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#it is very easy to ruin the mood with poor word choice

33roda · 3 years

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Kaeya X Dom!Reader <3

tags: tiddy sucking (m!receiving), butt fingering, (m!receiving), brat taming kinda, gn!reader I think !!

____________________________________

Yet another exhausting Abyss Order attack, finally over with.

It was a quite difficult one at that, having required a whole army of knights at the gates of Mondstadt, so Kaeya invited the team to a drink at Angel's Share, out of all places. Even after all the energy that used up, he's still in the mood for drinks?

Well, that didn't matter anyway, because either way, you would've been forced to go either by Kaeya or by Lisa. You sat quietly next to Kaeya, listening to him chat with the other knights.

"Ah, another success.. Of course, we couldn't have done it without our Honorary Knight here," he chatted, sounding as sarcastic as ever. "You truly are a new storm after all."

He rested his hand on your shoulder while holding up his third glass of sparkling wine of the night, chuckling at how Amber was already tipsy after one sip of beer. Jean held her up, furrowing her eyebrows tightly, looking for where Lisa went. Probably off to flirt with the new naive bartender. Everyone's enjoying their time here while she had to babysit Amber and Lisa?

"Of course, Y/N. It is truly an honor to celebrate this with our new Honorary Knight." she stumbled as she continued holding up Amber and wiping her drool with napkins, her slurring drowned out by the noises in the background. You let out a polite smile, showing your appreciation to everyone on the table.

"Thank you, Grand Master. It was a pleasure working with you today." The table was awkward. Too formal, too stiff, but Kaeya didn't seem to mind it, just smirking and slowly sipping on his wine. You almost started wondering and fantasizing about when it'd be time to leave, but as soon as you thought of that, you felt Kaeya's hand slide off your shoulder and started gently caressing your thighs. Ah, expected. Of course there had to be an ulterior motive to his invitation, not that you minded. Taking advantage of the loud, distracting chatter in the background, he ducked his head next to your ear just enough so you could feel his hot breath against it.

"You sure look bored, Y/N. Quite rude of you to not respect etiquette," he whispered against your ear and chuckled. "I have something more fun for you later. Meet me outside the bar once the rest leave."

Ha. Finally, something interesting this night. You had nothing to lose anyway, so why not entertain his request? his actions motivating you to just get the night over with, you try to be more friendly with Jean to lessen the tenseness in the air, her unaware of the touching and groping exchanged between you and Kaeya underneath the table.

Lisa would never seem to return, and Jean eventually got tired of the Outrider hiccuping and slurring on her words next to her, deciding it was best for everyone to just go home. Exchanging goodbyes to everyone, Kaeya escorted them outside, looking back and shooting you a wink and a smug smile before leaving the tavern. Oh what you'd do to wipe that smug smile off his face, and you'd be sure to do just that tonight. You started packing up your stuff, taking your sweet time with it, thinking about how you're keeping The Cavalry Captain waiting. You can already picture how he'll be squirming and begging to be touched.. What a pretty sight, you thought, as you exit the tavern door to be greeted with silence for a second; then the husky voice of a grumpy-looking Kaeya.

"Took ya long enough, Honorary Knight," he raised an eyebrow, waiting for an excuse or an apology, getting a figurative slap in the face when he got teasing instead.

"Oh, so sorry, Captain, did my touch make you so needy in there you couldn't wait for a few minutes?," you cooed, giving him as much of a smug smile as he was giving you earlier.

"Hm," he scoffed. Resistance? from a new knight like you? that's new. He was known to be irresistible, to both men and women, being all dolled up with his fancy fur and chains. At least he still has you in his hands, he thought.

Thank Barbatos the streets were empty ‒ if anyone saw you leading the Captain to your house in the dead of the night, the rumours would not sound pretty for either of you. But rumours were the least of your concerns, being in your room with Kaeya holding you against the wall and leaning down to whisper in your ear as you twirled his ponytail in your fingers from behind.

"Getting you here was easier than expected, Y/N," he taunted, "I'm starting to think you've wanted this for some time."

"In your dreams," you looked up at him. To be honest, he was a very attractive man - looking down at you with half lidded eyes and that smirk that never seemed to fade. He shot down to kiss you, but it was too early, you thought. He had to earn it. You grabbed his ponytail, forcing him to throw his head back and expose his pretty little neck to you. His eyes going wide as you started tracing circles on his exposed chest - now that was a sight to appreciate. Funny, he's the captain yet his skin felt smooth and silky against your calloused hands.. now you understand why he liked showing it off so bad. Switching hands to grab him by the face, you snickered, "It seems like you've been the one planning this, Sir Kaeya. Actually, how about you let me be your master tonight, hm?"

"You think it's that easy? Insulting of you, Y/N," you raised an eyebrow at the disobedience, even with your hands grabbing his cheeks, his words coming out slurred. Should've expected that from a smug fuck like Kaeya. "Prove yourself to me."

"You really are a brat. Not surprised, honey." you said, letting go of his cheeks and immediately diving into his chest to lick and suck at it, leaving it with red and purple bruises. Sliding your fingers across his wet chest and under his shirt, you flicked his nipple with your thumb before squeezing it, feeling him shudder standing in front of you. "What's wrong? can't handle it? need to lay down?" you didn't even let him finish before shoving him down into the bed, impressing him with your sudden strength. Giggling, you pinned his wrists down next to his head. "Just let me have my fun with those pretty tits of yours." Surprisingly, he didn't complain - instead, he just bit his lip and turned his head to the side, allowing himself to be touched. "Such a good boy, really,"

"Th-this is just a one time thing, Y/N, don't get your hopes up," he stuttered out between little gasps and squirms, "I promise you, I'll be stuffing you full tonigh- ngh!" he choked, feeling you move his shirt to the side and start lapping at his nipple. If he wasn't hard before, he sure as hell is now. Riling him up was easier than expected - although he'd never admit that. You continued nibbling at him, feeling his hardness underneath his pants on your stomach. Poor Kaeya, getting hard just from this?

"Sensitive, are we?" you commented between licks. "No wonder you love showing off your chest so much. Makes me think how you'd like showing the rest of you off?"

"You'd love to see that, huh?" he remained smug.

"Why yes, I would, Captain," you purred. You started unbuckling his belt and stripping him all the way down to his underwear, leaving so much more area for you to lick, kiss, and just ruin. "Such a pillow princess. Are you like this with everyone else?"

"N-no!" he exclaimed, looking insulted. "Just strip me already, Y/N." Honestly, it was pretty funny how he tried to mask his horniness, even with his dick as hard as ever under you, face flushed and breathing heavily.

"I'm not stripping you unless you call me your master. And if you strip yourself," you held up his chin with your fingers, "I'll just leave you here, naked and horny, with no pleasure at all. Your choice, Kaeya."

"Master.. please, please strip me - I need more, anything, please," he sounded like he was about to cry. How adorable, his pride crumbling right before him, all just so he could have your touch..

"Good boy."

You pulled down his tight blue underwear down to his ankles, freeing his oh-so-pretty cock. He was certainly impressive, but unfortunately, his dick would be useless to you tonight. "How pretty," you hummed, tracing every vein with your fingers, feeling every throb. "You want more, don't you? I want to hear you beg for more."

"More, please, I n-need you to touch me master, please," gasping, he tried rutting against your hand, rubbing himself on you, anything - but failing. "I want it so bad,"

Having the Cavalry Captain being your little bitch wasn't so bad after all. Laughing at his little whines and pathetic attempts to get off on your hand, you grabbed him and started pumping gently, watching his reactions in pure amusement. His usually striking eyes shut closed, eyebrows tight, his mouth wide open - it was all a sight to behold. Groans and whimpers filling the room, he continued trying to thrust harder into your hand, chasing his release. But baby, he had no idea the plan was entirely different than he thought.

He really thought it was just a bit of teasing, then you'd make him cum with your hands, or fuck you tight. But you stopped pumping him, leaving him whining and begging for more, a look of pitiful disappointment on his face. It almost made you feel bad.

"It's not gonna be that easy, pretty boy," you slapped his thighs, "legs up for me baby."

"H-huh?" he looked genuinely confused, still in a daze from the sudden disappearance of your hand on his cock. Not letting him waste any time, you lifted his legs all the way up by yourself.

"Can't even take orders?" you smacked his ass, making it jiggle and let out that filthy noise. You were impressed how loud it was, honestly. "What would the other knights think seeing you like this, Kaeya? maybe you want them to hear you get fucked? see you all spread out for your master?" Not even giving him a chance to respond, you shoved your fingers in his mouth, he could only hum little "mmphs" and nods in your direction. "I never knew our Captain would be such a slut," you watched in amusement as he coated your fingers in drool, looking up at you in desperation. "I'll give you exactly what you want." smiling at him, you rubbed your saliva-coated fingers against his hole for a few seconds before shoving a finger in to prep him. He wanted more, evidently, by the way he kept humping down against your finger with hesitant moans.

"Y-You're doing it all wrong," he slipped off your fingers with heavy breaths, "let me show you how it's done, master," You raised an eyebrow, and as soon as you were gonna grab him by his throat and punish him, he spread himself out even further with his hands, looking to get a reaction out of you. It was his first time doing this with someone else, but he's definitely fucked himself in front of a mirror before. Who wouldn't love to watch his body like that, anyway?

Shoving two fingers inside himself, he started looking for his spot, erratically humping the air looking for more stimulation, anything; but the most you'd do is stroke his thighs with a smile on your face, teasing him even further. He was obviously just trying to put on a show for you, make you watch him stretch himself out and look at him make the most erotic faces for you - he'd even make sure the whole of Mondstadt heard him get fucked, as if he wasn't gonna wear your hickeys like an award in front of the other knights tomorrow. Watching him fuck in and out of himself, listening to the filthy noises his ass made; you couldn't help but cross your legs a little. "Do you like it, master?" he whimpered.

"I know what you're doing, prince," you answered, "trying so hard to get more.. such a desperate bitch, don't you think?" he nodded in agreement. "Well, since you've been so good.." turning him over, you pushed his face down into the bed. He was already arching his back for you - his pretty hole all wet and ready to get fucked. "You'll still have to work for it, though," you laughed, hearing him groan in protest into the bed. Gently pushing your digits into him, you ordered, "Fuck yourself on my fingers, Kaeya."

Immediately obeying, he pushed himself back onto your fingers, dick flailing under him, sobbing and begging for you to just fuck him yourself - maybe if he obeyed for a little, you'd finally do it? "Such a good boy. And to think you wanted to fuck me?"

You wouldn't let go until you found his spot, curving your fingers towards his navel, making his legs give out from all the pleasure - the Captain was simply a doll in your hands to play with. Even when his legs gave out, only then would you finally fuck him yourself, his tears staining your bed alongside his cum. Fucking his spot even when your arms got tired, you had to make him cum again. His moans getting more and more high-pitched with every fuck into him, squirming and grinding his ass against you, he finally came again with a throaty moan filling the room. You pulled out of him and gave his ass a quick smack, letting him take his breath before turning over to face you. His cum all over his stomach and chest was a sight to remember, dick twitching, his face blushy and pretty lips open gasping.

Sliding your fingers across his chest, you picked up some of his cum and put it near his mouth, waiting for him to put his tongue out to lick it. He did just that, making eye contact with you, and even holding your wrist in place so he could lick it all up. "Good puppy."

He'll definitely be limping around the other knights tomorrow.. Not that he minded. He'll absolutely be teasing you again at the Knights of Favonious headquarters, anyway.

#sub!genshin #genshin #kaeya #sub!kaeya #gn!reader #sub!genshin x reader #dom!reader #smut #genshin smut

448 notes · View notes

sunsents · 3 years

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Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

IT'S. OVER. Holy shit, this took way longer than I expected it to be. Yes, it’s 20k mf words and what abt it. Don’t look at me like that. I warned ya’ll 🙄. Now, I definitely made up some words while writing this. Like a shelved corridor, the heck is a shelved corridor?!?! Please tell me it makes sense…please for the sake of my sanity. The smut is kinda tame so I’ll whip out the chains on the next one.

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

Summary —> Years later you find yourself face to face with the person that caused your ruin - yet this time, somethings different.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 20k... honestly I completely get it if ya'll wanna sit this one out

Warnings: *deep breath* a poor attempt at humor / gingers / pining idiots / normal idiots / excessive cursing / fred weasley in slacks / alcohol consuming / very little angst (its mostly just overthinking) to fluff / minor character death / smut / oral, (fem) / fingering / cum play / sexual mf intercourse mfs / protected sex (dont be silly protect your willy) / dirty talk / sappy stuff

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

tagged: @opalsheart @ronsbadidea @uselessmoonlight @boxofbadaddiction @lovenonymously @sergeantkilowog @rudypankowisdaddy, @nobutfredweasleytho some names didn’t come up when I tried, so what do we get from this? I can't properly use Tumblr <3

Five Years Later, 2003

"____, will you just calm down." Aleyna lets go of the book box full of bathroom supplies and they clink together, to which you wince because these are your stuff and you’re in a far too dangerous position to lose more money.

"How can I calm down?!" you exclaim dramatically, tossing your wand on the nylon wrapped couch. "It's all Stacey's fault."

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

"That one chick from Magical Catastrophes who always has lipstick on her teeth."

"I don't think her name is Stacey though."

You send Aleyna a look that screams, stop being reasonable at a time like this. No, this was when you overpaid your TV cable to air The Twilight Zone and drank cheap wine while cursing out your boss who cared about your well being. Hermione had become The Minister of Magic, and of course you were proud of her. Though, this didn't mean she could let you have time off work whenever something insignificant happened.

"Probably not," you mutter, opening your fridge and coming face to face with the painful truth that it’s empty, and you’re hungry. Your hand unintentionally flies to graze over your scar as you survey your options, a small pack of ketchup and left over chips. "Suits her though, feels good to say 'Goddamnit Stacey' when something goes wrong in my life."

Stacey deserves it because Stacey doesn’t refill the staplers on purpose.

Aleyna snorts, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "What did Stacey ever do to you?" Then she wheels across your new apartment to retrieve more boxes from outside.

You’re grateful for the support of all your friends, but the pitying looks they give you whenever someone mentions the words house and fire is enough to fuel into your secret want of setting their houses on fire. It was an accident, you were just trying to make the delicious recipe Molly had sent you, ignoring the small fact that you didn't know how to properly use an oven. The savings you lost from your bleeding bank account were not worth pasta with tomato sauce on it.

Though, your new apartment is big, bigger than your first because after making a name for yourself as an Auror money came easily. Wide walls for a projector TV, long tail shaped couch standing firm on varnished wood floorings, and two bedrooms that have their own - kind of unnecessary - bathrooms. Not to mention the giant kitchen with an island, only rich people had islands, where you could make plenty of Italian recipes and not worry about burning the house down because Aleyna fool-proofed it for you.

The flat was at the top floor of the new bar she just built, and she was kind enough to let you start renting the place. The residents of Diagon Alley had been fighting for this apartment for months, and you were proud to have snagged it before anyone could even offer.

Gripping the last two boxes, Aleyna pushes the front door with her foot and navigates herself backwards through the other dozen boxes you had just tossed on the floor. "These are the last two, are you sure you don't need anymore help?" she offers.

You shake your head, "I can just use magic, not in the mood for pursuing the muggle lifestyle right now."

Aleyna frowns, this reaches her eyes though. "That bad huh."

Simply nodding, you don’t bother getting into an in depth rant about how a simple fire didn't mean you had trauma, and that you didn't need to stop working for a few weeks. Not that being an Auror was hard, your work days have been quite uneventful if you didn't count a few "Revalutioners" sticking a muggle's head in a toilet.

"I know what will cheer you up," Aleyna chimes, already clad in her pea coat and sneakers. "Dinner, and it's on me."

You couldn't possibly say no to free dinner, also making food for yourself was probably not a good idea right now. Stay clear of ovens, you reminded yourself.

After getting snug in your coat and fluffing your hair, you fall on step next to Aleyna as the two of you chat.

The London cold is brutal, shivering whomever until their noses turn red and making their hands feel itchy when sudden warmth overtook. You’re used to it, as is anyone in Diagon Alley. People are crowding the stores, chatting loudly and waving their wands around at stores to reserve whatever crappy gifts they were going to buy for their family's.

You hate the holidays, refusing to go back to America and visit your own family. Your mother couldn't cook, nor could your father. Though, that didn't stop her from insisting every year and giving you, your father and the Burke's food poisoning.

After three years of sitting through awkward family dinners where everyone ignored the fact that you were almost Head of Aurors, and focused on Eva's collapsing career of Healer only to praise her, you had about enough and stopped attending. It had been two years since then, they didn't bother to write. Your dad occasionally sent you money in a horrible christmas card with an even more horrible pun written in red glittery letters that also sang Run Run Rudolph.

"Ugh, everyone's crowding the joke shop aga- oh." Aleyna pauses. "I'm sorry."

She knows about your past with Fred Weasley, considering whenever you rant about work it ends up with you cursing him and Eva out. He had such a blame-able face, just like Stacey from Magical Catastrophes.

You give Aleyna a look. "You act like I'm not a grown woman who can't get over something that happened eight years ago." you say, shaking off the small snow particles that begin to lightly fall. "You should be like this with, I don't know...my relationship with Theo! We broke up last year, why aren't you fragile with him, hmmm?"

Aleyna claps your back in a friendly manner all the same. "I know I know, but come on. This is childhood trauma we're talking about."

"Now that I think about it, seeing Eva's coochie was traumatic." you grin, and Aleyna's jaw gape even if she heard the story hundreds of times before. Not that Eva's...modesty was bad per say, just not a pleasant sight seeing as you guys grew up together.

Other than that fact, you hadn't talked, even seen Fred after the war ended. Sure, you occasionally stole glances at their very successful joke shop, but there was no point in dwelling and trying to fix an already withered away friendship.

You had fixed your relationship with Ron and Harry, having had no choice since the three of you worked together. "You were right ____, we were assholes. You don't need to apologize." they had told you, and that was that. The two families and well, you did weekly dinners and enduring the two men for Ginny and Hermione got easier as days passed, finally ending up in a good friendship like old times. It was casual between you, easy when no one mentioned how abruptly your friendship ended. No one dared to either.

Also, Harry was your boss and him remembering that you called him a drama queen wouldn’t do you any good in your career.

People bump at your sides as the two of you squeeze your way towards Sacree Fleur. The end of Voldemort brought a new, reformative era in the Wizarding World. Diagon Alley expanded, new buildings were built and culture grew. You were happy to see that Ollivendar's Wand shop renewed, along with other crumbling buildings that needed desperate attention.

Bandits lessened, and the utter arrogance some parents had by not sending their children to get magical education faded, partly because there was nothing to fear, and partly because more job opportunities arose, like said, money came easily.

Fleur Weasley, your good friend and someone who had done the impossible and won over a Weasley brother - though she was gorgeous and possibly the sweetest person you've ever met, so really they were perfect for each other - had decided on a whim to open a french restaurant. Bill couldn't say no to his wife, the rough man you had met years prior was softened with age and the struggle of raising children.

Good wine, deliciously soft steak that melts in your mouth and warm atmosphere that makes five o-clock feel like midnight. It’s by far your favorite restaurant and you'd much rather spend your Christmas Eve curled up next to a warm candlelit dinner on a terrace.

"Bonjour!" an obscenely attractive woman, Fleur greets the two of you when the revolving glass doors are pushed, and you break out in a wide smile seeing your friend at the door. "____, Aleyna! Come here, give me a big hug!"

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

With dopey smiles, the three of you embrace.The door closes on it's own, and you shiver unintentionally, just now realizing how cold it is. Usually the big marble fireplace keeps Sacree Fleur warm, but even that seemed not enough and the restaurant is adorned with small muggle heaters, floating up above the ceiling and adding to the red light of the candles.

"You'll see. Came at a most amazing time too, silly girl always knowing when to show. Saw all the juicy drama when you were younger..." Fleur continues to joke lightheartedly, pulling away and leading the two of you through occupied tables as she faux scolds. People are content, it feels warm and almost soft. Conversation seems to flow easily and the unease you feel for the Holiday melts. Almost.

You blech whenever someone brings up the line ‘love is in the air’. It never made sense to you, because love was simply a fairy tale that would wither away with time. Also, how could love simply float? Of course, unless you count Amortentia fumes - which yours always smelled like sweat and crushed hopes. So frankly, you prefer expensive Dior perfume in the air rather than love.

Though now you find yourself doubting whatever you engraved in that well protected head of yours, love is truly in the air at Sacree Fleur. All kinds of love, mothers lovingly wiping food off their children's mouths, happy newlyweds clinking their wine glasses together with nothing but adoration in their eyes, friends enjoying sharing a simple dinner far more than should be done.

"My family, they're upstairs having dinner. The kids like the ice cream here, Mr Fortescue provides it well."

"Family? Ginny and Hermione are here?" you ask, lazily climbing the steps to the second floor to reveal the more, private part of the restaurant. Now, instead of wooden chairs with red cushions attached at the middle, there stand long booths with comfortable blankets and pillows with empty, eerily clean tables - except one.

The long table near the terrace is much livelier today, people sitting there whom you consider your own family. The three post luster that hangs low from the ceiling is turned on - it’s the first time you’ve seen the glamorous glass orbs in action. Its light ricochets off of several bright orange heads, simply calling it a lamp does no justice. The hue is yellow, low and it reminds you of the Christmas Eve fantasy you planned.

Said orange heads turn at the noise of delight you let out. "Oh Fleur! This is gorge- oof-"

"Auntie ____!"

A pool of orange locks squish into your stomach, snug in the soft fabric of your coat and you let out a chuckle. You can’t help it, even if you would never admit, he’s your favorite by a small number that-

"Well well, if it isn't Teddy Lupin."

The small boy chuckles, hair matching your black coat like a chameleon sticking itself on a flower and absorbing the color of the petals. You ruffle Ted's hair as the orange fades, he’s delighted to see you, and so are you yet your attention is quickly cut off by several disembodied voices thrown your way.

Bill Weasley is standing up, wine glass on one hand while grinning wide. “Look who my dear wife brought in!” his tidy yet visible scar stretches when his face brightens, you remembered again that day, just how much love you have around you.

“Hey everyone, hope we’re not interrupting.” you apologize, wincing but Bill quickly shakes his head and pushes his chair back.

You waddle your way towards the marble table, Teddy following suit with his face still smushed in your coat. He grips you tighter and you have to peel his small little limbs off your legs.

Aleyna scoffs, arms crossing together as she surveys Ted. “The blatant favoritism!”

Teddy rushes on his little legs to jump in Aleyna’s arms, and only then are you able to acknowledge the other - a little less important - people in the room.

“Happy holidays!” echoes around your head as several people embrace you all at once, and you have to simply stand and awkwardly loop your arm around whoever you can get a hold of.

Once the formalities are over, Ginny throws her arm around your shoulder. The red tresses of her dress hike up her leg from her slightly bigger stomach, and you can see the small broom tattoo on her thigh that she loves to display like a trophy. “You should’ve told us you were coming! We would have saved you a seat.”

A round of yes’s resonate around the room, and you take a quick moment to scan who’s afternoon dinner you’ve just interrupted. Hermione, hand resting on her very pregnant belly, is smiling warmly at you, and Ron quickly shoots up from his seat and wipes his mouth to catch up to his wife. Harry follows in his friend's wake, his hair has a white streak at the front and you furrow your brows.

“Age catching up with you Potter?” you grin, rubbing Ginny’s back fondly before she separates from you and greets Aleyna. “Or is it the pregnancy?”

Harry scoffs, pulling you in his embrace for a quick friendly second. “Always the charmer ____. I’ll have you know I’m handling it wonderfully, right Gin’?”

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

Harry’s face feigns faux disbelief, and it quickly melts as you bombard the man with questions about how Ginny’s first trimester is going. You mentally take note of asking Ron about Hermione’s as well, your two best friends are fucking pregnant. It’s almost too happy, and slowly the anxiety creeping up from your spine wraps around your throat, ready to suffocate you whenever.

It was always like this, the past ready to make it’s deathly move, because nothing is perfect. Happiness doesn’t come this easily.

And you’re right, because not only a minute after the warm embraces of your friends comes the voice of the person you’ve been dreading to see.

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

He’s a man. Of that you’re sure, because now his muscles stretch well over his broad shoulders, maroon satin shirt loose on his frame, tight around his biceps - properly sculpted of course - portraying defined collarbones.

His eyes are somewhat duller, though the same glimmer of loveable mischief he always had is evident. It will never go away, even after all these years, yet it’s tamer. That mischief caused him quite the trouble back in school, and now it seems he knows when to act, when to speak and when to stay silent.

His silhouette catches you off guard, his features are sharper, much sharper than how much Harry has matured. His biceps bulge obscenely when he rests his - also generously sized you might add - hand on the table, and the table suddenly doesn’t seem that long.

His forearms, on display with his sleeves rolled up, glistens under the soft lighting of the balcony. Your eyes fall on his bracelet adorned right wrist, one of which in particular catching your attention.

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

His face, always glowing, wears a large expression displaying his set of perfect teeth. He’s awestruck, you think.

You watch him push his large body out of the small chair, and wow chest, is your only thought. Then further down and...god damn thighs. Burly thighs - probably very comfortable too - squeezed in black tight fit jeans, however he managed that you don’t know but it was nice to imagine.

He’s leaned back, casual as he strolls towards you in two large steps, his long sculpted legs never disappointing.

Fred Weasley is genetically designed to ruin you and your insides with just one look, and you’re ashamed to have realized it all too late because when he speaks again you swear you saw stars.

“Wow - you,” he breaths, walking towards you with slow, unsure steps. “Grew!”

You raise a brow, Aleyna snorts. Grew? His steps should be unsure, because you want him to take them back, sit his fine fit ass back on that chair and pretend he never saw you.

Because this wasn’t your plan for tonight, seeing him wasn’t in your checklist. You woke up today, thinking nothing but coffee and a stressful moving day ahead. Not of the boy - the man you’ve been in love with since childhood, the man you blamed for your problems as an excuse to hide the heart squeezing pain of loneliness, the man you hadn’t seen in so many years you forgot what his voice sounded like.

You could have never guessed, and now you want to go back. Somehow rewind the clock to this morning when you were safe of your tucked away feelings trying to bulge, safe in your own little circle. All your efforts of leaving your house just a little early so you wouldn’t run into Fred seems stupid now. Your strategy ran smoothly for five years, it could’ve ran for more.

You would have continued avoiding him like your life depended on it, and his stupid joke shop, and the way he stupidly looked at you everytime he saw you. You’re reminded again, because no matter how older he looks he’s still Fred, and he still looks at you the same.

“I mean - beautifully! Shit I - fuck.” he groans, and George claps his brother on the back with a chuckle. Wherever he came from, because you were so entranced by Fred that you didn’t see George standing tall next to his family.

“____.” George stops before you, hands in his pockets. it happens too quickly that you’re forced out of your panicked state.

You raise a brow, and only then - Fred’s out of view with George’s figure towering over you - are you able to find your voice. “George.”

He pulls you in his tight embrace, “How come you never visited!” he scolds, chest stretching back to bring you with. “You’d think she’d bloody say hello once in a while! Maybe drop by our shop after 5 years, you quack!”

“George - can’t,” you heave and your legs wobble when he sets you on the ground again. You clear your throat, grinning widely at your...friend?

It would be fair to call him an acquaintance, right? You don’t know where you stand with the twins but you have love for them. This is clear from the way you can’t stop smiling like a sappy idiot - or perhaps it’s because of how contagious George’s smile is. You thought they hated you, but the youngest looks anything but displeased. He gives you a squeeze again before throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“I thought - I dunno. I thought you guys didn’t wanna see me.”

George scoffs, “Because you told us off that one time in seventh year?” he laughs, arms folding and displaying a set of bulging biceps much like Fred’s. “Yeah mate, you’re not that intimi-“

“George Weasley, finish that sentence I dare you!”

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

It’s Frederick Weasley, probably here to beat you to death.

“Hey Fred.” you greet, mouth dry. Get a grip, you scold yourself.

Fred opens his arms, “Well well,” he laughs, pulling you into a hug with a polite smile. His cheeks tint red when you shuffle closer, you would have missed this but you’re a creep, and you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man before you. He displays his beautifully indented smile lines, as if he was saying look at me! I’m perfect and sexy, I also broke your heart that one time, too bad I had no idea!

And it’s true, Fred never knew about your feelings. You kept them well hidden and they ate away at your organs from the inside, there was no reason to blame him. The realization is probably what compels you to accept him with open arms and wrap them around his neck.

You feel him shiver, dismissing it quickly because of the cold.

He smells good. Way too good that you melt in his arms and let him engulf you in his dangerous warmth. Manly, musky cologne, mixing with hints of cigar smoke that lingers on only certain areas of his shirt. You recognize the scotch in his breath when he whispers how much he had missed you, and his nape still has that cinnamon deliciousness he would parade whenever he came out of the shower, you fought the urge to shiver yourself, and it’s not because of the cold either.

It’s dizzying, and before you can start a detailed essay about how good his muscles feel, firm and digging into all the right places, he pulls away.

The past hits you like a ton of fucking bricks and crumbles down the firm foundations of the walls you have been building for eight years. You feel guilty, have you learned nothing? The loud pounding of your heart is a warning, yelling at you to stop getting swept away. Yet you can’t control it, just like how you can never control your feelings.

“I missed you guys too.” you breath shakily, you have to make sure to keep your distance. For your own good, you tell yourself.

Teddy pulls away your attention, and you silently add buy Teddy an expensively dumb toy to your checklist.

He sticks to your leg and is adamant on staying there. “I grew taller.” he says, looking at you between his eyelashes. “He says I didn’t, but I know I did!”

You chuckle, ignoring how Fred looks at the boy with such a warm expression, ignoring the way your heart nearly catapults out your chest.

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

Ted immediately lets go of your leg and straightens, hand going to his forehead to salute you. A giggle escapes him when you bend on your knees and act like you have a measuring stick on your hand. “Oh yes yes, seven feet tall and growing.” voice mock deep, you nod sternly.

“By this rate - I’ll pass you! Hah!” Teddy stomps his little foot on the stone floor, little sneakers barely making a sound.

You stand up again and fold your arms, “Well, I grow too you know! You can never pass me.” smirking slyly, you egg him on to see how much he’ll endure before he demands a ride on your shoulders - because that’s how giants saw the earth he told you. You doubt giants compare to a twenty four year old woman with attachment issues

Ted stands on his toes, struggling to tug on your shirt and bring you down. “No, I don’t like this game anymore…”

“Alright alright.” and with that you pick him up and prop the little boy on your shoulders.

Ted happily kicks his feet on your chest and you groan. He’s supposed to be five, not a midget wrestler. “Easy buddy boy.”

“You’re amazing with him, little twerp barely lets me tie his shoes.”

Fred’s voice startles you, only now do you realize that he had been watching you and Teddy. Speaking of, Ted’s busying himself with your hair, small hands pulling and twisting locks and mumbling incoherently.

Ear tips slowly catching fire, you chuckle. “Buy him a broom at four and see how he handles it.”

Fred shakes his head, tongue poking at the side of his cheek and you remind yourself to breathe. “You spoil him then? They say the way to a five year old's heart is money.”

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

Nuff words said, everyone soon sits on their designated chairs, and you pull one from another table, being the uninvited one.

Aleyna isn’t slick, you knew she had something up her sleeve the moment she had offered to pay for dinner. Though, this is your fault. You let her without calculating whatever end result was waiting to catch you off guard and ruin your entire life plan to avoid Fred Weasley.

Being the snake she is, snake Aleyna enticed you with nice food, dragged you to Sacree Fleur and did her little snake magic.

Awkwardly angled next to your best friend, you chat with Harry and Hermione while they tell you what you missed from work. (Not that you missed much, actually nothing different seems to have happened other than boring paperwork and Mrs Newersman’s new hairdo.)

Swirling your wine in one hand, the reflection of Fred from the rim of the glass keeps distracting you.

He’s changed, not personality wise though there were tweaks. Nor looks, he’s an adult now and his boyish charm is gone, but it isn’t quite that.

You can’t put a finger on it either, and you watch him laugh, carefree with his sister.

He looks relaxed, or maybe it’s merely the wine. Is it - no, couldn’t be. He looks happy. Genuine happiness and adoration for whomever. Love in his eyes as he looks at - Ah. He’s looking at you.

You jerk your head away and tip your wine glass back to gulp down liquid courage - because you need it tonight. This is bad, you tell yourself, kick you on the shin and punch to your gut bad. This can’t keep up or else you’re going to end up right back in that hollow pit of empty hope and gooey saturday lasagna.

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

Ron’s timbre voice thankfully grips your arms and pulls you away from said hollow pit.

“Uhh what?” you cough awkwardly, setting your now empty wine glass down.

“Christmas Eve, what are you doing? Going back home?” Ron asks, raising a brow.

You can lie but something compels you not to, maybe it’s how warmly they always welcome you, how they’re welcoming you now with open arms and nice food.

You shake your head, answering honestly; “No actually, I’ll just celebrate with Jambo and Christmas movies.”

And that’s exactly how you’ve been spending your Christmas Eve these past few lonesome years. It wasn’t that lonely, you had Aleyna and people loved her bar, you’d drop by and count down with people you didn’t know, at least you got to kiss a random stranger.

“Jambo? He’s still alive?” Hermione chuckles.

“No no, this is Jambo Fitzwilliam the Second, who is also a cat but don’t you dare tell him that!” smiling, you joke lightheartedly to conceal the harsh news.

Your hand reaches to trace around your scar as you speak.You know their eyes follow, and you know they stare at it when you’re not looking. Teddy asked you one day, even after Ginny’s scolding but you happily told him your heroic story and how Bellatrix smelled like piss and rum.

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

Jambo had unfortunately passed away because apparently dogs couldn’t live two hundred years, which you were disappointed because clearly Dumbledore could. You had already grieved and mourned, it left you with the happiest memories of your precious dog and you were grateful.

“Poor kitty doesn’t know he’s adopted?” George frowns, banging his fist on the table.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure he’s caught on by now, he’s three.”

“So, you’re spending Christmas Eve alone?” Fred asks, too suddenly and you flinch. He probably sees this, his effect on you.

You nod, and your friends gasp. Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal, or maybe it’s because of how normal it felt for you to be alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ginny says, hand shooting out to rub your arm.

“I’ve been trying to get her out for ages-“

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

“No Aleyna, do!” Ginny protests. “You’re spending it with us and that’s that.”

“Wha-“

George throws up his finger to shush you, “No objections!” he declares fiercely. “We’re having a party at our flat and you both are coming!”

“Oh! Unless you and Blaise have any other plans.” Hermione’s quick to ask, she isn’t being slick though.

Aleyna chuckles, “We had dinner reservations but we can make it.”

Hermione grins, and you watch Aleyna pretend that she didn’t notice her friend ready to snoop in her relationship with an amused smile. Not that it matters - she and Blaise have that kind of love you hoped for as a young girl. There was truly no two other people so perfect for each other.

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

Aleyna takes a sip from her almost empty glass and tuts on the bitter after taste. “Amazing, actually. He just got promoted…”

Almost empty glasses are soon emptied bottles, and two steaks turn into a large brownie for the middle. You know that it’s a good meal, because as you stand outside in the midnight cold, arm around Aleyna, your legs wobble and your stomach aches from all the deliciousness you’ve consumed. More like inhaled, you only realized how hungry you were until the second steak arrived.

“Thank you so much you guys!” you wave your arm, overly theatrical, forgetting about what a day you’ve had.

Though, the thoughts catch up as you lay awake in bed.

It had gone by too quickly, and your heart is still beating louder than any chirping of the bugs outside. Your bedroom lacks furnishing, it only adds to your wild imagination. Your mind paints pictures on the blank walls as your eyes dart around, Fred didn’t look in your direction once that night.

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

It’s strange, whenever you turned your gaze his way, he seemed to be busying himself with whatever, whether it be his fork or napkin. How interesting can a damn napkin be? Hopefully not any lesser than you.

And are you just going to ignore that goddamned bracelet? The one you carefully sculpted with beads in such a way that you were sure Fred would suspect at least a drop of your raging crush. He’s still wearing it, that piece of string and glass - the symbol of your love and effort - survived through a war.

Are you reading into things? Surely not, he greeted you as anyone else would. Or maybe he remembered - you don’t dare think of that night.

How can they act so normally, so brazen after everything? It’s been almost six years since you saw them, have they got nothing to say to you? Maybe an apology?

Frustrated, you turn to your side and force your eyes shut.

————————

When night bleeds into morning, every cat has a tendency to quip over to their owners on their cushioned paws - which makes no noise but simple claw scratchings on the floor.

Jambo’s no different.

So, you’d imagine the poor creature's shock when he finds your bedroom empty. If he’d bothered to check, you’re seated on your island stool, pen and parchment in hand and mug of hot coffee (instant given the circumstance) in the other.

You hung your new curtains this morning, and were making use of them by shutting them halfway on the hooks while your window stood half open. You watch the snow flurry outside and gulp. If this week was to go horribly wrong... at least you have nice curtains waiting for you at your ritzy new apartment.

Jambo wraps his tail around your dangling ankle like he always does and you barely hum in acknowledgement. He’s purring, and it brings you comfort even if it’s for a small moment. But your question still remains unanswered, What would a five year old boy want for christmas?

It had been exactly two days since Ginny invited you to spend Christmas Eve together, and you busied yourself with buying them gifts - a tradition you hated because 1. coming up with gift ideas is infuriatingly hard. It’s way too time consuming, nit picking every single personality and deciding what they’ll like and what they’ll pretend to like. Pretend like they’re going to use it, and then never touch it until that one very specific occasion.

Maybe it’s excessive, but you actually like these people. They somehow give you - a sad, lonely sewer rat that’d been a neglected child - joy.

And 2. you feel like those people you make fun of every Christmas. Though, somewhere deep in your heart, you know you enjoy being those people. You would never admit it though.

What? You actually relish in the idea that you belong to a group, and that said group causes you to carry out cliche holiday traditions?

Absolute blasphemy.

Finally deciding, you leave your apartment in warm but cher clothing. It isn’t as crowded this morning - or maybe it’s because it’s seven forty in the crack of fucking dawn. Though, with the amount of caffeine you’ve consumed, it feels like ten.

Would they even be open, you ask yourself, jogging quickly about the streets on your heels to avoid the cold. It’s Christmas, they have to be.

Of course your logic sucks.

Shivering, you round the corner tea shop and fasten your pace. Ass freezing, lip tucked in between your teeth, you realize you have underestimated the morning London cold.

Soon, thankfully, the giant head of George(?) you assume, comes into view. The animatronic is motionless, big porcelain eyes closed and displaying sinister gaping holes. You shiver, and not because of the cold either.

Keeping your eyes low on your feet, you push the glass doors of the shop open. You don’t bother to check the inside from the generous glass displays, it’s way too cold and you don’t want to spend any more time outside with the giant George doll.

A bell rings, a little jingle up above that puts a smile on your face. Jambo’s collar jingled like that whenever he got excited, whether it be a pesky squirrel ready to bum off your house food, or maybe a friendly one showing its face to piss off the house dog.

You sigh, and only then notice the delicious scent of fresh coffee roast. Invading through your nostrils and turning you into a drunkard, and you can’t help but gravitate towards-

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

“Who's here so early, couldn’t a man enjoy breakfa-”

You smile apologetically, it’s only natural that Fred just woke up. He isn’t a morning person, after years of knowing him you found out one way or another. In your case, he was mean to you and that’s when it clicked. Fred doesn’t like the early hours of morning, where his hair isn’t as tame and his lips feel like they’re about to pop. You find it charming.

“____?”, the man of the hour comes into view, standing at the top of the spiral staircase. The first step is a rung, rolling on the hinges of the wall's edges. The staircase rattles when Fred steps down, and you quickly jump forward in panic.

Mug in one hand, his fingers rake through his mussed morning hair then settles on the checkout counter. “Morning,” He smiles, and those dang smile lines greets you, as if they’re mocking you again.

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

“It’s okay, have you had breakfast yet?”

Taken aback, you nod. Disappointment flashes through his face, and before you can analyze he straightens. Taking a sip of his coffee and humming, he fixes his pyjama bottoms. Red and checkered, loosely hanging from his hip and giving you a teasing view of his lower abdomen. “Can I get you anything?” he asks again, adamant on offering you something.

You shake your head no and you watch his face fall. Merlin, you would have come starving if it meant having breakfast with him. The view before you is enough to fulfill your darkest fantasies, and this is enough. Because you know that this is all you could get. His friendship.

But is it though? Is it truly enough? Will it ever be enough?

The questions that linger around your head have an answer that you wouldn’t dare set free. Everything you’re doing right now is wrong, how you’re standing in front of him, letting his delicious scent compel you further into him.

He smells almost alluring - he always does - less piquant than yesterday. Probably the after taste of neglecting a shower, yet his natural fragrance is just as charming. You remember those mornings at the Burrow when Fred stumbled down the stairs, sun early and bright, woken up just like himself. He smelled ama-

Woah, down girl.

Fred clears his throat, and only then do you realize how long it has been since you spoke.

“I need to buy something.” you blurt. Fuck, this couldn't get more embarrassing. “For Ted, his gift.” You finish lamely.

“Ah,” Fred chuckles, giving you a quick lookover. You flush. “You have come to the right place.”

It’s true, the shop is truly...something. A gateway to heaven for anyone twelve or younger. Fascinated, you take your time to linger your eyes on every little nook and cranny that catches your eye.

The shop feels much tamer without the telltale rowdy crowd, it’s almost comforting. You can really see a piece of each twin on each display, Fred’s being the Deflagration Deluxe. ‘A deluxe selection of Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs’ read on the big cardboard. You chuckle, he always had a bag full of them that he carried around religiously.

“Those!” he exclaims, scurrying over to the display, “New and improved by yours truly.”

You chuckle, and Fred breaks out into a smile. “Here, I’ll show you around.” he mutters, before you can utter a protest, he takes your hand in his and drags you to a shelved corridor. “This is his favorite section, explosives and quidditch.”

You smile as you scan the heaps of colorful products lining the walls, all engraved with the shop's signature logo. Fingers coming out to touch a few, you subconsciencly swing your encased hands together. “These are real neat.”

Fred smirks, though his palms feel hotter than usual, “Not so much when he’s blowing up the bloody flat.”

You chuckle softly, eyes fluttering to imagine little Ted shaking up a pair of fireworks, unknowingly setting them off and resulting in a giant black mark on the ceiling. Because only that explains the small black stains on the walls of the shop.

“See anything you like?” Fred offers, almost in a whisper.

“No I,” you turn back to him, and something flashes between the two of you. “I’m still…looking.”

The air feels tense, warm, affecting your body. Your breath catches in your throat, Fred’s eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t know what to do. Even your breathing feels on edge.

He moves closer to you and your heart flutters. His exhales hit your ear, only a breadth away from your neck and you flinch. Chills lift up the hair on your arms, “No...erm.” you mutter.

“Alright.” he says softly.

His eyes are hooded, displaying a perfectly long set of eyelashes.

How, is the question. They’re long and thick, and you’re jealous. Yes, you might have ruined yours with your curler but still, if you were born with eyelashes like that you wouldn’t even need a blasted curler.

“What are you thinking ‘bout.” he whispers, long digit lifting to stroke your cheek. So soft that you barely feel it, before he trails it up your cheekbones, to the panes of your face.

The same alarms blast in your ears, and you can’t ignore them this time. It isn’t that you don’t like this, on the contrary you’re ready to jump him.

“Eva!”

Fred takes a step back, face falling. “What?”

You shake off whatever just happened seconds ago and focus on reality. “Gosh, I forgot to ask.” you exclaim, over excited but at what cost. “How is she doing? Is she up there in the flat?”

Fred winces. “Actually-”

“I’m guessing you guys moved in together, after all those years you know. Don’t tell me you guys got marr-”

“____!” he takes a deep breath, “We broke up a few years ago.”

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

Fred shushes you with a finger. Embarrassed, warmth spreads through you like a tidal wave. “I fell out of love, but it felt nice to have someone around, you know?”

You don’t say anything, yes you know but his loneliness and yours is much too different.

Growing up, Fred had the support of his family, he always had someone there. You knew it was bad to dismiss him like this, but the aching in your heart wasn’t going to allow him to speak like that. He always had someone affirming that it would be okay, someone to pat his back whenever he scored a goal through a hoop, whenever he got a good grade or did a cool trick with his broom. He still had them, even if he was at his worst. He had endless support. You didn’t.

It wasn’t easy after the war, living alone with nothing but the collar of Jambo gripped tightly in your hands. He had died shortly after Voldemort fell, and you had to hang onto the last piece he left until your agony died down. That was your only support.

Ginny, Hermione and Aleyna were there of course, but everyone's way of coping is different, and they didn’t understand yours nor each other’s. It’s worse to try and forget, run away from that fear because it would always catch up with you, and you found that the best way is to sit and feel.

But that doesn't mean your friends weren’t any less supportive. The after effects of the war were way more harsh on you than you let on, you were stuck on autopilot - a painful loop that made your life feel worthless. Work, money, survival - the three main aspects occupying your mind at all times. You didn’t have the love and attention to give to friends or a relationship (maybe that’s why it never worked out) but soon, Ginny and Hermione had reached out to you.

It was a simple letter delivered by their family owl Nebula - a descendant of poor old Errol. You remember tears pooling in your eyes when they told you how much they missed you, they gave meaning to your life. It was no longer the painful loop, they invited you over for dinner, visited every other day after hooking up your house Floo Network, you were always a welcomed guest in their homes.

They made you realize that friendship didn’t need much energy nor hard effort, just being there for each other was enough. Love for someone came naturally, and you didn’t need to extract some of your own self-love to give to others. They were two different things.

Skimming past that, you watch Fred show you three different options of Make Your Own Fireworks kits. You smile solemnly, accept a random one and quietly follow him to the checkup counter.

“So.” he starts, wrapping the product with the paper design you picked. “How about you, anyone special?”

Drumming your fingers on the counter, you shrug. “I dated Theo Nott for a year, I knew nothing would come out of it but like you said, nice to have someone.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Nott? Really?” he frowns. “Can’t believe that tosser managed to-”

You snort, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging, Fred hands you the package. “Nothing, it’s just that -” he pauses and his eyes look at you like you should know what he’s talking about. As if the two of you have some sort of telepathic connection, Fred was always like this.

He would look at you like you understood a word you said, even though he’s been silent for the past minute or so. He always struggled to express himself, and you’re sad to see that this habit followed him into adulthood.

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

“Nevermind,” he sighs. “That’ll be twenty five galleons.”

“Twenty what?” Your eyes widen. “You heartless man!”

Fred gapes at you, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Twenty five, to your oldest pal? Twenty and a stick of gum.”

Fred pretends to think. “How about you keep the gum and give me twenty four.”

“Twenty two.” you narrow your eyes, leaning forward on the counter. “Oh come on, it’s Christmas!”

Fred scoffs,“I am giving you the holiday discount!”

Grumbling, you reluctantly stick your hand in your purse and take out your wallet. “I won’t forget this. You’re in my book.”

Fred gasped dramatically, “Not the book!” he exclaims, “Twenty two then, please for the love of merlin not the book.”

You lift your chin, head tilting to the side to survey him mockingly. “Twenty two it is, you won’t get away so easily next time.”

The two of you giggling, you pay him the money and leave a few sickles. “For the great service.” you say, him pretend-blushing at your words and tucking a strand of his shoulder length hair behind his ear.

He speaks after some time, the laughter has died down and left it’s comforting after taste. “I missed you ____, why didn’t you visit?”

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

How can he ask that when the answer is so obvious. Fred’s still cruel it seems, he doesn’t bat an eyelash as he speaks. He knows the reason.

“Oh you know,” you start after some time, “Work and stuff.” you lie, and fight the urge to cringe at your words.

Though Fred doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t push it either. He simply nods, looking down at the checkout counter. You’re glad he’s avoiding your gaze, because it makes your departure much easier. “See you at the party Fred, thanks for the...uh. Yeah.” you awkwardly lift your bag up and give him a wave before pushing yourself outside. You can finally breathe.

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

Blaise was arriving in exactly seven minutes and you barely just put on your dress. You’re sure of this because Blaise is always on time, he even has an unnecessarily expensive watch on his right hand that he obsessively likes to check. At least Aleyna’s into it, frantically trying to strap her heels, she’s wriggling herself towards the front door to somehow track her lover. You don’t know how love works, maybe they can smell each other from a mile away or something.

Shaking your head, you fluff your hair and wipe a hand across your under eye after wetting it with your tongue. You think Aleyna calls for you, you’re not sure because you’re too occupied trying to decide if you’re going to wear lipstick.

“Hey,” you walk out of your bathroom door and scurry towards her, “should I?”

Aleyna raises a brow. You scoff, “Stop doing that, you know I can’t raise mine individually.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem too if you don’t help me.”

As reflex, you roll your eyes. You only do this because you know it reminds Aleyna of that one chick from Blaise’s workplace - she knows no boundaries, apparently. It’s a shitty move, but it’s a shitty world.

Aleyna carefully inspects the two products you hold tightly between your hands. A simple shimmery gloss and a nude, almost dark red lipstick you stole - borrowed - from her. “Depends, who are you smooching?”

Throwing her an incredulous look, you hold out the two products on your palms. “I’m not smooching anyone.”

Unless of course Fred Weasley asks, if he does you would pull out makeup wipes from thin air and jump into his arms with naked lips ready to be kissed. Though, that’s only a fantasy and Fred is emotionally unavailable...scratch that, you are.

You’re not sure how tonight is going to end, and you can’t help but be aware of that looming clump of anxiety, clutching on your chest and refusing to let go until you're assured that it’s going to be fine.

“The gloss, just in case.” Aleyna stops your train of thought before it trashes off its tracks and crashes somewhere in Fred McDreamy land.

You nod, making no further inquiries and getting yourself ready as best as you can. Fixing your bodice and giving your scar a quick look, you finally hear the doorbell ring after a few long minutes, followed by Blaise’s deep voice greeting his girlfriend. You give the couple a few seconds to smooch - if you will, before walking back to the living room.

Blaise grins when he sees you, he’s wearing a sleek black suit with its first two collar buttons undone - you expect no less class from him.

“Happy Christmas!” you chime, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him tight just enough so you can whisper in his ear. “I hope you picked out the second ring, Zabini.”

Blaise swallows thickly before laughing, you know this because you physically feel him start to sweat. “I swear I did, don’t worry I have a plan.” he winks after letting go.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he loops an arm around Aleyna’s waist and pulls her by his side. “Only the best for my girl.”

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

You quickly clear your throat, “Anyways, let’s go before the serenading and the rose petals start.”

The three of you finally leave, the walk down your apartment building feels way too short, and the moment you exit you’re hit with the wonderfully chilly Christmas air.

For a moment, you forget where you’re going.

Lights are hung up everywhere, across shops, tangled through trees and some floating in the air. You can’t see the night sky, Diagon Alley has one of its own, adorned with radiant moons and luminous stars just bright enough for people to navigate themselves through crowds with zero accidents. It feels breathtakingly overwhelming.

Glass ornaments are charmed to fly across, a special show prepared by Madame Mulkin, and Mr. Eyelop tuned in by letting out a few snow owls rest around random trees to add to the warm atmosphere. There’s flavour wafting around the air, you inhale again to identify it better.

Speeding your way through - it hits you, gingerbread and chocolate.

You clutch your bag towards your chest, suddenly you feel disgustingly sappy. Though, you are in public so you decide to shake off that small warmth threatening your heart and continue walking towards Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

The walk towards the shop feels too short again, you almost check your watch to see if Hermione’s playing with the time turner again.

You almost turn on your heel, dump the bundle of presents you’ve bought on their front door and leave. You can, in theory, you’ve separated from Aleyna and Blaise midway through and you can just run and never look back.

Tough luck, when you walk through the generously decorated shop and up the stairs, you’re disappointed to see their flat door wide open.

You stare at it, it feels too inviting. Frank Sinatra blares through the walls, you can smell hints of incense, trailing through your nose and tickling you, causing you to sneeze. You were always sensitive towards smells, and it never bothered you until now.

“Bless you!” George Weasley appears, rounding a corridor and greeting you with open arms into his neat dress shirt. He hugs you like you’re family, and if you weren’t holding a sack like Santa Clause with his your jolly ass hanging on by the mere piece of fabric of your dress you would have hugged back.

“Thanks, Happy Christmas George.” you smile when he takes the sack from your hands and weighs it with raised brows.

“You didn’t have to buy anything ____!” he pats your shoulder, hand trailing to your lower back to navigate you inside. “We are the gift givers, you’re our guest.”

You chuckle, walking through the long entrance corridor, “Of course I’m getting gifts you quack.”

George scoffs, “Using my words against me now are we?”

When you gaze up at the famous joke shop as a little civilian in the streets of Diagon Alley, you don’t expect to catch the sight of a flat this large. You knew it was sizable since two grown men somehow fit and live there, but you underestimated just how successful Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was.

The floors are wood, clean with even several shoes stepping around, chattering with wine glasses in their wobbly hands. A bulletin board hangs next to a quidditch rack filled with different kinds of equipment - old and new.

Too entranced by the cozy interior, you don’t bother stealing glances at the bulletin board. The kitchen and living room are connected, yet they still somehow feel like completely different rooms. The den is lit up by a brick fireplace, lightly crackling and making the atmosphere all the more comfortable. The soft fur (faux you hoped, though Mr Weasley did have a muggle hunting rifle phase which you thoroughly discouraged) carpet tickles your ankles and you have to hold onto George’s arm for support

“Bevvy?” he offers you, holding out a pint beer glass and you shake your head, admiring the apartment further.

Most couches are leather yet they still look comfortable, the kitchen is big but not obnoxiously so, you can hear the clinking of a foosball table - commotion makes sense in their apartment - the wide living space narrows through a corridor, leading to what you assume must be bedrooms.

You’re glad Fred and Eva broke up, because you decide then and there that you’re going to visit the twins everyday despite your history, just to step into this apartment again.

“____!”

Angelina’s sweet voice causes your unease to vanish in an instant and you crush her in a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas!” you smile, looping an arm around her shoulder and letting her guide you through the flat. “You changed your hair!”

Angelina nudges you with her hip, “Thank merlin you noticed, George is clueless.”

“Oh? George? You never told me - Hey Cho!”

You’re cut off by several familiar faces greeting you and telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you do, right next to Hermione and Ginny, two pregnant and fierce women that keep bickering with their husbands because of their weird cravings.

“I’m with you on this one Gin’!” you snort, eyeing Harry. You have a wine glass in one hand and the power you hold makes you feel too confident. “If the woman wants sausages marinated with toothpaste, she’s getting sausages marinated with toothpaste!”

Harry grumbles, “Will you please stop fueling this!” he protests, downing his drink and banging this on the table. “Look sweetheart, you wanted onions and mustard just a second ago so I got you ‘em, what made you change your mind?”

Ginny bangs her fist on the coffee table, in addition to Harry’s outburst. It seemed everyone was banging stuff on tables, so you do too.

“You think I know? Sod off or get me my toothpaste!” Ginny yells, banging another fist after you.

Harry kneels down next to the foot of the couch and holds his wife’s hand, gently massaging her knuckles. “We can’t get you toothpaste,” he says calmly.

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

“Stop damaging my property.” says George, materializing out of thin air.

You feel bad for Harry, you truly do but it only lasts for a second because this is even more entertaining than watching Aunt Muriel try to play foosball while shouting ‘Come at me you haired back marys!’

You’re enjoying yourself, the buzz, the warmth, the scent of fire. It’s comfortable and not at all like a party. It’s as if you’re visiting your friends for thanksgiving, homely and welcoming.

Though, the first crack forms when you see Fred, eyeing you from the small bar of their kitchen.

Dressed in navy slacks and a red, turtleneck sweater, he leans against the counter with a glass of Firewhiskey clutched on his big hand. He swirls it as his lips twitch, keeping his gaze set on you. His hair falls on his eyes, mostly pushed back but how strong hair gel can really be?

He looks good, way too good for a party. But it’s not the outfit, it's his entire presence. The way he holds himself, acts, speaks - shit, it’s attractive. He can do anything and he’ll always have that charismatic charm, it makes you feel envious, not to mention incredibly horny.

It’s Christmas, it’s a sacred holiday. You can’t let Fred sexy Weasley get to you, no matter how unapproachable and out of your league he looks.

You’re the bigger person - apparently - and you decide to greet him first.

You don’t know what compels you to do this, but it must be quite a strong force because you feel yourself start to quiver when you abandon your place on the couch. It’s so strong that your wobbly legs carry you while you push through tipsy friends and hold you up all the way to the kitchen area.

“Merry Christmas.” you croak, pulling him in a quick hug which he returns happily.

“Merry Christmas yourself.” he smiles, gaze drifting lower to your dress only for a second before he swallows.

His signature cologne that you’ve engraved deep in your head this past week bursts out again. You smile softly, relishing in him.

“You look,” he seems to be giving much more thought on whatever he’s about to say, he settles on; “Beautiful, you’re, uh - the dress.” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” your face falls. The dress is beautiful, not you. Of course. “Thank you, I would say you don’t look too bad yourself but that would be a lie.”

Fred raises a brow, putting his wine glass on the bar with a clink before slowly turning on his heel. “Aw, cheers love.” he says casually, “Wore it for you,”

You raise both your brows, “Is that so?” you fight a grin.

“This little number is my lucky charm.” he smirks, pulling on his shirt. “Made women fall at my feet back in the day, maybe you will too.” he finishes, more bashfully than before. His cheeks are tinted pink and, now, for the first time, you feel clueless.

Your heart stutters when you speak, “Trying to butter me up Frederick?” you say shly, nudging the tip of his shoe with yours.

Fred winks. “And what if I am?” he suddenly straightens, arms folding together. His head bows as he continues with a smile, “I’m joking, got this a week ago for the party.”

You fight the urge to smile, “Ah, so not the chick magnet.”

“Well,” Fred laughs, “It’s still very wolfish.”

“Whatever you say, big ole pussy cat.” you pat him on the shoulder.

Fred scoffs good naturally, “Ah, you hurt my pride ____.”

When you don’t say anything, his gaze falls on you. He takes the time to look at you, really take you in and it makes your efforts feel appreciated for once. He takes a deep breath, head careening left for a moment.

“It’s not just the dress.” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes falling on your scar. “You really are beautiful.”

Your hand immediately flies to your brow, tracing a finger down the gash. It’s not as noticeable anymore and your hair grew back - thankfully - but the knowledge that it’s still there, parading itself to everyone makes you feel much more self conscious than you should.

Fred’s hand closes over yours and you freeze. “You might not think so, but not only is your scar a wicked bedtime story, it’s very attractive.”

Your ears feel hot, “You think I’m attractive?”

It’s a nice compliment - especially when it comes from a man like Fred.

“Do I think you’re,” he gasps, giving you an incredulous look. “Of course you’re - ! I mean you can’t be asking me that - are you, gah!”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. It’s quite amusing watching Fred Weasley struggling to speak, clearly embarrassed. The knowledge that you made him this way, you were sleeping like a baby tonight that’s for sure.

“Look, ____. I actually wanted to tell you something really important.” he fidgets with his cuffs.

You furrow your brows, “Of course, what is it?”

“I used to, well I think I still do because it never truly went away but - okay, this is harder than I thought.”

You chuckle nervously. “Fred, you’re freaking me out here.”

You hear him mutter something along the likes of what’s wrong with me, until he speaks again.

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

When you left your apartment a few days ago, your mind didn’t calculate the outcomes of meeting Fred Weasley.

The impact is so strong that it causes your past to - not flash, because this is painful - slowly start playing before your eyes, like a play you have to sit through because the seats were expensive, and the star of the show, the star of your own life is standing right in front of you.

She’s wearing a gorgeous, gold cocktail dress. The costume design is delicate, it’s the type of dress you flutter your fingers in (the fabric is ticklish and soft, you just had to touch it) before moving onto the next. The rack is full of other suitable options, because you know you can never wear a dress like that.

But Eva can. She was always gorgeous, you couldn’t compare.

Fred’s eyes are wide, the way he’s tugging on your dress makes worry wash over you. “Eva? Erm - who invited you?” His words sound more bitter than he intends them to, or at least you think so.

“Oh, is that how you treat guests around here?” she fucking giggles, playfully slapping his shoulder.

You can’t tell if she’s purposely ignoring you - you’re standing right there - or just forgot your existence after seeing Fred in those pants because sweet merciful heavens.

Fred shifts uncomfortably, “Right sorry well, Merry Christmas!” he’s back to normal, addressing her as he addresses anyone else you can’t help but smirk.

Of course, you immediately jump on this opportunity. Eva may have ruined most of your childhood, she may currently look gorgeous - mockingly so, but you’re not kids anymore. No matter how insignificant you feel, you still have your pride to protect.

“Merry Christmas,” you add, jumping forward. “How long has it been?”

Eva’s expression turns sour, though she conceals it quickly. “____! Oh I love your dress.”

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

“Happy holidays Freddie! Where can a girl get a drink around here?” she squeaks? You’re not sure, her voice is too sweet and you don’t know how to act.

Fred grins, “Right there,” he points to a corner far away from the kitchen. “Lee’s in charge of drinks, I’m sure he can hook you up with something.”

Eva ponders, pausing for a beat. She’s expectantly staring at Fred, though when he shows no intention of accompanying her she gives you a menacing look and leaves.

You didn’t expect a big reunion because you saw Eva a few months ago at the hospital, you had sprained an ankle while training with Ron, and she tried to heal you before the Head Healer cut in and told her to take a walk.

Fred’s weight relaxes as soon as Eva’s out of view, it doesn’t take much to know something happened between the two - it wasn’t a harmless breakup like Fred had told you. You don’t push it though, if he wants to tell you he will.

“Well that was,” you say, and he hums in response, swirling his drink in one hand. You watch the gold hue with him for a moment. “Interesting.”

He snorts, “She drops by every Friday to give me green apples. I hate green apples.”

“How long did you guys date?” you can’t help the words that tumble out of your lips.

He stares at you for a moment, you swear his lip almost twitch in a smile before he clears his throat. “Three years, I thought I loved her for a year.”

“Well what changed your mind?”

Fred looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question a joke shop owner could hear. “You, daft idiot, you did.”

“Wha-” you stammer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Fred groans. “I need a drink.” and with that, he leaves towards where Eva previously walked on her precious Chanel heels. Leaves you alone.

It wasn’t like you called the man's family a disgrace and cursed his entire bloodline. Confused, you decide that maybe you need a drink as well to survive this night.

Everyone you had talked to so far ended with a disagreement, except George because he probably felt bad for you and your huge red gift sack. Embarrassment fills your cheeks as you walk towards the beverage table, you shouldn’t have come tonight.

The cherry on top gets dropped on the shit sundae when Eva Burke bumps into your shoulder and causes you to spill your drink.

“Oops! Babe I’m so sorry,” She pulls a red cloth from the glass table filled with different types of intoxications and rubs it on the fabric of your dress, further ruining it.

Embarrassment turns into frustration, this turns into pure anger. You see red.

You snatch the cloth from her hands and lightly push her forward, Eva dramatically - and very theatrically - falls on the ground with a yelp.

“Oh get up!” you hiss, throwing the cloth on the ground.

Eva scrambles to her feet, holding her right ankle with dainty, perfectly manicured hands. “Oh, now we’re turning to violence are we? Some things never change.”

You let out a frustrated grumble, stumping your heel on the ground. “I really don’t have time for this Eva.”

“We’re just talking babe, I don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

Suddenly with her magically healed ankle she trudges forward. “Is it the dress?” she pouts, bending down to eye the splotch on your chest. “I can pay for it, say...two sickles?”

Your eyes narrow, “How about this, you show me how your career is going and I’ll decide if you can afford a wash.”

Eva barks out a laugh, “How about this, I’ll show you a family picture album.”

Gasping, you hold back the urge to slap her. You never expected Eva to stoop this low, and you know you shouldn’t be upset over it but it hurts. It hurts how easily she can use your family against you with no remorse.

Beyond pissed, insulted and done with tonight, you pull out your wand and get ready to apparate. This time it’s not to run away, nor do you feel like a coward. You feel tired, using your palms to press into your temple and relieve your throbbing headache.

Eva grips your wand and tries to pull you forward with failed force. “Let’s get this straight, Fred’s not interested in you.”

“And you think he’s interested in you?” you laugh, “You broke up remember?

Eva flings her long hair back, “And I’m gonna get him back. No one breaks up with me.”

“So, you're still a narcissistic bitch.” you smile.

“And you’re still pathetically clinging onto whatever I touch.” She takes a step forward, and it hits you then and there that you aren’t going home sooner or later. “Wanna know why we broke up?”

You hold your breath, her perfume is too sweet and you can’t process her words.

“He caught me cheating.” she smirks. “And he still begged me to stay, after all that.”

Your nostrils flare, and you’re about ready to punch her. You’ve never seen someone so prideful, so proud to have done something so obaminable. But it doesn’t surprise you, you pity her.

“Some loser from the bank.” she mockingly wipes a nonexistent tear with her jeweled wrist. “See, that’s the difference between me and you ____. “

You almost scream bloody murder. “Oh do enlighten me.” Your voice is weirdly high pitched but you don’t seem to care.

“He begged me, not you. He’ll never want you. You’ll always end up with the leftovers ____, accept that.” she hisses, taking another step forward.

You don’t know what you’ve done to the woman standing before you with nothing but red fire in her eyes, she looks ready to pull out your hair follicle by follicle, yet it makes you smirk. With a shit eating grin on your face, it hits you. “I knew it.” you laugh.

Eva stutters, “What?”

“Why you’re actually delusional to think he’s taking you back.”

“Oh but he will.” she protests, stomping her heel.

“No, he won’t.”

When you see Eva stay quiet, you continue. ”You grew up spoiled rotten, your parents love you, hell my parents love you, you always had the most friends and always got your way.”

She smirks, you’re tempted not to continue but years of pent up anger is ready to burst through your chest. “Yeah, jealous are we?” Eve mocks, and you quiver as you speak. Stating the obvious doesn’t hurt you anymore.

“No, because you grew up thinking everyone will love you, no matter how wrong you are, or what horrible things you do, you’ll always think that people won’t stop being by your side.” you shake your head, tutting. “But you’re wrong. I guess that’s what too much love does to you - you think a simple sorry will fix what you did? Because no, it won’t.”

“Oh stop it, Fred wants me back, it’s painfully obvious.” Eva speaks, but she doesn’t sound sure at all.

“I’ll make it clear for you.” you smile. “Fred won’t take you back for cheating, you won’t get a second chance in your career, and you sure as hell won’t be getting an apology from me.”

By now, you don’t care who's listening, because they are. Oh, they’re eating this kitty fight up like free dessert Monday at Fleur’s. Your childhood friends are watching you with intense, widened eyes. And somehow, in a cruel, wicked way, you feel satisfaction. The harsh words slipping out of your lips like nectar, in comparison to the way they slap Eva across the face fills you with nothing but disgusting satisfaction.

Sure, it’s immature and yes, you could’ve worded everything much better to be even more impactful, but the way her eyes are bloodshot and vengenceful, it’s enough for you.

Eva grits her teeth, and you know she doesn’t have much to say. “I don’t need an apology from you, ____.” she speaks, and her next words cause you to freeze, because no matter what wrong doing, she’s still right. ”You’re right, I might not be forgiven, but in the end I will always be better than you. People will always favour me more and you can never change that.”

You try to lunge forward, teeth gritter. With harsh impact, you topple backwards. Strong arms are wrapped around your chest, holding you back from gouging Eva’s eyes out with the toothpick from the martini glasses.

“Nice weather we’re having,” Fred says, a deep rumble coming from his chest and against your back. You fight the urge to shiver, though you’re way too angry to be thinking of how good he smells. “Why don’t we sober up sweetheart.” he asks you, whispering.

“No!” you shriek, struggling to move forward. “This isn’t over until I break her nose!”

Eva laughs, “Oh come at me, babe! Let’s see what a traumatized neglected child can do, yeah?” her eyes flash.

A deep, growling of distress leaves you. “Oh let me go! Let’s see what a filthy adulter can do!”

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

You groan, “Heaven’s above let me go Fred.”

Eva takes two steps forward before Lee grasps her arms. “But these things happen for a reason!” her shrill voice causes you to wince.

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

Eva shrieks, lunging forward in an attempt to reach you again, and at that moment Fred seems to have about enough.

“Alright, that’s it.” His stern voice causes you to flinch, muscular arms still holding you close to his chest, he yanks you backwards and starts walking towards the corridor. “That’s enough with the both of you, Lee take Eva outside, get her some fresh air.”

——————

Fred has the decency to take you to his bedroom rather than toss you outside like he had done with Eva.

If the situation was any different, you’d be over the moon right now. Alone? With Fred Weasley? In his big bedded, fireplace occupying, additional bathroom having bedroom?

Said situation did not have you sitting on a leather rocking chair, big mug of coffee in hand while Fred lectures you like a parent. Actually, you wouldn’t know.

You’ve been quiet for the past fifteen minutes, too scared to say anything and anger him further. You knew how much this party meant to him, and you had ruined it with your childish, pent up jealousy. It wasn’t just you per say, but you had let Eva get to you.

“Can’t the two of you act your age for one fucking second,” he groans, hand propped against the brick fireplace. “I know how infuriating she is, but you-” inhaling sharply, he strides towards you. “Say something will you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

You gulp, you shouldn’t have brought it up when he was agitated, but you can’t listen to him while the words echo around your head. You feel awful, insensitive, anything else to call yourself that makes you feel better towards your lack of judgement. “She cheated, you didn’t tell me. Why?”

Fred pauses, after what feels like a seconds he bends down on his knees in front of you while you watch him, engrossed.

“Been waiting for you to bring it up.” he chuckles, his smile disappearing in an instant. His ginger locks hang in front of you and you realize that his shampoo, like the rest of him, smells amazing. You fight the intense urge to card your fingers through.

“Merlin, I just,” he meets your eyes. “I felt ashamed.”

Suddenly standing up, your hands flail. “Why?”

Fred stands up as well. His stance alarms you, arms wrapped around himself, brows furrowed and defensive. “Not ashamed because of you, because of myself.”

You take a step forward when Fred indicates that he’s going to continue. “I thought you were going to judge me. Bloody coward, can’t even break up with his cheating girlfriend.”

You scoff, “Fred, I’ve known you since I was eleven. Sure we had some tough times but do you really think that low of me?”

Now he scoffs, it’s nothing short of mockery. “Tough times my arse. You avoided us like the plague, ____.”

“I had my reasons,” you raise your voice, wincing slightly and it only fuels Fred’s anger.

“Proper liar you are, you didn’t even write, or even just explain why you suddenly walked out.”

You don’t feel ashamed for what you did, it was for your own good. Though, Fred’s right. You never gave a proper reason other than those childish insults at Hog’s Head. But now, with your head banging, you can’t think logically.

“Again.” you grit your teeth, words spilling between like venom. “I had my reasons.”

Fred quickly stalks towards you, enough so you can reach a hand, grab his jaw and smash your lips against his. But you don’t. “Excuse me for not giving a rat's arse about your reasons, do you know how worried I was!”

His words pull a small gasp from your lips, you refuse to believe him. “If you were so worried, you could’ve spoken to me all those years. How about that summer huh? I stayed over.”

“But I did speak to you!” Fred shouts, and your fists clench. “You were a bitch to me, remember?”

Your groan is filled with contempt. “You take that back!” your fist lifts to smack him on the chest, and you curse his overwhelmingly hard and attractive biceps. Shit, you really shouldn’t be feeling like this during a fight.

“You wanna know why I did all that?” you cry out, tears ready to strain your cheeks but you won’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

“Oh do tell?” he seethes, grasping your fist in a quick motion and holding it beside him before you can smack his chest again. “Merlin woman keep your-”

“Because I was in love with you, you dickwad!”

Fred freezes - second time that night.

Your heartbeat pounds against your chest, you feel vulnerable. Oh so vulnerable and stupid, you shouldn’t have said it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You should have just kept your stupid mouth shut, dragged your stupid ass back home and took a stupid shower.

But it was too late.

Fred takes a slow step back, continued by several until he’s on the other side of the room with his arms propped against a wall, head hanging low. He’s breathing heavily, you’re finally crying.

“So you aren’t going to say anything?” you yell, stomping your heel on the ground. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you and Eva all those years, you wouldn’t even look at me.” you choke on your sobs, remembering everything. The painful memories, the emotions hit you like the Ford Angelia with Ron behind the wheels.

“The Yule Ball, I saw you two together. It hurt so much and I cou- umpfh”

You almost swallow your tongue.

Soft lips, those are the only words writing out in your mind. Fireworks erupting around the letters and causing shivers to run around your entire being. Taken aback, you can’t move until your mind processes that Fred Weasley is kissing you.

Fred groans, opening your mouth with his and grazing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s so gentle that you doubt you feel it, until his hand grips the back of your head and presses you against him harder. Now you can taste the wet, warm feel of his tongue against yours, the certain flicks of the tip gracing your own.

He pulls back only slightly, panting against your lips and causing your breaths to intermingle intimately. “The Yule Ball,” he starts, going back in for another, hurried kiss.

“She told me, you - closer.” He yanks you in by your waist with his other hand, palm gripping your ass and kneading it with vigour.

“Told me she saw you with someone else,” he pulls you closer when your hands wrap around his shoulders. “It broke me ____.”

“Fred,” you sigh, gripping on his sweater tighter.

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

Heat curls in your lower belly. His lips are on yours again, begging you for something you didn’t quite know yet. “Freddie,” you chant.

“That’s right.” he chuckles lowly, his rumbling voice against your chest.

You merely shiver, latch onto the tufts on his neck and anchor him lower to your lips until your lungs are overwhelmed with nothing but slow, languid kisses. Fred kissed really good - oh who were you kidding, he was the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s addictively so, and you chase his lips when he pulls away.

“I,” he breaths, whispering. “I was so devastated by what Eva told me,” he hugs you tighter. “I loved - still love you so much, I didn’t know how to cope.”

“You love me?” Now, there’s more tears. You aren’t sure if they’re of pure joy, frustration or the ache between your legs. “For how long?”

“Since third year,” he murmurs against your cheek, breathing in your scent and shakily exhaling. “I still wear the bracelet, never took it off.”

“I saw,” you nuzzle your head in his chest, your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “It made me so happy, I thought you would have lost it by now or something.”

“Oh Flower, there you are hurting my pride again.”

The nickname knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You only hug him tighter, not daring to mention that throughout these years you flinched whenever someone said flower, or how you simply refused to visit any flower shop. Yes, it did cause problems during holidays and of course, funerals but at least your Disney gift cards contained sentiment.

“I wasn’t with anyone during the Yule Ball.” you mutter.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

Fred shivers. “I didn’t know back then, Merlin if I had…”

“You’re an idiot.” you chuckle, hurriedly wiping away the drying tears from your cheeks.

“That’s right,” Fred rasps, pulling your face towards his. “I’m a stupid, stupid prat.”

That was, if the loud countdown roaring outside Fred’s bedroom door didn’t ruin the most pleasurable lips you were going to taste - yet again.

Your eyes widen, Fred whines and pulls you back into his arms but you’re already rushing to the closed door. “We’re missing the count down!”

“Oh come one,” Fred steps behind you, hand over yours to grip the knob. You struggle under his hold and try to turn it. “I’ll make you count, hop on the bed, love.”

You have to gulp down nothing but air to keep yourself at bay. God, yes, you would have shouted, stripped naked and let him have his way with you.

But you can’t, not with your friends right outside the door, slightly tipsy and merrily counting down from ten. Speaking of, they’re nearing seven - you have exactly seven seconds to push Fred off and throw yourself outside.

Six seconds until you turn the knob and ignore Fred’s protests, five until Harry and Ginny throw their arms around your shoulders, four until George decides not the comment on you and Fred’s flushed appearance, three until Fred does, two until you’re suddenly pulled forward - one, Fred’s kissing you in front of his friends and family.

Fuck.

It was that one, long second that Ron lets the confetti burst in utter silence while everyone stares at you. It’s a quick yet passionate peck - enough for couples to abandon their new year's kiss and focus solely on yours.

“Finally!” George yells.

Ginny cheers after his brother, “Took you ten bloody years!”

Last of the Weasleys, Ron, gapes. “When did that become a thing?” he mutters, completely oblivious but still happy nonetheless.

If Hermione and Ginny hadn’t swept you away, you would have spent your night glued to Fred’s side, demanding to show him off after all those years of pining.

Your two friends keep asking questions - not overly detailed considering Fred’s Ginny’s older brother. Your lips hurt from smiling by the end of your overly exaggerated story,

The end of the night brings tranquility over the apartment, after presents are ripped open and everyone says their goodbyes, you’re left alone the twins, helping them clean the flat with quick flicks of your wand.

Your watch reads one thirty, you need to leave soon. Aleyna and Blaise hadn’t shown, which only means the proposal was a success. You want to go home and congratulate them, but also spend some time with Fred.

Fred himself is busy wiping pint glasses and lining them neatly in empty cupboards. The both of you keep stealing glances at each other, and it would have been more romantic if George would stop scoffing whenever Fred bashfully smiled in your direction.

“____.”

You hum in acknowledgment, watching Fred’s back shuffle as he washes the dishes.

“Thanks for giving a hand, you didn’t have to.” George smiles kindly, hands tucked in his pockets.

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

“I just wanted to apologize.” he looks down, it isn’t the dorky shyness George casually sports at times, he looks sorrowful.

“For what?” you ask, lips lowering into a frown to match his.

“For being a git all those years back. I was young and a shit head. I’m sorry.” he sighs, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

You chuckle, just the familiar voice of George resurfaces pleasant memories you wished you never forgot. “It’s alright, I’m over it.”

“Really?” he raises a brow. “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself personally. Go on, give me a smack or something.”

“I’m not smacking you George.” you say, you make sure your tone sounds playful to put his mind at ease. “We all had our issues, I probably should have talked to you guys instead of just storming off. Partly my fault.”

George smiles, “It wasn’t your fault, but I’m glad you can forgive me.” He squeezes your shoulder in a way to reassure you, while it feels like he needs it more. You nod fondly.

“And about Eva, we didn’t really like her, y’know. She told us that you needed space, and that we should leave you alone. Just now realizing how rubbish it sounds.”

“Took you long enough.”

He chuckles again, much more genuine like you prefer and pushes himself off the wall. “I better get some sleep,” he glances at Fred, “leave you two alone. And ____, please don’t distance yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

It’s the welcoming silence that accepts your doubts with open arms - everything was happening overwhelmingly quick, or was it just your fear of being left alone again?

You smile at George when he retires to his room, it’s more of a constipated grimace but George seems to have bought it.

You take this time to finally think, let your protective walls analyse what the fuck happaned in the last five hours because it was too good to be true. Fred couldn’t simply love you that easily, after everything he did. It didn’t explain why he started dating Eva without consulting you first, or how he was with her that night after the Yule Ball. If he loved you this much, why would he bury himself between her legs, abandon you in the hollow halls of Hogwarts? Why would he believe her so easily?

“____.”

Even his voice sounds distant. You can’t tell if it’s him speaking or your past.

“____, darling.”

Nope, that’s definitely Fred. His frustratingly sexy cologne is mocking you like every other amazing aspect this man has.

“Huh?” you snap out of your thoughts. “Oh, yes hello.”

Fred tilts his head to the side, expression softening the moment you speak. “You okay? Something on your mind?”

You tentatively shake your head. Fred sighs and reaches out to stroke your head - you close your eyes but the feeling of his calloused hands never show.

Eyes fluttering open, you realize your fears are coming true. He’s going to tell you that he changed his mind, that he doesn't love you and this is all a big mistake.

“Sorry,” he breathes, cheeks alight. You hold in your breath, ready to face the truth.

Fred’s silent; he’s doing that thing again. The thing where he somehow magically thinks he can communicate with you without saying anything.

“Fred,” you sigh, and his face drops. “Why did you date Eva if you loved me so much?”

There, you asked it. Because if you hadn’t, it would haunt you for the rest of your days, crawl around your heart like an infectious disease. You have enough of those, you don’t want another.

Fred breathing sputters, he looks at you like you know the answer. “Because…it was the closest thing to you I could have. I know it sounds awful-“

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

“I know!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know how to cope, she gave me the affection I longed to get from you.”

Your eyes start to swell, the sentence should make you remotely happy but it doesn’t. “Why did you stay with her for so long?”

“Look.” Fred cups your face, breathing heavily. “Yes, at first it was because I was petty. I thought you were with someone else that bloody night, I was heartbroken and needed a distraction. She was the closest thing.”

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

“Let me finish!” He sounds earnest, adamant on wiping all your doubts and replacing them with nothing but his love. If only it was that easy.

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

“Please just call me Freddie.” he whimpers, kissing your cheek harshly. He stands there, face close to yours like if he let go you would leave.

I“I’m tired, I have a headache and my feet hurt.” you’re crying, again. Nothing out of the ordinary considering you’ve been doing it damn well for the last eight years.

“Stay over the night, it’s late. I’ll make you some chamomile, you always loved chamomile. Please.” Fred begs, lips against your cheek and you can feel the wetness of his own tears. His forehead presses against your temple. “Don’t leave me again.”

Your heart aches, it’s the most painful kind of hurt you’ve been dreading to feel again after all these years. This was worse than the neglect of your parents, the pain that night in the Burrow caused, watching Fred introduce Eva to his mother. This was why you’ve been avoiding him.

Because this time you know what to do, you know what’s for the best and it takes all of the protection you’ve built for yourself to push Fred off. Now, there’s none. Now, you’re standing before him, vulnerable and all your emotions on display.

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

This time, the door you walk out of feels much smaller and suffocating.

————

It’s ironic how the weather matches your mood for six days.

Saturday; clear skies with a blizzard hidden beneath the clouds. Aleyna’s engagement celebration. Show up with puffy eyes enough to make you blind, sit through nice dinner without crying, eventually start crying when she shows you the ring, act like you’re crying because you’re happy, get snot all over Aleyna’s ring, walk home while the storm finally presents itself and tells you that you’re a miserable piece of shit.

Sunday; small flurry. Spend your day weeping quietly and eating leftover takeout while browsing through your tv cable. Eventually watch a romantic movie, weep more.

Monday; cloudy, soft breeze. Cry more, hug your slightly overweight cat and get dragged outside by Aleyna because she figures out that you didn’t sob in front of an entire restaurant because your best friend was getting married. Sit at her bar, drink beer and stuff your face with cornish pasties while you tell her what happened, until you eventually pass out.

Tuesday; cloudy and dark. Spend your day thinking if you’ll ever be loved again. Regretful, pained, hungover and miserably under caffeinated.

Wednesday; crazy fucking blizzard that catches you so off guard you forget you ruined you chances with Fred Weasley for a moment. Aleyna tells you how stupid you are, you realize how stupid you are, then find out Aleyna is more of a snake than she lets on because she lets you eat a whole pack of doughnuts and that amazing Shepherd’s Pie her mom makes.

Thursday; clear skies. Not a cloud in sight. Your head is unusually clear, maybe too clear because you forget to feed Jambo and take out the trash. You think about running back to the joke shop, tell Fred you love him and that you don’t give a shit about the past anymore. But you don’t.

And now it’s Friday. You’re sitting on your bed, Aleyna in your closet, flinging clothes at you for you to try on because she insists you go out. It’s been a week since you walked out on Fred, again, and perhaps made the biggest mistake of your life.

“Stop wasting away your pathetic life here and do it outside!” she yells, voice getting closer when she comes into view.

“Aleyna, I’m really not in the mood.” you dismiss, laying back on your bed. “I just, should I go to him?”

Aleyna groans, pained. “Merlin forbid, this is the millionth time you ask me. I tell you yes, you don’t do it.”

“What if he says it’s too late, and it is! I don’t deserve-“

“Shut up. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. What matters is that you need to at least try.”

You need to at least try. Aleyna’s voice echoes around your head after she leaves and you're back to your routine. Get up, brush your hair because the tangles bother you more than you let on, (and sometimes your teeth, if you feel like it.) then stay in your pyjamas all day while lazing around your apartment. You’ve started making coffee for yourself again, which is a small step but still encouraging. Plopping down on your couch, you sigh. Jambo follows, leaving fur floating around the air in his wake.

Love To Love You Baby by Donna Summers plays softly in the background, your magic radio is mocking you yet again on how single and sad you are. Especially after how long it has been since you’ve had sex. It’s painful, but you can’t help but think of Fred whenever you try to at least relieve some stress. Of course, this ends with you curled in a corner and crying, it’s frustrating how much he turns you on, and now knowing you can never have him-

Jambo’s loud meow reminds you that you haven’t brushed him today and you slowly get up, striding to the kitchen. You try to relax your mind but your chest feels even tighter with your effort. Your house is an organized mess, you didn’t bother cleaning up throughout the stages of your grief.

You should talk to him. You should go outside, get fresh air, make out a game plan and at least talk to him. Fred’s kind, the funniest, most lovingly stubborn man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t deserve what you’re putting him through. You don’t want to leave things so bittersweet again, you want to keep seeing George, even Fred if time allows.

The pain of your past doesn’t allow you to follow your desires. You hate yourself for it and it’s only a matter of time before you break and go back to your old, quiet self. It’s as if the past got your wrists on lock, holding you back whenever you try to sprint free and love again. You thought Fred would have unlocked the chains and swept you away, but that was before you decided that he shouldn’t.

Gripping the fur comb on your left hand, Jambo watches you walk over to him with big eyes. He looks triumphant, lying on his chubby stomach and readying himself for the brush of his three year life.

Knock Knock

Perhaps this is why Jambo hates Aleyna. You chuckle. “Sorry Bo, give me a minute. She probably forgot her coat again.”

You put down the comb and rush over to the door. Not bothering to check through the peephole, you fling the door open while laughing. “Forgot your condoms or some-“

By the look Fred gives you, you’d think he hits it raw.

“Fred.” you whisper, frozen with your hand gripped on the handle.

He looks haggard, eye bags under his eyes with slightly damp hair sticking out obscenely from the sides. It looks longer, or perhaps it's the way he quickly runs a hand through it and smooths it back. You probably look no different, yet Fred still looks unfairly handsome, eyes dripping with honey and curved bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his appearance. He’s wearing a simple black pullover with a pea coat messily tucking in the material of his hoodie. You can see the after effects of the snow outside visible on his grey sweatpants, you can’t tell if he came to your house straight after working out for…however long he works out to have thighs like that.

“Can I-“ he gives you a look over and you blush. There’s a hundred different things you want to say, and you merely stay quiet and look at him with hopeful eyes. Coward. “Can I come in?”

You step aside wordlessly. He takes one, big step and he’s inside. Cursing his giant legs, you close the door behind him.

“Wow,” he clears his throat, looking around your apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.”

Fred’s hand twitches when he hears your voice, as if he hadn’t heard it since he was a child. As if he was hearing it for the first time.

As soon as he steps in, his cologne engulfs the air around him - as if he’s marking himself in your house and leaving his delicious after taste. You would tell him he smells amazing but the air between you is too tense to say anything but;

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

Fred breaks out into a smile, and you follow. It looks like a grimace, a hopeful one though. “I wanted to apologize.”

Your heart swells. You know it shouldn’t, because you don’t deserve an apology but the fact that he thought of you makes you feel like you have another chance. Of course you do, the poor man walked over to your house in the middle of a snowstorm. There’s got to be something there, right?

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

“Been trying to think of the right ruddy words to say this past week but fuck that.” he growls, shrugging off his coat when you offer. “I’m not waiting any bloody longer.”

“I admit that at some point,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I had feelings for Eva. That’s why I didn’t break up with her. It was well after three months of us dating and I thought I moved on.” you usher him to sit down, quickly following behind. Your legs feel wobbly as he continues.

“That’s why I didn’t break up with her, and I won’t deny that what I had with her was nice, but it wasn’t you. No one ever compared to you ____. I was fine until you decided to stop being our friend.”

“I didn’t decide that, It was something I had to do.” you defend fiercely, sitting next to him on the bar stool of your kitchen island. Damn rich apartments.

“I know that now, but at that time I thought you hated me. I clung onto Eva because I thought - seeing as she was your childhood friend - we’d be friends again.”

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

“I started getting over it until that summer happened. It killed me to see you again, that’s when I realized I could never stop loving you. I blamed myself for everything, for fucking up all my chances even though I-“

You put a hand on his shoulder, “Freddie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fred pauses, squeezes your hand and gives you a wide, hopeful smile that punches you right in the heart. His head dips down to rest on your shoulder and he sighs. “You called me Freddie.”

“I did.” you smile.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you kept avoiding me. With the war and everything I just couldn’t, especially after that near death thing.”

“Near what?” You gasp.

Fred chuckles, as if it was no big deal. It makes your chest ache. “I got trapped under a wall, Georgie saved me. Owe him my bloody life. Took me sometime to get over it though, those were the times I needed someone the most.” he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“It was around those times that I found out Eva cheated on me. She was acting dodgy the past few months, and I feel awful for feeling relieved when we broke up.”

“But, that’s not your fault.” you sigh, hand caressing his back gently. He relaxes at your touch and a smile tugs at your lip at this. “You don’t owe Eva a damn thing. It’s okay to feel like that, because I do.”

Fred laughs, a small melodic sound that brings you pride that you pulled it out of him. “Oh, is that how it works now?”

“Yep, I said so.” you give him a toothy grin, and he chuckles, further causing your ruin.

But you can’t let things get too comfortable, not before you’re completely honest with him. Here he is, vulnerable and open, telling you his entire life story and you sure as hell are going to do the same - minus some embarrassing parts.

“Do you,” you clear your throat, awkwardly shuffling on your stool. The seat is uncomfortable and it makes everything all the more frustrating. “Do you want to know what I was thinking before you showed up?”

Fred pauses, gaze lingering over your face attentively. Breath catching, you let him look at you. Directly, fully look at you. He flushes, quickly hidden away by his hand when he nods his head slowly and leans on his palm.

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking if I should just go to you myself.”

Fred takes a quick breath. Shuddering because of the cold, surely, his tone is soft and barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared you’d reject me. I was going to apologize to you, get on my knees and beg for forgiveness until you gave me a second chance.”

“Oh.”

You let him grasp your chin and turn your face towards his, he lovingly strokes your cheek, long finger somehow reaching easily. “I’m sorry Freddie, I love you.”

“I’ve waited to hear those words for so long.” his chest heaves when he responds.

“Well, how much of a let down is it?” you smile, nuzzling your hand in his palm.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek. “Let down?” he tells you, as if he heard the most obscene thing. “It’s so much better than I could have imagined, and I’m sorry too. I hate myself for letting you go through so much pain on your own. If I wasn’t such a clueless git I could’ve done this much earlier.”

“Do what?”

Fred kisses you. It’s not urgent, nor wanton, it’s soft and tender that still leaves you breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, and you ruin the kiss by smiling but he couldn’t care less. Opening your mouth, you let him flick your tongues together until it’s a sloppy, needy mess.

He groans, and that’s when you know the kiss progressed much too far to stop now. The needy ache between your legs pushes you to hover yourself over him, and his strong arms grasp you by the waist. His lips aren’t a perfect fit, it makes the kiss all the more pleasurable and it’s until he’s slowly walking towards your bedroom with your legs tucked around his hips that you break away.

“Fred,” you sigh when he sets you down against a wall. “I want you.”

He frowns, “It’s Freddie, how many times-“ he gathers your knee in one hand and pushes his crotch against your center with a grunt. “Do I have to tell you?”

You barely respond, clawing at his back. The curve of his thick cock gradually growing, his thighs encasing around your legs feels too damn good and you don’t know how long until you’re fully at his mercy. Fred roughly rolls his hips, a deep grumble leaving him and the stimulation is enough to make you whine. “Again,” you rock your pervis.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, humping you harder. “You like this? How much? Let me feel.”

You rut against him desperately, trying to get off on the friction Fred barely decides to provide.

True to his word, Fred kisses you again with a groan, this time sparing you no tenderness and sucking on your bottom lip until it throbs. His hips continue to rut all the while his free hand slithers down your clavicle, down the sides of your waist - he makes sure to spread his palm wide to feel you everywhere - until he teasingly snaps the band of your pyjama bottoms. You yelp, relishing in his moans.

“If you like it so much- well shit.” his eyes flutter shut the moment he feels your slick from your underwear. “My love, you’re so wet that I bet I can taste you through your panties.”

If you weren’t wearing your yellow duck polka dot panties this would have been more sexier, and it takes Fred talking about eating you out to realize - oh my god, you’re wearing your duck panties.

“Fred, don-“

Fred has already pushed your bottoms down, revealing the abomination and further causing your face to feel hotter.

“Oh?” he smirks. “Sexy lingerie, all for me?”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder while he laughs at you. You feel his chest bob, and you can’t help but giggle alongside him.

“Now, strip.” he commands, and all the humor in the situation vanishes in an instant.

He lets go of your knee and you easily slip out of your bottoms, then slowly said polka dot panties. He grips your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips again and before you know it, he’s stumbling into your room.

His hand is cupping the back of your head, somehow gone there the moments he walked. You wouldn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when the heat of his cock between your thighs feels like that.

Fred deposits you on the messily scattered forest you call your bed, and the smell of linen mixed with his cologne is enough for you to grind your hips on nothing.

Fred tuts, pushing a palm flat on your hip. He trails his hand between your legs and palms your pussy, bare. “Babe, you’re dripping. Since how long?”

You whine, “Since the moment you walked through - ah, my door.”

Fred’s eyes glaze over with nothing but dangerous greed. Dipping his knee on the mattress, he manhandles you into submission. “You think you can just get away with saying shit like that?” he groans, eyes fixating on wherever it lands on your body. It’s like he’s trying to take it all in, overwhelmed yet still wanton.

He shuffles to sit against your headboard and pats his large thigh, you waste no time crawling towards him. He quickly grabs your waist before you can approach him. Pulling you against him with your knees propped between his thighs, he’s face to face with your pussy and drooling.

“Such a sweet, pretty cunt.” he breathes, gently kissing your clit. You cry out, knees buckling but Fred’s large palms are flat on your ass and adamant on keeping you up and against his lips. Your center throbs, this is all you have ever wanted - the both of you have ever wanted and Fred has the audacity to tease.

“I know, I know.” He gently sushes. “I need to,” his head leans on your abdomen, desperate. “Need to get you ready for my cock.”

You barely nod, Fred seems to be in battle with himself. You don’t know which side wins, until he starts to suckle your clit with continuous, obscene kissing noises. You grip his shoulder, body bending in half. It feels so good, too good that you can’t hold straight. “Please - Fred,”

Gasping, your pelvis rocks forward. He keeps you still with his muscles digging in your hips, ass, back - everywhere he’s desperately roaming and memorizing.

His tongue finally darts forward - you knew that goddam tongue would be what did it - you nearly collapse, melting forward. It’s wet and warm and god - almost what you imagine his dick might feel like if it ever prods at your entrance.

He’s licking with bold, textured strokes. Your thighs are quivering, it’s the sudden brush of pleasure that meets your cunt every other second that causes this.

“Shit,” Fred pulls back, one hand holding your thighs wider. His thumb circles around your entrance and you cry out in pleasure. “My balls feel so fucking tight ____. If I keep this up, I might just come before I can put my dick in you.”

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

“Don’t get mouthy with me.” he smirks, sliding a finger inside. “I knew what you were gonna say before you opened that sweet mouth of yours.”

He fucks you like this, wet squelching noise mixing with your pants and moans. Working you open, Fred curls a finger inside and your thighs finally give out. “Merlin, you’re gonna get it,” he gives you a sweet kiss on the stomach. “I’m just as desperate to fuck you. Look,”

You do look, very gladly at that. He adds a second finger the moment your eyes fall on the wet patch of his bottoms. He’s rutting against nothing, all the while scissoring his fingers inside you - and from the look he gives you, you know he’s imagining what it's like to be inside you.

“Fred!” you gasp, rocking faster until your legs start to jerk and twitch. You don’t want to come yet, want to savor the way Fred’s fucking you with nothing but two fingers and it’s better than any sex you’ve had.

Your arousal pools between his fingers, dripping down his bracelet adorned wrist, all the way down to his veiny forearms. It’s a sight for sore eyes, Fred watches in a trance, gaze half lidded. You can see his cock twitch in his pants and he moans, “Fucking hell babe, look at the mess you’ve made.”

His thumb presses against your center with his two other fingers working, and he roughly drags it over to your clit to press. He’s licking again, slurping noises mixing with the pats of his tongue quickly dragging across your pussy.

That does it. Whining, and with quick breaths you hurtle towards such an intense orgasm that you swear you see Santa himself and his jingle fucking bells. It’s sudden and weakening, you barely register. Fred’s there all the while, desperately licking every drop of his hard work until there’s nothing. He groans and moans, like he’s having his thanksgiving now.

He’s not like a starved man, or any other cliche line you can think of. No, it’s like he has made a deal with the devil and is captured by the dark vitality of greed. He can’t stop, and merlin, do you not want him to.

“That was,” you breathe, taking a seat on his thigh when he allows.“That was the best orgasm I’ve had.”

“And that was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen.” Fred smiles, it slowly turns into a smirk. The cocky bastard is way too proud of himself. He should be though, it’s been a while since you’ve had sex - if it always felt like this you would have never stopped.

But you know it never feels this good. No, it’s because of Fred. It’s him, and how much you love him, and how attractive he is - how skilled, amazing, passionate of a man he is. He’s perfect and way out of your league but you don’t care because he’s finally yours.

Said man is breaking out in a sappy grin, kissing your lips sweetly to whisper against them. “Get used to it.” He kisses you again. “I’m going to make you come again, and again, and again until you can’t walk.” he’s lowering you down onto your back, hands caressing your thighs.

“Really?”

“Especially now that I know how sweet and tight you are,“ Fred runs a finger through your pussy and you whimper. “How amazing you smell,” he dips down to lazily suck a hickey on your collarbone. “How soft your skin is,” his hands are lifting your waist up to unhook your bra. “How much I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze softens, and you let him undress you, bra after shirt until you’re left bare beneath. He shivers, his eyes are darting everywhere, to the curve of your hips, up your stomach - and finally, the slope of your breasts. He sucks in a breath. “You,” he rasps. “You had this bikini, that summer.”

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“We all loved that bikini, especially the days when the lake was particularly cold. Your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”

You should feel embarrassed, fuck you really should but you knew what you were doing when you bought that bikini. That doesn’t stop you from acting clueless though, “Fred you big oa - oh!”

Fred dips to suck on your nipples, mouth wide open and hungry. “From that day onward, I fucking knew your tits were amazing.” he groans, gazing at them for a moment. “ Shit, was I right.”

You feel his clothed cock rub against you as he speaks - and it finally becomes a problem.

“A-ah, Fred. Clothes,” you barely gesture, though Fred understands you quickly. Sitting back on his heels, he swiftly removes his hoodie overhead.

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

You curse under your breath - Fred’s chest is well defined, as you expected it to be. Well toned pecs, pert nipples hard and on display, golden skin stretching over his abdomen and six pairs of muscles you’d like to mark. He’s lean yet buff, corded well with muscle and now you know where those enthusiastic years of Quidditch have gone into

You reach for his arm, Fred quickly obliges and lets you guide his palm flat on your body. You breathe heavily - you love how you're he’s feeling you up like this. His hand lands on your breast, and he gives it a rough squeeze before rolling off the bed to get out of his bottoms.

“Are you trying to kill me, doing that? Huh?” he rasps, stumbling slightly. He swings his socks somewhere and gets back on the bed. “Is that what you want?”

When you don’t respond, he chuckles. Slowly, he pushes down his boxer briefs. It’s teasing, this motion. But then again, everything about Fred Weasley is.

His cock slaps against his abdomen - that’s how big it is. You feel yourself salivate, pupils expanding at the thought of such a thick, attractive cock inside you. You almost jump forward and sit on it but when you see the angry red color of his cock, the twitching of his head and the pre-cum that drips, it becomes clear how much he has been holding back.

Fred grips his cock and the head gushes slightly, you feel your cunt flutter. “Come here.”

You let him grip your body and settle you on his lap, entrance inches away from the head of his cock. You’re making eye contact, it’s almost intimidating how intense his gaze is. On your heat, breasts and fucked out face. “Merlin, I’ve been dreaming about this for fucking years. Let me,” he breathes. “I should just take a picture and stare at it all day.”

“Why take a picture when you have the real thing.” you smirk slightly.

Fred groans, “Ohh, you’re such a good girl.”

You smile, “Freddie, please get a condom. Flattery won’t get you that far.”

“Damn it.” he smiles jokingly, reaching for your night stand.

“Wait, shit.” you get off his lap and down your bed, legs wobbling a bit as you stride towards your dresser with hurried steps. Fred whines when you leave but you pay him no mind. “Been a while, here.”

Grabbing the pack, you stumble back on the bed and sit on your knees.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Fred nods his head. “Put it on, baby.”

You rip the packet open and slowly roll it on him, his cock is already wet and glistening enough for it to be quick. Your center pulses with want as you do this.

Fred pushes you down and crawls on top, centering his cock with your entrance. “No more,” he grunts. “Gotta have you now.”

Gasping, you feel him rub against you. He continues to tease, until the tip of his cock finally pushes past.

You cry out and glance down at where his cock bulges, it’s a type of pain you’d love to feel everyday. “A-ah Fred!”

“I know baby,” he whines, pushing further in with a quick thrust. He strokes slowly to work you open. You cry out, arousal gushing out.

“Such a sweet pussy, taking all my cock so well.” he kisses your jaw, feathering his lips around your throat and lazily sucking. “Feel so good.”

It’s true, it feels so fucking good that you can’t hold in your moans anymore. Not that you were trying to, but the desire to chant his name becomes reality when he rolls his hips against your center. He’s so close to bottoming out and the woozy cloud floating in your head grows. “Oh my god, don’t want you to stop.”

The stretch feels so good that you can’t help but clench around him, pain jerking your hips up.

Fred's balls deep in, his chest heaves and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He pauses, letting the two of you adjust to the euphoric feeling of his cock inside. ”Why the fuck would I wan’t to stop?” Your insides are throbbing, and you find yourself arching your back every time he gives you a sweet kiss on your chest. “Why would I ever stop. Shit, baby, I love you.”

“I love you too - oh!”

Fred withdraws, then slams into you with such vigour that you scream. Another shameful flow of your juices gush out as pleasure rips through you. He continues this, another harsh thrust into your cunt that makes you arch in pleasure. “Freddie!”

“Just like that.” he grunts, rolling his hips. “Love when you call me that.”

His hand hooks your leg around his waist, and he speeds up his motion, soothing the needy ache you feel.

lt’s dizzying, how good he can make you feel. Like you’re the center of the universe and all that matters is Fred fucking you open with sweet, yet untetheredly rough thrusts. It’s scary how lost you can get in him, and it becomes haunted when he captures your lips in a kiss and lifts your leg up on his shoulder.

“You’re so tight, oh fucking hell. Look at you, my goodness you’re absolutely perfect.” he murmurs against your lips, muting your moans.

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

Your cries egg him on, he’s ruthless with the way his fingers dig in your ass to slam into you faster. The angle, his thick cock, how he’s biting down on your lower lip, you can barely take in. You feel helplessly at his mercy, and soon he’s fucking you too hard to keep kissing. “Easy, baby,” he coos when you squirm underneath him. “I’ve got you - my sweet little flower. Feel good?”

The question itself is clearly hysterical, your pleasure is etched on to your face and your thighs quiver underneath him. His mouth hangs open, eyes droopy, yet he still wears that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Yes! Feel so good - ah you cocky bastar - umpfh!”

He drapes your other leg over his shoulder, your breasts bounce as his thrust turns more languid. Your back arches, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god - Fred!”

It feels so fucking good like this, so deep and good and - fuck, everything else other than him becomes a distant memory.

“Ahh - shit baby. Doing so good,” he grunts, his moans turn more high pitched when you meet his thrusts halfways. “Drown me baby, my flower takes me so well,”

Fred’s hand curls around the mattress as his other grips your thigh. He slams into you, stretching you out so good that your orgasm builds rapidly within. With your legs draped over his shoulder, he bends forward further until he’s sucking in your chest and leaving red marks. “OH - Freddie,” you whine, clawing at his back.

“That’s it my love,” he croons, head thrown back yet still adamant on watching you. His hands tangle in your hair, carding through and gripping them hard. “Come on my cock - make a mess of your sheets. Doing so well for me, wanna feel you clench around me.”

His face contorts in pleasure when your cunt does clench, hair draping over his eyes to cover his glazed, blown out pupils. Fred reaches between your legs to sweetly thumb your clit, squeezing it between two fingers and it’s the final straw until you break.

You arch in pleasure, shuddering violently underneath him. Fred’s letting you ride it out, finally gasping and his hands clench around your thigh and the mattress. Your hand finds his, interlacing your fingers together as you messily grind your hips and finally come down. Ropes of hot cum fill the condom around your sensitive walls. You tighten, aching a little from the warmth that you can’t feel directly from the plastic barrier.

Fred collapses on top with panting breaths. His head rests in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” you chuckle breathily. The post orgasm clarity makes you realize; fuck, I love this man way more than I let on. You suddenly feel the need to show him, and yet you settle for tenderly brushing his hair back when he lifts his head.

Fred smiles, grin lazy and sappy. After pecking your lips, he slowly pulls out. You whine from the sudden coldness when he rolls out of your arms, then he grins at your noise of distress.

“Hold on love, be right back.” Fred pulls off his condom, ties the top and tosses it to the trash before collapsing next to you - way more dramatically. His arm drapes over you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

You sigh, content. “Love you too,” you smirk. “Would love you more if you cleaned me up.”

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

“Not like that you idiot!” you smile, gently slapping his chest. “Swish your wand or something, I don’t wanna get up.”

“Hm,” he taps his chin. “Give me a tour of your apartment and I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, propping yourself on your arms. Fred whines and tries to pull you back in but you don’t relent. “Alright alright.”

Rolling off the bed, you rush to the bathroom, ignoring the pulsing soreness in your core. “Wha - come back! What about my tour?” Fred yells after you.

You laugh at his eagerness. “You’re not getting it!”

After cleaning yourself up, you practically hurl yourself in his arms. Fred catches you with something between a grunt and a chuckle, leaning against the headboard and letting you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes lull around, begging to give into your exhaustion. “Close your eyes, flower,” he whispers sweetly, gently running his hands across your hair and massaging your scalp.

The snowstorm outside has gotten intense, the wind howls against your sealed windows yet the world feels much brighter from this morning. It’s hard to focus on anything besides the way your heart flutters, and the feel of Fred beneath you. Snuggling closer, his fingers gently trace around your shoulders.

“Freddie?” you murmur, cheek pressed against his chest.

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

Fred peers down at you, his brows are etched together and the concern on his face nearly makes you sob. “Do…do you not want me to?” he answers shakily.

You let out a breath. “Of course I want you to!”

“Good.” he smiles, letting out a bigger breath than you. For a moment, you think you broke the man. “Because you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #harry potter fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred wealsey fic #hp smut #fluff #angst #hp angst #reader insert #george weasley #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

jingle your bells

w/c: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of drinking and a suggestive joke

summary: peter gets drunk at tony’s christmas party and confesses a thing or two

a/n: today’s the day yayyy merry christmas guys i hope you’ve gotten and gave some good stuff!! i hope you’re all staying safe too <3 this was requested as a headcanon but i put a twist on it because why not

━━━ ➳❥

your dad loves parties. hosting them, attending them, crashing them. he’s actually known for it.

this year, he’s throwing a little party for christmas. everyone at the compound is coming, but there’s someone you care about more than the rest. peter. he’s one of your favorite people and closest friends.

your crush, too.

these things can be a bit overwhelming, so the two of you always stick together. you’ll sometimes sneak upstairs to your room and binge movies with pajamas and all kinds of junk food. it’s your own party in a way. you two enjoy the time you don’t spend at the real ones more than anything.

thor and bruce are currently doing their own rendition of all i want for christmas. your dad made the mistake of setting up karaoke. you laugh along, natasha dragging them in every way possible. steve snaps to the beat. wanda is covering her face in second hand embarrassment. vision offers tips that he searched every possible database for.

sam and bucky took peter somewhere a while ago. that can never be good. he’ll probably come back covered in whipped cream or something stupid. those two never leave peter alone. it’s kind of sweet when you think about it.

“thank you! thank you very much, children,” thor grins as everyone applauds the performance. bruce takes a bow. “we’ll be here all night.” you shake your head at the two of them. they’re too funny. natasha shares a look with you. “boo, get off the stage!” bucky calls as he enters the room. sam and peter follow behind him.

peter is smiling like an idiot, not that his smile isn’t adorable. it just seems a bit off. you really have to find out what they did to him.

“uh, this is my stage,” thor scoffs and grabs the microphone off the stand. grimacing, bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. “let’s calm down, buddy.” “no, i think we should do another one. santa baby.” he points to natasha. “hit play for us, thanks.” she sighs and puts the song on through the speakers. you can’t win with thor.

you watch sam whisper something to peter, then bucky cackles. tony and pepper make their way in and sit down next to you on the couch.

“what’s going on in here?” pepper asks you, nudging your arm. you’re more concerned with what’s going on with peter. “a sing off. it was karaoke, but bucky riled thor up.” your dad clicks his tongue. “that absolute madman.”

“he’s not the only madman tonight,” your mom comments, widening her eyes at the sight in front of her. you furrow your eyebrows and follow her gaze. your mouth drops open.

peter is dancing around in front of them. he’s trying to hip bump bruce, who keeps inching closer to thor. sam and bucky are doubled over from the other side of the room. they ruined your poor peter.

thor chuckles and pats peter on the back. he happily accepts it very much like a puppy would. he’s wearing a headband with jingle bells on it and there’s a weird stain on his shirt.

“little spider has been drinking,” thor announces, peter’s cheeks glowing red. that makes sense. you immediately glare at sam and bucky. they raise their hands in defense. they’re still on the hook.

“god, i can smell him from here,” natasha agrees and waves her hand in the air. “they‘d be able to smell him from sokovia,” wanda mutters. “parker? are you shit-faced right now?” your dad speaks up, a look between concern and anger on his face. his giggling gives him away.

“it’s christmas. you’re drunk out of your mind on christmas. i can’t have that.” tony points upstairs, signaling for him to go. you’re pretty sure peter didn’t process a word of that. pepper rubs up and down tony’s arm with a frown. “oh, tony. don’t be a grinch.” he sighs and watches peter try to climb into steve’s lap.

“he needs to sleep this off, pep. kid hasn’t had a drop of alcohol before tonight.” it’s true. he’s big on not drinking until he’s old enough. you have to wonder what changed. “i’ll bring him to his room, dad. he shouldn’t go alone,” you offer, already getting to your feet. “thanks, y/n/n. look at you, making good choices.”

you walk up to steve and give him an apologetic smile. relief washes over his face. “he’s all yours,” he laughs out. “all yours,” peter repeats in a giggle. “mhm. let’s go, peter.” you take him by his arm and pull him away from steve.

he’s easy to drag along because of the state he’s in. he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, your arm around his waist.

“you smell so good, y/n. sooo nice,” peter almost sings, sniffing you for good measure. “you don’t,” you deadpan. the two of you pass by sam and bucky on your way out. “you’re actually messed up for this,” you tell them under your breath, bucky gasping. “hey, miss stark. it was his idea!” sam yells out to you. you’re not in the mood to hear it.

peter cuddles into your side while you lead him up the stairs. his breath is hot on you and wreaks of expensive liquor from your dad’s cabinet. you never imagined you’d see him like this.

he’s still clinging onto you, so you open his door by pressing your back to it. “come on, pete. you have to lay down,” you tell him as nicely as you can. he stops walking in the middle of the room. “wait. lemme show you something.” he wiggles his eyebrows and shakes his head around. it makes the jingle bells on his head... jingle.

“did you like it?” peter asks and leans his head down to do it again. stifling a laugh, you grab his shoulders. “yeah, peter. i liked it. you can stop jingling your bells now.” “you should... should jingle my bells,” he slurs, smirking at you. you quickly take your hands off of him. “oh my god, you’re so drunk.”

he’s doing all the things you wish he would when he’s sober.

“are you mad at me?” peter pouts his lip out. “don’t be mad at me, y/n.” you press your own lips together and take a seat on his bed. he plops down next to you, pushing his head against your shoulder. “no, but i am mad at sam and bucky. i can’t believe they’d do this.” his face twists up in confusion. “and on christmas.”

“do what?” he wonders and settles his head on you. “let you drink?” you ask like it should be obvious. it should be. “no, no, no. they were helping me.” peter puffs some air out of his cheeks. that gives him the idea to blow into your ear. you flinch and push at his shoulder.

“peter, they gave you alcohol. it’s clearly not good for you.” “no, y/n.” he closes his eyes and lays his head on your shoulder again. “i got my own. they-“ he’s interrupted by a hiccup. you can’t help but laugh, pulling him closer. “‘scuse me. they helped me with something else.”

drunk peter is kind of cute. super cute, to be real.

“what was it?” you decide to entertain him, figuring he’ll say something ridiculous. “asking you out,” peter answers way too casually. you almost don’t believe him. then again, he’s pretty self aware at the moment. it’s probably because his powers give him a higher tolerance.

peter feels your heart speeding up next to him. he presses his head to it so he can hear. “you- are you serious?” you stammer, willing him to look up at you. “uh huh. i like you a lot.” a lazy smile takes over his face. “a lot a lot.” “peter...” he’s still going.

“i asked them for advice. it sucked. we were in the kitchen and i remembered your dad’s...” he pauses to think of the word. “stash. i thought drinking would make me loose.” he moves his body around for a visual.

you’re still shocked sam and bucky let him go through with it. it does sound like them, though. you’re more shocked peter likes you back and just admitted it.

sober peter would never admit any of that.

“you don’t have to change anything for me, pete. i like you, too.” you grin down at him. peter returns it and puckers his lips at you. “cool. does that mean i can get a kiss?” letting out a breath, you help him sit up again. he whines about it for all of ten seconds before yawning.

this isn’t exactly how you saw this moment going. peter is too shy to ever really initiate anything, and you never knew if he felt the same. you’re always trying to figure out each other’s boundaries. he has to debate with himself about little things like giving you his jacket or facetiming you at night.

he never wants to overstep. you never want to scare him off. having him drunkenly snuggle with you breaks all those boundaries. at least something finally does. the kiss will have to wait until whatever he drank leaves his system, which hopefully won’t be long. his powers are a possibility once again.

“it’s nap time for you,” you tell peter like he’s a kid. he protests like one, too. “but i’m not tired.” “yeah you are. you just yawned.” he opens his mouth to speak. you talk first. “lay down.” he’s caught off guard this time when you push at his chest. it makes him fall back on the pillows.

you giggle and take the jingle bells off his head. they can’t be comfortable. peter makes grabby hands for you. “come lay with me, baby,” he mumbles into the pillow his face is squished in. your heart flutters hearing him call you that. his arms do look inviting. they’re all ready to hold you.

too bad he’s on time out.

“i can’t. i’m supposed to be back downstairs already.” you unenthusiastically get up from the bed. peter groans, rolling onto his side. “i want christmas cuddles.” “you’ll get some after your nap,” you promise and poke his shoulder. “and a kiss.” he closes his eyes the literal second you say that.

you like this boy way too much.

#tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x stark!reader #tony stark #marvel #spiderman

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Thank you "Worthwhile Trade". The idea of Baxia turning into an guai is so interesting. I liked imagining the part where she hit NMJ for his idiocy. My brain is projecting "married couple" vibes, omg. I admit despite how weird WWX spoke about the events, the time travel part flew over my head until the tags spelled it out for me. (TBC)

(Cont'd) Also... did NMJ mean it in THAT dual-thing way when talking WRH's prefs? And the last part, where WWX used resentful energy to sub NMJ's qi. I assume he can still cultivate since his core's still there, if emptied? But I wonder what'll happen to his energy once restored Can't help but think his renewed qi will inevitably be affected by the traces of the previous energy that once circulated. He's not going to become a walking stygian tiger or something, is he? Off the wall guess, sorry!

----

sequel to Worthwhile Trade (ao3), also on tumblr

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

He didn’t understand the way he thought, the way he acted – the way he smiled when he woke up, the way he opened his arms when Nie Huaisang threw himself into them with a wail and said, “It was worth it for you, didi; it always is if it’s for you. Don’t you know that?” the way Wei Wuxian had always shamefully thought of saying, as if something like that could just be said like that, out in the open.

The way Nie Mingjue shrugged when the doctors said his cultivation would likely never recover, that he should have died, that they didn’t understand why he hadn’t; the way he said, seeming even satisfied, that it was a worthwhile trade.

It’s not a trade, Wei Wuxian wanted to scream at him. It’s a sacrifice! It hurts and you’re sad, no, worse, you’re resentful about it and you shouldn’t be because it was your choice, your decision, but you see someone else with everything that you worked so hard for and you’re angry when you shouldn’t be angry and you feel bad and you turn away; it hurts them when you do and you’re glad, you miserable thing, you’re happy that they’re hurt because why should you be the only one whose hurt –

Perhaps the problem wasn’t that he didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

Perhaps it was only that he saw in Nie Mingjue his own faults, his own deficiencies, the ones he’d tried so hard to hide in the sea of his poor memory.

“You’ll die if you don’t find a way to cultivate,” he said instead, hovering by the door. He’d say that he didn’t mean to ruin the mood, but he kind of did, and Baxia’s eyes on him were cold as if she knew.

As if she knew everything.

How he’d gone back to the past, how he’d changed things, how it was his fault that Nie Mingjue – who’d never done a single thing to hurt him, who’d been upright and righteous and good and whose brother loved him enough to –

Wei Wuxian had made a point of avoiding Baxia.

Not that she was that easy to avoid. She was tall for a woman – not as tall as Nie Mingjue, but proportionate to him in the sense that she was as much taller than the average woman as he was taller than the average man – and she walked as though people should flee before her, a tread that only felt heavy because of the almost visceral rage that surrounded her like a cloud.

Nie Huaisang had found robes for her, somehow, and they were the least feminine robes Wei Wuxian had ever seen a woman wear, though he supposed he still hadn’t seen that given that Baxia wasn’t exactly a woman. Cut in a martial style, a dark shimmering grey that seemed in some lights to be almost red – she had been born as a human in a mantle of blood and she would not let anyone forget it.

“I should have died already,” Nie Mingjue said, as if the world’s scariest guai didn’t have her hand on his shoulder right next to his vulnerable neck. “You came up with a solution, Wei-gongzi, and for that I thank you. Even if we are not able to solve the next stage, being able to see my loved ones is worthwhile.”

Wei Wuxian could learn to hate that word.

“I have a solution, of a sort,” he said, irritated and not entirely because his reveal had been preempted. He’d hoped to sort of ease into it, somehow. “You lack the capacity for regular cultivation, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use demonic cultivation.”

“What? No, we can’t do that,” Nie Huaisang said, biting his fingers anxiously. “Anyway, doesn’t demonic cultivation harm the temperament?”

“You mean my temperament can get worse?” Nie Mingjue teased, and Nie Huaisang smacked him so lightly that it didn’t even displace his clothing. “I don’t know any means of demonic cultivation, Wei-gongzi –”

“Call me Wei Wuxian,” Wei Wuxian said. “Please.”

“Wei Wuxian, then,” Nie Mingjue said. “All the methods I’ve ever heard of were forbidden for very good reasons – but perhaps those conditions are not the same in the method you know.”

Wei Wuxian tensed. “How do you know that I know one?”

“You saved me, didn’t you?” Nie Mingjue said practically, and well, yes, Wei Wuxian supposed he had a point – “And anyway, Baxia can tell.”

Wei Wuxian shivered. “I don’t use it,” he argued. “How can she tell?”

At Nie Huaisang’s instigation, Baxia had recently started experimenting with smiles. She put one on her face now.

It was terrifying.

“Tell me about it,” Nie Mingjue requested. “The powers and the price, all of it.”

“You’re actually considering this?” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “But da-ge…!”

“Wei Wuxian was not wrong when he said that I would die if I didn’t find a way to cultivate despite having given up what I have,” Nie Mingjue said. “If I die, what will you do?”

Oh, not much, just become a mastermind capable of puppeting the entire cultivation world to enact revenge for your death. Nothing big.

“But – da-ge has always put such a priority on remaining on the righteous path…”

“That’s why I asked about the costs,” Nie Mingjue said patiently. “I will not abandon righteousness simply because I adopt a new method of cultivating.”

“Everyone will revile you even if you are righteous,” Wei Wuxian warned him.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Who is everyone? What do I care for them? You do the right thing because it is right, not for the sake of fame.”

Wei Wuxian had once thought the same.

“If everyone in the cultivation world thinks you are evil, they will paint you as evil no matter what you do,” he insisted. “No matter how righteous your motives –”

“Let them think he’s evil, then!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “He could be the most black-hearted cultivator in the land, but he’s still my da-ge; my Nie sect and I will protect him!”

“Huaisang! No! That is not how righteousness works – if I ever truly become evil, you are to cut me off at once, kill me if necessary –”

“No way!”

“Huaisang – Baxia, tell him; evil cannot be endured –”

Baxia was looking at her fingernails. She’d picked that gesture up from Sect Leader Ouyang, when he was trying to be pointed about ignoring someone; it was extremely irritating to absolutely everyone who wanted to know who she was and what she was doing here and Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian had teamed up to convince her to keep doing it.

Possibly a mistake, in retrospect.

“Baxia. I know you agree with me on this. Evil is evil, and must be eradicated no matter who it may be.”

She gave him an unimpressed look.

“I know I’m not evil yet,” Nie Mingjue argued, apparently understanding her without any difficulty whatsoever. He’d just woken up from a month-long coma and he could already speak fluent human-saber, it was really unfair. And this man had succumbed to Jin Guangyao’s wiles? Lan Xichen had more to answer for than he knew. “But if I ever become evil – what? No, we will not burn that bridge when we come to it, that’s not even the right idiom, who is teaching you these things –”

Nie Huaisang coughed and hid his face behind a fan.

Wei Wuxian was not going to laugh.

Nie Mingjue growled at them all and turned back to Wei Wuxian. “Explain,” he demanded. “The rest of you, out.”

“But –”

“Out. One of us has to cultivate the righteous path, and if it can’t be me, it has to be you. Baxia?”

She picked Nie Huaisang up by his collar, for all the world like a mother dog picking up her pup by the scruff of its neck, and walked out.

Nie Mingjue picked up demonic cultivation faster than anyone else Wei Wuxian had ever met or even heard of. He wasn’t sure if that demonstrated an unnerving aptitude or if it was simply that Nie Mingjue was surpassingly talented – Wei Wuxian had never met anyone like himself before, someone for whom all things came easy, and it was an unexpected delight to meet a kindred soul somewhere where he’d long ago given up hope. He’d never planned to unveil demonic cultivation in this life unless he truly needed it – he didn’t want to hurt his Lan Zhan the way he had in his first life, and anyway Jiang Cheng and Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu were all alive, with hundreds of Jiang sect members to boot, there was no need for his sacrifice – but the part of him that was more researcher and inventor than cultivator luxuriated in their discussions.

Nie Mingjue was a lot more concerned than Wei Wuxian had ever been with consequences, and how to mitigate them, but he supposed that made sense: losing his cultivation hadn’t impacted that Nie temper one bit, and demonic cultivation was likely to make things worse. Moreover, Nie Mingjue was simply who he was, stiff and unbending, as much steel in his spine as in Baxia’s; he could almost be described as being rigid in his thinking except for the fact that he was in fact seriously considering becoming a demonic cultivator.

“We’re saber cultivators,” Nie Mingjue said when Wei Wuxian tentatively brought it up. “Like a saber, our nature is to be firm and unyielding, not flexible like the sword, but we cannot allow ourselves to become too rigid – a too-rigid saber will break upon encountering an obstacle. It’s a difficult balance to keep, and one made more difficult by our cultivation style.”

“The demonic cultivation aspects, you mean? Using yao to refine your saber spirit?”

“One day, though not today, I’m going to ask you how you know about that,” Nie Mingjue remarked, and although his tone was causal Wei Wuxian’s back went cold. “And I’ll expect you to tell me the truth when I do. But not today. Anyway, yes, that’s what I mean. Do you know what they mean when they say that demonic cultivation harms the temperament?”

Wei Wuxian hesitated. “I assume you’re going to tell me something other than ‘it drives you crazy and makes you kill people’?”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “Sometimes I wonder how someone as smart as you got sent home before you finished your lessons at the Cloud Recesses, but other times it’s fairly obvious.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, embarrassed.

“Do you really not know?”

“No one taught this to me,” Wei Wuxian said, stung. “I came up with it on my own. How would I know?”

“All demonic cultivation has the same root,” Nie Mingjue said. “Obsession.”

“With killing, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it a million times –”

“Shut up and listen, you impertinent brat. The killing comes later. It starts with obsession. Obsession with righteousness, obsession with love, obsession with the pleasures of this world, with power – a human becomes a demon when they cannot overcome the obsessions within their heart, and the obsession consumes them. In time, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with power will do whatever it takes to obtain that power, and not mind the blood shed to do it; a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with love will kill everyone who they perceive stands between them and their love, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with righteousness will turn to murder when in their judgment something that ought to be condemned goes unpunished…”

“What about one who only wants what’s best for his family?” Wei Wuxian said, and he did not know if the challenge in his voice was about Nie Mingjue’s future or his own past.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Two roads that I can see: first, their family turns away from them for what they have become and they become vicious with the abandonment, becoming quick to lash out against the world and eventually doing something that causes the world to turn against them. Second, their family stands by them, and eventually the world causes some harm to them – and the demonic cultivator turns to madness in revenge.”

“Not exactly an optimistic outlook.”

“Not especially, no.”

“You don’t seem as concerned by that as I would have thought.”

Nie Mingjue’s lips twitched. “I have a solution.”

“Would you like to share?”

“Using resentful energy to cultivate our sabers makes them prone to obsession, driving them ceaselessly to fight evil, destroy it, without discrimination. It makes them stronger, but also more dangerous – and that is why they must be carefully controlled.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “So, what? You’re going to be the saber now? Under whose control?”

“Huaisang’s, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, as if it were obvious. “For better or for worse, he is sect leader now. Who else would it be?”

“But – what if you disagree? What if he wants to do things one way, and you another –”

“Then I argue and probably yell a lot, and if in the end he still insists on doing things his way, I listen,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “That’s how hierarchy works. Isn’t it the same for you? When your shidi, Jiang Cheng, becomes sect leader, you’ll need to listen to him – or leave the sect. There’s no middle ground.”

Wei Wuxian scowled.

“A sect leader that can’t control his disciples is worse than a demonic cultivator,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s weak. A target, ripe to be ripped apart and devoured by other sects – resources raided, disciples poached, responsibilities taken away...It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone. If you can’t commit to obeying, commit to leaving so that you don’t end up promising more than you can give.”

Ouch.

Just – ouch.

Great advice, fantastic advice, world-class advice, and totally useless because Jiang Cheng had travelled back in time with him and was therefore convinced that Wei Wuxian was just looking for the first way out of the Jiang sect he could find, no matter what Wei Wuxian said or did about it.

(Even Madame Yu was concerned by the new coldness in their relationship and had tried to talk to him about it, which – Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to do with that. It didn’t match any of what he had thought he’d understood.)

He decided to focus back in on the demonic cultivation lessons, shifting from theoretical discussions to the practical, and that, unfortunately, was when they encountered an issue.

“What do you mean you can’t play an instrument?” Wei Wuxian demanded, appalled. “It’s one of the Six Arts! Everyone can play some sort of instrument – even Nie Huaisang plays an instrument!”

“Everyone agreed it was better that I stop learning,” Nie Mingjue said defensively. “It’s all just plucking on strings or blowing air in pipes, and yet no matter that I did exactly what the teacher said to do, it never worked, that’s all.”

“Didn’t Zewu-jun offer to teach you…?”

“He did. And then he said it would be better if we stopped, too.”

The reason, Wei Wuxian soon learned, was that Nie Mingjue was almost completely tone deaf, and the only reason it was almost was that he was still capable of differentiating speech.

“I agree with the majority,” he said after an extremely frustrating day. “Stop. Never pick up an instrument ever again. And don’t let anyone but Zewu-jun play something especially for you, either, okay? Even if they’re highly recommended.”

“An interesting request,” Nie Mingjue said, eyebrows arched skeptically. “May I ask why?”

“Because you’ll have no idea if they’ve changed the music on you,” Wei Wuxian said bluntly. A great deal about the man’s murder in a different life made sense now, and Jin Guangyao’s brilliance in hiding the score of Turmoil inside of Clarity was a little less impressive when played to a man who thought all music, without exception, was just plucking strings or blowing air. “Musical cultivation is deadly in the right hands, especially if you lower your defenses against it. Just consider it a precaution.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows remained arched, but he hummed in agreement.

“I guess we’ll have to think of a new way for you to cultivate demonic cultivation,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his face. He had not been planning on having to invent demonic cultivation at all in this life, and now he needed to not only ‘invent’ the original but actually come up with something new. Why was his life so hard? “How did you previously manipulate external energy?”

“With Baxia.”

“Well, that’s not helpful, is it? You can’t wield a human being. Perhaps another saber…?”

That didn’t work, primarily because it turned out that Baxia had strong feelings about Nie Mingjue even thinking about using another saber and well, as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, whatever Baxia wanted, Baxia got.

(Nie Huaisang had had to go to Heijan once, with Wei Wuxian and Baxia accompanying him since Nie Mingjue wasn’t ready yet, and some unlucky Wen captain had tried to ambush them. That captain, and his squad, were not granted the courtesy of an intact corpse, and Baxia hadn’t even gotten a speck of blood on her nice new robes – no, Wei Wuxian would not be crossing Baxia any time soon.)

“There’s got to be something,” Wei Wuxian said, and Nie Mingjue agreed, and in the end they found something.

Nie Mingjue had been absent-mindedly playing around with one of Nie Huaisang’s fans when one of the fierce corpses Wei Wuxian had raised as practice targets had gotten loose; instinct had taken over and Nie Mingjue had lashed out with the weapon at hand as if it were a saber, and the resentful energy had surged in response –

Baxia was apparently not threatened by the notion of her master using a fan as a weapon, not even one inlaid with steel and heavy cloth with enough layers to catch a sword in.

(If Wei Wuxian needed to go have some time to himself at the sight of Nie Huaisang, dressed as a sect leader with his saber always at his side, standing next to Nie Mingjue holding a fan – well, that was his problem, and also one he intended to show to Jiang Cheng at the next possible opportunity. Someone else deserved to have their mind wrecked by the incongruity as much as he had.)

Even without the weirdness of Nie Mingjue, it was more than a little odd to see Nie Huaisang in the robes of a sect leader without him acting like the Head-shaker. The shock of having to become sect leader had fallen heavily on him: he had become a little more serious, a little more earnest (though still a bit frivolous); he was more inclined to listen and think things over, less inclined to run away.

“If da-ge is going to become a demonic cultivator, someone needs to stand behind him,” Nie Huaisang said simply when Wei Wuxian had tried probing. “He’s always held the world up for me – it’s the least I can do for him. I may not be able to do much, I might be terrible at it, but I owe it to him to at least try.”

Wei Wuxian wondered, sometimes, if Jiang Cheng would have stood up for him if only he had trusted in him, believed in him, the way Nie Mingjue believed in his notoriously useless little brother.

Maybe he’d ask, when he went back to the Jiang sect.

Maybe he’d –

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Jiang Cheng said as a greeting, and for once Uncle Jiang didn’t disagree. “All those letters and you never once mentioned the terrors?”

“The what,” Wei Wuxian said, and that was how he learned that while he was on his way back to Yunmeng neither Baxia nor Nie Mingjue had wasted any time utilizing their newfound skills out on the battlefield.

Nie Huaisang was never going to be a particularly respected sect leader, especially by those that had met him beforehand, but evidently that wasn’t really important given that he was constantly flanked by what was being called the two terrors of Qinghe.

Nie Mingjue preferred darker colors now that he was no longer sect leader, the same dark grey shading towards black that Baxia had selected for herself, and the selection somehow made him seem even taller, verging on inhuman, and Baxia standing beside him, her human features patterned roughly after his, made the two of them appear a matched set. Nie Mingjue wielded the fan that Wei Wuxian had helped him design, which he had forged with his own hands out of the metal from the Xuanwu’s cave that Wei Wuxian had foolishly figured someone ought to get some use out of, painted over with a cinnabar array in Nie Huaisang’s careful brushstrokes, and in his hands it was both weapon and conduit for the raising of armies of corpses. Baxia, for her part, held nothing but required nothing, a sweeping gesture of her hand more devastating than a dozen blows with the saber.

They were terrifying, a nightmare writ large and unmistakably dangerous, undeniably demonic cultivators in a way that was entirely different from Wei Wuxian’s own dramatics, and it unnerved the rest of the cultivation world the way Wei Wuxian had feared it would.

“It won’t be a problem,” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. “The Nie sect are ascending in strength, and this only adds to their mystique – who would challenge them?”

“Uh, Jin Guangshan,” Wei Wuxian said. “Like last time?”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “At this rate, I don’t even think Jin Guangyao will bother defecting to the Jin sect,” he said. “Not if he knows how to play his cards right. The Nie sect’s strength in the original version was never about Chifeng-zun’s skill with the blade alone. It was the whole sect’s strength, with Chifeng-zun’s ability to wield them as skillfully as he did his saber; he’s an outstanding general. And now they have him as a general, him as a demonic cultivator, and whatever the fuck is going on with Lady Baxia –”

“I already told you. She’s a guai.”

“Like I already told you, it doesn’t matter how many times you say that, I will immediately expel the knowledge from my mind and you should too. ‘Immortal cultivator cousin that my brother named his saber after’, like what Nie Huaisang has been putting about, is a perfectly acceptable cover story.”

“And the fact that his saber disappeared at the same time?”

“Coincidence,” Jiang Cheng said firmly. “And we’re sticking with that. Anyway, the point is that if you’re an ambitious man, the Nie sect is the place to be right now and probably will continue to be in the future. This is going to be evident to both Jin Guangshan and the future Jin Guangyao, and we’ll need to deal with that.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Wei Wuxian promised. “After rescuing Chifeng-zun and helping with the demonic cultivation, I’ve gotten pretty close to them.”

“Mm. And how about your other mission?”

Wei Wuxian scowled at the smirk on Jiang Cheng’s face. “You know perfectly well that I haven’t had any time to seduce Lan Wangji, what with how busy I’ve been. I don’t even know for sure if he likes me yet -!”

“You’re an idiot, he does, and you’re not allowed to keep us all in suspense for two decades this time. Figure it out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m sticking you with the job of being an information courier and you leave for the Lan sect front line tomorrow.”

“You are the best shidi ever,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it.

Jiang Cheng huffed. “Yeah, well,” he said as if his cheeks weren’t red. “Remember that in the future. In this life we’re the Twin Heroes, you hear me? No take-backs.”

Nie Mingjue was right: Wei Wuxian would need to either learn to obey or tell Jiang Cheng early on that he was leaving, and walking a path in the middle would only cause heartbreak all over again.

“Okay,” he said, deciding to ask Lan Wangji for advice on obedience. Surely that was something that could be learned? “Deal. You do know that that means Lan Wangji’s going to have to marry in, right?”

“Oh no,” Jiang Cheng said, voice entirely flat. “How terrible. I’ll find a way to manage dealing with that ice block somehow…listen, I don’t care if you end up calling him Wei Sizhui in this life, but don’t ruin his character. He was perfectly nice.”

“I don’t know if he’s even been born yet,” Wei Wuxian said glumly. “I’ve been looking, but…”

“I’ve asked some of Mother’s spies to keep track of Wen Ning and Wen Qing,” Jiang Cheng said. “Collecting evidence we’ll need for their inevitable post-war trial, assuming we want them to live better lives than just refugees. Give it time, we’ll find him.”

“Now I just need to see if Lan Wangji will want to raise children with me…”

“Wei Wuxian. I don’t care. Go.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #nie huaisang #baxia #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #academic discussion of demonic cultivation #this isn't an answer to your question but I hope you like it anyway #tkpartisan

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yan-twst · 4 years

Note

I was really looking foward for the next opening! Can you make hcs for the non-yandere dorm leaders, their darling wants to go back home because they family are very poor and they are they only source of income back home, how would they react?

riddle rosehearts

riddle admires his darling’s hardworking spirit. sure, it pains him to know that when time comes, they must go- but he would never try to put himself above his darling’s family

he’s always been from a very well-off family; while he can’t say he completely understands the situation, he’ll do all he can to show his support. his darling clearly cares for their family, and... he finds that to be heartwarming

yes, it hurts to know his darling must go- it scares riddle a bit, to know that his time with them is limited, and once they’re gone they’ll be off to a world he can’t really comprehend, and to a life that’s certainly not easy. but at the same time, that just means he has to appreciate his time with them more; he has to find any way he can to help them even when they leave and treasure these times when they can afford to relax with him

he feels... helpless. this is a situation he can’t do anything about- it’s a hard time for someone he loves dearly, and his hands are tied behind his back. the rosehearts family is quite rich, but it’s not like his mother would let him have any access to that wealth. he’ll do all he can, but even he acknowledges it’s not much, but still... if he can do anything, he’ll be insistent his darling tells him

leona kingscholar

one thing leona dislikes about royalty- aside from the whole inheritance ordeal- is how... disconnected they are from the people. leona is considered an odd one in how he treats the hyenas and other people that the higher class usually just ignores and tries to act as if they didn’t exist. he’s immediately sympathetic to his darling, albeit a little worried

so they’re the breadwinner, huh? he can’t imagine how exhausting that must be, or how stressed they probably are knowing they can’t help their family at the moment. leona may not show it, but he’s very perceptive of his darling’s moods. he may not be able to do anything about their family at the moment, but he can at least try to make his darling not feel as stressed

his family has more than enough money; while he can’t get away with taking some important family jewel (it’s not like farena doesn’t already keep a hawk’s eye on him), he can give his darling smaller things- jewelry, golden decorations- that he’s sure will probably fetch a high price back in their world

leona... tries to push back the thought he’ll have to bid farewell to his darling. he doesn’t hold it against them: hell, even if they didn’t have to go sustain their family, he wouldn’t blame anyone wanting to return to their world after being tossed into this one. but... it makes his heart ache. this might be the one thing that makes leona be more active in the relationship: for once, he feels like just napping together isn’t a good enough date, not when his time with his darling is limited and when he should be showing them a relaxing and amazing time before they have to return to work harshly

azul ashengrotto

azul admires his darling. they’re working hard, not for themselves, but for their family. it... contrasts a bit with him, who worked hard for his own sake (perhaps even selfishly, to some extent). he simply finds it to be so... amazing. in his eyes, there probably couldn’t be a more selfless act than to spend their time working for the people they care

this man is a business genius. he’s more than happy to sit down with his darling to discuss financial strategies, to plan out spreadsheets with spending plans. he’ll explain how to effectively track earnings and money spent, how to best save money- he might not be able to directly help his darling once they return to their world, but he can at least rest knowing his advice will help them

azul tries to take it all with a confident smile, acting as if it’s all ok. surely, with his advice, his darling will find themselves having an easier time! they might even be able to open their own business, like he did with the lounge- yes, they’ll surely succeed! it’s... quite clearly him trying to distract himself from the fact that his darling will have to leave

he doesn’t blame them, but... he cries about it, often. he wishes he wasn’t so clingy, so emotional- but his darling is a pillar to him. he doesn’t want to make them feel guilty; to an extent, he might even try to hide his grief from them. he’s caught in the conflict of his heart and what he knows is right: as much as he wishes he could spend the rest of his life with them, it’s just not meant to be, they’re needed back home, their family needs them more than azul does

kalim al-asim

kalim may not know what it is like to even have to consider the price of something before buying, or the stress of seeing bills pill up- but his heart is kind and generous. he listens patiently to his darling; their family’s situation, the work they must do, the stress of being unable to help their family while they’re stuck here in some odd magic land. kalim listens and offers all comfort he can

money problems... well, if there’s one thing he has, it’s a ridiculous amount of money. madols aren’t a currency accepted back in his darling’s world, but surely gold is a valuable item, right? he’ll shower his darling in expensive gifts; he doesn’t want them to feel like he’s treating them like a charity case, but he just... he hopes that they understand the gaudy gold bracelets and jewels are his way of providing some financial security to them when they leave

kalim mopes a lot about the fact his darling has to leave. he understands why, he knows it’s necessary- besides, their family surely must be worrying for them...! while the thought of his darling parting to somewhere he cannot follow is harrowing, kalim tries to push all negativity out his mind. his time with his darling isn’t infinite... so that means he has to enjoy all the moments he has! extravagant dates, beautiful trips, once-in-a-lifetime experiences: he’ll spare no expense in order to make his time with them the best it can be

vil schoenheit

vil respects his darling so much. it’s not just because pomefiore promotes hard work- vil as a person believes that one’s drive to put in hard work for a goal is one of the most important traits one can have. his darling is working hard in order to sustain their family- it’s harrowing work, he can imagine, hard work; just that alone is enough for him to find their personality incredibly beautiful

however, that hard work must take a toll on them. stress, aches, lack of sleep: vil knows very well the effects working too hard with little rest can have. he understands they must be frustrated to be put in a situation where they simply cannot work as they usually did, at least not until the useless headmaster finds a way to send them home; so the most he can do is help them unwind. to think of this as a little vacation, a break. yes, he understands they’re stressed because they should be working, but there’s nothing to be done; so they might as well let him pamper them

he’ll channel his grief about the limited time he has with them by pampering them as much as he can. perhaps, if he can make these days heaven on earth for them, he won’t feel as sad when they leave...? it’s wishful thinking on his part; he knows very well he’ll bawl in the privacy of his room when they leave, ruin his mascara and suffer sleepless nights, and that pain will just increase the more he falls for them. but he doesn’t care- even if it’ll hurt later, right now, all he wants is to make them feel loved, feel cared for. there’s no benefit for him or for them to dwell on the things they cannot change, so he’ll just work hard to make the time they have unforgettable

idia shroud

family... yes, idia can understand. family is important. if it was for ortho’s wellbeing, he’d probably do anything. his darling must care for their family a great deal to work so hard for them, and idia finds that admirable

he’s... at a loss. he truly doesn’t know what to do in this scenario. he can see his darling is frustrated and stressed at the thought of their family back home being left without financial support; he feels like crap that all he can offer are his clumsy words of comfort and temporary distractions from their worries

he can sense their urgency to return, and he can understand it. he’ll encourage them to rant about crowley- how that old crow just makes no progress, despite the fact they desperately need to return. hell, he might even pester the crow himself, sending small drones to bang against the headmaster’s office’s window, bothering him in hopes he’ll maybe finally start the research he seems to always stall

of course, it’s... hard for him. if he could build a machine to help his darling return, he’d do it in a heartbeat- that’s all they want, to go home, to support their family, and of course he wants them to be happy...! but at the same time... idia despairs. he’s used to being alone and locked in- he’s used to being just a weirdo in other’s eyes, but... having someone caring for him, someone he loves, has made his heart grow softer. he doesn’t want to imagine the silence reigning his dorm once again once his beloved is gone, how ortho will be left without his favourite buddy, how he’ll... be completely alone again. but there’s no choice. his darling has to return, and idia knows this

malleus draconia

malleus worries. he knows that he shouldn’t be seeing humans as “weak” or “fragile” creatures- hell, if history has shown anything, it’s that humans are strong enough to wage war even on stronger creatures, barbaric and strong- but... he can’t help it. when he sees his darling, all he wants to do is protect them from this world they’re so unfamiliar with: the thought of them being the ones supporting their family back at home, them who he sees as someone to be protected and cherished... it makes his heart twist

malleus understands the concept of money very well, even if the fae from his land don’t really use the same system as the rest of the land seems to. in the end, the human world moves and breathes with money, and his darling needs to provide for their home. it’s... simple, but it weighs heavily on his heart, the fact that he can’t do much

what good is it to be so powerful and feared when he can’t help the one he loves the most? malleus knows the only way he could truly help would be to use his power to send them home- use his powers to bid farewell to the only person who’s ever managed to comprehend him in his long, long life- but even then, he has no clue on how to. crowley slinks away whenever the question is presented, and as powerful as malleus is, he can’t use that power if he doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to

human lives are already... so short, to him. even if his darling were to stay by his side, he knows it’d end with him mourning by their deathbed. time goes so fast for them and so slow for him- knowing that the time he has is even shorter than what he’d thought at first makes him antsy and incredibly gloomy. still, malleus has a bit of an advantage; he’s perhaps the only one who had already known he’d say farewell to his beloved from the very moment he met them. whether that farewell will come when they return to their home, or when their human lifespan finally runs out, malleus... he’ll be miserable either way. there’s no way to avoid that final goodbye, so he’ll do his best to make the fleeting moments feel eternal with joy

#twst #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al-asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #Anonymous

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

post-160, spoilers ahoy, Martin/Jon - Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias

(This is an obligatory fix-it sequel to one of my earlier angst fics but you don’t need to read that first)

[CLICK]

JONAH MAGNUS [mid-conversation] …. rather find they show up by themselves. A curious if harmless side effect, I wouldn't pay them much mind. Unless you'd rather this little interruption was kept from him...?

MARTIN [shortly] I don't really care.

JONAH MAGNUS How boorish. Peter didn't do much in the way of teaching you any manners.

MARTIN He didn't teach anything worth listening to.

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, you were already an adept student of the Lonely before Peter decided to make you part of our wager. [as though noticing something] Forgive me. Would you like to sit down? Plenty of room at the table as you can see. I was just finished eating.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS Pity. I do relish the opportunity of a good conversationalist. My present company... as you can see, he's not exactly been up for chatting recently.

MARTIN [ignoring him, the steady tread of footsteps closer]

JONAH MAGNUS If you aren't going to be a hospitable guest, I think that's close enough. I'm sure you understand.

MARTIN [stops walking] You're not surprised I take it?

JONAH MAGNUS To see you here? Not especially. I knew you'd end up here eventually. All brash, full of foolish righteous anger masquerading as justice, bolstered up on thoughts of my murder.

MARTIN Read my mind, did you?

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, I didn't think I needed to for that one. You can be very possessive about what you consider yours.

MARTIN Jon's not mine. He's not yours, he's not anybody's.

JONAH MAGNUS Jon hasn't been his own man for such a long time.

MARTIN You're wrong.

[a lull in the conversation, an impasse both are too proud to cross]

JONAH MAGNUS [deliberately, aiming to hurt] …. You can look at him, you know. See him alive, whole. But you won't, will you, or can't. Too many eyes in his head and none of them the ones you hoped you'd see.

[proud] I've moulded him. Shaped his becoming. And I watch my ruined world thanks to the words I pull from his dutiful throat.

MARTIN You stole him.

JONAH MAGNUS It was a fair trade. I took nothing that wasn't offered. And he pleaded ever so movingly for your life.

MARTIN [biting] And you're such the bleeding heart.

JONAH MAGNUS It was a business transaction. A life for a life.

MARTIN This?! T-this is no life!

JONAH MAGNUS Not as you would understand it. Oh, but, look. Look at him, Martin. Isn't he magnificent?

[a roiling rumbling background sound of static]

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

JONAH MAGNUS My Archives.

MARTIN [rallying, shaken] I – Jon – Is.... is he gone?

JONAH MAGNUS By which you mean, have I killed him?

MARTIN You know what I'm asking.

JONAH MAGNUS And yet I rather think you've not quite considered how much of a question it is.

MARTIN [sarcastic] Why don't you enlighten me if you're in sharing mood?

JONAH MAGNUS The Archivist has been dead before, has he not? You held his hand and said your little prayers over him as machines kept his body breathing, but I'm sure we can both agree that's not really a life. Jon was offered a choice, and he chose to embrace what he was becoming over death.

But the Jon who woke up is not the one who signed the contract to become my head archivist. Nor was that Jon the one who dragged himself and Ms Tonner out of the Buried. Nor, indeed, did any of those bear resemblance to the Jon who tore Peter Lukas apart to retrieve you from the Lonely. So many Jons, and maybe none of them still alive, none of them the man you want to find. Does that bother you?

MARTIN I don't.... I'm not here to discuss the bloody specifics of being a person. I want to know if he's still in there. His... I don't know, his choice, his emotions, his feelings.

JONAH MAGNUS Are you hoping to appeal to his better nature? How quaint. But to set your mind at ease, let me clarify that the role of Archivist would be poorly served by an unfeeling watcher. Jon's always had to, how did he put it, 'sit in his feelings'.

No, Martin, he feels everything. My Archive is a repository of knowledge. A catalogue of horrors I can collect and sample and observe and store, and they are kept perfectly preserved for me.

[a lip-curling smile obvious in his voice] Shall I have him tell you a story?

[the sound rises to audible, as though it's been playing the entire time but the volume has been turned down to a murmur. An inflectionless rote recitation, tinged with someone else's voice overlapping like twisted signals interjecting over a radio broadcast]

THE ARCHIVES … and I was sure I'd told her to leave, and I turned around, ready to shout at her, to say anything if it got her to run, but the doorway grew toothed and grinning before my eyes and there was something broken-backed and crooked in that space where nothing should have been...

MARTIN [interrupting] Don't make him do that.

[there's the harsh horrifying sound of a jaw clacking shut, and it mimics the snap of a pause button]

JONAH MAGNUS You always liked listening to his voice. When it was the two of you in the Archives, all those late nights, you could hear him through his office door, and it would make you feel like you weren't so alone. We'll listen in on another one, shall we?

[a faint choking jerk, like a leash being pulled too tight, another snap of a play button, the dialogue restarting]

THE ARCHIVES [reciting flatly] … I had the oddest thought then and even as I backed away towards the stairs, I started to get my phone out. The daft thing was...

MARTIN [recognising, voice gone sharp] Stop it.

THE ARCHIVES … I wasn't even going to call anyone for help, I just wanted to take a picture of the thing. To prove to you that it happened – you're always so quick to dismiss these statements and I wanted proof for you....

MARTIN You've made your point.

JONAH MAGNUS Hm, I think so. And, remind me, what was my point?

[silence except for Jon's now-muttered static. Careful listening and it's not static at all, but an unceasing recital of horror, statement after statement pouring from his mouth]

JONAH MAGNUS You come into my home clutching that knife with such intentions of bravado. I imagine you wanted to swoop in, rescue him. But I possess him in all the ways that matter. And you know, surely, that you aren't going to be enough to save him.

[Martin's breathing is harder]

I wasn't lying before. I have truly enjoyed your visit, you can be quite distracting company. That's been the whole point of this, hasn't it?

MARTIN Wh – ?

JONAH MAGNUS [interrupting] Who is in the house, Jon?

THE ARCHIVES Martin Blackwood is in the dining room.

JONAH MAGNUS [indulgently, playing for effect] Who else is in the house, Jon?

THE ARCHIVES [a whirring, like the tape's stuck, the first sounds garbled, before a return to normal] Basira Hussain and Melanie King are approaching the east wing. Alice Tonner is patrolling the grounds of the estate.

JONAH MAGNUS You see? All the fear in this world and he can see all of it, every trembling terrified beat of a heart. You think they could approach unseen, hide when he can sense every firing neuron of their fear, the pulse and jump of their nerves? No one is fearless, not in my brave new world, and so he sees them all.

I underestimated you once, Martin. I don't make a habit of repeating my mistakes.

MARTIN I disagree.

JONAH MAGNUS [dismissive] Oh do tell why.

MARTIN Why do you think I came here? Huh? Flimsy knife in hand, having to listen to your gloating.

JONAH MAGNUS Likely a poor attempt at trying to draw my attention.

MARTIN And why do you think Basira, Melanie and Daisy came here?

JONAH MAGNUS To kill me, I should imagine.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS No?

MARTIN All those eyes of yours, and they're always too busy focusing on what they shouldn't.

JONAH MAGNUS Tell. Me.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS I had thought to spare you further indignities...

MARTIN [almost scoffing] Yeah, this sounds familiar.

JONAH MAGNUS Mart –

MARTIN How about no. H-how about not this time, how about you shut up for a moment?

[huffing sound, almost a disbelieving laugh] It's just so – so easy to distract you.

JONAH MAGNUS Not much of a distraction if I know you're coming.

MARTIN Who said I was the only distraction?

JONAH MAGNUS I –

[a small patter of careful footsteps across marble flooring, and then a grunt, a wet slicing noise that sickeningly sounds like metal through meat]

[Magnus howls in agony. His voice echoing like a wind tunnel, a guttural gusty howling of static, the scrape of a chair shoved back, cutlery and tableware disturbed and smashing]

[another grunt of exertion and someone hitting the table, silverware clattering, before a heavier slump of a body hitting the floor]

MARTIN You have to...!

GEORGIE I know! Just –

[sounds of a tussle for a few seconds, then a deep stabbing puncture, the noise like a punch. Magnus stops screaming]

GEORGIE Now. Now it's done.

MARTIN That is... eurgh, that's so nasty.

GEORGIE Let me have this triumphant moment, huh?

MARTIN Yeah. Sorry. When you said what you were planning, I thought.... it was a bit more like popping a tomato than expected.

[pause, adrenaline fast breathing, the Archives' static]

He's... he's gone. Elias is really gone.

GEORGIE Finally.

Now, where's...? Holy f – Christ, Jon. Jon? Martin, is – that's not....?

MARTIN What Elias left of him.

GEORGIE What's – What's he doing?

MARTIN [darkly] What he was made for. There's so many more statements to archive now. He's being kept busy.

GEORGIE [hand over mouth] God, that's... Christ. [despairingly angry] I thought – I thought that would do it. That was the whole point of this, to get him back.

MARTIN The point was to kill Elias. He's.... Jon's not tied to Elias, he's tied to the Eye.

[creak of a door hinge, footsteps]

BASIRA [getting closer, echoing slightly in the space] He fell for it then?

GEORGIE [pulling herself back to the moment at hand] Yeah. Too busy monologuing at Martin.

BASIRA [creeping closer, sucking air through her teeth] Aim was perfect.

MELANIE She got him? Right across his eyes?

[Georgie makes a 'squish' noise as an affirmative]

Good. Fucker got what was coming.

BASIRA There's still the matter of Jon to deal with.

... Martin, you sure about this?

MARTIN [deep breath] As sure as I can be.

GEORGIE Can he... can Jon hear us?

BASIRA The rest of us, more than likely.

MARTIN [an agreeing 'hm'] He knew you were coming.

BASIRA I'd accounted for that. But being to all intents and purposes 'fearless'? Your invisibility cloak worked on Magnus. As to Jon, no idea.

MELANIE Look, we should hurry. Go, bring him back, Martin.

BASIRA And if you can't...

MARTIN [sharper] That's my call to make, not yours. We agreed.

BASIRA [a heavy pause] Just don't stay in there too long.

MARTIN Right. I'd... I'd stand back.

[there is a creaking static, like muted sound, a whip of rising wind. Martin makes a grunt of effort. Fading in to mix with the static is the rhythmic slosh of tide, the empty drone of wind over empty landscape.]

[a release of held breath]

MARTIN [almost wistful] Back again.

[footsteps digging into sand]

Jon? J-jon, we've... you're ok, Elias, he's.... I know this won't, it won't disconnect you from the Eye or anything, but you told me, you told me it was muted here.

Give you some space, s-so you can come back. I know – I know you're in there

[a crunching chewing sound like a tape spool caught]

[a manic and aggressive fast-forward]

MARTIN Come on, that's it. T-Try and talk to me.

THE ARCHIVES … she had shattered the glass of the horrid thing, its spindling legs made into a constellation of shards on the kitchen floor, but I couldn't move, I couldn't believe that it was over, not until there was a knock at the door. The police, finally. And even then she had to coax me to move, saying that it was finished, it was dead.... [cut off]

MARTIN He – he's gone, Jon. Really gone, he can't... you don't have to fight him any more. [a hopeful gasping exhale] Yeah, that's... that's it... yeah I know it's hard. [ harsh buzz of tape] Look at me, come on, yeah, good, you're doing it. You're out, you're... you're free.

THE ARCHIVES [a crunching whirr, then intoning, tainted with the over-lay of Magnus' intonation, smug and congratulatory] You do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon, you are a record of fear... [a sickening buzzing, the sound of a tape recorder being forwarded] ... could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom. Don't you see where I'm going...?

MARTIN I – Jon, I don't understand.

[garbling rewind]

THE ARCHIVES ...A conduit for the coming of this nightmare kingdom.

MARTIN [softer, sounding closer] He did that to you. He forced you to say those words. That wasn't... that wasn't you, that's not your fault.

Look, we – that's why we need you back. We can, Jon, we can stop this – we've... well, Basira's got a plan, and it's a small chance, but we could, with you and Georgie, we could change something. But we need you.

[empty static]

MARTIN [quieter] And I need you. I need you to come back.

THE ARCHIVES [wrenching, cracking, choked] Mar –

[buzz, like a fucked up tape that goes on for several seconds] … I tried to explain, but all I could manage to say to get through the shaking sobs was 'I love you'.

MARTIN [throat tight] Jon, fight this, you can, come on...

THE ARCHIVES [a different recording tugged from his throat, a replication of Martin's own voice, shatter-hearted and Lonely, the faint echo of a hospital monitor] … but we need you, Jon. Please – just. Please.

MARTIN That's – Don't, Jon. Don't use my voice like that.

I'm here. We weren't just going to leave you to him. So how can I... How can I stop this, how can I help you?

THE ARCHIVES [rewind] Please.

MARTIN I don't understand– I'm trying but... no, no, no, come on Jon, eyes on me, yeah, look back up, not....

[ripped and ripe with comprehension] Oh.

THE ARCHIVES Please [rewind]. Please [rewind]. Please.

MARTIN I can't. Jon, I –

THE ARCHIVES [more insistent] Please [rewind]. Please.

MARTIN [forcefully] I won't be your murderer, Jon!

I won't. I'm sorry, but – [makes a deprecating noise] It's not even sharp. It was for show, all part of the act.

[moves in closer, tread of feet in sand] Listen to me, Jon. I know. Sweetheart, I know. I know you're tired. I know everything, everything's wrong, it's been all wrong for so long, and there's only so much hope we can all bear.

[quieter, almost ashamed] And we could stay here. It would be so so easy. Sit down together on the shoreline, let the fog take us.

I've been thinking, you know. [huff] Yeah, dangerous habit. I've had a lot of... I've had a lot of time to think, about Magnus and his 'grand plan' or whatever. He chose you, and let every horrible thing out there have their own pound of flesh from you. And the statements, they feed on you too, don't they? You live this sick repetition of other people's horrors, and that feeds the Eye, but it's too much for you to bear. And Elias, or bloody, Jonah or whoever, even he wasn't sure you'd survive, even before all this mess happened. He wanted you hurt, and scared but he couldn't be sure it wouldn't kill you outright.

[static, unbroken]

I read the statements too. Elias was very keen on giving me [dark laugh] well, professional development while you were away. And if that wasn't... wasn't enough –

[pause]

Jane Prentiss trapped and terrorised me in my home, and after that, Christ, all that time ago, it all just kept happening. The whatever-it-was that called itself Michael, I was in those corridors with Tim for weeks, and I've been, huh – if being pinballed between working for some – some evil eyeball and Peter Lukas doesn't count, I don't know what does.

[a low breath, gearing up. The static continues, an intent and intense sedateness]

I've got all of them now, isn't that right, Jon? Whether it's the statements, or workplace collateral, or even just living in this horrifying hellscape of a world. That's all of them, leaving their mark. And Elias, I think you knew, [wry chuff] or Knew probably, that he would have made me Archivist. If you didn't make it. 's why he agreed to let me stay behind, while you all went to stop the Circus.

S-so my point is. I – I know. I know you're tired, I know you want this to stop. But we could end this, together. It's too much for you to take alone, s-so why don't you share it?

[gentler] You don't – You've never had to do this on your own. An Archivist always had Assistants, remember.

THE ARCHIVES [a break in the static, like signal breaking in and out, a furious dip and rise of disparate statements] – And I told her no – […] He knew he could never ask that of – […] Please, please – [….] Martin – […] – through the shaking sobs was 'I love you' – […...]

MARTIN You're not alone. Not now, not before. If we're to have any chance at all, you have to let me help.

[a staticky buzzing, low breathing, the distant call of gulls]

Look at me, Jon. Yeah, all those eyes of yours.

What do you See?

[the static rises like a wind swell]

[Martin gives an airless grunt]

MARTIN That's it.... [gasp] Come on, Jon, let me in.

[Martin lets out a gasp that chokes into a clenched cry. He gags and swallows the sound, and it is dry and painful and crunching. The static over-washes the sound of the shore, and Martin starts making bitten-off hurt sounds, that soon devolve into screaming. This goes on for a long time.]

[He stops. The static stops]

[The loud sound of something heavy hitting the floor, Jon's breathing suddenly audible, mixed with Martin's panting. The scrape of sand, someone moving]

JONATHAN SIMS, THE ARCHIVIST [slurring and mumbled, his tongue numb and awkward] Martin... Martin... are you...?

MARTIN BLACKWOOD, THE ARCHIVIST [sucking in a harsh breath] Jon. [muffled, like he's embracing someone, or being embraced] Christ, thank god, Jon, you're ok, you're here, you're back.

[even more muffled] God, I thought I was too late.

ARCHIVIST Are you – Martin, tell me please, are you...?

ARCHIVIST I'm fine, I'm just... [wincing groan] It's just a lot.

ARCHIVIST R-right. Breathe through it. Look... look at me, that's it. The rest of it, a-all the noise, it's background. That's all. It doesn't have to drown you.

[For several long moments, they breathe in tandem as Martin calms]

ARCHIVIST I could hear you. B-back with Jonah. It was all so loud but I could hear you.

Thank you. F-for coming to get me.

ARCHIVIST Well, Basira gave me two options so it was that or murder [clearly responding to some visual expression] I'm – I'm kidding. Of course I wasn't going to just leave you.

[a surprised noise] Jon. Your eye.

ARCHIVIST What...?

ARCHIVIST The left one, it's not... It's different, it's not like – it's blue, it's blue, did something go wrong, is it...

ARCHIVIST [ever so softly, clearly a page ahead] Yours has changed too. Brown suits you.

ARCHIVIST I – Oh. Right.

So we've both.... Yours and mine....

ARCHIVIST I think so.

ARCHIVIST That's.... that's crazy.

ARCHIVIST Hmm.

[…]

[thoughtful] I forgot how quiet it was, here.

You really think we can stop this?

ARCHIVIST Basira seems to have a plan. You and Georgie, your abilities. And well, me to some extent now, I guess. It could change everything back to the way it was, now Elias has gone.

ARCHIVIST What do you think?

ARCHIVIST I think we can stop this.

ARCHIVIST Then I believe you.

Martin, what you did –

ARCHIVIST Let's – We'll talk about it later. I promise. Once we're out of here. I'm... Today's been a lot.

ARCHIVIST OK. That's – OK. You should rest, when we get out of here. It's – it'll take a lot out of you, in the beginning.

ARCHIVIST I'm sure Elias wouldn't mind lending us his rooms. Not like he can complain.

ARCHIVIST We're in Jonah's house?

ARCHIVIST Well. More mansion. It's so ostentatiously gaudy, you'd hate it. Bet he has four poster beds and framed paintings of himself all over the place.

ARCHIVIST How charming.

ARCHIVIST Hmm. Melanie's probably started on slashing up the fixtures.

[quieter] Come on, then. Let's get out of here. I know the way back.

ARCHIVIST [ever so softly] I've never doubted it.

[CLICK]

#the magnus archives #tma #fic #martin blackwood #elias bouchard #jonathan sims #cw violence #cw mind-control #tw suicidal intention

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Ineffable Holiday 2020 - “Anathema’s Solid Right Arm” (Rated PG)

Summary: Anathema takes it upon herself to bring together two customers she knows have a crush on one another ... drastically, if necessary. (1694 words)

Notes: I had started writing this for @ineffablehusbandsweek prompt coffeeshop au, but I never got it done. So I have written it for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 Day 2 prompt 'hot cocoa/cider'. Human au. Mainly fluff.

Read on AO3.

“So, Mr. Crowley,” Anathema says, eagerly setting her cocoa and her apple cider muffin on the iron bistro table out front of her shop, right by the door where she can keep track of customers going in and out, “is he here yet?”

“Who?” her reluctant companion, who’d been there first, nursing his mug of coffee while he eyed the people walking by, asks.

“Don’t play dumb with me!”

“Pfft. Who says I’m playin’?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. The man in the cream-colored coat who comes here every day at 2 o’clock for a cup of Earl Grey and a blueberry scone. The one you’ve been mooning over for weeks and weeks but refuse to say two words to.”

Crowley spots a gentleman who fits that exact bill weeding through the crowd. But by the time he reaches the coffee shop, it’s obviously not him, and Crowley groans. “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

“This is my shop, and you're a customer here, so I think that gives me exclusive bothering rights.”

“I liked you better when all you did was read books behind the counter and ignore the rest of us.”

“Lucky for you, you’re much more interesting than a book.”

“Lucky me,” Crowley grumbles in a put-upon voice.

Crowley isn’t exactly a friend of hers, but he is one of her best customers. He shows up every afternoon without fail at precisely 1:30 and orders the same thing each time - black coffee and the muffin of the day (which he never eats). Anathema had thought he chose her spot over other, more commercial coffee enterprises because of her homey atmosphere and signature, in-house roasted Arabica blends. Many of her customers (an older set among the locals) do.

Turns out, he stopped by every day because of another daily customer of hers - a pleasant, older man with fluffy white-blond hair, and a positively glowing smile, the kind that can be described as lighting up a room. Anathema has watched the two of them religiously. To this day, Crowley has never once spoken to the man, and the man (Aziraphale is the name he gives when he orders) has made no move to speak to him either. And as it’s already nearing 2:15 with no sign of him, it seems today won’t be the day Crowley gets his chance.

Which explains his sour mood.

Anathema watches Crowley pull apart his muffin with one hand while he searches the stream of pedestrians, not paying an ounce of attention to the fact that he’s decimating it, crumbs falling through the scrollwork on the tabletop and attracting birds from all around.

Anathema feels for the man. She really does. She’s watched the evolution of him from the first day he walked into her shop: cocky, condescending, constantly criticizing everything from the smell of the place to the decor. But he’s softened considerably since Aziraphale, almost become a whole different person.

There are some things about him that have not budged. He still dresses like a wealthy undertaker, sporting a pair of dark sunglasses whether it’s dreary out or fine. Both style choices make him the yin to Aziraphale’s yang seeing as Aziraphale only dresses in tones of lightest cream and pale, sky blue.

Anathem has become invested in whether or not these two end up together. There's no better time than the present.

Christmas time.

Which Anathema considers the most romantic season of the year

(Stuff Valentine's!)

If Crowley isn’t brave enough to make the first move, and Aziraphale (whom she thought she caught more than once peeking surreptitiously Crowley’s way) won’t, then she needs to make this happen.

Starting today, if possible.

But what if he found a different coffee shop to go to?

What if he had been waiting for Crowley to say something and mistook his silence for disinterest?

How tragic would it be for these two to end up star-crossed!

Nope! Not on her watch!

She straightens up and peeks around at the customers enjoying their beverages on this blustery day, then beyond the dining patio to the holiday shoppers hopping from store to store. It’s easy to mistake many an older gentleman for the object of Crowley’s affections, but easier to spot him out the moment he arrives, threading through passersby like a salmon traveling upstream, offering everyone he meets a smile, a nod, and an, “Excuse me! I’m very sorry! I must get through!”

“Look!" Anathema cheers. "Mr. Crowley! There he is!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Crowley says, but she sees the slightest twitch of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he waits for Aziraphale to blow by him into the shop for his daily fare.

Except, he doesn’t.

It doesn’t look like he’s stopping at all, hurrying through the crowd to continue down the street.

Crowley's twitchy smile withers. Anathema’s jaw drops as she stares at Aziraphale’s back while he walks on. In her peripheral, she sees Crowley’s head bow, his lips tightening into the thinnest of lines as he sinks slowly into his mug of freezing cold cider.

And that's that.

She has to do something! If she doesn’t, Crowley is going to be miserable for the remainder of the afternoon. Grumpy and alone, he'll stay out here well into supper and, in turn, will make her miserable.

She can’t have that.

But she doesn't know how to fix things. She can’t chase after the man. He has a considerable head start. Plus, with the crowd between them, she’s not sure she'll reach him before he gets away.

She doesn’t know what on Earth possesses her.

She grabs up the picked apart remains of Crowley’s muffin and, without another thought, hurls it with all her might. She thought she aimed low enough to tag Aziraphale’s shoulder, or brush his arm, but obviously not when she hits the poor man square on the cheek.

Anathema throws her hands over her mouth and gasps.

Crowley launches swiftly to his feet.

Aziraphale stops walking.

“What on Earth!?” Aziraphale mutters, pivoting quickly on his heel and looking over at them in surprise. But he doesn’t see Anathema at all. The second the muffin hits its mark, she says, "Good luck!" and bolts inside the shop, leaving her red-faced companion staring, mouth agape, at the man glaring back with a cheek covered in mascarpone cheese filling.

Aziraphale must recognize the culprit is Crowley because his demeanor changes. He smiles bashfully, feeling his pockets for a handkerchief, but his eyes never leave Crowley's face.

Silently, and from her hiding place just inside, Anathema cheers.

She knew it! She just knew it!

After a few awkward seconds of searching, Aziraphale still can't seem to find it, and Crowley, realizing that this is the chance he's been waiting for, hurries to the rescue.

On the brief saunter over, he debates the best opening line for this situation. Hello is first on the list. Hi sounds a bit too casual. Yo pops up to make a short appearance but is brutally beaten to death. What ends up coming out of Crowley's mouth, not even a contender, is, “Here,” as he thrusts a black handkerchief Aziraphale's way.

“Oh!" Aziraphale accepts it gratefully. "Thank you so much, my dear."

"Crowley," Crowley corrects, biting his tongue hard after because what did he have against this man calling him my dear? Not a single, Goddammed thing!

"Aziraphale," Aziraphale offers. "Uh … was that your muffin?”

“No! I mean, ngk … yes, it was. But someone tossed it … I suppose?” Crowley looks over at Anathema, who has the gall to spy on them through her front window, smiling like anything and making, what he can only describe as, encouraging hand motions.

“What kind was it?”

“The muffin of the day - apple cider, filled with …”

“Mascarpone cheese, yes," Aziraphale finishes with a frown. "Was it tasty, at least?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Didn’t get a nibble of it.”

“Pity.” Aziraphale side-eyes Crowley as he watches him wipe the remaining cheese off his cheek. “Thank you for this,” he says, gesturing with the handkerchief. “I’ll get it cleaned for you.”

“Keep it. This way you have an extra, just in case. You never know when some rogue baker might throw a muffin at you again. Or a doughnut.”

“True. A jam-filled would ruin this coat. It’s one of my favorites, too.”

“Is it?" Crowley steps back, gives the garment a casual once over as if he doesn't have the thing memorized - every line from shoulder to hem, the position of the pockets, the lay of the lapels. "It suits you.”

“Thank you," Aziraphale says, self-consciously tugging at the seams, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.

The two men fall silent. Anathema, palms pressed against the glass, starts dramatically mouthing, "Do something! One of you! Do something!"

Neither of them sees her, but Aziraphale says, "Now I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“I’ve never had one of the specialty muffins. Creature of habit, I’m afraid. Always order the same thing.”

“I think she has one left if you’d like to give it a go.”

Aziraphale bites his lower lip, his cheeks turning a fetching shade of rose. “Do you think … would you mind splitting it with me? Then we can both satisfy our curiosities.”

That last part sounds like an invitation to more than sharing a muffin, and Crowley, admittedly dense to those sorts of flirtations, is determined not to let it pass him by.

“That sounds like a brilliant idea.”

Anathema beams when she sees Aziraphale and Crowley heading her way, flashing them a double thumbs-up that only Crowley catches. Crowley rolls his eyes. Aziraphale looks in time to see the top of her head drop below the sill, another unfortunate chair upturning behind her. “Is that the young lady who runs the shop?” he asks, pointing at Anathema's bun bobbing away from the window towards the counter.

“I believe it is,” Crowley says dismissively.

“Is she quite all right?”

“No.” Crowley sets the chairs right at the small table and offers one to Aziraphale. “Not in the slightest.”

#Ineffable Holiday 2020 #good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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letsbenditlikebennett · 3 years

Text

Who Are You || Ariana & Kaden

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Kaden shows Ariana how to make proper croissants and they share some real talk about what happened with Lydia. CONTENT: Mentions of sibling death and gun use

If you had told Ariana seven or so months ago that she’d be hanging out at Kaden’s apartment and getting a baking lesson, there was no way she should have believed it. By nature, they were supposed to be at odds. At least, that’s the narrative that the world tried to thrust upon them. Growing up with Celeste, she never fully bought into it, but Kaden had seemed to be a diligent hunter. One who she feared the moment she realized what he was, but that fear was far from her now as she rolled out the dough for the croissants with a determined look on her face. The layering on these required more precision and concentration than she preferred. Cooking had always been preferred to baking, but the latter had started to grow on her. She was careful with the rolling pin and looked back to Kaden once the last layer was rolled out. “You said we chill the dough again after this, right?” With confirmation, she set the dough back in the freezer and smiled at Abel who was diligently waiting by the entrance to the kitchen in hopes of some scraps. “Sh- Putain,” she looked back at the freezer, “Sorry croissants. Are all French pastries this challenging? These make biscuits look like a cake walk.”

“Yes, chill it and we’ll go from there. Oven has to preheat still, too.” It was strange to think that Kaden was willingly inviting a werewolf over to his apartment. And not to kill them, either. If it wasn’t for the pinpricks parading down his spine, he wouldn’t really think of Ariana as a werewolf at this point. She seemed so human. And she was a good person. That much he didn’t doubt, not at this point. Still not something he could have pictured a year ago. It should feel wrong but instead, there was some comfort in having her there with him in the kitchen, to not be alone. “Not all of them, no. Some of them are more challenging than this,” he said with a smirk as he continued to prep their work stations. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was about baking that was so calming, stabilizing in a way. Maybe it was because he could focus on just what was in front of him. And none of it had anything to do with monsters or nightmares or any other bullshit. Just flour, sugar, butter, a recipe, precise steps that had some room for experimentation, but still straight forward enough that there was minimal guess work. And as much as he’d resisted ever becoming a teacher or trainer for hunter bullshit, he was almost enjoying sharing what he knew with others. Another weird thing he never expected. “It’ll be worth it though; the work. There’s nothing quite like a fresh croissant. You’ll see. All others will be ruined for you.”

Ariana nodded along to Kaden’s instructions in regard to the croissants. They were somewhat familiar with her’s and Athena’s previous attempts. Apparently baking with hunters was one of her new hobbies. It was strange, being so firmly planted in the middle of two so very different worlds. Even with Alcher coming around and respecting her way of thinking, everything left her feeling like she didn’t quite belong anywhere despite her dream of finding her own supernatural community. A pack of sorts. But she had to believe she was making a difference. Kaden, a werewolf hunter who by all indications had been good at hunting and believed in what he did, had her in his home yet again. Though he seldom liked to admit it he cared for her. A whole ass werewolf. A small one, but still a werewolf nonetheless. He saw her as a person. He saw Regan as a person. Morgan, too. He even chose not to kill Lydia. His connections had to be making some sort of impact and she had to believe she was helping make things better somehow. The spaced-out look on her face was brief as she quickly remarked, “More challenging? I guess that’s why French cuisine is so renowned.” Still, a question sat on the edge of her tongue, but she smiled calmly anyway though her fidgeting hands likely gave her away. “If these aren’t the best croissants I’ve ever had, I want my money back,” she joked knowing full well she didn’t pay for any of the ingredients. Finally, she bit the bullet and leaned against the counter not caring all that much for the flour getting on her. She looked to Kaden somewhat cautiously. “Can I ask you something?”

Kaden smiled as he watched her try to process a baking process more complicated than what they were doing now. “Hey, there’s a reason I usually stick to pies.” He made sure the counter was sufficiently floured and ready to work, double checked the oven. Yeah, all the could do now was wait a few minutes.”Not that I don’t enjoy a challenge, just sometimes it was nice to work with a little less precision, a little mindlessly, I guess,” he added with a shrug. Especially if he was looking for some relaxation. Pastries where one wrong decision ruined the whole thing was far from relaxing. Stress found him easily enough outside of the kitchen, he did what he could to minimize it here. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your heavy investment back if these don’t turn out, Ari. Don’t worry.” He almost said he promised. Almost. He ought to know better than to use that word by now. Somehow the air around them shifted slightly. He couldn’t describe it. At first he wondered if it was just the chill down his back nagging at him once more, but that wasn’t it. “Sure. What?” he responded as he rested against the counter across the way, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

This was easily the most relaxed Ariana had personally ever seen Kaden. They’d spent a good chunk of the afternoon baking and joking around. It felt like this was the way things were supposed to be more often than not. “Well, you make damn good pies and I get to eat the pies so no complaints here,” she said with a small smile. She hoped the question she had to ask wouldn’t completely ruin the mood, but it had been on her mind for weeks now. With how evident it was he cared for her, it was clear something changed and her curiosity had never been easy to keep at bay. With confirmation it was okay to ask, she assured, “I know I’m not supposed to use this word, but you’re not fae and I want you to know I’m serious-- So I promise that no matter what the answer is, I’m not going to judge you or think any less of you.” After all, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing he chose not to kill someone. She leaned against the counter and softened her features though her eyes were still inquisitive. “Why didn’t you kill Lydia? What stopped you?” It wasn’t a question that could be sugar-coated, but she kept her tone soothing as if to verbally cue that she was upholding her promise.

Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line at the word “promise.” Sure, she had a point, but it did nothing but make his stomach churn at this point. The word was laced with so much pain and turmoil now. Funny how much a stupid singualr word could mean. But this was Ari. It was safe. Safe as it could be at least. Weird enough he thought of a werewolf as “safe.” Still, he waited, arms crossed, and nodded, waiting for her question. He didn’t know what he expected her to ask, but it wasn’t that. He pulled back his shoulder blades, shifted his stance and looked away, as if the answer could be found by staring off somewhere in the distance. His fingers pulled at the cloth of his shirt around the crook of his elbows. It didn’t help him sort through anything much. “I don’t--” He bit at the inside of his lip, pulling back his words. Even if he wasn’t sure how to articulate his answer, he knew there was one. Somewhere. He knew. Deep down. It was somewhere. “I just…” He sighed and dropped his arms and rubbed his temples. “I just couldn’t.” He couldn’t meet Ari’s eyes either. “I was there and I had the knife to her chest and I just… I couldn’t do it. Something about…” He shook his head again and struggled to find a way to describe it. Nothing about explaining felt right. His choice felt wrong no matter how he framed it. But at the same time, he didn’t think he’d have done anything different when push came to shove. And what he made of that, he didn’t know. “I just couldn’t, alright. I-- I couldn’t be like her.”

Ariana watched him calmly as he struggled to answer her question. It was a loaded one, she knew that, but it was also important. Kaden wasn’t exactly the most open when it came to verbalizing what was on his mind and even when he did, it was mostly French swear words. Not that she faulted him for as much. The more strained Kaden’s words sounded, the softer her own features became. He needed to know that no matter where he was currently at, she wasn’t going to fault him or abandon him. Something told her he was getting better, seeing other supernatural people as well… people. “You mentioned that before,” she said calmly, “There just has to be a why there. Even if you haven’t figured it out yet.” Then what he said next caused something in her to crack. Her head snapped up abruptly and she looked a bit alarmed by what he said. She quickly assured, “You could never be like Lydia.” Even if in their own ways, they had both been killers, intentions mattered. While Lydia needed to eat, she didn’t need to torture those poor humans. She didn’t need to use her words to hurt others who weren’t even her food source, but Lydia did all of those things with little regard. That wasn’t Kaden. She struggled to make eye contact as his own gaze cast away from her, but she continued, “You’re nothing like her and you won’t ever be like her. I can get that Lydia had to feed, but what she did- she tortured people needlessly. She hurt people intentionally just because she could. To exert her power or whatever. That’s not you. Even if you- You do what you do to help people.”

Still, his answer left Ariana with more questions. Questions she wasn’t sure wouldn’t make Kaden lose any sense of cool he was trying to maintain, but even if he did get annoyed with her, she was sure they’d be able to snap back so she asked, “Do you see her as more than a monster then? It’s okay if you do. I don’t think I could have killed her either as much as I don’t mourn the fact she’s gone.”

Kaden wrung his hands together in thought. So much so that when he looked down, all the flour he’d coated them with had been wrung away. Putain. He turned to wipe them with the white powder, coating them just enough to repel any of the dough they would be working with. Not that he needed to right then, they weren't going to handle the dough for a bit. But he needed to do something. He had to. He hadn’t done anything in that clearing. Well, that wasn’t true. He did something, but it wasn’t enough, was it? A group had to clean up after him, after his choices. Ones that nearly got him killed. A few times. He’d been rubbing his hands back and forth to shake off some of the excess flour, but he’d realized once again that he’d wiped off too much. Fuck.

“I-- It’s not like that,” Kaden started, wanting to run his hands through his hair and thinking better of it, settling to rub the flour deeper into his skin instead. “I know I’d never torture or-- But that’s not…” He pinched his eyes closed and shook his head. He wasn’t sure if this was who he should be having this conversation with of all people. As much as he cared about Ari, as good hearted as she was and as instrumental as she was in taking Lydia down, she was still a kid. Right, sure. A kid who to deal with so much death already. Things no one was prepared for. He looked back at her and tried to remember himself at that age. What Oscar would have thought he was ready to hear, and what Kaden at that age would have thought in comparison. Maybe he shouldn’t use Oscar as a goal post. Still. Maybe this was fine. Right? Putain.

“She nearly killed me, Ari,” Kaden said, looking back down at his hands. Hands that had destroyed as much as they helped create, maybe more. Deadly hands. He took a sharp inhale before looking back to her. “She had a gun to my heart. Point blank. And I got lucky it was out of ammo.” He’d been there on the other side of the gun, of the death. He saw the look in her eyes before she was sure she was going to kill him. The fear had left her from earlier and all that was there was cold determination. The clarity that she was right. The look he was sure so many creatures had seen painted on his face before the twist of his knife or the bullet left the gun. He’d faced death hundreds of times in his life. But he’d never been on the other side of the hunt like that. Not once. Usually it was a kill or be killed that was still the prey fighting back. This was… different. “I was on the other side of it and I-- when the tables turned. I couldn’t choose it. To be what she had intended to be.” It made him weak, foolish. To let her go after all that. To abandon all his training for the sake of some stupid thought of his soul and its fate. What did his morality matter for the greater good? Apparently more than it had in the past. “I don’t know if I see her as anything other than a monster. She was-- That wasn’t the point. Not-- I couldn’t be on the other side of the knife. For some fucking reason.” The dough had to be ready by now. He swung the freezer open and pulled it out and placed it on the counter. Like it was of any importance. Like he was allowed to play at being normal.

Ariana watched him intently as he processed what she’d asked him. The way his hands couldn’t seem to keep still was more than indication this wasn’t an easy topic. She’d never been under the illusion it would be, but it was still difficult to watch Kaden struggle all the same. His hands kept brushing the flour away only to re-coat them in flour moments later. As if the physical movements could tie any of this together in a nice, simple way. But that’s the thing, this wasn’t simple. There was no way it’d ever be simple, but it was important. She wished Celeste was here. If anyone could help Kaden figure all of this out, it was her. But she wasn’t here. She wouldn’t ever be here to offer her wisdom again, so Ariana would try to bring some of her energy to the conversation the best she could. “Alright, maybe it’s not the point, but it’s still an important distinction. Something you stand for.”

Prior to the mention of nearly killing Kaden, Ariana had still been leaning against the counter keeping her arms calmly at her side. The idea of Lydia killing Kaden made her hands ball up into fists. Her anger was all directed at Lydia, but she tried her best to keep her features gentle though her face ended up looking like more of a grimace. It reminded her just how much Kaden getting killed was a distinct possibility. The thought only made her want to lock him away in this apartment, but she knew he’d never stand for that. “You’re only here because the gun was out of ammo,” she said, her voice coming out as a strained whisper and her fists clenching even tighter. The more he spoke, the more questions she had. He couldn’t be her when the tables were turned, but hadn’t he been so many times before? Lydia was far worse than any werewolf she’d ever met so she was having a difficult time understanding. She took a few deep breaths and reminded herself, Kaden was still here, and even if this didn’t make sense to her, they still had each other.

“You couldn’t be on the other side of the knife… or gun,” Ariana asked slowly, still not entirely sure on what to make of that. The fact she was important to him was enough to show Kaden’s values were changing, but not in a way that seemed concrete as of yet. Now she felt tense. She wasn’t sure how to clarify without making Kaden feel defensive. She’d meant what she said, that there was no judgment on her part. People were capable of some pretty amazing things when people believed in them and hell, she believed in Kaden. Maybe other wolves would think she was foolish for it, but time and again, Kaden had showed up for her when it mattered most. “Look,” she started, “I’m not trying to- What I’m going to say, I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just want to understand. And I think you need to understand. You need to know where you stand so you don’t get killed out there.” There was a good chance he’d tell her to drop it, but even if he at least thought about it, he was one step closer to making his own way. Keeping himself safer by not putting himself in a position of fighting someone he couldn’t kill. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and finally let her hands relax. “You’ve been on the other side of the knife before,” she reminded him gently, “Something has to be different-- even if it’s you.”

Something he stood for. Right. More and more, Kaden wasn’t sure what he stood for. Everything had softened from black and white to shades of grey and it was harder to have a clear picture of what he did and didn’t support. And if that was good or bad, he couldn’t say. His hands clenched into fists for a moment before releasing them, a small puff of flour floating in the air around them as he let the tension fall away. It was strange to hear it put so plainly, coming from her mouth of all places. He’d be dead if the gun hadn’t been out of ammo. It just lent credence to the question of whether he should have even confronted her in the woods by himself. Maybe not. Probably not. What good had it done. He wanted to slink down against the counter and fall to the floor to sit, just collapse into himself with the whole thing. But he wasn’t alone. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Ari, tense and clearly struggling to calm herself down. He wasn’t going to fall to pieces in front of her. Not if he could help it, so he gripped the edge of the counter instead, held himself up, like nothing was wrong.

His knuckles went white as he held it tighter, a little more with every difficult question she posed. “That’s what I said, yeah,” Kaden confirmed, tersely. He wanted this over and done with. Nothing would change by dragging this up, would it? And she was too young to carry all this. He was sure of it. But she kept poking at it, prodding. “I know that,” he said, his voice snapping harsher than he’d meant to. “I know,” he repeated, softer this time. “I know I need focus but it’s not…” It wasn’t simple or clear anymore. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me, alright?” He turned away from her, and back towards the fridge to grab the dough, a silent savior from his thoughts. The sooner they were baking, the sooner he could drown all this out. “That was my point, Ari. I’ve been on the side that kills. Not the one that--” The lump in his throat didn’t let the rest of his words flow free. “So yeah. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter right now. Grab the rest of the dough, alright?”

Ariana watched on as she could see Kaden struggling with himself. While his distress and confusion were both visible, they didn’t quite make it to his words outside of a bit of a bite in his tone that he immediately softened. Her own flour covered hands started to fidget. This was something he needed to face, but maybe this wasn’t the time or she wasn’t the person. Part of her longed for Celeste to be here, she could help him through this and he wouldn’t feel obligated to be the strong adult in the room. She sighed and finally said, “Okay then. You can say that, but I’m still going to worry about you. Kind of comes with the whole giving a shit thing.” She tried to convey understanding in her features. There was no furrow in her brow or scrunch in her nose. Just calm eyes that tried to let Kaden know he wasn’t being judged here. “And that’s okay. You know that, right? I hope you know that. Maybe I can never really understand, but it does matter. Even if it’s not me, you should talk to someone and figure it out… though I have been told I’m wise beyond my years.” She said the last part a little more lightheartedly to get Kaden to stop looking like he might further grind down the flour. “But yeah, yeah, I’ll grab the dough and you can show me how it's done.”

Kaden paused a moment, still facing the dough on the counter. He would have to turn and face her eventually. Where the conversation went from here was up to him. “I haven’t been out. If that makes you feel better. On the full moon. Not for a while.” He looked down and noticed he’d been tracing small circles in the flour on the counter. He quickly used his palm to brush them away, clear the slate. He took a deep breath and finally faced her, letting it out as a sigh as he saw her face, seeing how hard she was trying to reach out. He tried to focus on what he knew. Ariana was a good kid. He wasn’t going to let her die. She was also a werewolf. He hunted werewolves. Where did that-- No. Focus. She was a werewolf who he wanted to protect. Even though she’d nearly killed him. So that meant he was questioning his codes. It had to. There was no other way to frame that, as much as he wanted to. That was something he had to grapple with. And soon. But he wasn’t sure how. Putain. Ari was so willing to help. But at the end of the day, she was still a kid, though. As much as she was like her sister, she wasn’t her. He gave her a smile, genuine but still small. “Thanks. For, uh. Just thanks.” He grabbed a small handful of flour and threw it at her, biting back laughter. “But no more bullshit. It’s time to bake.”

#kaden #wickedswriting #sibling death tw #gun use tw #mentions only

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wren-fell · 3 years

Text

Stuck in Borderland

Chapter 6: A Shock to the Heart

This is by far my favorite chapter. Writing these games is actually really fun, I love the stress and angst.

Thank you to everyone that’s been supporting and reading this!

Warnings: language, violence, fear, high-anxiety situations, talk of death, dead body mention

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Sayaka sat on the roof with her back against the utility shed and her arms around her knees. The looming shadows of Tokyo in the distance seemed to be taunting her. Mocking her with all the lives it was swallowing up in the darkness tonight and every other night in the Borderland. Her hands squeezed tighter around her as she thought about Kaoru being the one to survive. Akiko didn’t deserve that. She was such a bright girl. No doubt it was their fault she was dead. They let her die. She knew it would happen. Her and Madoka had predicted it from the moment they had asked Akiko about their relationship. She thought he would help her survive, but instead he was the death of her.

She sniffled and squinted her eyes fighting back tears. I didn’t even know her that well… why am I so upset? But she knew the answer. She could see the picture in her minds eye of the young girl with a long ponytail, and green blue eyes that matched her own with a crooked smile. Sayaka saw her in every teenage girl in the Borderlands.

“I’ll get back home to you Ichika…” she whispered and rested her chin on her knee, “I just have to survive.”

The door to the roof opened, but Sayaka didn’t bother to look she knew who it was. Quiet footsteps made their way over to her as Chishiya joined her on the roof standing beside her.

There was a long silence before he spoke, “you’d have a better view if you sat by the edge.”

“I’ve had enough of heights for the night,” she mumbled. He nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything.

Sayaka sighed and leaned her head back to look up at him, “you can sit,” she offered, “if you want.”

He looked down at her for a second, but sat down beside her. Sayaka stiffened as his sweatshirt brushed her arm. She hadn’t expected him to sit so close. There was another long silence before Sayaka spoke again, “I know you’re right, you know?”

“Hm?” He leaned his head back to look at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I know you’re right that I need to focus on myself. That I shouldn’t be upset since Akiko is gone. But,” she drew in a shaky breath, “it’s just hard when she had so much ahead of her.”

“You don’t know that,” he said simply. She rested her head on her knees again. “But,” Sayaka glanced at him, “if you need some sort of solace. At least she isn’t here anymore.”

Sayaka leaned her head back as she laughed.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect you of all people to be comforting,” she wiped tears out of the corner of her eyes, “but I appreciate it, and uh…” she hesitated rubbing the back of her head, “thank you for not letting me fall… during the game.”

He smirked, “sharing a platform with that other player probably would’ve gotten everyone killed.”

Sayaka sighed, “yea… he wasn’t very observant he must be new to the game,” she paused, “poor guy.”

Sayaka watched the skyline wondering to herself what time it was when an explosion lit up the sky giving her the answer. Two of the lower buildings in the east side of Tokyo went up in a ball of flames signaling that players had failed a game. Seconds later the lasers came down from the sky taking out the players who had let their visas expire. It was midnight.

The scene made Sayaka jump and her hand grabbed instinctively onto the sleeve of Chishiya’s sweatshirt. His whole body stiffened and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. Sayaka’s cheeks turned rosy as she brought her hand back into her lap sheepishly, “sorry…” she sighed leaning her head back against the wall as the sky began to dim again, “I hate this place.”

“I doubt anybody likes it,” Chishiya pointed out.

“Maybe Hatter.”

“I don’t think he’d be working so hard to get out then.”

Sayaka put a finger to her chin, “Niragi then, where else would he be able to act like a total psycho.”

“That ones fair.”

Sayaka smiled, “wow comforting and you agree with me? What’s got you in such a good mood?”

He chuckled, “you’re bound to say something intelligent every once and a while.”

“And then you go and ruin it,” she grumbled.

“You brought it up,” he shrugged, “if you thought about what you said before you actually said it, it could happen more often.”

Sayaka pouted, “if you think I’m so dumb why are you ‘observing me’?”

He watched her for a second picking her apart again, “you can learn a lot from observing people. And I never said you weren’t intelligent, just that you don’t always act intelligently.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as she watched him, “what exactly do you want to learn about me?” Of course he didn’t answer just gave her a smirk and turned his eyes back to the skyline.

Sayaka sighed, “should’ve counted on that,” she grumbled hugging her knees again, “I know it’s because you want to know if I’ll be useful.” His eyes darted back to her.

“But useful for what?” She looked up at him.

“You don’t need to know that yet,” he said simply and stood up, “it’s late I’m going to bed.”

Sayaka watched him walkaway with raised eyebrows. So he did have some sort of plan for her.

Three days later their visas were up, and Sayaka and Madoka pushed their way through the crowd in the lobby to get their game assignments. Frowning Sayaka glanced over at Madoka, she looked nervous. But, who could blame her she’d had a bad string of games including three different hearts games. Sayaka had to admit she had had it pretty easy. Besides the six of diamonds Sayaka had only participated in low-level games, none of which were hearts.

Madoka hesitated when she got closer to the table. “You okay?” Sayaka asked.

“Yea, yea, just nervous,” she nodded slowly, “but we all are, right?” She added glancing up at her.

“Right,” Sayaka agreed and gave her a small smile. Sayaka stepped forward to get the folded piece of paper from one of Hatter’s men. Holding her breath she opened the paper to see the number 6.

“I’m group 6, how about you?” She asked glancing at Madoka.

Tension visibly left her body as her shoulders fell, “I’m group 6 too. Thank god I didn’t want another game with all militants,” she murmured.

Sayaka snorted, “yea I bet. Let’s get going then. Maybe they’ll let us drive,” she joked.

Madoka laughed, “only the militants drive!”

“Yea, but what if we drove instead?”

They drove into the heart of the city cruising through the desolate dark streets, and pulled up in front of the metropolitan police station. The word “GAME” displayed in big letters on the TV screen in the window. Slowly Sayaka got out of the car slamming the door behind her with a deep frown on her face, and a bad feeling churning in her stomach. She surveyed the rest of her group of 4 all of them seemed as unsettled as she was, but they proceeded up the front steps. Not that they had much of a choice.

Shattered glass littered the lobby crunching under all their sandals, and Sayaka cast an uneasy glance around the room. Old wanted posters scattered across the floor, and she grimaced at the words assault, murder, and theft knowing that some of these people where probably here with her.

In the back of the station there were four other players already waiting. Sayaka and Madoka picked up their phones from a table set up in the center, and looked around the room uneasily as the timer counted down. Chewing on her lip Sayaka surveying the room around her trying to figure out what kind of suit this game would be. The station was small, so very unlikely it could be a spades game. There were multiple interrogation rooms and offices surrounding them, maybe a clubs or a diamonds game?

“Registration is now closed.” The robotic voice snapped Sayaka back to reality and she raised the phone in her hand to look at the screen.

“Game: Trigger Shock

Difficulty: 2 of Hearts.” Sayaka’s eyes widened.

“No… not another heart game,” Madoka whimpered. Sayaka glanced at her as she put a hand over her mouth tears building in her eyes.

“Rules:

Players will each go into an interrogation room.” Everyone jumped as all the surrounding doors slammed open.

“There will be 5 rounds.

Each round will have a timer.

By the end of each round players must choose who to shock.”

“Shock?” Whispered one of the younger players, “like an electric shock?”

“If a player chooses to shock another who has not chosen, they will die.”

Everyone began to murmur, “oh my god…”

“What do we do?” Panic was spreading through the group like wildfire.

“We can’t play a game like this.”

Sayaka watched Madoka as she shook, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Players please proceed into the interrogation rooms.”

“It’ll be alright,” Sayaka smiled, “I’ll see you after, okay?”

Madoka looked up at her and drew in a long shaky breath, “I’ll see you after,” she agreed.

Slowly they all dispersed from the circle and walked alone into interrogation rooms. Sayaka cast a glance over her shoulder at Madoka as she walked into the room. Madoka didn’t look back she walked right in and Sayaka sighed. There was nothing they could do they just had to play the game and make it out alive.

Sayaka walked into the room and jumped as the door slammed closed behind her. Running a hand through her hair she turned back to survey her “game arena”. The room was small, only big enough to hold the table and two chairs that were sitting inside. There was a two way mirror on the wall in front of her, and two doorways, the one behind her she had entered from and one beside the mirror on the opposite wall.

“Please take a seat. The game will begin in one minute,” the voice directed from the speaker in the ceiling.

Cautiously Sayaka sat down in the metal chair glaring at the mirror. As her bare legs touched the cold seat she flinched, and closed her eyes drawing in a deep breath. Just get through this. Opening her eyes she looked at the table as screens flicked on in front of the row of 8 buttons showing the photos of each player. Sayaka’s eyes rested on Madoka’s face. She expected her to look horrified, but she didn’t she looked stoic and ready to fight… to win. Laughing Sayaka dropped her head, “even I look more terrified than she does.”

Sayaka leaned her head back eyeing the second door beside the mirror. She half expected the game maker to come out and sit across the table. But the door didn’t budge, and Sayaka dragged her eyes back to the table and the buttons.

“The game will now begin.” Electrodes popped up from the back of the chair attaching themselves along Sayaka’s arm and against her temples strapping her to the chair. Her breathing quickened as she struggled to keep herself calm.

“Round 1: You have 5 minutes to choose who to shock.”

Sayaka stared at the buttons. Who could she pick? Anyone but Madoka that was for sure, but… if she picked someone who didn’t choose she would die. She felt her mind racing, and her hand shook as it hovered over the buttons. Her eyes darted back to the door next to the mirror. She wished one of the game makers would walk through the door. If she weren’t strapped to the chair she would lunge across this stupid table and punch them straight in the face. But she would still love to give them a piece of her mind.

“3 minutes remaining, please make a choice.” She looked up at the ceiling and back to the buttons. I have to choose someone.

She drew in a deep breath and went over the pictures again. Picking one of the players not from the beach would be logical... Sweat beaded off her forehead making her painfully aware of the suction cups on her temples. But, getting rid of the militants could be advantageous.

“2 minutes remaining, you must make a choice.” Sayaka’s finger hovered over the third button shaking violently. She squeezed her eyes shut, there has to be another answer... I shouldn’t have to shock anyone!

“Wait…” she whispered opening her eyes. The gears in her head were turning. Everything seemed so familiar. The buttons, the other participants, the continuation prompts… what was it?

“1 minute remaining, you must make a choice.”

Sayaka closed her eyes again as she slowly brought her hand to the buttons, what kind of sick fuck would force people to do this? Slowly her finger pressed onto the cold plastic, treat us like rats in a cage and experiment on us!? Wait… that’s it! She slowly took her finger off the button opening her eyes. This was like an experiment she had read about in one of her psychology classes. The experiment was to determine if people would blindly follow authority and shock the other participants. Sayaka rested her hands in her lap and closed her eyes again, I don’t have to shock anyone… that’s the loophole. That’s how we can survive.

“There are 30 seconds remaining, your life depends on your choice.” Sayaka squeezed her eyes closed tighter.

“There are 15 seconds remaining, you must make a choice.” This is right… this is the right choice.

“There are 10 seconds remaining, you must choose.” I don’t have to choose. Nothing will happen.

“There are 5 seconds remaining, you must choose.” Nothing will happen.

“Three, two, one.”

Sayaka stiffened digging her nails into the palms of her hands waiting for the shock, but nothing ever came. She opened her eyes to look around the room making sure this was real. That she was still alive. She let out a relieved sigh that was short lived as the screams played over the speaker. Reflexively she tried to bring her hands up to cover her ears, but they didn’t move higher than her waist. Squeezing her eyes shut she drew in long shaking breaths as the screams made her eardrums throb.

Almost as abruptly as they started the screams were cut off and the female voice chimed in again, “round two will now begin. You have 4 minutes to choose who to shock.” Sayaka slowly opened her eyes and raised her head to stare at her reflection in the two-way mirror. It felt like someone was watching her; not that she didn’t know they had cameras around, but she was convinced someone was behind that glass laughing as she struggled with her humanity. But, the joke was on them, she was still alive she had figured out the answer, and she had been spared from round 1. The only problem was she couldn’t tell the others. She just had to pray that they could figure it out on their own. That Madoka could figure it out.

“There are 2 minutes remaining, you must make a choice.” Sayaka bowed her head as if she was praying to whatever deity would watch over a place like this, and closed her eyes. She wrung her hands together and waited for the countdown to be over.

“I’m not going to choose…” she whispered, “I know your game, and I don’t have to choose.”

“There are 30 seconds remaining, you must choose,” the voice counted down and all of Sayaka’s muscles tensed as she waited for the shock, “three, two, one.” Her breath hitched in her throat when she felt one of the wires on the electrodes twitch, but no shock came.

Sayaka let out a relieved sigh, and tensed as the screams echoed over the loud speaker. There were more of them this time, at least six of the nine participants were screaming. Again Sayaka curled in on herself trying to block out the screams. It felt like she was drowning. Like she was being sucked into the darkness behind her eyelids with screaming ghosts circling her as she fell.

“Round 3 will now begin. You have 3 minutes to choose.” The voice piped up, but the screams didn’t stop this time. Sayaka stayed curled in her chair not bothering to raise her head as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. She was losing sense of how much time had passed as she sat wringing her hands together, and struggling to stay calm.

“Three, two, one.” More screams echoed over the loud speaker the voices combining and shifting into something that didn’t sound human. Sayaka cried out as she tried again to cover her ears.

“Make it stop!”

“Round 4 will now begin. You have 2 minutes to choose who to shock.” Sayaka barely heard the voice. It sounded distant beneath all the mutilated screams. The pain of her nails digging into the palms of her hands was the only thing that let her know this was all real and she really hadn’t died and gone to hell.

“Three, two, one.” The screams overlapped again, but a female voice made Sayaka grit her teeth. It was Madoka. Sayaka shook her head as her voice blended with the others.

“Round 5 will now begin. You have 1 minute to choose.” How? Sayaka rocked herself.

“There are 30 seconds remaining. You must make a choice.” How was I the one to survive?

“Three, two, one.” More screams joined in and Sayaka bit her lip so hard blood dribbled down her chin. The screams seemed to get louder. Sayaka could have sworn they were all standing beside her and not in the other rooms. The voices were mocking her for not choosing. Begging her to help. Cursing her for surviving.

Then there was silence. All at once the screams stopped, and she was left in excruciating, crushing silence. Slowly Sayaka opened her eyes. Her vision was blurred from how hard she had been squeezing her eyelids. Unfurling her hands she could see blood on her fingernails from where she’d dug into her own palms. Lightly she touched the wounds and winced. This was real. She was alive.

“Congratulations! All successful players have been awarded a two day visa.” The electrodes were painfully peeled off her arms and forehead making her wince. Slowly Sayaka leaned her back against the chair and tilted her head to the side as she looked at the two-way mirror. She was a mess. Tears were still streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen, and red circles marked her skin where all the electrodes had been. Brushing the hair out of her face Sayaka drew in a long deep breath, and stood up on shaking legs.

As she turned, the door opened and she paused. She didn’t know what to do. If she truly was the only one alive what would she do? Slowly she walked into the doorway resting a hand on the frame as she looked into the room she had been in with the other participants less than 30 minutes ago. All the other doors were open, but there was nothing moving. Wiping the tears off her face she stood up straight ready to head back to the Beach when movement in the doorway on the other side of the room made her freeze. Her face was tear stained, red, and swollen as Madoka leaned against the frame breathing heavily.

“Madoka,” the words fell out of Sayaka’s mouth before she could process what she was looking at.

Her head snapped up and she stared wide-eyed at her, “Sayaka!”

They both ran forward collapsing in the center of the room in each other’s arms. Madoka’s body shook as she sobbed her hands balled into fists in Sayaka’s crop top.

“I thought you were dead! I heard you screaming!” She wailed. Sayaka held her tightly resting her chin on her head as quiet tears rolled down her cheek.

“I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine…” she rubbed her back, “it’s okay Ichi… Madoka it’s over,” she soothed. It seemed like hours they sat in the center of the floor as Madoka sobbed, but in reality it was only a few minutes. The lights started to flick off as the game arena’s power was siphoned off and Madoka raised her head from Sayaka’s chest.

“Come on,” Sayaka whispered putting an arm around Madoka and walking her out of the police station. She set her down gently in the passenger seat of the car, and Sayaka paused looking over her shoulder at the station, “stay here I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Madoka whimpered.

“I’m going to get the keys. You don’t want to walk back right?” She gave her a half-hearted smile, and walked back into the police station using the phone as a flashlight. Picking her way over the broken glass, Sayaka walked back into the main room and stared at the open doorways.

Drawing in a deep breath she peered into the third doorway. The smell of burnt flesh and blood made her gag, and she pulled the collar of her shirt up over her mouth. She slowly walked into the room shining the light from her phone on the body of the militant who had driven them there. His body was stiff and his head was leaning back with his mouth wide open in an eternal scream. Shaking Sayaka took a step forward reaching into the pocket of his swim trunks. She pulled out the car keys and jumped as she accidentally brushed against his arm causing it to fall off the arm of the chair. Pocketing the car keys Sayaka made for the doorway, but paused. Looking over her shoulder she could see it in on the table, the silver metal of his handgun glinting in the phone light.

I could take it… it’s right there.

It would be nice to have some sort of protection for other games or from the other militants at the Beach. But she knew she couldn’t sneak it in. Hatter’s bathing suit rule made sure of that. Sighing she turned around and headed back to Madoka. For right now she would have to trust that Hatter had everything under control.

#stuck in borderland #chishiya x oc #alice in borderland #Alice in borderland oc #This is definitely my favorite chapter!#Getting towards the good part of the story #and I'm excited to keep going with it!#my writing #chishiyaxoc #chishiya shuntaro

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ampleappleamble · 4 years

Text

Hey uh so I'm trying something out. Basically, I wrote a fanfiction detailing my OG Watcher Axa Mala's arrival in the Dyrwood, and if you wanna read it, that would be super cool and good of you ♡ I'm trying to get a more fleshed out, proper voice for Axa, and I figured the best place to start would be... at the start.

Please feel free to leave feedback if you end up reading this; I haven't written anything like this in years and I wanted to try and get my sea legs under me again. I've got a few asks I want to try and answer first, but I would very much like to continue this. Let me know what you think!

No real title yet. I think about possible title candidates literally all day.

---

Pillars of Eternity: An Historical Account of the Life and Exploits of Axa Mala, Watcher of Caed Nua

---

I made a promise.

The little woman sat at the back of the crowded little wagon. Her head lolled on her shoulders and her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep-- although she was as close to it as her body and mind would allow.

He made a promise. To me.

Still, sleep refused to take her entirely, and so her thoughts drifted through the haze in her mind like dead leaves floating on a pond, tormenting her. Reminding her of everything she was hoping sleep would allow her to forget for a while.

He lied to me.

The wagon jostled her to and fro, her small frame tossed to and fro against the other passengers. Her burgundy hair hung in loose curls over her face, her long, tapered ears limp against her cheeks.

He... betrayed me.

The stale air in the covered wagon, the stuffy miasma of the breath and body odor of other kith, combined with the wagon's insistent swaying-- it reached her even through her dozing, making her head swim. Soon she began to squirm and groan, started feeling flushed and weak.

He betrayed... us. Both--

...All of us.

Even as another passenger gently gripped her shoulder, asking if she was feeling alright, she found herself unable to fully wake. All of a sudden her whole world was the pounding of her heart, the fever on her brow, the thoughts racing through her foggy, half-sleeping mind, whirling madly, a half-dream almost spoken aloud:

traitor-- promise-- liar-- devotion--

She writhed, trembling, teeth chattering, as a nearby folk man trundled to the front of the wagon, hollering for the caravan master to stop. A dwarf seated by her reached across the gap between them and squeezed her hand gently.

"Hey, there. Come on now, you'll be alright. We'll tell the caravan master to stop for you, and we'll get you taken care of. We little kith have to watch each other's backs, after all." She winked, and the orlan only moaned weakly in response, dazed and frightened.

What do I do now? Without them? ...Him. Am I-- I'm--

And finally, she shuddered violently, waking. Her violet eyes snapped open to stare blearily at her shaking hands in her lap.

I... I feel...

...Oh. Gods.

...I never should have done this. Any of this.

.........Where are we?

The man who'd alerted the driver had returned, looking paler than before. The caravan had stopped, but not because of her.

---

"There." The hired guard gestured toward a large bush bristling with small, pink berries. "Berries Odema told y' 'bout. Let's get y' fixed up, c'mon."

Axa shuffled miserably behind the blond woman, shivering and panting as her cheeks flushed with fever again. It comes and goes, she thought, gritting her pointed teeth, wiping her brow. What in Hel is this malady?

The exertion from fighting off the local fauna wasn't making her condition any easier to bear, and although the caravan master had told her her illness was common and not very severe, it was bad enough to make taking down a single juvenile wolf a struggle. Been in the books too much perhaps, she thought grimly as she caught up to the folk woman. Another favor academia's done me: Now I'm out of shape and out of friends.

As she knelt before the bush, she couldn't help but heave a long, shaky sigh. Well. Maybe I ought to be a bit easier on myself. I've had a... difficult month. And now, this shit on top of it all. Maybe I should find a temple, make a sacrifice to Rymrgand... She tried to laugh, but it came out a weak cough instead.

Calisca side-eyed the little woman as they harvested the berries together, a slight smirk playing on her chapped lips. Maybe it was the orlan's small stature making her resemble a folk child, or maybe it was her stubborn, sulky silence, but she couldn't help but be reminded of her youngest brother. He was a studious, taciturn lad who had yearned to be taken seriously, but always pouted and whined at any little splinter or bruise. Not to say she thought the orlan was faking it, just that she seemed to be acting worse off than she looked. She knew orlans were intense by nature, so maybe she was just being dramatic. After all, she'd flirted with that Aedyre merchant back at camp easily enough.

But when she really thought about it, the fuzzy little redhead had been quiet and withdrawn the whole trip down, ever since they'd rolled out of Ixamitl. None of the other travelers had had much to say about her when asked, other than that she was apparently a former lore college student who seemed content to keep to herself. And Calisca had suffered the Rumbling Rot herself enough times to know that it didn't render a kith this out of sorts. So either she was exaggerating, Odema was talking complete horseshit, or she had something weighing her down besides the fever and chills.

Each answer was as likely as the other, and Calisca's response was the same either way: try and get her talking, lighten her up. Didn't need her bringing the mood down further for the other caravanners, making a bad situation worse. Better to try and make friendly, put her at ease. It'd certainly make this shitshow of a night pass easier.

"People're talkin' about you at camp, like kith will. Word is you're a loremaster from the Plains." Calisca paused her berry picking to glance around, scanning for any movement from the underbrush. "Or somethin' like that anyway. What was it you used to study?"

Axa snorted and winced simultaneously. She could understand and appreciate an attempt at small talk, but the other woman had chosen the worst possible avenue of inquiry. Maybe if she had asked about her love life, that would be worse...

"Loremaster? Hardly. Scholar. ...Of history." The orlan's response was short and clipped, but her voice was deep and rich, clearly accustomed to song and public speaking. Her Ixamitl accent was only partially obfuscated by her easy proficiency in Aedyran. "Well. Linguistics, really. And naturalism. Studying cultures and languages, you know. History is more of a catch-all term..." She gestured vaguely, waving one hand about, dropping half of her harvest in the process. Calisca snorted this time, and she couldn't deny the relief she felt when the little woman laughed along with her instead of getting offended.

"History and language, huh?" The fighter bent down to collect the fallen fruit, a wry grin on her ruddy face. "Come out here to study how we Dyrwoodans been butcherin' Aedyran with our accents and cussin'? ...Truth be told, I might like to read that paper." She rolled her head around on her shoulders, stretching her neck. "Well... maybe have someone read it to me."

"I'm... No, I'm not here on behalf of any college. I'm not here for anyone." She wasn't smiling anymore. Another awkward silence. Calisca was getting ready to just change the topic to something less incendiary when Axa looked away--

just explain before you have to suffer the humiliation of being asked!!

-- and sighed. "I was expelled. I... made a poor choice, trusted someone I shouldn't have, and I was forced out of my community." If the fever hadn't reddened her face, this confession certainly had. The berries bled juice from between her fingers, smashed in her shaking fists. "I lost my academic standing, my career, my... everything. So now I'm here. Because it was this or killing myself, and with my luck that would probably just piss off Berath."

There. That's all. You've said the essentials, you've admitted it out loud, it counts as the truth, and you don't need to say it again if you don't want to. Axa looked at the ground, angry at herself, at her shame, at the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. It wasn't that bad, wasn't that bad, wasn't...

If Calisca was at all shocked by the former scholar's outburst, she hid it well. "Damn rough turn, that," she drawled, shaking her head slowly. "...Well, gods know we've all done shit we ain't proud of. Made moves we've regretted. Important thing's to learn from it. And considering you made a living at it once, you're probably pretty good at learnin'. Ain't that right, scholar?" She tried a heartening smile, and found it came more easily than she'd thought it would. "That's what the Dyrwood's all about. Second chances."

Self-pity and gratitude washed over Axa in equal measure. A complete stranger had to be the one to do it-- a mercenary at that-- but at long last, someone had finally sympathized with her, taken her at her word, and given her a few words of encouragement. How had this taken so long?

"I... yes, I suppose you're right." She wiped her hands on the grass and groped for another berry-laden branch. "I have to admit, it does help to hear someone else actually say it. Academia is infested with egoists who refuse to back down, who never learn from their mistakes. It's refreshing to be reassured by a fellow kith of the universal truth that... we are all fuck-ups from time to time." She grinned. "And that the point of life is to learn. A cool hand on a hot brow." Axa looked up at the other woman. "Thank you, Calisca."

And with that, Calisca finally felt herself relax. Despite the blocked road, the sick passenger, the dangerous ruins, the threatening weather-- despite it all, she had actually managed to get through to this girl and turn a potential shitshow into a manageable little fiasco. Not bad at all. And Odema thinks he pays me more than my work's worth! She chuckled to herself as she turned back to the task at hand.

"So. Have a destination in mind?" She plucked a few more of the riper-looking berries. Her hands moved at a leisurely pace; they were nearly finished already.

"Gilded Vale. Local lord is practically giving away land." Axa picked slowly, too, still groggy and fatigued from fever and chills.

Calisca nodded. "I heard about that. Got a sister in Gilded Vale myself." The mercenary smiled at the thought of Aufra, but her stomach twisted with anxiety when she remembered that letter. She pushed it out of her mind.

"Any idea what you'll be occupying yourself with? Bein' honest, don't know what kinda life a professional book reader might carve out for herself in a little farming community like the Vale." The blonde woman smiled at her to reassure her that she was joking, but Axa was staring into the middle distance and didn't notice.

The orlan woman sighed, long and slow and heavy. "I have... no idea what I'm going to do next," she murmured.

This was not an exaggeration.

---

"Don't trust them! They mean to kill us all!"

It had all happened in a flash. The Glanfathans had appeared out of nowhere, slaughtered the poor travellers, gutted Odema, and Heodan had thought himself Berath's for certain. But he'd hoped against hope that maybe, maybe someone would discover the grisly scene and come charging in to save the day. ...Preferably before he got his throat slit.

He had nearly cried out with relief when he saw Calisca step into the light before him, sword raised high. Almost hadn't noticed the woman at her side, before recognizing her as the sick passenger he'd sold a dagger to not 40 minutes prior. But when the stinking savage holding him hostage responded to the women's presence by pressing his blade to Heodan's throat, he'd been shocked to see that timid, sullen little orlan suddenly leap to his defense.

She had recognized them as Glanfathans, and she had been clever enough to try to mollify them by explicitly stating that they did not disturb the ruins. But her calls for amnesty had fallen on deaf ears, and Heodan had warned her as a last resort. Now the orlan woman stood stock still, her eyes darting around frantically as she puzzled over how best to proceed.

superstition-- passionate-- galawain-- belligerent--

Focus, please. She drew a deep, calming breath.

...They won't be pacified by words alone, it seems. So... time to push our luck.

For a few terrifying moments, Heodan thought she might actually surrender her weapon trying to appease the madman. But instead she stepped forward, lowering her sabre but not relinquishing it. "Tell me, man of Eir Glanfath. Do you truly think your hunter god smiles upon your deeds?" She stared steadily into his eyes, her face an impassive mask. "Protecting these crumbling stones, long after their builders have been reclaimed by the Wheel... seems to run counter to Galawain's tenet of the young and strong overthrowing and replacing the old. Wouldn't you say?" Axa glanced at Heodan, a clear "I'm trying, please hang in there" in her wide, panicky eyes.

The axe at Heodan's throat shifted slightly, the man holding it leaning forward in his fervor to defend his beliefs. Heodan winced against the assault of the man's hot, stinking breath on his cheek, the roar of his raspy voice.

"You know nothing of our ways, estramor! My people have followed the Lord of Beasts for centuries, known of his sacred decrees for longer than your miserable bloodline has stood! Galawain charged my people with the sacred task of safeguarding--"

Oh, horseshit! Don't let him--

"You call this holy work?" Axa cried, gesturing at the bodies surrounding them. "Brutalizing innocent travelers to 'defend' an empty temple? If you believe that, you'd believe anything-- anything so long as it allows you to kill who you please, no matter how helpless." Her eyes bore into the man, disgust and indignance plain on her face. "I see what you really are, coward."

It only lasted a second, but a second was all he needed. The Glanfathan faltered under the woman's verbal assault, and Heodan took full advantage, dropping out of his grip and falling into an evasive roll. He heard the warrior scream with fury, heard Calisca roar a ragged battle cry, heard the orlan woman start chanting...

And after the deed was done, before they could even catch their breath, the bîaŵac was upon them.

---

I know him.

She stood, but only just barely.

How do I know him?

Calisca and Heodan... did not stand. Would not stand again. That man, the masked man--

...He did this.

Oh gods. Oh fuck, I'm in trouble.

She stumbled over the ancient, uneven cobblestones, the fever and chills a distant memory. She could swear she heard voices, and telling them apart from her own jumbled, raving thoughts was becoming more and more difficult.

He did this, he killed them, just like he killed--

...like he

The ghostly image of a woman burning alive on a wooden stake sprung up in front of her, and the little woman fell to her knees, covering her face, screaming--

i can't i can't i can't i can't i can't i can't do this i can't take this please--

-- but when she lowered her shaking hands again, she saw only the grass, the stones, the ruins. Ther pillar and the machine.

Axa made a sound she didn't have a name for, something between a sob and a scream and a bark of crazed laughter. She had honestly believed, when she had woken up this morning, that her life could not possibly get any worse.

...I have to get out of here.

The orlan rose to her feet, slowly, stumbling toward the dirt road leading into the open meadows beyond. The path away from this place.

But she couldn't help looking over her shoulder one last time. At the base of the pillar, where that man

are you prepared, initiate

had stood.

What has he done...? Axa clutched at her head, trembling all over. Her thoughts, it seemed, were still not entirely her own.

What has he done this time...?

She mumbled a prayer to Wael, too exhausted to think anymore, as she slowly started off toward Gilded Vale.

#pillars of eternity #watcher #watcher axa #fanfic #posting this was the most difficult thing i've ever done #mostly because i had to do it on mobile and i fucked it up so then i had to redo it on desktop #i have never posted on desktop before lmao #anyway thanks for reading

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thecleverdame · 4 years

Text

Gods of Twilight - 14

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta: @ilikaicalie

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

Golda told you about the ruins of a Cathedral near the southern border of Lebanon. The immense structure is now little more than the skeleton of a church that was ravaged by fire a lifetime ago. The natural explorer in you hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

The past couple of months had brought snow for weeks on end, but there’s a break in the weather. The sun is shining through your window for the first time in forever and you’re interest is renewed. You plead with Sam to allow you to venture out. He was skeptical at first, he’s getting ready to lead a party out to the borderlands and he’s been hesitant for you to venture outside the castle without him.

In the end, he agrees, but with terms. While he can’t go himself he’s entrusted you to the always faithful Philip. But he wasn’t satisfied with just one knight.

That’s how Dean ended up riding beside you, one hand gripping the reins as he looks off into the distance.

Each breath puffs out in a hot little cloud, the air is icy but you’re plenty warm, wrapped in a thick fur cloak.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” you look to Dean who remains stoic.

“I wasn’t given much of a choice,” he grumbles, pursing his lips in indignation.

“Still,” you press, refusing to let him sour your mood. “The fresh air is invigorating, even if it’s a bit nippy.”

“I’ve had enough fresh air for a lifetime.” He shifts in his saddle.

He’s a handsome man, there’s no denying that, but his awful disposition has made him less and less appealing as time goes by.

“And how are you this afternoon, Philip?” You turn the one person you’re always able to depend on for a kind word, even if half of what he tells you is designed to placate you.

“Very well, my queen,” he nods, his eyes darting from Dean to you. “Always a pleasure to be out of the castle.”

“It’s some solace knowing that not everyone is tortured with my presence.”

Dean groans, rolling his eyes and giving his horse a kick as he rides ahead.

“We’re close,” Philip explains, remaining at your side. “The ruins are just through that tree line.”

He points off into the distance and through the naked branches of the dead forest, you can see a crumbling spire reaching upward toward the sky.

“It must have been enormous if that’s the leftover.”

Philip nods. “It was. People came from hundreds of miles to worship here. The place still feels sacred, even what’s left of it. Come on, there’s a path just head.”

You follow Philip through the forest and out into the clearing. As the trees open up there are the ruins of the mighty cathedral. Half of it still stands perfectly erect, as if God himself reached down and sliced the stone in two. What still stands is long charred from fire and smoke, still black from the flames all those years ago. The other half of the structure is nothing more than a low stone outline, showing where the outer wall of the far side of the church used to be.

Dean is milling around, gathering kindling to make a fire. He doesn’t even look up as you dismount and hand the reins of your horse off to Philip. The knight throws your saddlebag over his shoulder, following as you make your way around the ruins. It’s easy to imagine what this looked like before, grand and opulent, especially for a cathedral tucked into the countryside.

You find a spot with the best view and then take the bag from Philip, pulling out parchment and coal for drawing. You’re a terrible artist but enjoy it nonetheless. Trying to put the image on paper somehow sears the details into your brain.

For several hours you draw, then read a bit before feeling true cold set in. The afternoon must be fading as foretold by the severe drop in temperature. Dean’s fire is still smoldering and he warms you a cup of pine tea before the journey home. It’s warm in your hands and even warmer down your throat.

“Thank you,” you nod, savoring every bit of heat you can.

Dean shrugs, taking a nip from his flask. “I can’t have you freezing to death. Sam would kill me.”

“I’m still grateful-”

“Don’t do that.” He cuts you off, looking you dead-on for the time first today. “There’s no need for your polite production when it’s just us.”

“It’s not a production,” you respond calmly. “I’d hoped that perhaps some time together would help to foster our relationship, but I can see I was wrong.”

“You can’t help yourself can you?” Dean snickers, holding his hands out to heat them by the fire.

“Help myself from what? I’m simply trying to suss out exactly why it is you hate me so,” you spit back, feeling your hackles rise.

“Everything you do is a dance, carefully choreographed to fit into whatever the situation brings. My brother is blinded by his lust for you but I’m not as easily fooled. I haven’t yet figured out what it is that you want, but I will. I see you for what you are.” He’s agitated, cheeks blooming redder in the fading light.

You’re dumbfounded, staring at him in genuine confusion.

“And what exactly is it that you think I am?”

“I’m not sure. But you set yourself up quite nicely to appear as some sort of saint, defending the poor and unvalued. The way you came here, the way you’ve wormed your way into Sam’s head by getting into his bed. I see it all. And I’m not the only one.”

“Excuse me,” you gasp, taken aback. “I’ll not have the intimate details of my marriage made a topic of conversation.”

“It’s far too late for that. Besides, you don’t think Sam told me straight away the first time he fucked you? Knotted you? You’ve got him spinning, he’s so enamored he can’t see the forest through the trees.”

“You will not speak to me like this.” You sputter, trying to stand but slipping on the hardening snow only to sit back down, anger building inside you. “You are out of line.”

“Please,” Dean’s on a roll now, unable to temper his disdain as he glares at you. “The worst part of all this that you don’t even understand what it is that you’re playing at. After Ruby, I thought he’d learned his lesson. But I should have known he’ll always be deceived by a beautiful face. He’s supposed to be the one with the level head but not with you whispering to him in the night like some kind of siren.”

“Stop!” You cry, clutching your fists. Tears spill over the edge of your eyes, utterly gutted by his unwarranted hostility. He hates you. No, this is more than hate.

Somewhere along the way you’ve become the enemy.

“You’re brave though, I’ll give you that.” He laughs dryly, waving his finger. “Telling him to stay in your bed during his rut-”

“He can’t!” It’s Philip who pipes up, the exclamation leaving his lips before he can stop himself, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind his reaction.

“Aye,” Dean nods, looking from Philip to you. “She’s convinced him that it’s the only way.”

“He’s my husband!” you spit back, leaning forward to counter. “A wife wanting to keep her husband from another woman is certainly not out of the ordinary.”

“And if you survive it, he’ll be even more bewitched, won’t he? Wrapped around your finger out of loyalty and obligation. My God,” Dean hisses, unrestrained disgust seeping from his veins. “It must be worth it, whatever it is that you have planned. And if it doesn’t work out you won’t be around to reap the consequences. He’ll never be able to forgive himself if he hurts you, and if all goes well you’ll give him a child by this time next year. No would be able to touch you after that.”

“You sir, are out of line,” you whisper, vibrating with anger and shock, hardly able to believe what you’re hearing.

“Sam always said I was the one who was out of control but there’s something between your legs that melts his reason-”

“Enough,” Philip is beside you now. Your eyes widen as he stands tall and Dean rises in opposition. He shouldn’t speak, certainly not challenge the brother of the king. “You don’t hear the things I hear. He hurts her, she calls out when he’s-”

Philip realizes his insolence mid sentence, stopping short and looking in horror to Dean.

“I’m so sorry, my lord.” He bows his head, clasping his hands together.

“Watch your tongue,” Dean snorts, turning at you. “You think you have everyone fooled, but not me, little witch. I’m watching.”

He kicks a load of snow onto the fire and heads toward his horse.

“We should go, the sun will be setting soon and you need to back inside the walls before dark.” Philip walks off as well, leaving you by the dying fire in shock and confusion.

You’re seated in front of the fire in a self-made nest of blankets, trying to get warm. Your mother always told people you have thin blood, every time there was a breeze you asked for a cloak and in the winter you were never able to stay warm. It’s worse here, Lebanon has brutal winters and once you get cold it’s nearly impossible to warm up.

Watching the flame you replay Dean’s words over and over in your brain. You’ve rarely been on the receiving end of such contempt, even your mother was far more uninterested than spiteful, but Dean hates you with a vengeance, that much is clear.

You’ve just fallen asleep when Sam returns, inching into the room trying to stay quiet. He spots you asleep on the floor and smiles, untying his cloak and toeing off his boots.

Hearing the rustle you sit up, spying him in the shadows.

“Hello,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks. “You’re late, I was starting to worry.”

“We got caught up…” he cocks his head, reaching into the basin of water on the side table, splashing water on his face and rinsing his hands off. “Have you been crying?”

“No,” you sniffle, rolling your eyes at your inability to remain composed. “Perhaps a bit.”

“Why?” He slinks toward you, illuminated by the firelight. Watching you carefully he sinks down, reaching out to cup your jaw. “Did someone hurt you?”

“Your brother is an absolute ass.” You shake your head. Dean’s awful words come back into memory, spurring more tears. “And I am a child for letting his words bother me so.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Sam rumbles, reaching out and scooting forward in tandem until you're between his legs. Big, strong arms engulf you as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. “You’re shivering, did you just return?”

“No, the midwife thinks I have poor veins.” Feeling the warmth and strength you felt against his chest, happy to have at least one person who wants you in his life. “Please, don’t tell Dean I was like this. I shouldn’t like to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had such an effect on me.”

“What did he say?” Sam strokes your hair softly, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Nothing that I wish I repeat.”

Above all else, you’re stubborn. You always have been. Telling you not to do something only sparks the need for you to prove your aforementioned detractor wrong. And you’re going to prove Dean wrong.

“Let’s go to bed,” Sam presses a kiss into your hair. “Take your nightdress off, it’ll be easier to warm up that way.”

You both disrobe, crawling into the cold bed only to be surrounded by Sam’s raw, animal heat. His body radiates warmth, his skin on yours does the trick as you sink into this safe place.

“Sam, you’ll stay with me when your rut comes, won’t you?” you whisper, wiggling your backside into the softness of his belly. “You promised me you would try. I need to know you won’t go to her.”

“This is what you’re worried about?” His lips are at your shoulder, hot breath curling like smoke that sends a shiver down your spine. “What did my brother say to you?”

“This isn’t about him. I need to hear you say the words, promise me.”

Sam hums at the shell of your ear before nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I promise you.”

#alpha sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut

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creampuffqueen · 4 years

Text

Deep in the Heart of Texas - Four

a/n: Hey y’all! I am so sorry this took so long to get out! This chapter really fought me for some reason, but I think I finally got it to where I like it, so here it is! Currently I’m on vacation, and sadly, our WiFi went down yesterday and hasn’t come back. So I’m posting this by jumping on my personal hotspot for a second, then getting off. Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy! Likes, reblogs, and comments are most appreciated <3

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is ready for the best summer of her life. She’s home from college for the summer, and so are all of her friends. Even her cousin is on a break from the military. Everything is set up to be perfect. Until… her mother decides to let the son of an old family friend stay with them while he grieves the loss of a loved one. And Aelin is not going to let a party pooper ruin her summer.

Rowan Whitethorn has just suffered the biggest loss of his life: the death of his long-time girlfriend, Lyria. His family is sick of him moping around his tiny New York apartment, so they ship him down south for the summer. The last thing Rowan wants is to spend his vacation in Nowhereville, Texas, but he has little choice. Not to mention, the only people his age seem to hate him. How on earth is he going to survive 3 months of this?

“Hey, you!” Lys greets her as Aelin pulls into the driveway of her best friend’s house. Aelin lives on some land, but Lysandra is the one who owns land. She has several horses, cows, chickens, and some goats hanging around. Not enough to make money, just to have some fresh milk and eggs at home.

“I meant to be here earlier, but my mom made me drop off Rowan at the Terrasen Motel.” Aelin sighs.

“Why, are y’all getting rid of him?”

Aelin groans, opening up the passenger side door to let Fleetfoot out. “If only. No, the bastard has some friends in town, and asked me to take him over.”

“Well, are they at least hot? That’s the most important part.” Lysandra laughs as she and Aelin walk through the yard and towards the pasture, where the horses are.

“I dunno. I high tailed it out of there before he even stepped out of the truck.”

Lysandra is easy to be around, the kind of person you can just tell anything to. As much as Aelin loves her other friends, right now is about the time Elide, Yrene, and Nehemia would be chastising her, telling her to be kind and remember her manners.

But not Lysandra.

The two of them, Fleetfoot on their heels, walk arm-in-arm out to the pasture, smiling even as the oppressive heat grows worse. With the Ennars’ land being near a forest, the horses have access to both trees and a pond, though Lys has water buckets still hanging on the fence near the gate anyway.

Fleetfoot, clearly scenting the horses, is bouncing around excitedly, pink tongue lolling out as she dances from paw to paw. When Lys opens the gate, the golden dog sprints away in a flash, running to greet the large beasts roaming around the pasture.

“ I haven’t ridden Quince in a while, so I’ll take her out today. You can choose whoever you want.”

They find Quince standing in the shade of an oak tree, her dark tail lazily swatting at flies and mosquitoes. Standing with her is Poppy, the pale brown mare drinking from the pond.

“Hey, girlies.” Aelin coos, stroking Poppy’s nose. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“C’mon, you two.” Lys coaxes the two horses forward, Fleetfoot darting between them when she clicks her tongue. “We’re gonna go for a ride. And after we’ll brush you and give you some nice apples and oats. Does that sound good?”

They slowly lead the horses towards the barn to get them tacked up, both of them moving nearly on muscle memory as they talk the entire time.

“My mother is trying to include Rowan in everything we do.” Aelin complains. “What are we going to do with him if we go to the beach or something?”

“I mean,” Lysandra shrugs, “while I’m sure he’s a prick, he is very attractive. I wouldn’t mind having him on the beach. Maybe he’d take his shirt off.”

Aelin just groans loudly, a halfhearted attempt to get the image out of her brain, where he was just woken up, silver hair messy-

The horse snorts beside her face, dragging her away from the thought.

“Whatever, Lys. Let’s go riding.”

Both girls mount the horses and ride them out of the barn. The Texas sun is burning high, and while she’s only been outside for a bit, Aelin is already sweating like a pig. She can’t wait to be in the cover of the trees.

Fleetfoot trots alongside the horses happily, keeping pace while they head towards the riding trail around Lys’s house.

At least beneath the trees it’s a bit cooler, though no less humid. But the trail is wide enough for both horses to walk side by side, and it’s just the kind of calm Aelin needs after pissing off her mother.

Poppy is sturdy beneath her, and the horse doesn’t lean off the path to nibble at the overgrown vegetation. She just keeps moving forward.

“You know,” Lysandra starts, and from her tone of voice Aelin already knows what’s coming. “I still don’t really understand what you have against this Rowan guy. I mean-”

Aelin cuts off her friend with a loud groan. “Don’t start. He’s an asshole, that’s what I have against him.”

“How do you really know he’s an asshole, though? He’s only been here a few days.”

The blonde woman rolls her eyes. “First off, he insulted the town-”

“Well in that case, screw him.” Lys giggles. Aelin reaches over, leaning off the side of her horse, just to punch her in the arm.

“He just is, Lys. If you met him you’d know.”

Her friend doesn’t comment on the Rowan situation any more, instead pulling her horse slightly ahead to forge onward.

“You know,” Aelin mimics, a mischievous grin appearing on her features. “I noticed that you looked pretty cozy with Aedion at the barbecue last week.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lysandra says primly, though there’s no hiding the blush that rises to her face. Already flushed from the heat, her entire face turns tomato-red.

Aelin just smirks. “Okay, if that’s what you say. I just thought you might be interested in the fact that he got a new girlfriend-”

“Oh, shut up.” Now it’s Lys’s turn to punch her. Below them, Fleetfoot woofs loudly, paws crunching on the dry grass as she pads along behind the horses. “You can’t fool me, Aelin Ashryver. That man is about as hopeless with women as you are at hiding your underage drinking.”

“Like you weren’t drinking right along with me!” Aelin protests.

“Yes, but at least I was hiding it.”

The two women dissolve into friendly squabbling as they continue on, the path eventually emerging from the trees and right back into the pasture.

Poppy is getting slightly restless, and Aelin can feel the mare’s desperation to run. It is only fair, she supposes.

When Aelin locks eyes with Lysandra, they both instantly get the same idea.

Race you.

With a quick kick to Poppy’s sides, the brown horse instantly breaks into a gallop, tearing across the pasture with joy. Quince is right on their heels, and poor Fleetfoot is left in the dust.

There isn’t any wind, but Aelin’s hair is still blowing behind her, whipping free from its braids. Poppy tosses her head and her mane, and Aelin can’t help the wild cry of joy that escapes her throat, the sound carrying over the whole pasture. Lysandra whoops as well, both of them lost in the enchantment of running on horseback.

The horses can’t keep up the fast pace forever, and eventually Quince and Poppy slow down, and Aelin gifts her mare with plenty of praise and kisses as she dismounts.

“Good girl, Poppy.” She coos. “Let’s go get you some water, you good, good girl.”

They find Fleetfoot wading in the water, drinking alongside a few other horses. Poppy and Quince drink their fill while Aelin and Lys had back to the barn to get a few treats before untacking them.

Leading the horses away from the water is easier said than done, as both of them are reluctant to leave the pond. Eventually, with the help of many horse treats, they manage to get both of them to the barn to untack them.

It’s about 3 o’clock, and the sun is dipping ever so slightly. Of course, it won’t get dark until about 8, but at least the sun is mildly less intense.

“I still have a while until I have to be home.” Aelin tells her friend. “I don’t know what Mom’s cooking for dinner, but it’s important enough she wants me home for it.”

“If she’s making fried chicken tell her to prepare enough for me, too.” Lys grins. “God, I wish I could live off of just your mom’s fried chicken.”

Aelin rolls her eyes. “Don’t we all.”

“Well, if you don’t have to be home yet…” Lysandra’s grin turns devious. “I do have a few projects I could use some help on.”

When Lysandra hands her the rake and points her towards the horse stalls, Aelin just sighs.

Forget Rowan Whitethorn ruining her summer, her best friend has decided to aid in her misery by making her muck out the stable.

~~~~

After pretty much getting kicked to the curb from Aelin’s truck, Rowan is in a pretty foul mood. And it’s only worsened when the attendant at the front desk attempts to make small talk.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” The man says, though it is friendly. Despite that, Rowan is pissed off at the world, and he barely gives more than one-word answers until he spots a familiar golden head down the hallway.

“Rowan!” Fenrys shouts, nearly crashing into him in his excitement. Lorcan rounds the corner, a lot more calmly than their friend.

“Hey.” Rowan sighs. “Glad you two could actually make it down.”

“Okay, I don’t care what either of you two grumps say, this place is awesome.” Fenrys laughs. “Everyone is so friendly, and the food is great, and-”

“And it’s fucking hot.” Lorcan groans.

“Okay, maybe it’s kind of hot-” Fenrys continues, but Rowan interrupts him.

“Goddamn, it is hot. And humid. How is any place allowed to be both this hot and this wet at the same time?”

“We’re actually just emerging from a drought.” The attendant pipes in helpfully.

“Let’s go eat.” Lorcan says, ignoring the man. “I’m starving.”

If the attendant is put out by the dismissal, he clearly doesn’t show it, because he keeps talking. “Y’all should head on down to Banjali. Ytger Hospitality has some of the best food in the county.”

“Yeah, let’s do that!” Fenrys is far too excited and has far too much energy for Rowan to handle, but then again, when is anybody energetic enough to deal with him?

“Whatever.” Lorcan shrugs.

They all pile into the small rental car that Fenrys got at the airport, Rowan being forced to sit in the backseat yet again. Fenrys, sitting shotgun, is scrolling through his phone as he attempts to locate the restaurant the attendant told them about.

In all honesty, Rowan would rather pick up fast food and be done with it. He doesn’t know if he has the mental strength to be out in public for an extended period of time.

But Fenrys is unstoppable. “Every review for the restaurant is at least four stars! It has a 4.5 average! I bet it’s going to be so good!”

Neither Lorcan nor Rowan comment much until Lorcan pulls into the parking lot. The restaurant is large, with a massive banner saying “Ytger Hospitality” hung over the entrance.

Fenrys all but sprints inside, only held back by Rowan grabbing his arm.

Inside almost feels… homey. The way it’s decorated, the design, the music playing in the background. It feels like Rowan just walked into his aunt’s house for Thanksgiving. Smells like it, too.

“Hello! How many in your party?” Rowan almost does a double take, looking over at the host.

It’s a boy, no more than thirteen years old.

“Uh- is that legal?” Lorcan snorts, taking in the form of the kid.

“My family owns this restaurant, mister. It’s family owned, family run. We all work here. My older sister waits tables, and my younger brother helps wash dishes. How many in your party?”

“Er… three.” Rowan manages. He’s never been to a restaurant where the kids are working. Is it considered child labor if it’s your own children doing it?

All three of them are ever so slightly disgruntled as the kid leads them to their table in the corner. He leaves them with menus and silverware, and hardly spares them another passing glance.

It isn’t long before a waitress comes over, a young woman with long black hair and dark skin.

“Can I get y’all something to drink? I’m Nehemia, I’ll be your waitress today.”

One glance at Fenrys and Rowan has to hold back a groan. The golden-haired man is one step away from looking like the heart-eyes emoji. The woman either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, instead observing them with a quiet grace.

“Just a water.” Rowan tells her. Lorcan agrees and orders his own, while Fenrys just… stares.

“Um… I’ll have the, uh, iced tea?” Fenrys manages to make it sound more like a question.

“Sweet or unsweet?” Nehemia asks.

“Er… sweet. Please.”

The waitress nods, tucking the pen behind her ear after writing down their drink orders. When she turns around, Rowan nearly has to snap Fenrys’s jaw shut.

“What the hell, man.” Lorcan hisses. “You see one pretty girl and forget how to speak?”

“She’s not just pretty, she’s gorgeous.” Fenrys sighs. “Holy shit. I have never seen a more beautiful person in my life.”

“Except for you, I’m assuming?” Rowan snorts.

Fenrys shakes his head. “No. Even my ethereal beauty can’t compete with her.”

“Damn. You’ve literally just met her.” Rowan continues. “Anyway, what does it matter? You two aren’t going to be here for long anyway, so there’s no point in starting a relationship.”

Now Fenrys is looking at him like he wants to commit murder.

“Anyway,” Lorcan says pointedly, “we should look at the menus. I’m starving.”

Rowan browses, but he isn’t incredibly hungry anyway. Fenrys and Lorcan chatter among each other, pointing out what sounds good, but all Rowan can do is look out the window.

“Are y’all ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?” The drawling accent of the waitress pulls him from his slight stupor, and he looks away from the sight outside.

“I’m ready.” Lorcan offers. “I’ll take the fried catfish.”

“You get two sides with that.” Nehemia tells him.

“Alright, then I’ll have… green beans and mashed potatoes.”

She turns to him next, and Rowan orders a simple cheeseburger with french fries. Then she goes to Fenrys.

“In your opinion, what’s the best thing here?” He croons. It’s clear flirtation, and both Rowan and Lorcan visibly cringe. The waitress, however, doesn’t seem too affected.

“Chicken fried steak.” She says without hesitation. “With mashed potatoes and fried okra on the side.”

Jesus Christ, Rowan thinks, why is everything fried here?

“I’ll have that.” Fenrys says with a grin. The waitress finishes writing everything down, then heads over to the next table.

All Lorcan and Rowan can do is shake their heads.

~~~~

The food was good. Delicious, actually, and Rowan is more stuffed than he’s ever been in his life as they make their way back to the car. All three of them collapse into their seats, groaning.

“I’m never going to need to eat again.” Lorcan mumbles.

“I should have stopped eating.” Fenrys laments. “But I just couldn’t.”

Rowan can’t even muster up enough energy to reply. The heat, the food, all of it combined made him want to go to sleep and never wake up.

“Just take me back, please.” He finally manages to say.

“Sure thing.” Lorcan buckles his seatbelt and puts the car in drive, pulling smoothly out of the parking lot.

None of the men speak on the way back to the Galathynius house, save for Rowan giving mediocre directions. Eventually, they pull up in the driveway, and Fenrys lets out a low whistle.

“Damn, Rowan. Living the high life, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.” Rowan sighs.

“See you around, man.” Lorcan says, ignoring Fenrys.

Rowan pulls his bloated self out of the car, walking up to the front door. Evalin gave him a copy of the keys the other night, but right before he lets himself in, the lady of the house herself beats him to it.

“Rowan, you’re back!” She says in that cheerful voice. She glances over to the car parked in the driveway, where, through the windshield, Rowan can see Lorcan on his phone.

“Are those your friends? Where are they staying?”

“Terrasen Motel.” Rowan tells her. “They’re only staying for-”

“Oh, they can’t stay there!” Evalin laments. “We have lots of room, they can stay with us! That motel should have closed years ago, honestly.”

“Er-”

Evalin doesn’t stop. “It’s not a problem, Rowan. We love having company, they can stay as long as they need.”

At the risk of seeming rude or ungrateful or anything else in the eyes of his host, Rowan pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Fenrys and Lorcan.

Rowan: Hey, Evalin is offering you guys a place to stay while you’re here. You don’t have to accept, really.

Before he can send another text, telling them not to respond, Fenrys’s reply nearly buzzes his phone out of his hand.

Fenrys: WOULD WE EVER?! HELL YES

Sweet Jesus.

All Rowan can think about, as Lorcan and Fenrys speed off to get their things, is that if Aelin hates him now, she’s certainly going to despise him after this.

And he doesn’t know why, but he just can’t stand the thought of her being more upset with him than she already is.

~~~~

Nehemia: Aelin, your mans just came to the restaurant

Aelin: You asshole, how do you even know what he looks like?

Nehemia: Well, first of all, he was clearly a yankee, and second of all, with a last name like Whitethorn, of course he’d have white hair.

Aelin: Your logic is lacking but I’ll give it to you anyway. He’s an asshole, isn’t he?

Nehemia: Yeah, he didn’t say please and thank you when ordering, so I’ve decided he’s actually the devil.

The sarcasm is clear, even through the phone, and Aelin can’t hold back her laugh. She really should be heading home, but right now she’s parked in front of Lysandra’s house, with Fleetfoot nearly on her lap, still panting from the heat.

Aelin: Hey, do you want to come over? We can eat ice cream in my bed and gossip loud enough that Mr. Asshole Yankee can hear us down the hall

Nehemia: Well, I was gonna say no, but after you said the word gossip it changed my answer.

Aelin: Alright, just come over whenever. I’m heading back from Lys’s right now.

The drive home is short, and since she hasn’t heard a word from Rowan or anyone else telling her to pick him up, she passes right by the Terrasen Motel without a second glance.

Something is different when Aelin pulls up to her house. There’s another car parked in the driveway. However, her mother always has someone over to drink sweet tea with, so it’s no matter.

That is, of course, until someone opens up the front door. Aelin isn’t even out of the truck yet, but she can clearly see that the two people in the entryway aren’t the usual demographic for her mother’s gossip sessions.

Two young men, one with dark hair and one with gold, hurry down the stairs to the car. And following them?

Rowan. It’s Rowan Whitethorn who is following them as they open up the trunk of the car and take out their suitcases.

Aelin is seeing red. It’s one thing for Rowan to stay with them. After all, he was invited. But for him to invite his own friends?

But before Aelin can pop a blood vessel, the golden haired man comes over to the truck and raps on the window, a bright grin on his features. Skeptically, Aelin rolls the window down.

“Hi!” He says, far too enthusiastically for her liking. “Fenrys Moonbeam.” He gives her his hand to shake, which Aelin does reluctantly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” He smiles.

“And I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you.” She responds.

He laughs at that. “Well, you’ll have to get to know me, then. Your mother was really kind to offer us a place to stay.”

Well, Aelin supposes, if her mother offered, she really can’t be mad. And this Fenrys character seems decent enough.

She finally gets out of the car, letting Fleetfoot out as well so the dog can sniff the new arrivals. Rowan doesn’t say anything, though Fenrys leans down to coo over the dog.

Nehemia’s car comes rumbling down the street, the other woman parking on the already crowded driveway. Fleetfoot runs over to her just as the other woman hops out.

“Hey Aelin! Who’s all this?” Nehemia strides up to embrace her friend, and Aelin gladly accepts the hug.

“My mother is creating a hotel, apparently.” She chuckles.

But her friend isn’t listening. Nehemia’s interest is entirely taken by the golden man in front of her.

“Um… hello, again.” Fenrys says sheepishly.

Aelin looks between them frantically, at Fenrys, at Nehemia.

“Do y’all know each other?”

----

a/n: Well, well, well... drama. Some other random southern america facts- yes, people do usually let their kids work in family owned restaurants! I know a girl who’s family owns an awesome Mexican restaurant, and when you go there both she and her younger brother are working. So yeah, having Nehemia’s little brothers work, since the restaurant is family owned, isn’t that unusual down here! And also, yes, everything is fried. Everything.

Tag List: Comment to be added or removed!

@http-itsrebecca

@rowaelinforeverworld

@whyyoumakemesadstahp

@queen-of-glass

@the-dark-swan

@faerie-queen-fireheart

#throne of glass #tog #sarah j maas #tog au #deep in the heart of texas #dithot #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #nehemia ytger #fenrys moonbeam #lorcan salvaterre #galathynius family #southern au

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cagestark · 5 years

Text

+WinterIronSpider//3+

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Story spurred by this prompt: There’s a meme about a poor college student being robbed; the robber, upon learning just h o w poor, stopping and giving the (empty) wallet back and being sincerely concerned. “You… you live like this?” What if the winter soldier/bucky barnes breaks into struggling college student Peter parker’s apt and all his pre-serum steve instincts are triggered by the state of the place and how /tiny/ Peter is.

This is short but it’s been a while, so I wanted to give it some new content. xo

Warnings: oral and anal sex. exhibitionism.

Peter sleeps, Tony drinks, and Bucky plans murder.

It won’t be a difficult thing. It would be worse if Rumlow lived in the apartment building—Bucky has already been seen there, his figure on film. Not to mention that scrubbing surveillance tapes is an extra step in the plan that he doesn’t dare believe he can afford. When he killed for Hydra, he had Hydra’s resources at his disposal. His face, his DNA, his fingerprints had all been lost to time. Even if his face was caught on camera, it meant nothing.

And if he had been caught? Well, he’d had nothing to live for.

Times have changed. He’d surrendered himself to the US government, forsworn his previous life of crime (and it really wasn’t that hard, once they understood that most of that crime took place under brainwashing and threat of torture). But now people are watching him, even if his pictures weren’t ever released to the public thanks to the high-profile nature of his crimes. The government watches him. Not to mention he has a very good reason for wanting to stay out of prison: namely, a five-foot-nine reason with exquisite, eccentric facial hair.

Rumlow’s address is easy enough to find. He could go to any public library and search for it, and if he has to use more advanced technology, he’s sure that he could get his hands on it. Bucky doubts the man is rich enough to have any security that might hinder him. A motion detector camera? Cake. Those home security systems? No problem. Not for the Winter—

“Bucky.”

Tony’s voice has Bucky jerking away from the window where he was resting his forehead, letting it cool his feverish skin. When he turns, he softens: Tony looks so good, so cozy in his pajamas, EDITH off and on the coffee table, his scotch glass empty. He won’t refill it either, just indulges in small amounts and only on occasion—

“Let’s talk reconnaissance,” says Bucky.

Tony’s eyebrows rise. “Reconnaissance?”

“No—you’re right. Let’s talk method. Anything that will make it like an accident is preferable, but outright murder isn’t so difficult to get away with either. I’ve got three different handguns that aren’t registered, it’s dealer’s choice really—”

“I’m sorry cupcake, you have what? Never mind, please don’t repeat it—FRI, shut down surveillance on this room for a bit and scrub your tapes from the last, oh, two hours.” Tony takes his hand, and the man’s hands are cold. Bucky knows the saying, cold hands, warm heart. Bucky’s own hands are warm. What does that mean for him, he wonders? “Bucky. James. Will you sit? Sit with me.”

They sit. Tony draws the larger man against him and Bucky sags into the intimacy, eyes shutting when tanned fingers card through his hair. His eyes are stinging. His jaw is clenched. Fuck, he is weak. Weak.

“Are you ready? Because I’ve got some tough love to dish out. Some downright poor news to give you.”

Bucky dips his vibranium forefinger into his ear. The other is pressed firmly to Tony’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he says, a little louder than he needs to. “I can’t hear you. I’ve gone deaf.”

Tony chuckles, a warm vibration that makes Bucky’s eyes slip closed.

“We can’t kill Rumlow, Bucky, you know that right? I need to hear you say that you know that.”

Bucky pulls away. He hunches forward, resting his elbows on his knees, letting one hand palm at his stringy, too-long hair. “I don’t know that. I’m supposed to say yes—but I don’t. Maybe I’m not reformed, Tony. Maybe I’m still just one bad day away from being who I was. But I think of someone hurting you or the kid like that and…I’d kill them. I’d do it. I wouldn’t feel bad about it, either.”

“That,” Tony says carefully. “Is something that you can absolutely admit. To me and maybe a license therapist that we have sign some waivers and come to the tower. But that’s not the way this world works.”

“It works for some people,” Bucky says. “Doing bad shit. It works for Rumlow, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” Tony asks. He wiggles his eyebrows. The man is so facially expressive, the polar opposite of Bucky who struggles to even make his mouth curl into a smile sometimes. “Or is he going to get a serious comeuppance, one that will land him in prison for many, many years?”

“You’ve got an idea,” says Bucky slowly.

“I’ve got twenty ideas, none of which involve murder. Okay, number twelve did. But I shelfed that one right away, because giving my enemies a lifetime of suffering is exactly how I sleep so well at night. Polar bear, I’m going to leave the murder-scene to you, because you have the brooding eyes and intimidating build for it—but let me teach you about my scene. The scene of a billionaire with many, many connections. I can ruin him socially, politically, financially—”

“I want to ruin his kneecaps,” Bucky mutters. “But I know you’re talking sense. Is it weird that I’m a little turned on hearing you talk about ruining a man?”

“Not at all,” Tony purrs. “I’d imagine you want me to ruin you too. Granted, in a very different way.”

“Wouldn’t mind ruining you tonight, actually,” says Bucky. Tony reaches down between his legs and massages at his soft cock, and the sight alone makes Bucky’s own jolt with arousal. His mouth waters, a reflexive action that has him swallowing, even as the sweatpants between Tony’s legs begin to tent. Lowly, Bucky says: “Don’t tease me old man. I’m in a dangerous mood, tonight.”

“I don’t know where to begin taking that statement apart,” Tony sighs, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. He dips a hand beneath the waistband of his sweats and works his cock in long, lazy strokes, barely hidden by the soft fabric. It’s more tantalizing than any lingerie Bucky’s ever seen, teasing, sensual, sexy. “First of all, old men in glass retirement homes shouldn’t throw stones, Mr. Born in 1918. Secondly—” Tony pulls his hand free, frowning. “We really shouldn’t be doing this out here. The kid is in the other room.”

That just makes Bucky’s cock harder. He hunches over himself more to conceal it. Yeah, a kid in his twenties is hardly a kid, but Bucky knows enough about modern society to wonder about the heads that would turn if he and Peter walked down the street together. Peter and Tony walking down the street together? That’s—that’s. “I don’t care if you don’t,” Bucky says.

“FRIDAY, alert us if Peter looks like he’s going to leave his room.”

Bucky slides down off of the couch and maneuvers his way between Tony’s legs. As expressive as his lover is, Tony is very practiced at maintaining his calm exterior when it comes to sex. Bucky considers it a game to see how quickly he can reduce Tony to unabashed, selfish ecstasy. Judging by the way his chest rises and falls with more speed than usual, not to mention how he turns his head and cranes his neck to glance at the door Peter disappeared through as if to make sure the kid wasn’t standing there watching—this exhibition bit is affecting Tony as much as it is Bucky.

Bucky leans forward and mouths at Tony’s cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. Tony’s cock is a thing of wonder, not as long or thick as his own, but above average (especially for a man of his height). The fabric grows dark beneath Bucky’s mouth as he licks at the twitching erection, mapping it out with his lips to find where the head is and lather his tongue over it.

“Jesus, look at you,” Tony murmurs. He is the picture of relaxation, reclined back against the couch cushions, arms spread. “You’re filthy. I love it. You’re going to take me apart tonight, Buck? Bring it on, because—”

Tony’s words melt into a high gasp when Bucky opens his mouth and drags his teeth across his clothed erection. Desperate to finally feel the burning heat and heft of the cock in his mouth, Bucky coaxes Tony’s hips up so that he can jerk down his sweatpants. He would have torn them off altogether if Tony might not need to pull them up in the event Peter makes a midnight trip for a glass of water.

“No talking,” Bucky says, holding Tony’s cock still while he uses his tongue to wet the head and tease the ridge of it where the man is most sensitive. When Tony reaches up to his own mouth and pretends to zip it shut, he takes his lover’s cock deep into his mouth giving a few shallow strokes to slick it before he breathes deep, relaxes his throat, and lets it slip down the back. Tony’s hips jerk up reflexively, one hand coming off of the couch to grab at Bucky’s hair. He doesn’t say anything, but when Bucky glances up, he can see the torture on Tony’s face. The man is a chatterbox even during sex—but tonight, Bucky wants to focus.

The serum has left him with an indecent ability to hold his breath for inordinate amounts of time. It comes in handy now, when he fucks Tony’s cock with his mouth, letting the back of his throat clench around the sensitive head. It doesn’t give him much in the ways of oxygen, but when he needs a breath, he simply pulls off to tongue at the slit. Deepthroating doesn’t give him the satisfaction of tasting Tony’s cum, and he finds himself hungry for it, growling low in the back of his throat.

“Gonna cum,” Tony admits after several long minutes, pressing his lips shut tightly afterwards. Bucky could tell that he was, a hand cradling the man’s balls as they grow stiffer and tighter, drawing up closer to his body. He appreciates the warning, draws back so that when Tony cums, it’s in his mouth and not down his throat. Tony’s orgasm is silent except for the close-mouthed groan he give, the stuttering breaths as one hand nearly pulls Bucky’s hair clear from the roots and the other scrabbles at the leather sofa.

“Fuck, I love you,” Tony pants.

“Show me,” Bucky says through his teeth. “Roll over. Now.”

Tony is rolling before Bucky even finishes the sentence. With his metal hand (still gloved), Bucky pushes the glass coffee table back, back to give them room where Tony kneels, knees on the floor, chest against the seat of the couch. His back is arched beautifully, tanned skin dotted with the occasional scar. His ass is a thing of art—Bucky spits on his fingers and reaches down to find Tony’s hole. The man is still relaxed from their lovemaking that morning, but that doesn’t stop Bucky from fingerfucking him with glee, hearing him stifle his oversensitive noises into the couch cushion. His own cock is aching, the head purple by the time he draws it out from his pants.

“Relax,” Bucky mutters, planting a hand between Tony’s shoulders. He sees one of the man’s fists turn into a gentle thumbs up and tries not to snort—it might take them out of the mood. Reaching down, he uses the head of his cock to search and then press into Tony in one long, slow movement. He grits his teeth, hesitating when he’s balls deep, thighs pressed against the backs of Tony’s. It never gets old: the heat, the slick tightness, the way every squirm of Tony’s tightens the muscles in his ass and squeezes Bucky’s cock.

Bucky presses his hand down harder, encouraging Tony to keep still. The muscles clench again—Tony fucking loves when Bucky is in charge and showing his enhanced strength. So Bucky reaches out and runs his palms, one flesh and one gloved, along Tony’s arms until he reaches the strong wrists. He pulls them back, twists them until they are crossed at the small of the man’s back. Tony moans into the couch cushion.

He can’t hold out anymore. Bucky pulls himself free until just the head is buried in his lover and then sinks back in, groaning at the relief the friction provides him. He’s not going to last long, not as long as Tony had by far, not when he’s greeted with the sight of the trim curve of Tony’s waist, exaggerated by the position. Not when Tony’s ass squeezes his clock like the most sinful glove.

Suddenly, a voice is speaking quietly overhead. FRIDAY. “Peter has left his bed.”

Tony’s back arches with the force of his gasp, head turning to show wild, panicked brown eyes—but Bucky can’t stop, not when he’s so close, not when all he needs are a few more thrusts. Whatever is written on his face must express that because Tony whines high in his throat, chest dropping back onto the couch heavily. He clenches his muscles and Bucky hisses, the pressure on his cock borderline painful. Only another second or two has passed, but he imagines that he can hear Peter’s footsteps, and that is what drives him over the edge. Clenching his teeth together to keep from crying out, Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut as he pumps load after load into Tony’s tight ass.

“Peter appears to be exiting his room—” FRIDAY warns.

Bucky’s cock is still twitching when he slips it free of Tony and shoves it back into his jeans. He takes care of Tony first, helping to pull up the man’s sweat pants and then zip and button his own. They can hear the click of the doorknob turning just as they are standing.

Peter blinks at the light in the main room, squinting a little. Tony shifts, breathing heavy. Bucky wonders if cum is running down his legs, and his cock twitches. When Peter sees them both there, he blushes prettily, his curls mussed as if he’s tried to sleep.

“Sorry,” Peter croaks. “I was just going to get a glass so I could drink some water from the tap.”

“I have sparkling,” Tony says. He claps Bucky on the shoulder, hard. “Bucky will be more than glad to show it to you—”

Peter’s face flushes even more and then—oh no—he glances downward, no chance he will miss the way that Bucky is still half-hard, and under the kid’s soft brown eyes Bucky feels himself becoming interested again, God, this is a nightmare. The kid’s eyes just as quickly flick over to Tony’s groin but then they stop, brows furrowing and then climbing upwards.

Bucky glances quickly for himself, and his own eyes grow twice their size. The groin of Tony’s sweatpants is still wet and dark with Bucky’s saliva from where he fellated the man through the fabric. It’s not soaked by any means, but questionable at best.

“There’s an explanation for that,” Tony says, sounding very much like he’s going to give the most reasonable excuse any of them have ever heard. Bucky himself is preparing to be surprised, but then—

“He’s incontinent,” Bucky blurts.

“No—” Tony says, clapping him on the back. “Points for trying, honey, but I am not—"

“I, it’s okay, it’s not my business—I just, you know what? There’s a faucet in the bathroom, sorry, I’ll just—”

Peter disappears into his room. The last glimpse they get is of Peter’s red face, one wide brown eyes staring through the crack in the door before it shuts quietly.

Tony reaches out and gently slaps Bucky upside the head. “Incontinent?” he hisses. “How old do you think I fucking am, Buck?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind, okay?”

“What is it with you and this kid?” Tony asks. He’s the only man who can sound so quizzical and collected with cum dripping down his legs. “He gets you so flustered, like I’ve never seen you. Give me the scoop—I don’t think he’ll be showing his face out here again tonight. Go on, start from the beginning, and tell me everything. We’re in this together now.”

So, after Tony returns from the restroom, Bucky does. Because he believes Tony, he trusts Tony when the man says that they’re in it together, and he knows that there’s (probably) nothing he could say that would make the man love him any less. Tony’s face is expressive, a Shakespearean drama playing out all his features, a cocktail of tragedy and affection and exasperation and concern all at once. By the time it ends, both of their erections are gone, and the man looks like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes.

“I keep thinking about Steve,” Bucky says at length. His head rests in Tony’s lap, staring up at the goatee he’s become so fond of. “I think about him every day, which still isn’t as often as I should. ‘ve been wondering if he’d be proud of the kind of man I am now. It makes me feel like shit.”

“He’d be proud,” Tony says, carding thick fingers through Bucky’s hair. He lets his calloused thumb drift over the plain of Bucky’s forehead to rub at the furrow between his eyes, snorting when Bucky raises and lowers his eyebrows. “It’s not easy, starting from scratch the way you have.”

“Steve did it.”

“He made some amazing mistakes, too, if you remember the tales correctly.”

Bucky turns onto his side and buries his face in the soft fabric of Tony’s shirt. “I just feel like this is what he would want me to do. All day I struggle to decide what the right choice is, and half the time I have no idea what I’m doing. But when I saw him, I knew I had to help, and I knew in my heart it was right. Does that make sense?”

Tony hums. “You’d be surprised.”

#winterironspider #nff #cagewrites

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junsongs · 4 years

Text

Big Brother Astrology - Week 3

@girlsgeneration @candicestewart @rennyforpresident @nerdphobic @marcdjr00 @shaolinbynature @transpokenerd @starlessed @jaysar @kaysarswhore @cirie-sandra-michaela @shellipoole

“In a vote of 4 to 4, that is a tie, Pisces, as HoH you must make the final decision on who to evict.”

“I have to do what I believe is best for my game, I vote to evict Capricorn.”

“Capricorn you have been evicted from the Big Brother Astrology House.”

Pisces watches carefully as Capricorn’s picture fades, hoping she made the right decision in keeping Sagittarius, but looks forward to the new week. Sagittarius thanks Pisces for keeping her safe, vowing that she won’t regret keeping her.

The HoH competition comes quickly. Leo and Virgo both feeling they are in good positions in the house, attempt to throw the competition, though Leo is does a poor job of hiding it, not even trying to look like he is hitting the buzzer, most of the other houseguests catch onto this.

The competition is close throughout the game with multiple houseguests gunning to win, and for a long time it is anyone’s game, but it quickly comes down to three Gemini, Taurus, and Sagittarius who quickly pull ahead in terms of points.

However it seems like Taurus falls slightly behind the other two and ends up third.

At the last question, Gemini and Sagittarius are tied, and as close allies, trying to make their alliance less obvious, both attempt to outbuzz each other

But ultimately it was Gemini who buzzed faster

Gemini cheers in excitement, and Pisces tries to seem congratulatory toward him while passing the HoH key over, but she can’t help but worry about what may come given she nominated Gemini’s number one ally. However, Pisces does still hope that Sagittarius was true to her word, and that that would hopefully keep Gemini at bay.

Before nominations, the day after the HoH, Scorpio wakes up to a grateful message and it seems like Virgo, similarly to Aries the week previous, forgot to turn on anon.

Because of this Scorpio is in a cranky mood all day.

However, her fellow houseguests are much more empathetic toward her this time due to Virgo sending that hateful message, especially the current HoH, Gemini, who got sent hate by Aries the previous week.

After seeing Scorpio get the hate that he sent Gemini the week previous, Aries goes to speak to Gemini about nominations, understanding he could be an easy target for Gemini this week. However, he tries to convince Gemini that he isn’t a threat, and that he is sorry for his actions.

Gemini proposes that they secretly work together because no one would suspect it. He suggests that they could pretend to still hate and go after each other. Gemini does not outright say no, but seems very reluctant, and is personally unsure of how convincing it could be that they are “going after each other” if they never nominate each other.

Aries leaves the HoH room much more nervous about nominations than before.

Afterwards, Pisces goes to speak to Gemini and Sagittarius in the HoH room. When speaking to them, Pisces reveals that she knows they’re working together and attempts to blackmail them with the information she thinks she has.

Sagittarius and Gemini are taken aback by this. Pisces tries to convince them that they could work together going forward if they don’t go after her. Gemini agrees they could be good allies, unsure of how to respond to the blackmail. Pisces leaves happily, but Sagittarius stays a bit after encouraging Gemini to put Pisces up over Aries

After his conversation with Sagittarius and Pisces, Gemini becomes conflicted.

Pisces feels secure because of her conversation going into the nomination ceremony, she believes that Gemini, Sagittarius, and her will work together great going forward.

Gemini begins by getting to the point quickly. He first nominates Leo, he explains that Leo is a pawn, but he was uncomfortable with the fact that Leo so blatantly threw the HoH competition.

He then explains that Aries is an obvious choice for this nomination because of their issues the week before. Aries slumps down in his seat just before Gemini finishes what he is saying. He goes on to explain that he finds Pisces to be a much bigger threat, and that he thinks she directly went against his game when she refused to nominate Aries, leaving the nominations as Leo and Pisces.

Leo is extremely upset and believes Gemini’s comments are uncalled for. Pisces is especially shocked and begins tearing up because she thought she had been so convincing. Scorpio and Cancer, in solidarity with their fellow water sign stay back and comfort Pisces who sobs uncontrollably.

Seeing this Sagittarius immediately pulls Pisces into the HoH room with her and Gemini to calm Pisces down. She, along with Gemini, convinces Pisces that she is just a pawn to backdoor Aries who absolutely deserves to go home. Gemini insists that it was just a way to make the house think they aren’t working together.

Pisces is relieved to hear this news.

In the veto selection, Gemini is anxious when Leo draws Aries, because he does not want Aries ruining his HoH. However, he is relieved when Sagittarius is drawn, as is Pisces.

The Veto competition begins.

The competition begins and at first Pisces and Aries are neck and neck for first. Aries wants to veto so he doesn’t have a chance to be nominated if it is used. Pisces is happy to try and fulfill Gemini’s plan. However, Pisces quickly tires herself out due to residual exhaustion from crying so much.

Scorpio tries to throw the competition, and while she doesn’t try to throw the competition, Sagittarius is not gunning for the veto either.

Aries falls soon falls behind Leo and Gemini after slipping off his beam a couple times.

Leo and Gemini are neck and both grabbing their last blocks at the same time. They bot try to walk quickly, however, in walking fast Leo falls, giving Gemini a chance to get his last block across the beam.

With that Gemini wins the Power of Veto. Pisces is excited and Aries is wary that he may be the actual target in seeing Pisces so excited. Leo is still fairly confident that he is not a threat compared to Pisces or Aries who he thinks Gemini is actually going after.

Before the veto ceremony Pisces goes to the storage closet with Gemini excited. She confirms with Gemini that their plan is still going ahead.

The veto ceremony begins.

Leo states that he is a loyal player to anyone who is loyal to him, and that Gemini using the veto would be a show of loyalty, despite initially nominating him. Leo also says that he is not a threat in this game.

Pisces boasts that she is also loyal, and due to her dislike for much of the house willing to work with those who help her first. She says that she could benefit Gemini’s game if he uses the veto on her.

Gemini stands still for a second considering his next move. Without a word, he puts the veto in the box and closes the box.

This leaves the final nominees of the week as Leo and Pisces.

Leo is slightly upset and unsure. Pisces smiles widely in anger as she sits in the nomination chair for several minutes after the ceremony.

Gemini begins trying to convince the houseguests to vote out Pisces as she is a wildcard and a much bigger threat. Pisces goes and cries in her bed, where Cancer finds her and comforts her yet again.

Pisces explains that Sagittarius and Gemini convinced her they would use the veto on her to backdoor Aries. Cancer takes this opportunity to instigate drama in the house. He hypes up Pisces anger toward Sagittarius and Gemini until Pisces says that she might as well quit before they vote her out. Feeling as though he made Pisces angry enough, Cancer leaves her to boil over by herself.

From the HoH room Gemini hears Pisces cry screaming that she’ll self-evict before they can vote her out.

Gemini tries to stay cool so the house stays on his side. Pisces off and on continues to blow up and yell at her fellow houseguests, which rubs everyone the wrong way. Gemini manages to stay calm through all the blowups leading up to HoH.

As the eviction begins Leo and Pisces give speeches as to why they should stay. Leo says that he is much less of a threat than Pisces.

Pisces, seemingly in a much calmer mood than earlier in the day and the week, gives a long speech. She explains that while her blowups in the house may have been annoying, they sealed her fate. She will never win this game, but she hopes that players who feel unestablished in the house keep her so she can be a shield for them, so they don’t go home.

However, Pisces speech didn’t seem very convincing as everyone except virgo voted to evict her, due to her behavior but also the fact that she is a stronger player than leo. Virgo feels closer to Pisces but also decides it might be good to throw a pity vote her way.

Pisces is evicted and leaves the house strangely happy. Gemini is relieved he won’t have to be in the house with Pisces and also that she didn’t blow up his and Sagittarius’ game, not knowing she told Cancer everything she knew.

#bb22 #bbsim #bbastrology

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