s a lot worse than you might think.

“Your coffee should be criminal,” you push the mug his way, frowning. Satoru hums in response.

There’s no awkwardness between the two of you, and he can’t help but cherish it. He feels content, enough to sit a little closer, at least.

Enough to lean in towards you, mouth closing over yours in an ever awaited kiss, at least.

544 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Text

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them.

It started as petty crime—the theft.

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days.

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad.

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious.

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect.

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation.

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths?

You consider yourself an artist.

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.”

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation.

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it.

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season.

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips.

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running.

Your body moves to it.

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.

But beauty takes time.

You’d look better with those pearls.

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation.

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation.

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds.

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.”

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric.

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.”

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.”

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.”

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking.

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?”

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.”

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding.

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river.

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks.

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped.

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent.

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them.

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm.

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone.

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head.

“So, here for Victor’s party then?”

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.”

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part.

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.”

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron.

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so.

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another.

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to.

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up.

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there.

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand.

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do.

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing.

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind.

You blink, sighing under your breath.

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days.

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time.

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.”

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping.

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat?

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle.

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it.

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.”

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs.

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them.

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns.

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately.

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him.

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule.

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes.

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely.

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins.

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back.

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks.

“Affirmative, Lt.”

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him.

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.”

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull.

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence.

A flash of red catches his eye.

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be.

It was you.

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside.

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock.

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air.

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all.

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat.

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp.

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions.

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck.

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames.

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues.

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence.

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon.

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back.

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head.

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents.

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers.

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?”

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate?

Was he a thief like you, or hired security?

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.”

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you.

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow.

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest.

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!”

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks.

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall.

“Get over here,” he snaps.

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!”

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together.

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.”

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.”

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.”

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall.

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide.

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!”

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad.

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric.

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?”

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip.

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again.

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat.

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind.

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down.

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught.

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement.

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.”

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery.

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here.

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step.

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated.

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk.

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?”

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself.

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you.

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night.

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later.

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick.

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex.

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal.

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving.

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking.

“And Gaz?”

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.”

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed.

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options.

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea.

It was perfect.

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces.

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag.

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order.

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him.

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting.

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play.

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly.

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently.

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?”

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?”

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway.

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you.

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain.

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught.

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips.

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.”

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse.

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow.

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking.

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest.

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders.

A bullet whizzes past your face.

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths.

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool.

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him.

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing.

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders.

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head.

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again.

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form.

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest.

Both of your eyes lock in a battle.

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose.

You needed to disappear again.

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.”

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another.

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked.

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand.

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

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mackandcheezy · 5 months

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Don't Blame Me (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

A/N: I have yet to see ABAOSAS so simply this is for the vibes, major plot changes from the book/ movie so dont mind that, simply I saw a hot morally grey man and decided I can fix him so this is for all the girlies with a toolbelt ;)

His eyes had been glued to the screen for what felt like hours. The little specs of graininess following his vision everytime he blinked. Coriolanus Snow did not falter for anyone-- that was until he met you. Something about your blind optimism reminded him of a child, and god how he hated children, but somehow on you it was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of. It made something warm start in his chest, and little fires erupt in every nerve. It was nothing like he had ever felt before, he hated it, and yet he couldn’t get enough. And now he was going to watch the only thing that made him feel that way slip between his fingers like nothing more than a single snowflake. At some point the snow had to melt and here he was watching it live.

He kept replaying that last conversation over and over. “I’m going to survive, there is no if,” he remembered how you brushed your fingers across his cheek through the rusty bars of the zoo. If he closed his eyes and thought about it hard enough he could feel the warmth of your fingers against his face again. He refused to remember the single tear and question that had prompted that response. This could not be a one time thing. He just got you and there was no letting you go now. Love is a drug and he was nothing but an addict.

Coryo was jolted to reality when he noticed another tribute sneaking up behind you. He couldn’t remember his name. There was no point, the only one that mattered was the victor and that was you. It had to be you.

Staring into the depths of your form he begged you to wake. The bile was already crawling up his throat burning a trail in its wake. Stomach clenched he closed his eyes as he heard what could only be described as a battle cry leave the murderer’s mouth.

Three seconds. He was allowing himself three seconds of grief before he had to move on. To survive. Snow falls on top and he faltered for you but now it was over and he had to go on.

That was until he opened his eyes to your form. You were standing over the tribute, eyes wide as the saucers that Grandma’am used to take tea in. A bloody knife dripped blood down your pale dress leaving you in a haunting shade of wet red down your right side. He didn’t remember you having that, deciding you must have fought the tribute for it, you always were good at getting what you wanted, especially from him. You took his every waking thought like it was nothing so what was a knife?

“I killed him. He’s dead. I killed him..” Coryo could do nothing but watch as you spiraled within the tunnel. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and tell you that this was nothing more than a bad dream. Though part of him knew that in a way the person who brushed his cheek was gone.

He quickly fixed the look of concern dawning his face, remembering how you had told him once that his “human was showing.” That single thought gracing the smallest of smiles on his lips.

In a twisted way seeing you covered in a thick sheet of red brought him comfort. A small part of him knew that was wrong. Knew that his comfort came at the cost of a human life. But none of them deserved to live as much as you did. Now he knew you could do it, knew you had what it took to win, with the added bonus of having a weapon. He had not felt so much joy since hearing of the opportunity to go to University. You were the key to his new life, and it started now.

He remembered thinking you were weak when he offered you the posion and you declined citing that “cheaters never win.” Coriolanus felt the entire essence of his personality crumble when those words left your perfectly pink lips. It set something inside of him aflame. You made him almost want to be a good person, almost, because if anything happened to you he would do whatever it took no matter the cost. He was ready to put his own future at risk for the assurance of knowing that you would live to see tomorrow's sunrise. Because you deserved a tomorrow more than he ever did.

The games were coming to a close. Only a few tributes left and he watched intently as you moved around the arena. Even caked in blood, dirt, and who knows what else, he had never seen a figure more beautiful.

He couldn’t help but allow himself to think of you adorned in the luxuries of the capitol. An egregious dress adorning your shoulders and your hair in some unnatural twist. Somehow it never looked as good as you did right now. Raw and natural, locks framing your face in small clumps. You were going to get out of this and he was going to get you out of those crummy districts. You deserved more than any of those pathetic traitors, and he was going to get you that. One way or another.

#Coriolanus Snow #Coriolanus Snow x reader #Coriolanus Snow x you #snow x reader #snow x you #Coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #abosas #abosas x reader #abosas x you #a ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #a ballad of songbirds and snakes

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futureman · 2 months

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here in the garden [prologue]

pairing: peeta mellark x f!reader

summary: nearly a week into your unique alliance, you and peeta take a quiet bath after a colorful training session. 8 days remain until the games.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, catching fire era, older victor!reader (4 years), aged-up peeta, secret relationship, platonic!katniss/peeta, sneaking around, fluff, smut, grinding, brief accidental piv, mentions of virginity

word count: 2.5k

series masterlist | a/n: a little taste before we rewind to day 1

Today, it’s shades of green.

Some deep and dark like shadowed leaves in a forest, and others bright and mixed with yellow to mimic sun-spotted blades of grass. It takes a decent amount of scrubbing to remove, and by the time you're finished, Peeta's arms are rosy red to match the flush spreading across his chest.

Paint swirls on the water's surface like an abstract portrait. It's as beautiful staining the walls of the porcelain tub you're bathing in as it was on his skin and just as fleeting.

If it weren't for the sweet boy beneath you, you'd allow that thought to linger. You'd dwell on the shortness of life and lament the brief time you have together before your short lives end. But for so many reasons you never expected to find in this hopeless place, you don't.

Instead, you pretend what you’ve found with Peeta is real and hold it close. You sneak around and find quiet moments away from prying Capitol eyes, seeking solace in private suites and fancy bathrooms just like this.

Here, you're not tributes in the 75th Hunger Games. He's not a star-crossed lover from District 12, and you're not breaking up a relationship that was never real to begin with. There's no one else here to convince. It's just you and Peeta.

For over a week, it's been just you and Peeta, falling asleep in each other's arms and stealing slow kisses in the dark. And though your time is dwindling, he still moves cautiously and with intention. Even now, settled between your legs in this bathtub, he's waiting for permission he was already granted.

He looks up at you, heavy-lidded and content, and you know what he's about to ask. It's been a while since he felt the need to, but today is different.

"Can I touch you?" he asks softly, his hands frozen in place on either side of your waist. He's nervous.

This is the first time he's seeing you naked. Bare skin on bare skin where there's only ever been layers of fabric between you. His cheeks are dusted pink, and you know it's not just the heat and steam in the air.

"Of course. Always," you reply, smiling as you lean in to kiss him. But you hesitate, too. "Can I?"

"Always," he breathes out.

Peeta's the one to close the gap, and his kiss is soft but firm. His lips move deliberately against yours with a hint of that tempered hunger you see in his eyes whenever he looks at you. He coaxes your mouth open eagerly, and when his tongue meets yours, he lets out a sigh of relief and finally allows himself to explore your body.

It's so much more intense than you expected. His hands begin to roam your exposed skin, newfound territory for him to map and memorize, and leave a trail of blazing fire in their wake. Settling under your breasts, he teases the undersides until you're whining into his mouth and swallows the sound proudly.

Because he earned it. He spent the last week acquainting himself with your pleasure, guiding you across his lap or thigh until you came apart in his arms. Discovering where to suck and stroke to make you so wet, you soaked right through your underwear and into his.

Your clothes always stayed on as an extra precaution to avoid getting caught, but you have a sneaking suspicion that wasn't the only reason. Something in his eyes and the careful way he handled you seemed too cautious, maybe even a little shy. But it's obvious now that something's shifted. He needs more. You both do.

He smiles against your lips, cataloging your reaction as he shifts higher and above the water's surface to swipe over your nipples. They're already pebbling from the cooling air temperature, so he tweaks one and swallows that moan, too.

But this time, it's not enough to muffle the sound, and it echoes a little too loudly for the precarious situation you're in. Still toying with a sensitive bud, he pulls away and fixes you with a stern, yet tender look. His lips are distractingly kiss-swollen as he speaks, and you're torn between feeling thoroughly chastised and unbearably turned on.

"Hey, we have to be quiet, okay?" he gently hushes you, kissing your cheek, then the shell of your ear apologetically. "You sound so pretty and I don't want you to stop, but it's too risky."

"But you feel so good," you murmur, cupping his cheeks to bring his lips back to yours. He gives in briefly before parting to rest his forehead on yours.

"I know," he mumbles, nosing into your cheek. "But we can't draw attention to ourselves right now. It's just until we get back to my floor. Be patient."

You pout without meaning to and it makes you feel like a petulant child. "I suck at that and you know it. Let's just go now," you sulk. It's an unfortunate new habit you picked up from one of your stylists, and Peeta entertains it. Usually.

He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the dirt and ash still sprinkled across your forearms and caked under your fingernails. Earlier at the training center, you chose to practice fire starting while he picked camouflage, and now it's coming back to bite you in the ass.

"I don't know whose bed you think you're getting into like that, but it sure isn't mine," he jokes, but you can tell he's dead serious. Eyeing him mischievously, you run your fingers along the bath water and swipe a green line across his cheek.

"Mm, then maybe I should see what Johanna's up to tonight. I bet she likes it a little dirty," you tease him, and he rolls his eyes.

"Hilarious," he deadpans, but the subtle quirk of his lips betrays him. He knows as well as you do that she'd probably take you up on the offer, but tonight, like all the others, you're his. If only you could come to an agreement.

"Okay well, we're clearly at an impasse, so unless you can think of a really great plan to soundproof this bathroom—," you inch forward to tease his cock between your folds, and he sucks in a harsh breath. "—we'll have to sit through an entire bath like this."

"Kiss me," he blurts out, tightening his grasp on your waist to hold you in place. "Whenever it—," you cut him off with a tempting swivel of your hips, and he clenches his jaw, unable to stop himself from bucking into you. "—whenever it feels like that, just kiss me. I'll keep you quiet."

You eye him dubiously. If that didn't work before, what makes him think it'll be any more effective now? Before you can question him, he leans forward and kisses you so deeply, it makes you dizzy.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly as he cups your cheek, and you nod. Of course, you do. What you don't trust are the paper-thin walls of this bathroom and the Capitolites walking the halls, just waiting to rip all of this away. But him? With your life.

He gives you another lingering kiss in gratitude before replacing his mouth with his thumb, gently swiping across your bottom lip. "It doesn't have to be here," he tells you.

His thumb unexpectedly slips into your mouth and gently presses down on your tongue, encouraging you to suck. You both bite back a moan when you comply without hesitation, and his cock jerks violently against your thigh, but you force yourself to ignore it—for now.

"You can kiss me here," he continues breathily, ducking down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the underside of your jaw, then moves lower to dip his tongue into the hollow of your throat. "And here."

He pulls his thumb free and returns to teasing your nipple, circling the bud tenderly as he continues his path downward. The longer he persists, the more it becomes clear how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you. And he's so convincing, you're starting to believe his solution might actually work.

"I've been waiting to get you alone all day," he mumbles into your skin, and the longing in his voice makes your heart ache. "Please don't make me wait anymore."

Your breath hitches as he nips at your collarbone, leaving a faint mark he knows will fade by morning. But the thought of being marked as Peeta's, even for a short while, solidifies your decision.

"You'll keep me quiet?"

"Yeah, I'll keep you quiet," he agrees breathlessly, meeting your gaze.

"And I can be as loud as I want later?"

His hazel eyes darken enough to make you shiver in his warm embrace. He nods slowly, and there's a glimmer of promise in the darkness.

"You're going to be the death of me, Peeta Mellark," you whisper.

His expression falters. The statement is more dire than either of you are ready to accept. Or maybe you, at least, already have.

"God, I hope not," he replies too honestly.

God, you hope so.

Before that thought can fester, you lurch forward and crush his body into yours, choosing to savor this moment instead. Soon enough, you're lost in how incredible he feels against your lips and chest, heavy and searing hot against your core.

The frantic, needy way his body responds to yours is intoxicating. He kisses you with renewed fervor, gasping softly into your mouth every time you rock into him, caressing and squeezing all of the places he knows you like.

You're already starting to quake in his arms, and it only worsens when he shifts your hips higher to reach where you want him most. Without breaking your increasingly heated kiss, he slides his hands under your ass and positions you so every slide between your folds allows the head of his cock to nudge your clit.

The first thrust sends a jolt straight up your spine. Something loud and desperate threatens to escape you, so you quickly bury your face in the crook of his neck to kiss him like he told you to. But in your panic, you bite him.

It sends Peeta reeling. To his credit, he manages to grit his teeth through the shock, turning his head to groan as quietly as he can into your hair, but the rest of his body isn't as easy to control. His heart rate kicks up, strong enough to feel it pulsing in his cock, and the careful self-restraint he tried so hard to maintain begins to crumble. And that sends you reeling.

No one's ever made you feel like this before. Wet and needy, ravenous with a hunger only he can sate. It's hard to believe he's even real, that you didn't dream him up to cope with your terrible fate.

How is he so perfect? Every part of him, from the thick fingers tensed to their limits at your sides to the flushed-pink apples of his cheeks—he's the most beautiful person you've ever seen.

If you had more time to overthink, you'd probably feel insecure being touched so intimately by a boy like Peeta. But you don't. You just feel lucky.

He's been rock hard from the moment your training gear hit the floor, and now he's grinding into your heat like it's all he's thought about for days. He makes you feel wanted. That's a new feeling, too.

Soft whimpers pass his lips, displacing the steam in the air, and you lean in to capture them in a kiss. Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug him closer, hoping to convey everything you're too afraid to say out loud.

Your tongue tangles with his, and it means you're grateful. Your blunt nails scratch lightly against his scalp, and it means you don't want to let him go. You grind onto him harder, willing him to understand.

His hips stutter in response, but as he whines into your mouth, you realize his movements are getting less and less coordinated. Colorful water torrents over the lip of the tub and crashes onto the floor, giving your mosaic an entirely new canvas.

Matching his erratic pace, you inch up his thighs for more friction, but the new angle throws him off. On his next thrust, he accidentally snags on your entrance, and the head of his cock slips inside you.

Stars burst behind your eyelids. With your last remaining shred of lucidity, you hope his lips are enough to muffle your startled moan because you couldn't have stopped it even if you'd tried.

He jerks back, letting out something guttural before he frantically readjusts, almost like he's trying to avoid letting it happen again. Except, now you know what it feels like to be stretched around him and you want more.

"Peeta," you murmur to get his attention. His eyes meet yours, glassy and unfocused. "I want you to fuck me."

It takes a second to sink in, but when it does, his back goes ramrod straight, and not for the reasons you'd hoped for. He doesn't bury himself inside you like you so desperately wanted. Instead, a barrier is raised, and he looks more conflicted than you think you've ever seen him. You wait for him to explain, fighting not to feel hurt and utterly rejected.

"I haven't—," he starts, then stops, thinking better of it. He shakes his head, still panting as he struggles to collect his thoughts, but curiosity is already beginning to eat away at you. You can't help but wonder what he was about to say and why he chose to keep it from you. When he tries again, his voice is softer, imploring.

"I don't want us to have sex for the first time in a bathroom. You deserve a bed," he says gently, brushing his knuckles across your cheek. "To not be covered in dirt and paint."

The sentiment is sweet and earnest enough to relieve some of your apprehension, but something still feels off. He's not being completely honest with you, and you both know it. But you also know he'll tell you when he's ready, so you don't push him.

After a long moment, he continues, but his words are tinged with sadness and something else you can't quite define.

"We don't...," he hesitates again, and you lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his fingers soothe you. It seems to relax him, too. "We don't have a lot of time left. If this is one of the last good things I'll ever get to experience, I want it to be meaningful. No sneaking around, no worrying about getting caught. Just you and me, making the most of the rest of our lives."

Just you and Peeta.

You feel incredibly lucky again. You don't deserve a boy like Peeta Mellark, but you kiss him anyway, deeply and unhurriedly just like he asked. Because he's right.

Because he's been nothing but kind and generous in the six short days you've known him, and you only have eight short days left. Despite the ticking clock, you haven't felt peace like this since your childhood in 11 before it was stolen away from you.

Peeta gives you that. So, you'll give him this.

He deserves it.

thanks for reading! chapter one coming soon <3 divider by @saradika-graphics

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson

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ineylesian · 11 months

Text

FEVER DREAM.

MIGUEL O’HARA X FEM! READER

— AO3 | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 1.2k

— WARNINGS | smut, mentions of wounds, fem anatomy used, penetration (f), cumming inside, overstimulation, biting (you see those fangs), blood kink (??), oral asphyxiation, light choking.

— SUMMARY | you often find yourself waiting for miguel to come home.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | posted nothing on my to do list bc ATSV has taken ahold of all of my thoughts. miguel is actually so fine i just had to hop on it

— SPANISH TO ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS ARE BELOW EACH PARAGRAPH.

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

You knew the deal. Nine words spoken in a nonformal contract to you the first time Miguel clawed his way into your apartment, bloodied and bruised.

“I cant promise you I’ll come home, mi alma.”

And you knew the words after that, too.

“… but I can promise you that I will die trying, with you in my thoughts, always.”

That night, he sat you down. Made you swear that you would never get too attached. Being a superhero in New York was a lethal deal, and you had to be prepared for anything— everything. Miguel wouldn’t stand the thought of breaking your heart, at least without warning, so he forced you to seal it, everything you loved about him buried away in the depths of your mind.

Yet, human emotion was the victor concerning the inner workings of your heart. And, when he comes home, every little detail of that contract you made shatters.

Miguel treads the glass of your longing heart with fatigued steps, focused on nothing but the sweet capture of your embrace. You feel as if he is a gift sent from the heavens themselves, gazing upon shades of brown that reflect tawny in the light. The light stubble he grew scratches against your jaw as he draws thick sighs of relief, and you feel as if you’re in a fever dream, hands tiredly fumbling for your belt as you sing your praises of his return.

And still, nights like those are a rarity. The words he uttered to you years ago float through your head like a lost prayer, and you’re left lost in the shadow of his absence.

You often find yourself waiting for Miguel to come home. Through all four seasons, the same spot on the couch awaits you night after night, TV static spitting dull reflections of the world outside as you stare up at the ceiling. Some nights, you wonder if he’s finally met his maker and run short of luck.

You still wait. Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. Just as you’re about to lose hope, he returns, just the same as you remember. Suit roughed up, gashes and cuts adorning his skin. He’s nonchalant to the fact, sultry eyes staring you down— a look that you know is just for you. Your fingers find homage in the roots of your hair, brushing thick, unruly strands from his gaze. A little longer than you remember.

“Qué bueno verte, tesorito.” He mumbles, tracing his teeth against your neck as he picks at your skin. “Te extrañé.”

[“IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU, TREASURE. I’VE MISSED YOU.”]

You hum, eagerly latching around the collar of his suit as he pulls your shirt off. Heat trails along your thighs as his bare hands run along them, dipping his head to kiss you while his index finger loops around your panties. He tastes lightly of cedar and pine, and you smile against his lips as the familiarly of him settles deep within your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you, day and night.” His voice is just above a whisper, fingers dragging along the slick folds of your pussy. “Couldn’t wait to come home and…”

His sentence trails off into a hitch in his throat, blinking slow at the sight of you, practically drooling for him. His fingers swipe lazily at your bud, kicking the rest of his suit off before snaking over you. You’re panting lightly, face tinted in a dusted pink as he strokes his cock, teeth lightly tugging at his lips as he does so.

“Don’t tease me, Miguel.” You complain, softly pinching his arm. “I want you, now.”

He huffs in amusement, lips perking up in a smile.

“You haven’t changed a bit, cariño.”

[“HEART.”]

The shift of his hips is sudden, and you gasp at the sudden intrusion of his cock filling up your hole. A heavy breath escapes you as he struggles to push his way fully inside, hands planted firmly on your sides, head just inches from yours. Sensing your discomfort, Miguel peppers kisses over your lips, seemingly making the way he bullies his way into your walls more bearable.

“So pretty, mi alma.” His words are soft, flowing in both ears as he draws himself back. “Sé que puedes tomarlo, breathe.”

[“MY SOUL. YOU CAN HANDLE IT.”]

You do as he instructs. Tears prick at your eyes as he thrusts in and out of you, cock heavy with lust, dragging against your tight walls. With each slap of his balls against your pussy, you can see Miguel’s gentle nature slowly escape him. His breathing becomes rugged and hot, panting against your neck in rough takes. Tiny beads of sweat collect at the base of his forehead, and he grips the headboard above you to stay grounded.

“Mmh- feels so good Miguel.” You whine, hands clawing at his scalp. “Don’t stop.. please.”

Your words toy with his self control, twisting a knot deep in his abdomen that furrows his eyebrows tightly together. The growl that emerges from his throat is nearly animalistic, and you bite your lips as he lifts your neck up with his nose.

“Need to taste you, por favor.” His words are strained, mouth hanging open to flash the canines rooted into his gums. “I’ll be gentle, ah- I promise.”

[“PLEASE.”]

His pace is unrelenting, in sync with the fangs that sink into your flesh. Miguel moans against your skin, sending a deep vibration to your nerves that makes you squirm. Blood drips from the puncture when he releases himself from you, lifting a thumb to stifle the bleeding.

The taste of your own blood fills your mouth as he kisses you, and you feel a wave of heat flash over your body. Your stomach tightens, and you cry out against his mouth, faintly gasping as he presses down harder on your throat.

It’s all too much— yet not enough. Miguel groans your name, pace stuttering as spurts of cum paint your insides white. His hold on your skin lightens at the feeling of you gushing over his cock, thrusting sloppily against your spent pussy a few more times before pulling out.

He fully snaps back once his dick flops against your stomach, thick strands of hair messily coating his eyes. You pant in synchrony, chests heaving, blood slowly flowing from your cheeks. He looks so pretty like this— glassy eyes fighting to stay open, fangs prodding against his mouth, slightly ajar.

Such a sight reminds you of why you wait for him to come home, no matter how long it takes. After all, you knew what you signed up for, and his return only made you yearn for him further. Never could you imagine putting your life in anyone else’s hands.

You push at him lightly, gesturing to the open wounds on your neck. Miguel scrambles once he sees them, hurriedly returning to you with a large wrap of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Lo siento, cariño.” He mutters, gently sticking a few thick layers of bandaging against your skin. “I should’ve controlled myself, I’m-“

[“I’M SORRY, LOVE.”]

You cut him off by pressing your index finger to his lips, smiling as his mouth slowly falls shut.

“Don’t worry, Miguel. You’ll let me get you back, won’t you?”

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #arqhmsspring2023 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara fanfiction #across the spider verse x reader

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ginnsbaker · 9 months

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (14/22)

Chapter summary: Vision sends you a demand letter for physical assault; Yelena makes a discovery that could shake the delicate foundations of your newfound 'friendship' with Wanda.

Chapter word count: 5.6k | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: Enjoy? :)

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Fifteen

Fourteen

The demand letter sits in front of you, openly mocking you with its mere existence. It arrived at the most unanticipated time, suspiciously just a few days after your birthday. It is drafted by one of the most sought-after law firms in New York and co-signed by one Victor Shade, but you doubt that he had any hand in composing it.

You've read it at least a dozen times now, its words wasting no time diving into the heart of the matter, “On January 4th, 2022 I suffered severe and critical injuries, when the actions of your insured, Ms. Y/N L/N…”

Deep down, you think you’ve been expecting this. The way Vision looked at Wanda the last time you saw them hinted at his lingering feelings. You knew he would do something to ease Wanda's rejection of him, and now he wants a specific amount as compensation: "Total Damages - $831,615.60."

With steady breaths, you carefully fold the letter back into its envelope.

You wonder if Wanda knows about this. Clearly, whatever she and Vision previously agreed on to delay this matter has now unraveled. And if that’s the case, you want to make sure that Wanda stays out of this, and that her ties to Vision are permanently severed.

As you’re pondering the financial repercussions should you opt to settle, and the added frustration of Natasha not returning any of your calls, your office phone rings, startling you.

"Yes?" you answer when your assistant speaks.

"Sorry to bother you, but Ms. Yelena Romanoff is here to see you," your assistant tells you.

"Send her in, Martin. Thanks." you say and hang up, hurriedly clearing your desk, thoughtlessly placing the letter on top of the pile of documents you need to burn through for today.

A few moments pass, and then Yelena appears at the doorway of your office, wearing a bright smile that matches her vibrant pink lipstick. Coyly, she taps on the door, even though it's already slightly ajar. She's dressed in tight, ripped jeans, paired with knee-high boots and a vibrant red jacket–easily a sight for sore eyes.

“Hey, baby, you busy?” she asks sort of mischievously.

You shake your head, grinning “Not for you.”

"Good," she replies, stepping into the room and locking the door behind her. You begin to rise from your seat, but she stops you with a hand. Making her way around your desk, she forcefully pushes you back into your executive chair.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, entranced, and watch as she straddles your thighs.

"Assaulting my girlfriend," she murmurs with a wink, her choice of words momentarily freezing you in place. But as her lips find their way to your neck, any further thoughts dissipate, distracting you from everything else in that electrifying moment. Your hands rest innocently on her hips, massaging her gently as her hips start a slow, gentle rhythm. Tilting your head back, you surrender to her fervor as she traces the length of your throat with her nose, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the way.

Yelena's jacket slips from her shoulders, cascading to the floor, revealing a thin turtleneck that clings to her form. With haste, you lift it up, exposing her flushed chest that’s heaving with her every breath. But before you can bury your face into her soft mounds, the phone rings again, prompting your girlfriend to get off your lap.

You let out a frustrated curse under your breath, while Yelena giggled, amused at your striking annoyance.

"What is it, Martin?" you answer as calmly as you could while trying to get the image of Yelena’s breast out of your head.

"Mr. Stark is calling in the managers for an emergency meeting," Martin informs you.

That completely diverts your attention away from a half-naked Yelena panting on your desk.

“He’s here?”

"Yes, ma'am," Martin confirms.

"Uh, okay. Give me two minutes," you say, ending the call.

Having overheard the conversation, Yelena quickly retrieves some tissues and proceeds to gently wipe away the lipstick stains she had left on your neck. “Shit, sorry, babe.”

"Don't worry about it," you stammer, still finding it difficult to concentrate amidst your lingering arousal.

“Yeah,” Yelena smiles knowingly. “Maybe another time, then.”

"Would it be more practical if I put that in my calendar?" you suggest, half-jokingly.

Yelena scrunches her nose at the idea of scheduling sex. “Where's the fun in that?” she retorts.

"You're right. I’m a fussy nerd, I know," you admit with a chuckle.

"A sexy nerd," Yelena corrects, planting a full kiss on your lips. "Now, go get 'em, tiger."

She playfully nudges you towards the door, urging you to make your way to the meeting. As you straighten the creases on your skirt, you quickly reassure her, “I'll be back in a few, okay?” There's a hint of worry in your voice, as if you fear she might leave without your knowledge.

Yelena's eyes meet yours, and she gives you a reassuring smile. “I'll be here,” she promises.

As soon as you leave the room, Yelena retrieves her jacket from the floor and tidies her appearance. In an instant, she transforms into the journalist persona that she hasn’t allowed you to see. She had visited you for another purpose today, and the unexpected opportunity that presented itself left her both surprised and eager to fulfill her intentions.

Call it an instinct or a persistent gut feeling, but Yelena had been on edge since your birthday. A sense of unease had settled within her, accompanied by an unexplained nagging sensation that there’s something she needed to uncover. It feels as though you’ve been keeping a secret from her for quite some time.

Carefully, she rummages through your drawer, cautious to leave things as they are. And then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention—an envelope. It doesn’t look like it belongs there, on top of documents and folders that have the stamp of Stark Industries in them. No, this envelope bears the distinct markings of an infamous law firm. And clearly, you’ve read whatever is inside, considering the gaping tear on the side of the envelope.

With steady hands, she retrieves the envelope, her movements purposeful and precise. Carefully unfolding the letter, her eyes swiftly scan its contents, absorbing the information with speed and accuracy. She knows that time is of the essence, aware that you could return at any moment, leaving her with limited opportunity to delve into its contents.

Yelena slips the letter back in its envelope and returns it to its original position, making sure to arrange it exactly as she found it. Were you going to tell her about this? Would you have asked for her help or her input as your partner? Or would you just go through the tides without her ever knowing?

Her intuition had been spot-on; there was indeed something to uncover, and it was undeniably connected to your ex-wife.

She promised you she’d be waiting, but if she wants to help you out of your situation, she better get going.

***

Later that same day, Wanda stands behind the sleek espresso machine, a confident smile on her face as she prepares to demonstrate to Peter a coffee technique known as "pour-over brewing". The café is relatively quiet, with only a few customers lingering over their cups of coffee. Valkyrie left just a while ago after enjoying her usual brew. Before leaving, she had presented Wanda with a thoughtful gift—a bag of exotic coffee beans collected during her recent business trip to Cape Town. Valkyrie had hoped to impress Wanda not only with the beans themselves but also by showcasing herself as a renowned photographer. Eager to try them, Wanda saw this as the perfect opportunity to share one of her favorite brewing techniques with Peter.

As Wanda expertly pours hot water over the meticulously arranged coffee grounds, she explains the process. "Pour-over brewing allows us to extract the full flavor from the coffee grounds. It's all about precision and patience. The water must be heated to the right temperature, and the pouring technique should be slow and steady. It results in a clean and nuanced cup of coffee."

Crouching down to bring himself to eye level with the coffee, Peter’s concentration deepens as he poses a question: "So, how can you tell when it's ready?"

“Generally, it takes around two to three minutes for the water to pass through the coffee bed, depending on the desired strength and flavor profile."

Wanda leans in, pointing out the subtleties of the process. “As you observe the flow of water, pay attention to the color and consistency. The water should form a gentle, controlled stream, evenly saturating the grounds. If it rushes too quickly or seems to pool in one spot, it may be a sign to adjust your pouring technique.”

“Additionally,” Wanda continues, “Watch for the final stages of the pour-over. As the water nears the end of its journey, the drips become slower and more intermittent. This gradual decrease signifies that the process is almost complete.”

With a smile, Peter watches as the coffee brewing process unfolds before his eyes, precisely as Wanda had described. As the last drops fall into the waiting cups, Wanda proceeds to pour the freshly brewed coffee, dividing it between two cups—one for herself and one for Peter to try.

“For the rest of the week, you’ll be covering all the coffee orders, alright?” Wanda says.

Peter nods eagerly in excitement.

Just as Wanda is about to bring the cup to her lips, the cheerful chime of the café's entrance sounds. Her eyes widen in surprise as she catches sight of the least expected person to walk through the doors of her coffee shop.

Yelena.

Confusion immediately clouds Wanda's face, but before she can react, Peter takes the initiative to greet their customer. Yelena responds with a faint smile as she approaches the counter, drawing closer to Wanda until they’re standing face to face, finding themselves in a similar situation just a few weeks prior.

“One cup of coffee, please,” Yelena orders meekly, pulling a twenty-dollar bill off her purse.

“Coming right up,” Peter promptly replies, ready to assist, but Wanda interjects.

“I'll get this, Peter. Why don't you attend to the stock for now?” Wanda suggests.

“Certainly, Ms. Max–Wanda,” Peter says and scurries off to the back room, giving the two some space.

Wanda's smile brims with gratitude as Peter leaves, granting them a moment of privacy. She then shifts her undivided attention to Yelena, whose growing discomfort doesn't go unnoticed, stoking Wanda’s own anxiety about the purpose of her visit.

Pushing aside her inner reservations, Wanda adopts a professional demeanor, masking her own concerns. From this point onward, it’s all business.

"Specifically, what coffee would you like?" she asks.

Yelena shrugs. "Anything, really."

Wanda chuckles softly, appreciating Yelena's laid-back approach. "Alright, then. Would you prefer it hot or iced?"

Yelena raises an eyebrow. "Who drinks cold coffee?"

Wanda's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Actually, many people do. But I have something special for you. I just brewed some off-the-menu grounds from Cape Town. Would you like to try that?"

“Sure. How much?”

Waving her hand dismissively, she insists, “On the house. It's a gift from a friend anyway.”

It’s met with a quiet nod from Yelena, who slips the twenty dollar bill into the tip jar as a token of appreciation.

“How about something to eat?” Wanda asks.

“I’m good,” Yelena politely declines, shaking her head.

However, the next words that escape Yelena's mouth are anything but polite, catching Wanda off guard.

“Are you trying to get her back?”

Wanda almost drops the cup she was in the midst of placing on a tray for Yelena.

Staring at each other, tension lingering palpably before Yelena clears her throat, breaking the moment. She gestures towards a more secluded area of the café. “Should we, uh, talk over there?”

With a hesitant nod, Wanda acquiesces, her thoughts filled with a flicker of doubt about her choice to open a café rather than a bar. At this very moment, she wishes for nothing more than a shot of whisky before having this ‘talk’.

Yelena doesn’t jump back right in after they are seated. Instead, she takes a sip of her coffee, humming pleasantly at the flavor that touches her taste buds.

“How did you find this place?” Wanda asks. How did you know where to find me?

Yelena, unfazed by the question, responds matter-of-factly, “I'm a journalist. Finding out things isn't too hard for me to do.”

"So, are you trying to get her back?" Yelena repeats as her eyes lock on Wanda’s.

Wanda's response is swift and sincere. “I'm not,” she states firmly. If Yelena had asked her that question before the night she nearly died, she would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. But now, she has nothing but respect for your relationship with Yelena, and doesn’t want to come in between the happiness you’ve found with her.

“But you still love her, don’t you?”

Wanda acknowledges her feelings for you in a slow, deliberate nod, seeing no point in denying it.

“I don’t know why you feel the need to ask me this,” Wanda says. "Y/N loves you. She wouldn't be with you if she didn't."

“I know,” Yelena says with conviction. "But that doesn't mean she’s mine completely."

Wanda's eyes narrow, searching for the true intent behind Yelena's words. Does Yelena genuinely believe that? Could there really be a possibility that you still love her?

Wanda swallows dryly. “I–”

Yelena interrupts, her tone heavy with resignation. "You should have just stayed away," she sighs, her gaze shifting downwards, as if the realization dawned on her just a little too late. She didn’t mean to start talking to Wanda about her insecurities, but Yelena couldn’t help but think about the depth of your attachment to this woman the more she looks at her.

As she gazes at Wanda, she can't help but wonder where your love for Wanda ends and hers begin.

“I am staying away,” Wanda firmly declares, her posture shifting as she straightens her spine in the chair. All of her encounters with you except for the time you were the one to come to her have been purely coincidental–despite how often they happen.

“Except for matters concerning Sparky,” she adds, correcting herself, “He used to be Y/N's dog as well. It was important for her to be informed about what was happening with him.”

“So, you didn't contact her on her birthday?” Yelena probes, watching Wanda intently for anything that would suggest that she might be lying with her answer.

Wanda, to her credit, doesn't even flinch as she replies, “I did.” It’s immediately clear that Yelena has no idea that you ran into her that night. Wanda understands that it is a matter to be discussed between you and your girlfriend, and she has no intention of revealing something that is not hers to disclose. But it’s another question that will definitely consume her thoughts later.

Yelena tightly clenches her jaw, trying to stay calm. She's always trusted you and never invaded your privacy, never checked your messages. But now, she can't help but wonder if she should have been a bit more vigilant.

“I see,” she drawls, and then finishes the last of her coffee. She doesn’t think she wants to know the details of that any further. “You claim that you’re trying to stay away from Y/N, but obviously, you’re not doing such a great job of it.”

Confused, Wanda furrows her brows and asks, "What do you mean?"

Yelena reaches into her purse and retrieves a thumb drive, sliding it in Wanda's direction.

Wanda looks at the curious little device. “What’s this?”

“Before I tell you, there’s something you should know,” Yelena pauses, making sure that Wanda is thoroughly listening before she shares the news. "Victor Shade has just sent Y/N a demand letter for damages related to physical assault."

"V-Vision?" Wanda’s voice trembles as she speaks.

Yelena nods knowingly. "I assume there's only one Victor Shade in your life–"

"He's not in my life." The words escape Wanda's lips with a forcefulness and intensity that surprises them both. “Not anymore.”

A pregnant pause hangs between them, Yelena patiently waiting for Wanda to gather herself as she observes the rapid whirl of thoughts inside her head.

After a beat, Yelena continues the slew of disclosures. “I assume his decision to exact revenge on Y/N has something to do with you.”

Wanda's voice rises in defense. “Are you accusing me of conniving with that–”

“No, not exactly,” Yelena says. “He’s a kid who grew up in a wealthy family, never being denied anything in his life. I think his letter was driven by jealousy. All I’m saying is that this could have been avoided if he had not seen you two together.

“Which brings us to that,” Yelena's gaze shifts to the USB device, which sits untouched near Wanda's hands on the table. It's as if Wanda is actively avoiding it, treating it like a dangerous explosive, which in retrospect, could be deemed as such if its contents were ever revealed.

"Look, I don't have concrete proof of him stalking you, but I believe this is substantial evidence to shake him off balance."

Wanda fixes Yelena with an expectant gaze, her eyes brimming with anticipation.

Yelena lets out a resigned sigh. "Fine, I'll tell you, since you're so patient.”

Wanda resists reacting to the veiled sarcasm, sensing that what Yelena is about to reveal aligns with her worst fears.

“Vision filmed you both having sex,” Yelena states bluntly, not concerned with softening the crude reality of the situation. “I was able to retrieve just one. I don’t know how many there are. And from the way the recording was cut an hour later when you’re already sleeping means you have no idea he was doing this.”

At Wanda's lack of response and the visible dread in her eyes, Yelena decides to speak up again.

“That's an invasion of privacy. In the state of New Jersey, you can send someone to prison for that for up to five years. Now, it’s up to you to decide what to do with this information.

“I know you care about Y/N, “ Yelena takes a deep breath, as if that fact physically hurts too much for her to accept in light of things. “I know you’ll do everything to help her in this situation.”

“How much is he asking from Y/N?” Wanda mumbles after a long time.

“More than $800,000 in damages.”

“Jesus,” Wanda gasps at the amount, instinctively bringing her hands up to her face, covering her eyes and burying her features in her palms. Although insurance might cover it, it’s still potentially crippling. Determined to figure this out, she finally picks up the USB from the table and secures it inside her pocket.

“How did you find out all of this? And how did you even get this video?” Wanda inquires curiously.

“I don’t reveal my sources.” Yelena replies with a smile, leaving Wanda suspicious about the legality of her methods. And equally suspicious of Yelena’s intentions, Wanda asks, “Why are you helping me?”

Yelena's snort breaks through, a genuine expression of glee that surprises Wanda. "I'm not. I'm doing all of this for Y/N."

"Fair enough. But why approach me then? You could have immediately gone to Y/N about this, even shown her the video?” Logically, it would be a strategic move for Yelena. Witnessing the gritty details of Wanda’s cheating would undoubtedly reignite the grievances in your heart. And she’d never have to worry about you going back to Wanda ever again.

The look that Yelena throws at her is a mix of pity and disgust. “I’d never intentionally hurt Y/N. I came to you because it's your responsibility to fix this mess. It's the least you could do for all the pain you've caused her.”

With those words hanging in the air, Yelena rises from her seat. Casting one final glance at Wanda, she adds, "If you think I’d resort to dirty tricks just to keep Y/N, then you really have no idea how to love her in the first place.”

***

“You have no idea how happy I was when you said you wanted to see me.”

Vision smiles at Wanda as her gaze unwillingly falls upon him, her body trembling with a fury she never realized existed within her. The moment Yelena left her café, Wanda wasted no time in reaching out to Vision, and he promptly answered her call, as if he had been eagerly anticipating that very moment all along. She had chosen a crowded restaurant, in one of the busiest streets in Manhattan near Town Square, seeking safety in the presence of a man she knew deep down couldn't be trusted.

"I didn't want to. I had to," Wanda admits sharply, crossing her arms in front of her. "I thought we had an agreement. That you would stay away from Y/N. And your idea of that is extorting money from her?"

“My circumstances have changed,” Vision argues, sounding almost remorseful. “My dad decided to cut me off, and I can no longer fund my move to Tokyo to pursue my film studies.”

Vision searches Wanda’s face, hoping to see a reaction, but she remains indifferent to his news of departure, seemingly unaffected by what's happening in his life.

“That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Wanda says spitefully. And then she sighs in defeat. “If I give you the money, will you–”

"I don't want the money from you," Vision declares, placing his fork down with a loud noise. "She did put me into a coma–”

“Because we fucking drove her to it!” Wanda screams her frustration. The outburst attracts the attention of others in the restaurant, and Wanda looks around apologetically before sinking back into her chair with a sigh.

“The assault happened and I can prove it in court if it ever comes to it.” he says after Wanda has grown quiet.

“You’re not going to prove anything because you’re going to retract that letter and you’re going to leave her alone just like you promised.” Wanda’s words carry a sense of finality, as if there is no other option for Vision.

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore–”

“I can,” Wanda says with a bout of confidence. "Otherwise, you're looking at up to five years in prison for filming me without my consent."

It takes Vision a moment to grasp the meaning behind Wanda's words, and Wanda takes pleasure in observing the color drain from his face.

“You hacked into my stuff?” he stammers in disbelief.

“You fucking filmed me,” Wanda reiterates, as they both remain fixated on their respective grievances. “I can’t believe I ever trusted you. I’ve never felt so betrayed and disgusted with myself as I do now.”

“How did you get the file?” he asks.

“I don’t reveal my sources,” Wanda says, echoing Yelena’s statement from earlier.

He locks eyes with Wanda, attempting to gauge if she's bluffing, but Wanda remains resolute, maintaining a stoic expression. Then, a small laugh escapes him, shaking his head as if the situation is nothing more than a joke. Wanda fumes as she takes a sip of her water and sets it back down heavy-handedly.

“Here’s the thing,” Vision casually signals for the waiter to refill his wine. “We’re all backed into a corner. If you use that against me, she'll find out, and it will only fuel her hatred towards you. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

Wanda hesitates, her lips parting with uncertainty before closing them in a swift decision. It's a high-stakes gamble, an all-or-nothing move that reveals the vulnerable hand she holds.

You really have no idea how to love her in the first place. She doesn’t exactly know what Yelena meant by that, nevertheless, it makes her doubt her ability to love you properly. She wishes there was a manual that she could read from cover-to-cover until the pages are worn from countless readings. All Wanda can do is prove that she can; even though loving you is the one thing she wants to get right, but has failed multiple times.

“You don’t get to question me about what I’m willing to risk.” she says as she stands up to leave.

Vision calmly wipes his mouth with a table napkin. “Then I guess we’ll just have to find out what Y/N’s next move is.”

***

Standing on the balcony of your high-rise Manhattan apartment, the view from up here is breathtaking.

The city below pulsates with vibrant energy, resembling a living organism with a heartbeat all its own. Its grandeur is reminiscent of the landscapes that once inspired poets and artists in centuries past. However, the awe-inspiring scenery does little to quell the turmoil raging within you, as you grapple with the decision of whether to pick up the phone and call Wanda or let the silence linger.

You haven't told Yelena about the demand letter that you received from Vision’s law firm yesterday. You want to protect her from getting involved in the convoluted aftermath of Wanda's cheating, which evidently still affects you like aftershocks from an earthquake. You tell yourself that you will let her know, in time, when you figure out what to do.

With Wanda, there's a strong likelihood that she is already caught in the midst of this storm. You vividly recall the last encounter with Vision, his demeanor exuding a sense of power, as if he held the ability to dismantle your life in a single moment. He subtly implied that it was solely Wanda who prevented him from doing so.

You wonder if Wanda’s aware that Vision has carried out his plans for revenge; she needed to stop protecting you from him. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself and accepting the repercussions of your own choices and actions.

As you deliberate on what to say to Wanda when you eventually call her, the sound of your building lobby intercom blares through the living room. The voice on the other end informs you, "Ms. Y/L/N? A certain Wanda Maximoff here would like to see you. Shall I allow her in?"

Your heart skips a beat and you press the button for you to speak. "Please, thank you.”

There’s the answer to one of your questions–Wanda probably knows about Vision’s stipulation regarding the substantial sum of almost a million dollars.

It’s a few minutes of waiting before you hear the doorbell ring.

You open the door to find a visibly fatigued Wanda standing timidly before you. Dark circles under her eyes and a certain gauntness in her cheeks catch your attention, details that you may not have noticed before due to her naturally pronounced cheekbones that give her a sharp, distinct look.

"I should've called," Wanda says, offering a thin smile as you welcome her inside. "But my feet were already bringing me here before I even thought about it."

"It's no problem at all. Would you like some water or something to drink? I have kombucha, tea... There's also a French Cab breathing in the kitchen, though I know it's quite early."

"I think I'll go for a glass of wine," Wanda replies.

"Coming right up," you say with a warm, good-natured smile, playfully mimicking Wanda's typical line in her own café.

“Is Yelena around?” Wanda asks as she nervously takes in her surroundings.

“She’s working,” you reply as you trudge towards the kitchen.

Left on her own, Wanda perches awkwardly on one end of the couch, her eyes scanning your quaint living room. She can discern the details that reflect your personality, but it doesn’t appease the fact that she has never felt more like an outsider in your life.

"Here," Wanda hears you say from behind her. She turns her head to find you giving the wine glass a gentle swirl, observing as the liquid moves about slowly and clings to the sides—a clear indicator of its high alcohol content. Bringing the glass to your nose, you take a whiff, seemingly enticed by its aroma. Finally, you extend the glass towards Wanda, offering it to her.

Wanda takes a sip–it’s rich and heavy, and the warmth it brings immediately spreads to her chest, instantly soothing her.

You look at her expectantly, choosing to sit on the opposite end. Seeing how worried she looks, you feel that she might finish her glass before she could utter a single word about what she came here for.

Deciding to help her out, you break the silence first.

“I take it you know about Vision’s demand letter,” you start, running your fingertip along the rim of your own wine glass. “It’s what you came here for right?”

Wanda nods and then raises the glass to her lips once more, taking another sip until she empties its contents. A small dribble of red liquid escapes from the corner of her mouth, which she promptly wipes with her thumb.

“What are you going to do?” Wanda asks, somber eyes fixed on her lap. Guilt weighs heavily on her, feeling like she brought this on you–which, in hindsight, she probably did.

As Wanda wrestles with her own feelings of culpability, she hears Calliope's voice echoing in her mind. “You can’t shoulder all the blame, Wanda,” she told her. “It just leaves you lonely and stuck in a situation you have no control of.”

Control is an illusion, Wanda reminds herself.

“I already set an appointment with my own lawyer. She’s going to go over the figures so we can renegotiate.”

It’s not at all what Wanda is expecting.

“You’re paying him off?” she asks, gaping at you openly for a moment.

"I did send him to the hospital. For quite a while actually," you admit, blinking slowly. "And if he had never woken up, I could very well be in prison right now."

As Wanda struggles with lingering guilt, you find yourself unable to deny the truth either and it weighs heavily on you. Frankly, you see no other way around this. Evading the consequences of letting your anger overwhelm you to the point of potential homicide is no longer a viable option.

You can see Wanda struggling with your decision, and you bitterly think that it’s too late for her to protect you in any way. She’s inflicted her own damage; and the consequence for her is watching the implications of it unravel before her.

“I–I have another way,” Wanda says.

Arching an eyebrow, you’re torn between curiosity and doubt. Wanda is aching for another glass of wine, but she has been consciously limiting her alcohol consumption lately. She doesn't want to repeat the countless occasions where she has either blacked out or come close to it.

“Wanda, stop,” you say, your voice gentle. “I don't want to know. I need closure. I need to get it in the right way, not through shortcuts. Please, don't protect me from this.”

Wanda’s eyes close on their own accord at your mention of the word ‘closure’. Does that closure include her?

“Just hear me out, please,” she implores with urgency. “There’s… there’s something he did that you can bring up with the law as well. And Vision has no proof that you were ever in his apartment, right? So if it comes to it, he really can’t prove that you’re the one who attacked him.”

Wanda looks pale even as she speaks with a kind of preternatural calm that you recognize only comes out when Wanda has come to terms with something. You lean back on the arm rest with an expectant look.

“He recorded us having… having the affair,” The words wrench themselves out of Wanda’s mouth and it takes a while for them to sink into your brain; when they do, you quickly look away, wishing you had instructed the concierge to deny Wanda's request to see you earlier.

You make a conscious effort to rein in your emotions, particularly the anger that wells up inside you. Wanda's infidelity is something you have learned to cope with long ago. But to discover that it can be substantiated with moving pictures and sounds leaves you grappling for answers.

“Did you know?” you ask steadily–while you can. “Did you know you were being recorded?”

Wanda can’t read the emotion behind your words as she shakes her head no.

Wanda inches closer to you, until your legs are almost touching. With utmost care, she takes hold of one of your hands and places a flash drive in your palm, closing your fingers around it. Your instinctive response is to maintain a firm grip, clenching your fist tightly around the drive.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she whispers. "If it wasn't for... for what I did, you’d be... we’d be..." Wanda's voice trails off as tears well up in the corners of her eyes, which she hastily wipes away.

Your own eyes moisten at the sight of her, but you manage to hold onto your rage to keep yourself from shattering altogether.

“I'm sorry he's resorting to this,” she continues, her gaze fixed on your clenched fist. “I'm sorry that this exists,” she adds, acknowledging the evidence of her betrayal in your hand. “I’d take it all back if I could.”

You feel the bandaid being ripped off the same wound that refuses to heal.

How deep does this go and where does it end?

Wanda's breath hitches, her struggle to hold back a sob. You impulsively attempt to create some distance, a physical retreat. Yet, as you lean back, the solid presence of the armrest behind you seems to trap you in a greater sense–of simultaneously wanting Wanda close and wanting her as far away from you as possible.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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springdandelixn · 1 year

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Among the Stacks

Professor!Vision x F!Reader

Summary: What was supposed to be a study session turns into something more.

Warnings: 18+ content, oral (f receiving), fingers at play, age-gap, daddy kink

Vision is back and he is back strong and in a very sexy professor’s outfit!! As always, your comments and likes are highly appreciated. I do love reading them ngl. Though re-blogging would help this story flourish more. And I hope you enjoy this ride with Vision 💛 Shout out to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for helping me with the title.

Note: Vision’s human name is Victor Shade.

Your eyes widen in surprise when Vision pulls you to the side, pressing your back against the bookshelves before leaning down to capture your lips with his. His hands are frantic, grabbing the meat of your thigh and sliding it underneath your skirt, giving your ass a rough squeeze that has you moaning into his mouth.

You’re thankful for the library being empty but at the same time, you fear that old Mrs. Whitmore, the library manager, would be making her rounds at any moment, catching you and the history professor in the act.

Although he’s not your professor, not anymore, so you’re not breaking any rules but still, you never want to put his job or your scholarship at risk. As much as possible, you keep your relations with Vision either at his place or somewhere far away from campus.

“What’s gotten into you?” You whisper once you both pull away for air, Vision’s lips pressing down on your neck this time and you bite your lips to stop the moan forming at your throat. “Someone might see us.” You try to reason but your words of caution don’t deter him.

“Don’t act coy.” He grunts against your skin, blond hair falling over his eyes and you see the blues go darker as he looks at you in hunger. “You come in here looking like that and you expect me to keep my hands to myself?” The question is full of promise and he catches your lips once more, his hand trailing further to cup your sex and you moan in his mouth when his thumb presses against your clothed clit.

His eagerness slowly bleeds into you and you find yourself kissing him back with just as much desire. Your hands move to card your fingers through his hair, moving your lips with intent against his, your hips bucking against his hand when he adds pressure on your swollen bud, feeling your panties dampen by the second as lust and desire slowly consumes your entire being.

Vision then pulls away from the kiss, leaving you breathless and you blush hard when he drops down on his knees. His lips press against your abdomen while his hands reach up to tug your panties down your legs, your feet lifting one by one on instinct, giggling when he presses the fabric against his nose and inhales deeply, tucking it in his breast pocket before hitching your leg up and draping it over his shoulder.

“Hold your skirt up, kitten,” He instructs and you know better than to deny him of his demands.

You do as he bids, keeping your skirt away from his face and you melt in the way his eyes pierce you, lust and desire pooling in his sapphires and you let out a soft hum when he presses a soft kiss against your bud, his tongue laying flat on your folds and giving it a long lick, a moan leaving your lips as the tip of his tongue flicks against your clit.

A shiver rolls through you as you feel his fingers tickle your backside, your head tilting back, hitting the shelf and your mouth clamped shut to suppress the moans that you know would escape as he continues licking and flicking on your clit.

Your heart then races as if you’re running a mile when his lips latch around the swollen nub, a hum leaving his lips that reverberates through your pelvis when he begins to suck—hard. Your pelvis moves on its own accord, rolling against his mouth as you seek more friction on your soaking cunt. His face disappears from beneath your skirts as your hands grab onto his hair and the other on the shelf to keep yourself steady when he lifts you further, sitting halfway on his shoulder, a soft gasp escaping your lips when his finger teases your folds.

Slowly, he pushes his digit past your cunt, your teeth piercing your skin when you bite down hard, gripping the shelf with strength as he buries his finger knuckle deep. He doesn’t waste any more time and begins thrusting in and out of you, your walls clenching against him and your stomach tightening deliciously as he unknowingly presses down on the sweet spot you keep within.

He pushes in a second, thrusting it slowly then a third and your head hits the shelf once more, a book falling from the tremor of your body when you feel his fingers spread within you, stretching your walls further before he resumes to fuck you fast and hard, the sound of your pussy squelching from his touch, along with the soft moans that leave you resounding in the small corner of the library.

Your walls begin to tighten, your body straining to keep yourself up as pleasure runs up your spine, relishing in the feeling of his fingers moving relentlessly in you and his mouth sucking on your clit, hunger, and possession evident in the way he pulls you flush into his mouth. Your eyes roll back as the stimulation he gives you and the thrill of being caught becomes too overwhelming, making you moan out incoherently, not even thinking if someone would hear. Only focusing on the sensation that your lover gives.

“Daddy—” You pant in the air, swallowing thickly as your muscles tighten, feeling that familiar pull at the pit of your stomach that only Vision has the power to summon. “I’m c-close,” You gasp, standing on your toes when he pulls you up further, a whine escaping you when his mouth leaves your cunt but grunts soon after when his thumb takes its place, rolling and pressing on your clit.

“That’s it, kitten.” He coaxes, his lips trailing kisses along your stomach and pelvis. “Come for daddy.”

The coil within you turns further and tighter, feeling yourself soar higher as you slowly reach your peak. His teeth graze against your skin and you mewl when he latches his lips on a patch of flesh, sucking on it hard, the pain turning into pleasure upon feeling the bruise form beneath his lips.

He spreads his fingers once more and pushes them deeper within and finally, something within you snaps, your mind going slack as you whisper his name when you find your release, your essence coating his digits and your legs shaking as he continues to thrust his fingers, helping you ride out your orgasm to a finish.

You lean against the shelf, limp and breathless, panting hard as you try to regain your breathing. You gasp lightly when he retracts his fingers from your cunt, blushing hard when Vision’s face emerges from your skirt, his eyes glistening in awe as he looks at his digits coated with your desire and slipping them past his lips, sucking on them as he cleans them from your essence.

“I never thought you an exhibitionist, Shade?”

You gasp when you hear someone at the other end of the aisle, your face reddening in embarrassment when you see Professor Odinson looking at the both of you with a smirk.

“What are you doing here, Loki?” Vision asks as he stands from where he kneels, his arm wrapping around your waist and you hide your face against his chest.

“I was simply looking for a book for my lecture tomorrow when I heard noises.” Professor Odinson says playfully. “I thought it to be rats but lo and behold, I found something better.”

You clutch on the lapels of his coat as you try to wriggle yourself from his hold. But Vision’s arm around you keeps you in place and you stand there enduring the awkward conversation.

“Daddy, I want to go.” You whisper against Vision’s coat and you hear him sigh.

“I’m sorry, kitten,” He says as he cups your face with both his hands, your lower lip sticking out when he presses a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll meet you in my car. You’re coming home with me tonight.”

You nod at his words and accept the kiss he places on your lips before slowly turning away, avoiding Professor Odinson’s eyes when you pass him and scurry back to your table to grab your things.

“So that’s the secret you’ve been hiding.” Loki grins as Vision nears him, running his hands down his chest to ease any wrinkles that formed on his clothes. “A little mouse that one is. Even in class.” Vision rolls his eyes and walks after you, Loki following him through the halls of the library. “How long have you been dallying with a student, V?” Loki taunts.

Vision stops in his tracks, his eyebrows knitting as he feels annoyance run through his veins. His hand clenches into a fist, facing the other professor before pointing a finger at him threateningly. “You tell anyone about this and I swear, Loki—”

“Relax.” Loki chuckles, his hand resting on Vision’s and lowering it from his face before giving him a pat on the back. “Aren’t we friends? And you know me, my lips will be sealed.” He grins. “Though you must tell me where I can get one.”

Vision steps back and looks the professor in the eyes before letting out a hearty laugh.

#vision #the vision #vision x reader #vision x female reader #vision x you #vision mcu #vision fanfic #vision fanfiction #vision au #professor vision #victor shade #victor shade x reader #mcu #mcu au #coconut bun stories

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sanjisboyfie · 6 months

Text

๑ keep safe : "together in chaos." (15)

one piece x male reader

cause my love is mine,

all mine

i love mine, mine, mine,

nothing in the world belongs to me,

but my love mine, all mine, all mine

『 prev 』

[name] couldn’t believe this. the desert was stupid. how are birds going to outsmart both him and his captain?!

“is your brain really below the level of a bird?!” sanji scolded, shaking both luffy and [name] back and forth.

“hey, are you blaming me for being compassionate? you’re so cold, sanji,” [name] said nonchalantly, “let’s not worry about it, we’ll find something to eat,”

“we wouldn’t even need to do something like that if you had just used your brain!!” sanji cursed, still choosing to drill the consequences of [name] and luffy’s actions into their heads.

everyone else was settled down, choosing to take this a chance to catch their breath. [name] let himself fall on his back, soaking in the cold sand and shade whilst luffy went and tried to catch the birds that had stolen their stuff.

usopp decided to lay down next to [name], making the man grin.

“let’s play a game usopp!” he cheered, turning over so he was laying on his stomach on the sand instead. the sniper hummed in thought before agreeing. “tic-tac-toe!”

“you’re gonna lose,” usopp said confidently, leaning up on his elbows so that he could face the sand properly, “back on my home village, i won over a thousand games of tic-tac-toe by pure skill!”

“a thousand games?!” chopper exclaimed in shock, completing believing usopp.

“i won five thousand games of tic-tac-toe at my village,” [name] challenged further, making usopp pale and sweat nervously. “just kidding, i lied!”

“hey, that’s my thing!!” usopp shouted in annoyance at being punked.

[name] drew the board onto the sand, chopper laying on top of [name]’s head to observe. [name] did the first move, usopp following, until they reached the end of their game — [name] being the victor.

“you’ll never beat me,”

“no, no, no, that was too close, again!”

the two went back and forth in the game, finishing a least twenty games. it ended with [name] winning the majority of them and usopp sulking in the corner.

“if you played with your nose instead of your finger, you’d definitely win,” [name] teased poking the tip of usopp’s nose, making usopp slam his head down in the sand to shut him up. he got a mouthful of sand and the sniper grinning above him in victory.

“don’t disrespect me like that!!!” usopp said, smacking [name]’s hand away.

chopper laughed as [name] weakly spat out the sand in his mouth, the reindeer rolling side to side from his amusement. this made [name] focus on torturing him now, prodding and poking at chopper’s sides to tickle him.

everyone watched as [name] expertly dealt with chopper who was laughing at him, making the reindeer cry out for mercy for the tickling to stop.

just as [name] was about to let up on his torture method, there was a rumbling that shook the whole ground. everyone looked up in worry, seeing some sort of sand storm…? coming there way. but as usopp put his goggles on, the crew found out that it was just luffy bringing trouble towards them at high speeds.

[name] squinted, grimacing as he saw how huge the creature behind luffy was.

“a sandora dragon!!” vivi cried out in surprise.

“vivi, i feel like you really need to work on telling us these things beforehand,” [name] sighed, running a hand through his hair. vivi apologized quietly, but he simply shrugged his shoulders to show it wasn’t the biggest deal. after all, he just saw an oppurtunity for a good meal in front of him now.

“they’re the largest living replies in the desert,” [name] whistled at the description, “and they will wait under the sand for their prey. they have sharp claws and fangs, but they hardly ever use them. the reason being that they tend to swallow their prey whole,”

“he really does have a gift for attracting trouble,” ace said in amused voice, being the only one that was languidly sitting down on the sand.

“luffy, come quick, bring the food to us!!!” [name] shouted with his hands cupped over his mouth to project his voice more clearly.

“don’t just care about the reptile, how about saving luffy’s life?!” nami said, chopping [name] down on the head.

“we’ll take care of it,” sanji and zoro said in unison, rushing forward and prepared to attack the monster.

[name] hummed in appreciation, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet as he realized they were going to be eating good. in a second’s notice, the monster was done and dead — making [name] clap his hands in glee.

out of nowhere, though, he turned around in an instant and lifted his hand up in the air.

“ace, out of the way,” he said, tilting his head to the side to encourage the male to step just slightly over to the left. ace obeyed, looking in interest as another one of the monsters sprung out from the sand.

“i should’ve mentioned that they always hunt in pairs!!”

“mention these things!!” everyone shouted at vivi as [name] took his turn in taking care of the monster.

[name] lifted his hand up mimicking the shape of a gun with his fingers. the monster was looking directly at him. he closed one of his eyes, as if he was looking down the barrel of a gun and pretended as if he had just shot it off. his hand flinched backwards, “pew,” leaving his lips and then the monster in front of him had fallen over immediately.

“what was that technique?!” usopp shouted in fear, seeing that the monster was definitely dead at how lifelessly it had fallen back onto the sand.

”[name]’s really scary,” nami said, crocodile tears falling from her eyes.

“a monster!” chopper was the one to ironically yell that bit out, making [name] laugh.

“double the food supply! aren’t i just the best guys?” [name] grinned, looking childish despite the great feat he had just showed off. ace walked over with a low whistle, ruffling [name]’s head with his warm hand.

“the bestest, now let’s get sanji over here to cook this up for us,”

soon enough, the strawhats were eating an abundance of cooked meat. and once [name] was done eating to his heart’s content, he briefly passed out. unfortunately, zoro was sitting beside him so he had to hold up the weight of [name]’s sleeping body on his back.

he grunted in annoyance, angry tick marks forming on his face as he saw everyone was getting ready to go.

“someone take this idiot off of my hands!!!” he shouted at the crew, subconsciously holding [name] up in a piggy back position so the sleeping man wouldn’t fall off.

“hurry up guys, if you don’t catch up, you’ll never leave out of this desert alive!!!” nami teasingly called out to them, happily riding on the back of lashes, their new camel, with vivi. she didn’t have to worry about exerting too much effort in walking around now.

“hey!! i said, someone get this guy off my back or i’m leaving him here!” zoro shouted, hating how he was stuck carrying [name] around. “hey, [name]!! wake up right now, i’m not fucking around!”

“five more minutes,” [name] sleepily called out.

“fuck off, you can shove that five more minutes up your ass!”

“why are you saying such crude things, zoro, i don’t want anything up my ass,” [name] said, his eyes still shut and his words slurring together, “oh, you’re not as hot as i thought, you’re kind of like a cooler, i like this,”

“get off!!!”

“zoro, zoro, carry me too!” chopper called out, jumping up and down in a hurry seeing as everyone was already running off to follow nami.

this made the swordsman curse several times over before allowing chopper to grab onto [name], who zoro settled on carrying around. he’d just make [name] owe him back tenfold later.

zoro ran along with the group, not wanting to be left behind and was cursing [name] the entire way.

“i guess your status is also turned into camel too, huh, marimo?” sanji teased, seeing as zoro was now carrying the weight of two crewmates. “or maybe, desert camels are smarter than you,”

“shut up, pervy cook! i’ll slice you up,” zoro warned, glaring daggers into the blonde.

“is it my fault you’re the camel?” sanji shot back, grinning as he saw it only made zoro more pissed off.

“that’s it!” zoro threw [name] off of his back, making his still and sleeping body roll over in the sand several times down a hill. “i’ll kill you now, perv!”

[name] scratched his eyes awake, yawning and jumping up to his feet as he felt re-energized after his nap. he walked back up the hill he was thrown off of, blinking several times when he saw sanji and zoro fighting.

he punched the back of their heads, yawning as he did so, “come on, guys, fighting isn’t always the answer. let’s catch up with nami and vivi,”

“stop acting like you know what’s happening!!” the duo shouted at [name]’s back, their anger towards each other being washed away and instead growing towards [name].

the h/c haired man waved his hand dismissively, urging chopper and usopp to follow him.

“come back here, bastard!!!”

but [name] just ignored them, allowing chopper to climb on his back, and then continued walked onward. they walked in a straight line for a couple of moments before he noticed that the footprints the camel should’ve left behind were suddenly stopped.

“that’s weird,” he commented, looking around to find if they had simply gone off track.

“yeah, their footprints end here,” usopp added on.

“i wonder where they went off to-”

[name]’s words were cut off when a rumbling was heard, coming from their right. luffy was the first one to realized what it was, running forward and shouting for water.

it was a pirate ship, sailing through the sand rather than through the water and it made [name] tilt his head in confusion, “it looks stupid,”

“nevermind that! they have nami and vivi, we should go down there too,” zoro grunted in surprise, seeing the two familiar faces tied down to the main mast of the ship.

[name] furrowed his eyes brows, running down the sand hill and watching as luffy crashed right into the wooden mast, effectively breaking it in half. due to the troubles he had caused the other pirate crew, he promised to make it up to them.

nami and vivi were soon released from their confinements, but [name] was still on edge. he checked in with both of them to make sure that they were fine and when they replied that they were just shaken up, he nodded in understanding.

he stood in the middle of both of them keeping them a close distance.

“i swear i’ll make it up to you!” luffy cried out, watching as they lowered some sort of wooden sled down to the sand. [name] quirked his eyebrow up in interest, wondering how this would play out.

and just as the captain of the ship was laying down the information for luffy, there was a sudden shift in the air around [name] and vivi. the man lifted his head up and glared at what seemed to be nothing. his hand grabbed onto vivi’s waist and pushed her to the side.

his body shielded hers, just in case, and he cursed under his breath as a sudden axe was boomaranged towards them.

“oi, what gives?” he asked, glowering down at the woman who had thrown the axe. “what were you planning on doing exactly?”

she rolled her eyes at his questions, seemingly unimpressed with his attitude and shifted her gaze onto vivi. the princess was still wrapped and almost completly engulfed by [name]’s figure, who was acting as a protective barrier between the two women.

“these people aren’t familiar with the desert, but you are. you — are coming with us to retrieve more wood,”

“ha, over my dead body,” [name] spoke in a cold tone, threateningly stepping closer to the woman. he felt vivi’s hand wrap around his wrist to stop him, but he didn’t even falter in his steps, “like hell i’ll let her go out there with you, someone who just tried murdering her,”

“[name], stop! it’s fine!” vivi cried out, feet digging into the sand to stop [name] from pummelling the woman in front of them, “it’s best if i go with luffy anyway, i can drive one of the sleds,”

“then i’m coming with you,” [name] said stubbornly, turning his gaze to the princess, “that idiot is just going to suffocate you in more trouble,”

“no, the sleds only can fit two people at a time,” she informed him, making a displeased look come onto his face.

“then you’re not going,” he finalized, but she simply shook her head.

“i want to go, i’ll be fine,”

seeing how determined she was to assist luffy, [name] finally gave up and allowed her to board the sled. before they had set off, though, he grabbed the woman’s arm, the one that tried attacking him and vivi, and glared through her soul.

“if she comes back with a scratch, i’m killing you and this entire shit crew,” he squeezed her wrists tight to emphasize this point, “understand?”

she scoffed, trying to free her arm from [name]’s hold. cursing under her breath when she realized that the grip he had ensnared around her wrist was iron-strong.

”whatever,”

that left [name] unsatisfied, but he let her go.

he backed off, crossing his arms over his chest as he joined the rest of his own crew.

“what was that, [name]? seriously, do you not know how to play nice to others?” nami asked, sighing and rubbing her forehead. she thought back to [name]’s hostile attitude on drum island.

“just…staying on guard, we don’t know these people,” [name] explained.

“not everyone is bad,” usopp added in.

“no, not everyone is. but it’s better to be safe than sorry. remember, not all pirate crews are as forgiving as ours,” [name] said, turning from the group and boarding back onto the ship.

the longer his captain and friend were away the more angsty he was beginning to feel. he tried to not think about it too much, but his guard was still up. if these people weren’t who they were presenting themselves to be, he’d be the first to beat them up.

but then, vivi and luffy returned, with bright smiles on their faces. [name] met them as soon as they got their sand sled to stop, asking them if they were alright. the princess seemed to hesitate for a moment before nodding and thanking [name] for being so vigilent.

“[name]!!” luffy cheered, throwing himself onto [name] and hugging him tightly. [name] finally cracked a smile, sending some of the crew into states of relief ([name]’s stoic face was scarier than a lot of them thought), and held onto luffy. “what’d you guys do while we were gone?”

”nothing, just thinking,” [name] answered with a shrug.

“don’t think too much, [name], i don’t know if you’d be able to handle that!” luffy said, seriously looking concerned, which only made [name] shake him off in annoyance.

“don’t insinuate that i’m more stupid than you!”

“now that we’ve settled business here though, don’t you think it’s time to set off?” zoro asked, making everyone else nod in agreement.

in no time, the group was packed up and venturing back into the heartless desert. and ace was no longer missing, coming up to the group riding some weird creature and dragging a sled behind him.

[name] immediately jumped off of zoro’s back, making the swordsman curse him for making him carry him in the first place, and ran up to his personal heater. he hugged him and almost knocked the both of them down onto the sand, if it weren’t for ace steadying them.

“where the hell have you been?” [name] breathed out, selfishly taking ace’s hat off of his head and putting it on himself.

“no, the question is where did you guys go - i was on the right track,” ace scolded, flicking [name]’s forehead and then looking past him and at the rest of the crew.

“what is this thing?” luffy asked as he looked at the odd reptile ace was riding on, attaching himself to [name]’s back as he joined the two.

[name] only grinned in happiness, coming to the late realization that he was back with the two most beloved men in his life. and they were all standing together. he made sure the hold he had on ace was tight and didn’t bother shaking luffy off of his back.

“doesn’t matter,” ace brushed the question off, turning around and motioning over to the sled, “i brought plenty of food and water,”

“oh! much appreciated! this should be more than enough for a good while,” sanji said, relieved to see that they now had a steady supply of food and water.

the crew went on to comment how ace was so responsibile compared to both luffy and [name]. vivi chimed in thought, a voice of concern, “don’t tell me…ace-san, you stole from that village?”

[name] looked up at ace, wondering the same thing. ace recognized the steely look in [name]’s face, as if the man was ready to scold him if he answered wrong, and began to sweat from stress.

“nothing of the sort! the rebel army — or more like the fake rebel army — gave it to me,” ace said, clearing up the story for both vivi and [name]. the h/c haired man nodded his head in pleasure at the answer and ace felt himself breathe a sigh of relief.

“fake? what do you mean fake?”

”they call themselves the rebel soldiers, but really, they’re just a band of hoodlums,” ace explained.

at his explanation, [name] couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved for the villagers. according to ace, most bandits weren’t going to risk it with even testing the rebel army based on name alone, so the village was left alone for the most part. and even though the hoodlums were most definitely manipulating the population of citizens, they did keep them safe, to an extent.

vivi seemed to agree with [name]’s opinion, but before they ventured off, she wanted to actually test the group of fake rebel soldiers. [name] grinned, feeling excited to do something else besides walking around the desert the whole time.

[name] began laughing, holding his stomach at the idea of bullying these poor frauds. ace scolded him lightly, “don’t be so sadistic about this, [name]. you look like you’re going to enjoy this a bit too much,”

“because i am, ace, imagine their faces,” [name] said, his shoulders moving up and down as he let out another hearty laugh.

“unbeleviable,” ace said, roughly ruffling [name]’s hair with a fond smile.

vivi began to explain, wanting all of them besides ace to act as merciless pirates. [name] nodded happily at the role given to him, humming his signature song to keep himself excited.

“hey, i remember that song,” ace breathed out, squeezing [name] tight to his chest, “i haven’t heard it since foosha village, though,”

“it’s one of a kind, of course you haven’t heard it before,” [name] said cockily making ace laugh at his comment.

“i really missed that song,” ace said quietly under his breath.

“hey, hey, lover boy, we’re about to get the show on the road,” zoro called out nonchalantly, making [name] whip his head around and slap him in the face.

“don’t ever repeat those words ever again, you ugly sea moss! i’d rather kill myself!!!”

“oh, in that case: lover b-”

[name] kicked zoro in the stomach, effectively making him shut up before he could finish his sentence. and as zoro was kneeling on the ground clutching his abdomen, [name] grabbed him by the collar and began dragging him through the sand.

“idiot marimo,” [name] breathed out, throwing zoro ahead so he could stand up by himself. “take your place, stupid swordsman!!!”

“i’ll kill you after this,” zoro rasped out, seemingly still out of breath due to [name]’s kick.

the sight that played out in front of them was a little bit pathetic, but [name] appreciated the guts that these fakes had. soon after their leader had punched luffy, vivi and nami gave a signal from the rocks to get them to retreat. [name] laughed, grabbing zoro by the collar again and making him run at his pace so they could get out of there.

“bastards! everyone run, that’s the real rebel soldiers for you!!” sanji shouted.

“they’re the scariest men i’ve ever encountered!” usopp followed driving the point home.

“i’m so scared!!” [name] laughed, not really helping as his tone of voice sounded far too happy to be actually “scared.”

“i’m terrible at plays like this,” zoro said under his breath, pink cheeks showing just how embarrassed he was.

“wah, zoro, that’s the hardest i’ve ever seen you blush, how endearing,” [name] teased, pinching the man’s cheeks as he spoke.

for the rest of the journey, [name] stayed right in between zoro and ace. he wanted to stay near ace, for obvious reasons, and kept zoro close because the swordsman had a more mellowed out personality.

and for how hot, tired, and dehydrated [name] was, he didn’t need to be caught up in all of luffy’s shenanigans. usopp, sanji, and chopper could fill that area for him, just for now.

“so, ace, was [name] always a big dumbass?” zoro asked out of nowhere, making the referred to man almost jump at him to beat him up. ace’s arm around his waist held him from doing so, though.

“yep, even worse when he was a kid,” ace said, humming in thought, “i guess now he became more aware of it,”

“liar! i’m not a dumbass, you’re just trying to make me look bad right now!” [name] shouted in an accusatory tone.

“hm, let me think,” ace ignored [name]’s complaints, only making said complaints grow louder at the prospect of being ignored, “well, there was one time he thought he was drinking orange juice and it turned out to be booze. then there was another time he accidentally almost cut his entire arm off with his sword, something about how was pretending to be a samurai in front of the mirror and got carried away. oh! he also-”

“that’s enough!!!” [name] interuppted, clamping ace’s mouth shut with his hands. then he turned to zoro with a pleading look in his eyes, “just forget you heard him say any of that — they’re all lies anyway,”

“pretending to be a samurai in the mirror, huh?” zoro teasingly echoed, the words making [name] want the ground to swallow him whole, “i’m never forgetting that, dumbass!! haha!”

“ace, you’re my sworn enemy, aren’t you?” [name] asked as he tried moving farther from the man.

ace quickly realized this and captured [name] by an arm resting around his shoulder. he leaned down and whispered into [name]’s ear, “c’mon, you know you love me!”

[name]’s eyes widened at ace’s tone and how close he was, but he quickly got it together by slamming his open palm onto ace’s face, “fuck off, creep! don’t talk to me like that ever again!”

nami and vivi had a good view of everything happening around them from atop lashes. the navigator laughed at ace and [name], “they kind of do quarrell like lovers,”

“it’s impressive how forward ace seems to be with [name],” vivi commented making nami hum in agreement.

“do you think luffy has the capabilities of being like that too? wonder if its a trait that ace developed on his own or if it could be shared between them cause of how they grew up…” vivi’s voice trailed off in thought.

they paused and looked at luffy, who was moaning and whining about the lack of water, and they both uniamously decided, “there’s no way he could ever conjure up thoughts like those,” nami sweat dropped, vivi nodding in agreement.

after ace’s insistence on keeping [name] close, he finally got the h/c haired man to settle down and the two walked together again. they decided to make a stop for some food and water, settling on top of some rocks.

[name] and ace sat atop of one that overlooked the entire camp.

“ace, when are you gonna be leaving?” [name] asked, digging into his food.

their robes were discarded, seeing as they were in the shade, and since they were no longer in the blazing heat, [name]’s mood had improved tremendously. he was speaking in softer tones and had a pleased look on his face.

“i’m not sure, but with how badly it sounds like you want me gone, i might leave soon,” [name] frowned at ace’s teasing, making the freckled man laugh, “but i really don’t know when. i missed you a lot too, so i’m trying not to think too much about leaving,”

[name] nodded in understanding, leaning his head on ace’s shoulder as he put his plate down, “you’re an idiot,”

“oh? what’d i do this time?”

“for not joining us and instead dragging yourself into whitebeard’s crew, damn geezer,” [name] said bitterly, playing with the laces of ace’s boots. said man looked at [name] lovingly, eyes softening noticeably.

“i know, i know,” ace said gently, rubbing up and down [name]’s tattooed back, “i guess i did break my promise,”

“yeah, don’t think i forgot,” [name] said with a real frown, “i’ll never forgive you for that. when you promised that, ace, i really thought you were gonna keep your end of the deal,”

ace sighed, sensing that [name] was seriously upset with him. so he turned his torso towards [name] and grabbed both sides of his face, “i still care about you, y’know?” [name] rolled his eyes, trying to break free from ace’s hold, but the man didn’t budge, “i’m really sorry, but i’ll make it up to you some way,”

“yeah, how’d you plan on doing that?”

“marrying you, of course,” ace smiled. but it wasn’t a cheeky grin that [name] usually saw after ace said ridiculous things like that. it was a genuine smile, one that was usually only reserved for [name] — not that the man knew that, of course. there was a side of ace that he didn’t reveal to anyone but [name], after all.

this type of vulnerablity would send his closest friends on whitebeard’s ship into a coma from pure shock.

“you’re gonna seriously marry me?” [name] asked, not looking impressed.

“yeah, undying love, i already got the vows half written in my head,” ace said, flicking the brim of his hat on [name]’s head with a smile, “i’m just waiting for the right time,”

“and when’s the right time then?”

“the next time we see each other, i’ll definitely propose to you,”

[name] laughed, leaning into ace’s side even more. the whitebeard pirate had a smirk on his face as he threw his arm around [name]’s shoulder, “you’re funny, ace,”

“just promise me you’ll say yes when i do,”

“pft, in your dreams. i’d never seriously marry a dumbass like you,” [name] said, further pressing himself into ace’s warmth. “and!! as if i’d make a promise to you when you can’t even make a promise that you’d keep!! so you can just fuck off,”

“ah, [name], you wound my heart,” ace said, clenching his chest as a ways of showing how “in pain” he was.

suddenly, he knocked the side of his head onto [name]’s before standing up. “come with me,” he said quickly, taking [name]’s wrist in his warm hand and dragging him off.

“but, ace, i’m still cooling off!” [name] whined, trying to stop himself from being tugged, but with one sharp pull from ace, he had no other choice. ace dragged [name] far away from the camp, seemingly following an invisible path that [name] couldn’t see.

ace hopped onto a rock and [name] followed, blinking in surprise when he saw two little children in front of him.

“the badlands, huh?” ace echoed, looking down at the two siblings. “from that rustic nowheresville?”

“ace, who are these kids? you know them?” [name] asked in confusion, wondering why they seperated from the group for this.

”who are you? you can’t have this food back?”

the food, [name] thought in confusion. he peered intently at the two, seeing that they were shielding a piece of meat away from him and ace. putting two and two together, he concluded that these kids probably just stole from their base.

well, whatever, they could’ve had as much food as they wanted if they had just asked, [name] thought to himself.

then out of nowhere, one of them pulled a gun from behind their back. [name] whistled at the sight, leaning against ace’s side as they stared directly at the barrel of the gun. the boy holding it suddenly moved their aim at [name], making the h/c haired man quirk his eyebrow in anticipation.

with a bang, the gun had went off and a bullet came shooting out. [name] didn’t bother moving though, because in an instant ace had thrown a small pebble into the line of fire and stopped the bullet from going anywhere near his person.

“hey, kids, don’t play with dangerous things like that so casually,” [name] warned, wagging his finger back and forth as he scolded them.

“good little boys should be brushing their teeth before sleepy-bye,” ace commented, looking down at the two with a grin.

“i have a favor to ask!! there’s someone i want you to catch,” one of them shouted desperately, “i’ll pay you one million beri if you get rid of them!…i can’t pay it right now, but i will pay it when i grow up!”

[name] kneeled down in front of the kids, “who is it? someone messing with you?” he asked, tone calm as he spoke. nami and usopp were now standing behind him and ace, but he didn’t pay them any mind.

“please! find this man!” a dirtied photo was shoved into [name]’s face and he leaned back to get a good look at the picture. “my brother and i’ve followed him out here to the badlands. his name is scorpion, he’s a bounty hunter.”

the rest of the straw hats, minus luffy, were now surrounding these two children.

“why do you guys have business with a bounty hunter?” nami asked in concern, seeing how young and small the children were.

as they were about to answer, ace spoke up, “i have business with him too. a man in yuba was said to defeat blackbeard, his name was scorpion. my reason for going to yuba is to talk to him,”

“ace, do you really think this guy defeated blackbeard?” usopp asked, looking at the photo with an unimpressed look on his face.

“well, the only way to find out is to meet him. you wanna come, [name]?”

[name] glanced at the two children for a moment before solidifying that he’d go along, “yeah, if the kids are asking for it, then i have to do it,” he said with a stern voice.

another moment that the crew realized [name] was more terrifying than he often let on. that stoic look on his face, the way his voice seemed to drop octaves when he became more serious. he just became scarier in times like that.

“a-ace…? [name]? like fire fist ace?!” the boys shouted, then pointing at [name], “you’re the cursed orphan - we’ve heard of you!”

[name] grinned in glee, “you wanna be like me when you grow up, don’t ya?” he said with a proud tone to his voice.

“i don’t think anyone wants to be as psychotic as you!” usopp shouted, having whiplash from the personality switch he had just witnessed.

[name] furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “but hey, why do you want us to take care of that old guy? what’s he done?” he asked.

just as the boys were about to answer, ace suddenly stood up and looked out in the horizon.

“two people, and…” ace said out of nowhere, eyes squinted as he looked into the distance.

“a bird,” [name] finished the sentence, making the crew turn to them in confusion.

a second later, chopper’s nose twitched as he also picked up on the scents that were coming towards them.

“fire fist ace!!! i’m here to take your head and collect your bounty!” the old man on the bird proclaimed and upon closer inspection, everyone soon realized it was the scorpion that the kids were searching for.

“that’s a little pathetic,” [name] said under his breath, showing an unimpressed look on his face, “i’m not really for beating up pathetic looking guys,”

“oh, everyone? you’re here?” luffy’s voice shouted, looking at his crew that were standing around ace and [name].

“luffy?! what are you doing here?” everyone but zoro and ace shouted in unison.

“hey, ace, this fight is serious, don’t pull your punches!!” luffy laughed, teeth on display.

“i wasn’t planning to!” ace shot back, before composing himself, “but there’s something i wanna ask him, too!!”

“here i come, fire fist ace!!”

[name] moved aside, not wanting to be involved any longer see as he put two and two together. so instead, he took a seat on the stone and watched the fight commence.

ace packed up the fight pretty quickly, a single punch to the man’s stomach being able to knock him out of the fight completely. it was a pathetic sight and [name] was glad it was put to an end sooner rather than later.

“stop, dad!!” the voice of the boys that were hiding behind the rock shouted.

“dad?!” they all shouted in unison, minus [name] who let a smile creep onto his face.

“cute,” he said under his breath, watching as the boys worriedly ran to the arms of their father. it was a heartwarming sight, one that he wasn’t used to seeing in the cruel world that was full of heartless pirates and marines.

so he took in the sight and hugged his knees to his chest. a gentle smile was on his face and he rested his cheek against his palm. a crew member caught the serene look on [name]’s face and their own expression softened in surprised at the sight.

when he looked relaxed like that, he was actually quite handsome, they thought to themselves.

then the bazooka that the dad was carrying was dropped onto the ground. he traded the bazooka to properly hug his crying children and bringing them into his arms.

the gun had rolled off of the sandy dune and accidentally fired off into the stone pillar behind them.

the crew watched with shocked eyes as everything above their heads began to crumble. [name] acted quick, as did ace.

ace made the stones fire backwards with an attack that knocked over other stone pillars as well and [name] quickly transported himself, using soru, to go right next to the family. he made sure to have a hold on all of them before using the technique once more to move away from the falling debris.

“[name]!” the two children shouted in shock, holding onto his pant leg with clenched fists.

“are you all right?” he gently asked, patting down their ruined hair, “you’re troublesome kids, huh? you’re worrying your dad and even worrying me,” [name] joked. the kids tearfully looked at their father who was, thanks to [name], unharmed.

“hey, old man, did you die?” luffy asked, kneeling down to get a good look at scorpion’s face.

“don’t be ridiculous!” the man gruffly said, sitting upright and collecting his kids into his arms. “scorpion-sama is indestructible!”

[name] clicked his tongue at the father’s attempt in easing his kids’ minds, shaking his head in amusement.

the family soon collected themselves, said their thanks to the crew and ace, and were ready to be on their way. [name] walked ahead of the crew and caught the father on his wrist.

everyone watched in curiousity as [name] leaned into the man’s ear and whispered something to him. in a couple of seconds after saying that, the man nodded his head, newfound tears in his eyes, and gave [name] a rough pat on the shoulder.

then they all bid each other goodbye with wide waves and smiles.

unfortunately, seeing as blackbeard was no longer in alabasta, ace had no reason to be there anymore.

i jinxed it, [name] thought to himself, sighing in forlorn.

“where are you gonna go now?” sanji asked.

“scorpion said that blackbeard was seen somewhere west of here, so i’ll head in that direction,” ace replied easily, digging into his pocket and pulling out a white scrap of paper. he threw it to luffy, who caught it with a confused look on his face, “always hang on to that,”

“what? it’s just a white scrap of paper,” luffy said, blinking owlishly.

”that scrap of paper will bring you and me together again sometime,” ace informed the group, making luffy open the paper up to its full size, “it’s natural for a big brother to worry about his bungling kid brother.”

ace’s smile was so wide that his eyes turned into crescent moons and [name] felt nothing but bliss when he saw the sight.

“he might be a bit much for you to handle, but take good care of ‘im,” a polite bow followed, “and luffy, the next time we meet, we’ll be top pirates. come to the top! and who knows, if you try really hard, then you might have a higher bounty than [name] when that time comes!”

“impossible,” [name] grinned, making luffy shake his head with steam coming out of his ears.

“i definitely will!”

“and speaking of,” ace said, grabbing [name] by his forearm and whisking him away, “gotta give a private farwell to [name]!!”

the crew watched as ace dragged [name] ahead, luffy calling out, “oi! don’t bother trying to steal him from me, jackass!!” as a safety precaution.

ace turned the corner to have [name] leaning against one of the rock pillars surrounding them. he dug into his pocket and pulled out another white scrap of paper, “this is yours,”

“huh? but you already gave one to luffy, i can just-”

“i want you to have your own,” ace cut him off. and as he put the piece of paper into [name]’s hand, he lifted his hand up and took his hat off of [name]’s head and returned it to its rightful place.

“ace-”

“i don’t want this to be a mushy goodbye, i just wanted to have you to myself before i left,” ace confessed, holding [name] tight by the shoulders, “we’ll meet again, [name], and when we do, i’ll keep my end of the deal, promise,”

[name] laughed at ace’s childish promise that he made earlier, but didn’t poke fun at it. whether or not he actually said yes or not could be something he worried about later.

for now, it was just him and ace and the desert around them.

“i’ll make sure to find you, someway,” ace said, bringing [name]’s hand into his own, “i’ll miss you,”

[name]’s lip quivered, wondering why it was so hard to say bye to ace this time, when it was such a breeze before. ace chuckled at [name]’s expression, taking him in by the back of his neck and forcing him into a tight hug.

without hesitation, arms were wrapped around ace’s waist.

“together,” [name] said against the skin of ace’s chest.

“in chaos,” ace finished, pulling away and proudly showing off the tattooed ink on his ribs. the words they said to each other was etched into his skin permanently in a neat print. right over where his heart was.

“fucking idiot.” [name] cursed, collecting himself to some extent.

he folded up the white paper, pushing it to be safe under the cloth tied around his wrist and he slapped ace on the shoulder.

“you kill blackbeard and go straight to whitebeard,” [name] commanded, making ace nod his head with a grin on his face.

“obviously,”

“then, i’ll see you next time, ace!”

although the goodbye was painful, [name] knew that there was nothing to worry about. last time, he thought it’d be years until he saw ace again. then coincidentally, the two ran into each other again in alabasta, in a restaurant setting again.

it was fate, ace and [name] both thought in their heads, but never vocalizing.

when the two would see each other again, it’d be in a restaurant, on pure chance, and in complete stupor of the other one being there.

maybe it’d be in a quiet village where they weren’t wanted pirates. maybe it’d be in a small town where no one else knew their name, but each other.

and with that reminder ringing in [name]’s head, he felt no worry or stress as he waved ace goodbye.

[ .ᐟ ] very long chapter, but I COULDN’T HELP BUT INDULGE MORE IN ACE CONTENT I’M SORRY

[ .ᐟ ] also yes i am claiming my love mine all mine as ace and mcs song !!!!!!!! i am staking the claim here right now!!!!!!! its theirs sorry (these playlists/song matchups are so fun to do and aces and mcs is ltr perfect i wish you guys knew how perfect it was but i guess we're just gonna have to WAIT)

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