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falseroar · 27 days

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Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 11: Spoiler Alert

((After discovering Wilford's not the only stowaway on this train, Abe decides it's time to gather everyone together and finally solve this murder, even if he doesn't like where it leads.

Just a warning beforehand: This is definitely the longest chapter in the series. Read more link, please don't fail me now.

Link to Part 10: A Ticket to Ride, and here's one to the masterlist for the series that I finally got around to making.))

“Who the hell are you?” Abe and the stranger pointing his own gun at him asked in almost perfect unison.

“Oooh, jinx! You both owe me a soda!” Wilford declared, and Abe spotted a flicker in the stowaway’s eyes before she focused on him again.

Maybe she’d been distracted by Wilford’s nonsense, which he was becoming worryingly used to, or maybe she was eyeing the doors on either side of him that led directly out into the darkness and snow, weighing her options for escape if she managed to get past the two men standing in the doorway of the mail car she’d been hiding out in.

Abe on the other hand was rather fixated on his gun, what with not being used to seeing it from this angle.

“I’m supposed to be on this train, which I’m going to go out on a limb and guess is more than you can say,” Abe said, his voice only a little bit strangled before he recovered from the initial shock. “I thought train bandits went out of style along with cowboys, but you’ve definitely updated the look, whoever the hell you are.”

“You don’t need to know who I am,” the bandit responded, after taking a moment to acknowledge the compliment. In the lanternlight, Abe had mistaken the black band around her eyes for the traditional bandit mask, but as she stepped closer he realized it was some kind of…makeup, maybe? Or a tattoo? Even what he first took to be an eyepatch appeared to be a strange device with an assortment of lenses, the purpose of which he suspected had something to do with how she got into the safe to steal his gun. Her whole getup in fact, the black and brown leather and cloth with straps everywhere, as much as she pulled the look off it felt…wrong.

Out of place.

Like a few other things Abe had seen tonight, now that he thought about it.

It was one of those things he had in mind when the bandit gestured with the gun, saying, “Move, now, stay where I can see you and maybe we’ll figure this out without anyone getting hurt, huh?”

“Anyone else,” Abe said, moving slowly with his hands up. She was directing them into the mail car, where he could see bags and boxes of mail piled up haphazardly around a snug nest she’d made for herself back here during the trip.

“What?” she asked, reaching for the door to the mail car behind Wilford as he shuffled in behind Abe. Once that door shut, how long would it take for the others to notice he was gone? Wilford wasn’t even supposed to be here, but surely someone would look over and realize Abe wasn’t in the dining car anymore and start searching for him, right?

But a lot could happen, in between now and then.

“You do know why the train stopped, don’t you?” Abe asked, watching her carefully. As much as she waved that gun around, her grip wasn’t quite right, her finger not even close to the trigger. He didn’t doubt she knew how to wield a weapon, but her inexperience with this particular one showed.

“Yeah, that idiot up there got distracted and ran us into a snowbank or something,” she said, once again training the gun on Abe. “What have you heard, how long until this thing gets moving again?”

Abe shrugged. “Hard to tell. Help probably won’t come until daylight, and with the murder…”

“Murder?” The surprise on her face looked genuine enough, especially when she shook her head and said, “Oh no, I know what you’re thinking, and whatever drama you people have going on has got nothing to do with me.”

“No, you’re just here to steal that rock of the professor’s, aren’t you?” Abe asked and the bandit shrugged.

“Maybe, maybe not. What do you know about it?”

“That it wasn’t worth killing Happy over,” Abe said quietly.

“…What?”

“Agent Apless,” Abe corrected himself, but if anything, the bandit looked even more puzzled.

“The USA agent?” she asked.

“I don’t know where he was from, but his ID wasn’t exactly from any American group I know of,” Abe said, glancing at Wilford who just shrugged.

“No…no,” the bandit said without listening to him, her brow crinkled as she tried to reconcile this new information. “No, he can’t be dead. Believe me, it takes a lot more than that to kill a guy like him.”

“A lot more than what?” Abe asked and she visibly hesitated.

It was just a second, but that’s all he needed. Abe’s hand moved faster than thought, trained by years of practice to reach for the weight in his pocket, and in that single moment of distraction the bandit found herself looking down the barrel of Happy’s gun.

A moment of silence passed as both stood there, “borrowed” guns trained on each other, until Wilford made a noise and patted down his own pockets before belatedly drawing his gun and waving it back and forth between the detective and the bandit.

“Didn’t feel right, being the only one here not pointing a weapon at somebody,” Wilford explained.

“Point it at her, not me!” Abe snapped before catching himself. “Actually, don’t point that thing at anybody!”

“Why don’t you both put your weapons down?” the bandit suggested, keeping Abe’s gun trained on the detective despite being visibly concerned when Wilford shrugged and began to lazily spin his gun around on his finger with a nonchalance that personally made Abe break out into a cold sweat. “No need to play games here, right?”

“This isn’t a game, and this thing isn’t a toy, even if it looks like one,” Abe answered, hoping that was true for this stupid-looking thing he’d found on the agent’s body. He had never actually got around to testing the thing, after all. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

She glanced down at the strange gun in his hand and he swore he saw a flicker of recognition there.

That is, until her lips twitched into a sneer and she asked, “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

A sneer that slipped when Abe shrugged and said, “Got a trigger, doesn’t it? Beyond that, I guess we could find out together if you don’t drop the piece, now.”

“…Piece?”

“The—your gun—my gun,” Abe corrected himself, pressing forward in his irritation until the barrel of the sci-fi looking blaster was pressed up against the underside of the bandit’s chin, his own gun pressed up against his chest in turn. “Drop it, or test me.”

The bandit’s eyes narrowed, searching his for any sign of a lie. “Do you even know what setting it’s on?”

Abe shrugged one shoulder up and down, keeping the blaster steady without looking down at the settings on the side. “Couldn’t even begin to tell you. Might be on whatever Happy had it set to last, might not be. Again, do you want for us to find out the hard way?”

An involuntary gulp on the bandit’s part tested Abe’s grip on the trigger, and she shuddered at the sound of the gun slipping out of her open fingers and hitting the metal floor of the train car.

“Okay, okay! I give, alright?” She raised her empty hands and stepped back, giving enough room for Abe to bend down and pick up his gun.

Which is what he would have done, if his hands weren’t full between the lantern and Happy’s blaster, neither of which he was particularly eager to put away or set down while she could take advantage of it.

Instead, Wilford dipped down and straightened up with the detective’s gun in his other hand, only to find Abe pressing the blaster against his chest now.

“What?” Wilford asked, all innocence.

“You know exactly the hell ‘what,’” Abe said. “Do you really think I’m going to let you walk around this train armed? With my gun?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wilford said, gesturing with both occupied hands while he spoke. “I am nothing if not a responsible—”

The gun went off in his hand, Abe and the bandit both shrieking while Wilford himself jumped a little as though surprised by the noise or the new hole in one of the overstuffed mailbags on the floor near Abe’s foot.

Abe stared at the smoking gun in Wilford’s hand, extremely aware that it wasn’t his gun that just fired. “…What happened to that one being a toy?”

Wilford studied the gun before shrugging and saying, “Must have forgot to put the safety on, my bad.”

“That doesn’t—” Abe struggled to find the words to explain how that didn’t explain how a gun could fire a flag one moment and actual bullets the next, and settled on, “As if you even know what a safety is!”

“…Fair enough, I just kind of made that up,” Wilford admitted, shoulders dropping when Abe stuffed Happy’s gun in his pocket and gestured toward him to hand over the gun.

“Both of them,” Abe insisted, holstering his gun and holding his hand out for the other.

“Aw, come on, I’ll be good,” Wilford said, pouting when the detective refused to budge but ultimately handing over his gun. “But I’m keeping the knives.”

“Knives? As in plural?”

“Well, of course, what kind of gentleman doesn’t have a selection at hand?” Wilford asked.

Meanwhile, the bandit rubbed her eye and muttered to herself, “This is so stupid…”

“Oh, the stupid’s just getting started,” Abe snapped. He gestured for her and Wilford to go through the door first, explaining as he did so, “We’ve still got to go back to the others and figure out what the hell’s been going on around here, after all.”

The bandit took her time walking out of the car, determined to hold on to some of her dignity even as she looked back over her shoulder at him and asked, “That was a bluff, right? It’s still set to stun, isn’t it?”

Even that much bravado slipped a little when the detective looked her in the eye and asked, “What kind of gun has a stun setting?”

---

Benjamin, Dorene, the chef, Mack, and Richard M. Bags all turned as the door to the lounge car burst open, letting the trio in from the freezing cold between the cars.

“We got the power back on!” Professor Beauregard announced with a beaming smile, matched by those of the conductor/engineer Peter and Illinois.

“Yeah, we kind of noticed,” the chef answered, gesturing at the lit lamps on the walls around them.

The professor deflated slightly and said, “Well, you don’t have to go and sound too excited…”

“Thank you very much, dear, this light really does make everything much more bearable,” Dorene said, smiling gently but turning a questioning eye on the engineer. “And does that mean we have a chance of getting moving again?”

“About that—” Peter started, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open again, only this time from the opposite end of the car.

“Oh, good, you’re all already together,” Abe said, ignoring the bandit’s weak protest as Wilford took her arm and led her toward the plush seats. Although the snort she made when Wilford whispered something in her ear on the way there was a bit harder to ignore, he forced himself to stay focused. “That makes this all a lot easier.”

“Who the hell is that?” Chef asked, those others who had been seated around the lounge also rising to stare, the bandit returning their stares with a sneering smile while Wilford beamed and waved.

“I don’t remember getting your tickets,” Peter said slowly, his confusion changing into recognition and outrage. “Hold on, you’re the one that threw those snowballs at me!”

“Only because you wouldn’t let me on the train,” Wilford protested. “And after I gave you a very good bribe, I might add.”

“All you needed was a ticket! I even pointed out where you could get one and everything,” Peter whined.

“Now hold on here,” Benjamin said slowly, staring at Wilford with a furrowed brow. “Is that man...?”

“The guy I told you was on this train from the beginning, and you didn't want to listen to me?” Abe asked. "I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

“Colonel, is that you?” Benjamin asked in a tone of disbelief, Chef's head whipping around at that name.

“Only my friends call me that,” Wilford said, the response so quick and natural that it must have been purely instinct. And then he titled his head, a faint smile playing around his lips. “Do I know you?”

“Do you—” Benjamin sputtered before pointing a gloved finger at the offending man. "You—you cad, you scoundrel! You...”

“Asshole!” Chef supplied.

“You don't remember us? From the manor?” Benjamin scoffed and said, “Well, that should hardly surprise me. After all, you couldn't even be bothered to attend the funeral of one of your oldest friends!”

“And that would be...?” Wilford prompted, fishing for some kind of hint.

“Master Mark, of course!”

“Mark had a funeral?” Abe asked. Did they ever even find a body to bury?

Chef shrugged and said, “Yeah, it was okay. Food was pretty decent, paparazzi hanging all over the place, Benjamin cried like a baby, about what you'd expect.”

“Right, right, of course,” Wilford said, before grimacing and giving the others in the room a look that clearly said he still had no clue who the two of them were.

Abe stared at the former butler and the chef, trying to make sense of this complete underreaction and failing. “Are you...are you telling me you're mad at Wilford because he skipped out on a funeral? That's it?”

“Well, there is that, and that time he shot Master's prized vase,” Benjamin answered.

“And he still owes me twenty bucks,” Chef added.

At those answers, Wilford's face lit up in recognition. “Oh, that's right! Good times, good times. I’m good for the money, I just have to fetch a bear first, you know how it is.”

“But...but he...” Abe stuttered, looking from them to Wilford as though he would actually help explain things. It's like they didn't even know, but how could they not know?

Except...except he'd kept his suspicions close to the chest, like the bullet that would replace them. Sure, he'd pointed his fingers, same as the rest, but when it came down to working out the details and piecing the evidence together, well, it didn't do to share too much until he could be sure who to trust.

And these two hadn't been there, when he confronted the Colonel, had they? When he laid it all out, when he told the Colonel he knew all about the affair, that he knew he was the one who killed Markiplier.

And the Colonel had returned the favor by shooting him and the only other witness.

“Detective, are you okay?”

Abe blinked, the room slowly pulling back into focus at the sound of Dorene's voice, and she wasn’t the only one looking at him with obvious concern.

“...No,” he muttered. But what did that matter, when there was still a murder to solve, right here and now?

“This is everyone on the train, all together in one place,” Abe said, looking around the room as though to confirm that fact for himself.

“Minus the agent,” Wilford corrected him.

“...Yeah, minus the dead man.” Abe had been from one end of this train to the other, he'd checked everywhere, which is why he felt confident enough to continue, “All of us, and one murder to explain. And I'm going to tell you all right now, no one is leaving this train car until we get that explanation.”

At his words, they all stared at him, and then at each other as the realization sank in.

The crew: Benjamin, Peter, and the chef whose name Abe still hadn’t managed to catch after all this time and for all he knew might actually just be named “Chef.”

The passengers: Richard M. Bags, his assistant Mack, Dorene Whitacre, Illinois, Professor Beauregard, and himself, minus one Happy.

And the stowaways: Wilford Warfstache and the Bandit.

“Well, I can’t speak for anyone else here,” the bandit said, although her look around the room before landing on Abe suggested she could certainly judge them all the same, “but whatever issues you people have going on, it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m just along for the ride, that’s all.”

“Eh.” Abe made a face at that and said, “I think Professor Beauregard would disagree, even if Happy can’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beauregard asked with a confused chuckle. “I don’t know this person at all.”

“But she knows of you, or at least that rock you’re traveling with,” Abe said. “That’s why she snuck into the baggage car after we were all asleep to try and steal it.”

The looks on both women’s faces were enough of a reward to compel the detective to continue. “She went for the weapons safe first since it’s the only safe on the train, but turns out the only thing in there was my gun. Despite the many, many other weapons everyone else was allowed to bring on to this train.”

He pointed a glare at the conductor, but Peter just stared back at him owlishly and asked, “Like what?”

“Like these?” Abe said, drawing Happy’s gun from his pocket and gesturing with it before dropping it on the table, then following it with Wilford’s gun. His own he decided to keep in his holster, just because they had been apart for far too long. “Not to mention whatever the hell else Wilford’s got on him, or the blaster in the professor’s room, or Illinois’ whip, seriously, who travels around with a whip?”

Peter held up a hand and said, “Hold on now, it’s not exactly my place to go and judge what things a man might be into.”

“Very good of you,” Illinois said, struggling to keep a straight face as he continued, “But for the record it’s…it’s just a whip. It helps out a lot on my adventures.”

“I’m sure it does, buddy, I’m sure it does,” Peter said, giving Illinois a reassuring nod.

The detective sighed and decided to let it go for now. “The point is, she looked in the safe first and not the big, obvious crate covered in locks because she knew what she was looking for is only about…yay big, would fit in the palm of your hand maybe? That sound about right?”

The bandit stared at him and said, “You can’t make me admit to anything, and you have no proof I ever left the mail car.”

“Proof like how I found you holding my damn gun?” Abe asked. “Or how about the postcard that got stuck to your shoe until you lost it in the baggage car?”

He held out a hand without looking and Wilford, after a delayed second to realize this was a cue of some kind, passed him the postcard he’d found.

“One postcard, from a Herr Ring to a Norbert Moses, found in the baggage car with a shoe print on it,” Abe said, flourishing it for the others to see before glancing at the bandit. “I thought I’d stepped on it, but how much you want to bet the print matches your boots and not mine?”

“…Okay, fine, I snuck up front and picked the safe,” the bandit said, thankfully not calling Abe’s bluff on that one. “When that turned out to be a useless bust—”

“My gun is not useless!”

“I started picking the locks on the crate, but if you look you’ll see it’s still locked, the crystal’s still there,” the bandit said with a shrug. “What can I say? The train suddenly slammed on its brakes and I panicked and went back into hiding. For all I knew, the crystal wasn’t even in the big box.”

“How did you even know it was on the train in the first place?” Professor Beauregard asked. “The only ones who knew were me and—”

She stopped short, hand going to her mouth and so obviously not trying to look that Abe took pity on her and said, “You and the guy footing the bill to research the rock, Big Dick Moneybags over there. And Mack knew too, I’m guessing?”

Mack opened his mouth, but before he could start denying everything Richard shrugged and said, “Sounds about right. I’d trust Mack to keep a secret, and the professor’s under the strictest NDAs money and a team of lawyers can devise. The investors we’re showing it to in a couple of days have been properly teased, but I find it best that the less they know, the better.”

“No one else knew about the crystal except you three?” Abe pressed, catching the briefest of doubts in two sets of eyes. “Moneybags?”

“Well, okay, I did have a supplier,” Richard admitted. “Guy who passed me the crystal with a few recommendations to ‘look into what it can do,’ but he’d have to know it was traveling with us to tip someone else off. Besides, this guy isn’t exactly the kind to go around sharing secrets with just anyone.”

“Oh, really, and how could you tell that?” Abe asked.

“I am an excellent judge of character,” Richard said, completely failing to miss the general disbelief at that in the train car. “And the man struck me as a trustworthy, well-dressed gentleman.”

“What does being well-dressed have to do with anything?” Abe asked.

Wilford shrugged and said, “You may not know anything about that kind of thing, but a nice white suit can be very persuasive, believe you me.”

Abe wondered when Richard had mentioned the color of the suit, but instead asked, “And do ‘trustworthy’ people generally go around handing out rocks that blow up if they get hit?”

“It didn’t blow up,” the professor protested over the alarm of the other passengers. “It just got a little…excited when it absorbed a blast of kinetic energy and, uh…knocked out the train’s power system, that’s all.”

“You’re the reason we’re stuck in the snow?” Benjamin asked and the professor shook her head.

“No, no, I packed the crystal properly so it would be exposed to as little outside influence as possible, it’s not my fault someone went and shot at it! I told you it was potentially dangerous, but you wouldn’t listen to me—”

She directed the accusation at Richard, who shrugged and said, “If I stopped doing everything just because it could be ‘potentially’ harmful, I wouldn’t be the outrageously rich man that I am today.”

Once again, the rich man was painfully oblivious to the mutters and general atmosphere in the room around him.

“Which is why a responsible, sensible person might alert certain…authorities to a potential hazard,” Abe suggested slowly. Unlike Richard, he was well aware of the warning look the professor gave him at those words, but that didn’t stop him from deciding to screw it and say, “Which is how Agent Apless ended up on this train in the first place.”

“What?” Professor Beauregard shook her head, the nervous laughter back. “I don’t know where you’re getting that from. I mean, do we even know he was actually an agent?”

“Oh, I know,” the bandit said, at the same time Abe pulled Happy’s badge out of his pocket and showed it to the room before dropping it on a nearby table alongside the postcard. “He was with the USA, for sure.”

“You keep saying that,” Abe muttered even as he pulled out Happy’s letter. “If you know so much, can you tell what this says?”

The bandit took the sheet of paper and scanned it over. “It’s a mission brief from the agency, telling Agent Apless to keep an eye out for any…rogue elements, and to make sure the energy source reached waiting agents at the next station for retrieval without any mishaps. Also, there’s a reminder at the end to change his password for some reason. Don’t know what that’s about.”

“We’re just going to take her word on that paper says?” Mack asked.

“Not like we’ve got anything else to go on, unless you feel like deciphering it,” Abe suggested, a prospect that the assistant looked a little too interested in actually following up on. “Either way, we know Richard didn’t tell this agency about the rock. What about you, Mack?”

“Of course not!” Mack protested, and all eyes turned on the professor.

“…Okay, fine, I blew the whistle,” the professor admitted before laughing. “Wow, it’s actually a relief to get that out, do you know?”

“You traitor!” Richard said, managing to sound genuinely offended.

“Yeah, like I was going to let you have access to an unknown, potentially unlimited source of energy that from all of my study appears to have an undue influence on its surrounding environments or even on the nature of reality itself?” The professor rolled her eyes and looked at the others. “I mean, come on, really?”

She sobered up quickly and added, “But I had no idea that man was with them. I mean, all of the agents I saw were very ‘men in black,’ you know? And I was told Agents Wubba and Bubba would be waiting to pick up the crystal just before the investor showcase, not that they’d have somebody on the train or at the station.”

“Wubba and Bubba?” Benjamin asked in disbelief.

“Code names, maybe?” Beauregard suggested, although she didn’t seem too sure about that herself.

“Clearly the plan changed,” Abe said, gesturing at the letter. “Maybe because they suspected word had gotten out about the crystal?”

He pointed a look at the bandit, who didn’t dignify it with a response aside from dropping the letter on the table alongside the guns and Happy’s badge. Her hand skirted toward said guns, and after spending half the night with Wilford Abe didn’t even think twice about smacking her hand away.

“Happy was scoping out the train and its passengers all day, and he knew enough about your work to comment on it,” Abe continued while the bandit scowled and moved to lean against the bar instead. “He also knew the rock could be dangerous and a target, which is why he went to the luggage car in the middle of the night and caught our bandit here just before she could get through the last lock and found her armed with my gun. Cue the shootout.”

He gestured toward the agent’s toy-like gun on the table.

“That piece of his is set to ‘stun,’ apparently—just enough to knock someone out when it hit, but I’m guessing it’s not so kind to inanimate objects, which explains all the blast marks on the crate.” A glance at the bandit confirmed the statement and Abe said, “The agent shoots at the bandit, who’s hiding behind the box, and he accidentally hits the crystal, knocking the power out. Meanwhile, she managed to get her own shot in, but my gun doesn’t exactly fire blanks.”

“So she did kill him,” Mack said, his smirk fading before her scowl.

“I did not! Even if the bullet did hit him, it didn’t stop him from coming at me in the dark! He was still alive when I managed to get away from him!”

“And how did you get away from him?” Abe prompted, before turning on the engineer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“I don’t know anything about anything, anyone could tell you that,” Peter said without a trace of shame, looking to Benjamin and the chef to back him up and getting confirming nods from both.

“Really? You didn’t hear the gunfire going on literally feet behind you? You didn’t pick up that giant wrench you’re holding right now and go into the baggage car when the lights out, or start swinging that wrench around when someone lunged at you in the dark? That wrench right there, which I might point out still has the man’s blood on it?”

Peter glanced down at the red stain on his wrench, obvious and hard to miss now that the power was back on, and tried, awkwardly, to hide it behind his legs. “…Okay, so see what happened was—”

He stopped in the face of Abe’s stare and sighed, sinking in on himself. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. Felt the thump and all, but then I realized the train was still going in the dark and ran up front, which is when I pulled the brakes. By the time I went back and looked, there was no one there, and it’d been so dark at the time I thought…”

Thought, or hoped, that he hadn’t actually hit someone with a piece of metal big and thick enough to easily split a skull.

Benjamin spoke up and asked, “So this man, shot and bludgeoned with quite a large wrench, managed to drag himself back to his room before expiring?”

“Eventually,” Abe said. “But he wouldn’t have had time to get back before we were all out in the hallway, or before you and I went up front to see what was going on. He was there in the luggage car when we walked through, hiding in the dark until the coast was clear before making his way back to his room.”

He’d felt it then, hadn’t he? The presence in the darkness, the sense of eyes watching him. He just had no clue it was the gaze of a dying man hiding for his life.

“Now, hold on.” Illinois, who’d been quietly nodding along with this explanation of events, spoke up at this. “I seem to recall you saying you saw our dead man walk into his room before that.”

“I thought it was him at the time,” Abe admitted. “I saw his door close, but that doesn’t mean he was the one to shut it. Our bandit here may have gone haring off as soon as the conductor accidentally whacked her assailant, but that doesn’t mean she would have had time to get through the passenger car before people started waking up. You should know that, Illinois, you bumped into her in the hallway.”

“…Pardon?” Illinois said, his usual calm faltering slightly.

“I heard you, telling someone to watch where they were going,” Abe said. “Same as I heard more than one set of footsteps running around, even though by the time I opened my door nearly everyone was still at or near their room. In the dark it would have been impossible to tell it was someone who shouldn’t have been there, just as she couldn’t have known that the very first unlocked and unoccupied room she came to just so happened to belong to Happy.”

“Okay, well that still settles it, doesn’t it?” Mack asked the room at large. “We know she shot him, and that guy hit him in the head—either one alone would have been enough to kill the man, so at least one of them has to be our murderer.”

Abe, Benjamin, and the chef all froze at his words, sharing a knowing look amongst themselves when the rumble of thunder failed to happen. Wilford, meanwhile, was the picture of ease, his feet kicked up on the chair opposite while he watched the reveal play out, as though all he were missing was a tub of popcorn to enjoy it with.

The detective shook himself and recovered enough to say, “It would, if Happy had just been shot and bludgeoned.”

“There was more?” Benjamin asked in disbelief. “What else could the man have been put through in the time it took to get back to his room?”

“Yeah, about that…” Abe sighed and rubbed his face. This was the part where things were going to get really complicated. “God, where do I even start?”

“How about we go back to what that man was doing running around in the hallway at the same time as our potential murderess?” Richard asked, gesturing at Illinois.

“Huh?” Abe stared at him for a second before answering, “Oh, he was just stealing something from your room, he didn’t have anything to do with what was going on with Happy over in the next car.”

“What?!” Richard looked from the detective to the adventurer, who for once looked visibly shocked by this turn of events. “You were in my room? You stole something, from me?!”

“You told me yourself you heard someone walking around,” Abe said. “And if any of us could have gotten around in the dark and found what he was looking for without a light, I think it’d be the guy who goes into strange caves or temples or whatever to take things for a living.”

“And sometimes to return things,” Illinois said, shrugging at the compliment. “But you searched my room, friend, and you didn’t see anything stolen then, did you?”

“No, but then I didn’t exactly get a chance to search that trunk of yours after you had to go and show me that…thing from Ohio,” Abe said, the professor barely able to repress a shudder at the memory. “And for someone who’s never been inside his room, you certainly had an opinion about the quality of Richard’s collection on display in there, didn’t you?”

Illinois cracked a faint smile at that and gave the detective the merest tilt of his head.

“I demand you return to me what you stole, now,” Richard said, stepping forward to poke the adventurer in the chest only to shrink back when Illinois fixed him with an unblinking stare.

“You mean what you paid to have stolen from its rightful owners?” Illinois asked.

“Acquired is the word you’re looking for, and do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?” Richard spun around to look at the detective for help. “Detective, Abe, tell this—this thief what will happen to him when we report him to the authorities!”

“We? Well, you can make a report at the next station, and I’m sure as long as you can provide proof of purchase and point them to the forgery Illinois replaced it with, they’ll have cause to search him and his belongings,” Abe said. “Shouldn’t be that hard, right?”

At his words, Illinois stifled a laugh, causing the rich man to turn on him again.

“Do you think that’s funny?” Richard asked. He snapped his fingers at Mack and said, “We have receipts for everything in that room, right?”

“Er…” Mack’s hesitation made Richard turn to stare at him, forcing him to explain, “Not…all of them are exactly…compelling.”

“They’re receipts, shipping manifests, whatever the hell, they’re not supposed to be compelling!”

“I mean that they wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny. And might, in fact, uh…suggest some things you may not wish to have…uneducated law enforcement making assumptions about.”

“Uneducated in how certain art and antiquities buying and selling might look incredibly illegal to those not in the know?” Abe suggested and Mack nodded, so obviously glum and downtrodden that Abe almost wondered if it was his imagination, how tight the man’s lips were as though struggling not to smile.

“Oh, actually, don’t discourage the man from seeking help,” Dorene said with a wicked smile that she was definitely not trying to hide. “I would love to see how that played out.”

“I’m starting to feel like I’m being ganged up on, even though I’m the victim here,” Richard protested.

“No,” Abe said, his quiet voice still making all eyes turn on him. “The only victim here was Happy, although you’re right about everyone ganging up on you. After all, no one here meant to kill Agent Apless, but they all sure as hell wanted to kill you.”

“…What?” Richard asked, his mouth turned up in a disbelieving smile. “You’re joking, right?”

The stare the detective gave him more than answered that question.

“Why would any of these people want to kill me?” Richard protested.

Abe shrugged. “You said it yourself, you’ve made a lot of enemies on your way to the top. And funny thing, aside from our thief over there, literally everyone on this train either works for you or has been offered employment except for Dorene and Wilford. Hell, you just met me and Happy yesterday and you tried to hire us both to save you from a murderer.”

“I create jobs, it’s what I do,” Richard said, shrugging with palms up and looking around as if expecting everyone to agree with him. “That hardly seems like any reason to want to kill me. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“…Wow. You really are clueless, aren’t you?” Abe asked over the murmuring of the others. “Okay, let’s start with Illinois: you’ve tried to hire him multiple times to ‘acquire’ something of value for you, right? Only he has what the rest of us like to call ‘standards’ or possibly even ‘morals,’ if you’d like to look those words up later, and he always turned you down. Cue him discovering you actually managed to get your mitts on a real artifact that rightfully belongs to someone else and performing his little heist.”

“Now, of course, Illinois could have been working on his own, but it’s risky and getting caught stealing would put his career in jeopardy, not to mention get people questioning all that stuff he’s donated to museums in the past. Sound about right, Illinois?”

“That it does, but it also sounds a bit like you’re working against yourself there, friend,” Illinois answered.

“Good thing you found an ally on the train then, isn’t it? A Ms. Dorene Whitacre who also prefers museums over private collections and who’s funded a few of his expeditions,” Abe continued. “And she happens to have employed a certain chef in the past, who like the other employees on this train isn’t happy with the new owner’s slash and burn way of making a profit out of the railway. That already starts looking like the right combination of people who’d like to pull one over on our rich idiot.”

Said chef snarled and said, “You better watch yourself there, detective,” while Benjamin said, “Hold on now, these accusations are rather baseless, are they not?”

Abe sighed. “Are you all really going to make me spell it out?”

He waited a beat, but then he was already on a roll here. Might as well finish the job.

“A plan gets made, to make sure Illinois doesn’t get interrupted while getting the artifact, yeah? A little something, just to make sure the mark stays asleep despite being paranoid that someone’s out to kill him, what with all of the threatening letters and murder attempts.” Abe pulled the empty bottle out of his pocket and placed it on the table, explaining as he did so, “Potent sleeping pills from the butler—sorry, bartender’s room, empty despite only being filled a few days ago. Put enough of those in someone’s drink and I’m sure they could sleep through anything. Add a few more, and they never need to worry about waking up again.”

“While I don’t need to explain my prescription medication to you, I’ll have you know I…accidentally spilled those pills the other day and had to toss them out,” Benjamin said, his hesitation not doing his bad lying any favors. Seeing the detective was less than convinced, he added, “And aside from that, while I may have served drinks at the bar and during dinner, the only time I gave Mr. Bags anything to drink was the wine from the same bottle I poured out for everyone else, yourself included, detective, and you didn’t seem to have any problems with it then.”

“I seem to recall you taking that wine from me,” Abe shot back.

“Because you preferred a whiskey, and I was trying to keep you from overindulging! Again!”

“Pardon me from interrupting this riveting argument, but what’s this about threatening letters and murder attempts?” Illinois asked.

“Oh, did Mack not tell you about that?” Abe asked. “Yeah, someone’s been trying to kill the rich guy over there for weeks now, and failing at it. Probably why he had to resort to working with you all.”

“What?” Mack chuckled in disbelief. “You honestly think I had a hand in any of this?”

“And like any of us would go along with anything that little snitch tried to talk us into,” Chef added. “He’s practically Big Dick Moneybags’s shadow, you seriously think he has the spine to do something like what you’re talking about?”

And if Abe hadn’t been sure before, the chef of all people vouching for Mack (admittedly by insulting him) confirmed it. It was all the detective could do not to laugh, even if none of it was particularly funny.

“Yeah, sure, maybe you all just happened to be on the same train as the mark and the stolen piece, and you just happened to have the sleeping pills on hand. This poison though, that requires a bit of planning ahead,” he said, pulling the bottle of poison out of his pocket and dropping it on the table, followed by the smaller bottle from Dorene’s room. “Same as the antidote to go with it.”

“Poison?” Benjamin said, his surprise genuine enough. “What does that have to do with any of this?”

“Same thing that the booby trap I found has to do with it,” Abe said, looking around before realizing that he left the spring-loaded knife trap back in the dining car.

Or at least, he thought he had, but once again Wilford helpfully dropped it on the table amidst all of the other evidence, the clang of metal and the flash of the blade encouraging everyone in the room to take a healthy step back.

“What the hell is that?” Chef asked, but he wasn’t the one Abe was watching for a response.

He had to give it to Illinois, the man had one hell of a poker face.

“Murder weapon, same as the gun, the poison, the wrench, all of it,” Abe answered. “Agent Harold Apless was poisoned, shot, stabbed, and bludgeoned before he died. Knowing that, does anyone else want to step forward and confess to the other bits we haven’t gotten to yet?”

A silence filled the lounge car, broken only when Abe sighed.

“Fine then, how about I tell you all what happened, and we see how close to the mark I am?”

Easier said than done when he suspected most of it would be him filling in the gaps with his own guesses, but confidence could go a long way. And if there was one thing Abe was good at, it was plunging in blindly and confidently until he hit that rock bottom.

“Richard over there, as he’s told me many times since we met, has a talent for making enemies. Comes with being a rich asshole, nothing I haven’t seen before. He starts getting threatening notes, a couple near misses on his life, and decides to take the train to this big investor meeting because every other vehicle he gets in has a tendency to crash lately. Whose idea was it, to take the train?”

“I’m sure I came up with it,” Richard said, and Abe raised an eyebrow and looked at Mack.

“I might have suggested it, but it was Mr. Bags’s idea to follow through on that suggestion,” Mack said carefully. “We knew the train was going that way, as Professor Beauregard had already made plans to travel with the crystal via railway.”

“Mack and I talked it over, and it seemed the safest way at the time,” Beauregard chimed in. “But that was ages ago.”

“And any potential assassin might think twice about disabling an entire train just to get at one man, instead of another car,” Abe said, getting a confirming nod from Mack. And yet here they were, on a train stuck in a snowbank, but he held his tongue on that point. “At the same time making it a whole lot easier for any potential thief than trying to get into a high-class hotel, considering Bags has a habit of traveling in ‘style’ with the choicest bits of his collection even if it means making the rail staff completely overhaul an entire compartment just for him.”

“Three,” Benjamin muttered. “We had to combine three compartments just to fit his specifications.”

“And now that space is much more valuable to future riders, so you’re welcome,” Richard said.

“Unfortunately for Illinois, all of those death threats and murder attempts tend to leave even a guy with that kind of ego paranoid and suspicious,” Abe continued. “Not helped when he almost drinks a glass of poisoned wine while trying to hire me to protect his life.”

“Hang on,” Mack said when all eyes turned toward him again. “I know what you’re suggesting, detective, but I really had nothing to do with that! I just opened that bottle because it’d been left sitting out on the bar as a welcoming gift when we boarded, I had no idea there was something in it.”

Benjamin paled, one gloved hand going to his mouth, the small motion all Abe needed to zero in on him.

“Got something you want to say about that?” Abe pressed.

“This bottle…perhaps, did it have a yellow and pink bow on it?” Benjamin asked and Mack did a double take.

“Uh, yes? I thought it was a little odd, not matching the train colors, but I figured it was just the winery’s colors.”

“What do you know about it?” Abe asked.

“What—nothing! He gave it to me, ask him!” Benjamin said, pointing a finger at Peter like a little kid tattling.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know anything about it, except it’s one of the things that guy tried to give me instead of a ticket. Didn’t know what else to do with it, and Benjamin’s the bartender so I figured he’d like it.”

All eyes traveled in turn to Wilford, who also shrugged. “It was just a joke?”

“You could have killed someone with that stuff!” Abe shouted, mostly remembering how he’d been given a glass of the wine.

“It wasn’t very good wine, was it?” Wilford admitted. “My bad, next time I’ll get something that will really put the hair on your chest.”

“…I think I’m good,” Peter said slowly.

“…Okay, that explains that. I guess,” Abe said, his mind struggling to shift gears after that little detour. “Longshot of it is, Moneybags doesn’t finish his glass of wine at dinner, and doesn’t get the full effects of the sleeping pills put in it. No full dose meant he woke up earlier than expected, while Illinois was still in the room. Meanwhile, I’m guessing the rest of you barely even sipped your wine over dinner, which is why none of you had any trouble getting up after the train suddenly stopped either.”

Certainly not compared to him, who’d fallen to the floor and could barely operate a door in the first few minutes after being jolted back into wakefulness.

“Did you drug my drink at the bar too?” Abe asked Benjamin.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Even if I had slipped some sleeping pills in the wine, which I’m not saying I did, I certainly wouldn’t give you a triple dose—”

“Triple—” Abe stopped, eyes closing as it sank in. “You put a double dose in my whiskey, didn’t you? That’s why you took away my wine.”

Benjamin wavered and looked at Illinois before breaking. “They were just sleeping pills, detective. No one was exposed to enough to cause any lasting harm, and to be frank I rather thought you could use something to help you relax.”

“And if I just happened to doze off in the lounge car and spent the whole night there, it would mean one less potential witness to spot Illinois entering Moneybags’s room using one of the staff copies of the keys,” Abe said, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the back of his throat at Benjamin’s words. “And maybe you and Illinois would have been fine leaving it at that—Illinois retrieves a stolen item he can return to wherever it belongs, while you have the satisfaction of knowing your terrible boss has had one pulled over on him. But that’s not enough for everyone.”

The chef bristled when Abe’s gaze turned on him. “Watch yourself, dick. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? So you don’t know anything about this poison?” Abe asked, picking up the bottle of poison on the table and glancing at the label. “Bit stronger than sleeping pills, that’s for sure.”

“What the hell, man?” Chef asked. “You think I go around putting poison in perfectly good food?”

“Not even to kill that guy?” Abe asked, gesturing toward an affronted Richard.

The chef hesitated and Abe said, “When we woke you up and told you someone had been murdered, you said, ‘that dick.’ Didn’t think anything of it at the time since you hate nearly everyone, but I never told you who was dead. You were surprised when you got to the lounge car and saw Big Dick Moneybags over there still alive, right?”

Chef bared his teeth and said, “Yeah, maybe when I heard you talking about someone getting offed I hoped another rich asshole was dead, but that don’t mean nothing. Benjamin can tell you, I don’t know which plate is going to which table, and you all got the same food but only one of you is dead. You’re not telling me you all didn’t eat that delicious dinner I provided, are you?”

“No, chef,” nearly everyone in the car answered when he looked around at them, Dorene and the professor in particular throwing in a couple of compliments about his cooking.

“Funny thing about this poison,” Abe said, shaking the bottle so that the viscous red liquid sloshed around. “It’s only lethal when ingested and takes a while to kick in, but if prepared correctly there’s hardly a taste at all. You wouldn’t even know you’re poisoned until the symptoms start kicking in.”

He set the bottle back down and traded it for the smaller antidote as he added, “All you have to do is make sure the antidote gets to everyone who ate the dinner except the person you want dead. Those cookies you made really were delicious, Dorene.”

She smiled and said, “There really is no problem a plate of cookies can’t solve, isn’t there?”

“Problems including rich assholes who won’t get their comeuppance just because one trinket goes missing, no matter how valuable,” Abe said, and her smile didn’t so much as waver. “I found the antidote in your room, but the poison, now that ended up in my bag. Of course, the chef could have easily planted it there after dinner while I was sleeping in the lounge, but what kind of sense would that make? If anyone on this train would know enough about this poison to guess how it was used when Moneybags turned up dead, it would be me.”

The chef shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have those keys to get into the passengers’ rooms like Benjamin does, why would I need ‘em? And you got no proof I ever even used the poison in the first place, considering that dick over there is still alive, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

There it was again.

Abe sighed and put the bottle back down, his hand hovering over the trap but careful to stay well out of range. “And then there’s this. Illinois, what do you know about this thing?”

“You called it a booby trap,” Illinois answered. “Looks to me like a pressure-sensitive trap that attempts to stab anyone who activates it.”

“It looks to you?” Abe repeated. “This isn’t yours?”

“I don’t seem to recall you finding that in my room.”

“No, I didn’t. I found it in Mack’s, but he claims someone must have hid it in there after he went to stay with Moneybags after the power went out,” Abe said.

“It’s the only logical time it could have happened,” Mack said.

“Yeah, I guess logically you would be the one to know that,” Abe shot back. “Considering you were the one who hid it there in the first place, after retrieving it from the bed you’d hidden it in before then.”

“Now why would he do that?” Illinois asked, slow and calm as ever. “So far all these plans you’ve been cooking up were laid against Richard here, but I don’t see how Mack would be able to get a trap out of the man’s bed without him noticing.”

“Because it wasn’t in Moneybag’s bed,” Abe answered. “Mack hid it at the same time he planted the bottle of poison in my bag, right after dinner when most of us were still here in the lounge. My guess is Dorene took the bottle from the kitchen and passed it to Mack during dinner at the same time she was handing out those cookies, knowing he would have the easiest time getting rid of the evidence as soon as possible.”

“Like I said, you’re assuming a lot, detective,” Mack said. “Even if I had any reason to hide evidence to a murder—one that I told you before would only hurt me—why would I plant a trap in your room, only to remove it later, knowing it had failed to kill you?”

“You also think I’d trust that guy with evidence that I’d killed someone?” Chef asked. “What, do I look crazy to you? Not to mention you’re accusing Ms. Whitacre of being involved in this!”

Murmurs of agreement went around at that last point at least, even though so far Abe was sure Dorene was the only who hadn’t denied being involved in the plot to kill Richard.

“Mack, wasn’t it you that suggested a double blind before? Something about complicated knots and simple solutions?” Abe asked. “Because I think the simple solution here is that one day, you reached your breaking point. Maybe it was realizing how dangerous that rock the professor is working on in Richard’s hands, or maybe you saw the agents she’d tipped off following you one day. Or maybe you just know all of those investigations Happy mentioned back at dinner are going to turn up something. You said it yourself, you’re Mr. Bags’s right-hand man, as wrapped up in all his dirty business as he is, except when the hammer comes down, you know he’s not the one who’s going to suffer for it.

“So you hatch a plan, find some like-minded people, and contrive events to make sure they’re all on the same train as you and Big Dick Moneybags. And like I said, some of ‘em are fine with the idea of just taking the artifact back, maybe even playing the game so that he gets caught on insurance fraud or starting an investigation into just how he got the thing in the first place. Something good that’ll make his wallet and maybe even his pride hurt a bit.

“But Chef’s got experience working with a rich asshole, enough to know it takes more than that to really drive the knife in, and I’m guessing Dorene’s been around enough of the same type to know the tricks he’d pull to slip through any real trouble and end up right back where he started. So you three decide to take it on yourselves to take a more permanent option, figuring the shared meal would provide enough of a cover and alibi.”

After Abe finished his spiel, Mack smirked and said, “Clever, if a bit too simple. You forgot the booby trap, remember? Where does that fit into all of this?”

Abe shrugged. “Maybe you just wanted me dead after I immediately fingered you as a suspect?”

Mack laughed and rolled his eyes. “Please, like I would resort to something as crude and unreliable as…whatever that thing is.”

“It doesn’t exactly have the highest success rate,” Illinois admitted.

True, that answer didn’t exactly sit right with Abe even as he’d said it.

Double blind, he’d said.

“Or maybe you expected me to find the trap after Richard was dead,” Abe said slowly, sounding the idea out. “You talked to Benjamin at dinner, maybe you knew he was planning to give me a larger dose of the sleeping pills and expected me to pass out before I ever made it back to my room. Trap like that would be easier to spot in the morning, in the light of day, especially if I’m on high alert with a dead body on the train.”

“Again, what would be the point, detective?” Mack asked, the tone of his voice annoying Abe into thinking harder.

“To get me pointing fingers at Illinois, like you tried to do when I showed you the trap earlier. Would make sense, since it came out of his room, except then you’d be pointing the finger at one of your accomplices…” Abe trailed off, remembering that wasn’t the only thing Mack had planted in his room. “At the same time, everyone would be ‘looking’ for the poisoner, and lo and behold the poison’s in my bag. So I’m pointing the finger at Illinois, while I’m guessing Dorene and maybe even the prof over there would be ready and willing to vouch that they saw him return to his room and never left it last night to cover for the theft, while Happy, knowing that I’d turned down the job to protect Moneybags, would be suspecting me. A few more false leads and you could have us all accusing each other with not enough real evidence to convict anyone by the time we reached the next station and the authorities there have to sort it out.”

Richard surprised Abe and everyone else in the train car by suddenly breaking out into laughter, a high, nervous laughter that suggested someone very close to the edge of losing it.

“Oh, bravo, detective! That is quite the theory, but there’s one key problem with it: Mack would never do something like that. I’d trust that man with my life, he depends on me for everything, he’s simply not capable of throwing all that away just to, what, kill me? What good would that do?”

“Yeah, I seem to recall him saying as much when I questioned him earlier,” Abe admitted, but he was watching Mack closely as he continued. “He’s well-paid, he’s put all of his money and investments into your companies, and all of that will tank if something happens to you. All the financial motives in the world to keep you alive and well. What more reason could a man need?”

“Exactly!” Richard answered, tone deaf as usual.

Abe looked Mack in the eye and asked, “And how much of that would you give, to make sure Richard M. Bags paid for everything he’s done?”

“…All of it,” Mack answered, wiping that smile off of Richard’s face with just three words. “Even if you saw through all of it, even if I had to take the fall, it would have been worth it.”

“…Mack?” Richard said, all trace of color washed out of his face as he stared with wide, disbelieving eyes.

But Mack didn’t even look at him as he shrugged and said, sounding a little too-cheerful about it, “But I guess we failed, huh? All those plans, and nothing to show for it.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” Abe said. He looked around the room, trying to tell who had pieced it together yet and who hadn’t, but no luck.

He sighed again, feeling the weight in his chest more strongly than ever.

“Agent Harold Apless was on this train because he was sent here to protect that blasted crystal, thanks to the professor’s warning. Over dinner, he asked me to switch rooms with him, saying he needed a double—I’m guessing now because he thought he might need the extra space to restrain and hide the person after the crystal without alerting the other passengers,” Abe said, tilting his head toward the bandit. “That’s also when he drank nearly two glasses of wine, his own plus Richard’s since Moneybags was still freaked out from nearly drinking Wilford’s poisoned wine. On top of that, I offered him my whiskey after only a few sips since something about it tasted off.”

“My heavens,” Benjamin breathed quietly, adding up how many sleeping pills that would be. “That much would have surely…”

Abe nodded. “He ate the same food as the rest of us, only he felt sorry enough for the sadsack over there to give him his cookie when Dorene ‘accidentally’ missed him when she was passing them out.”

For the first time, Dorene looked visibly shaken as she and the chef shared a look of horror and guilt.

“After dinner, he hangs out around the bar for a bit before heading to the compartments, where he switches our belongings but not the trap Mack planted in the bed no one was supposed to use. Maybe he tried to sleep then, maybe the sleeping pills and poison had numbed him to the point he didn’t even realize he’d been stabbed by the trap. But he still has enough in him to go to the luggage car when he hears someone moving around in the hallway, to get shot by the bandit trying to steal the crystal and bludgeoned by the engineer who thought he was fending off an attacker. While Benjamin and I go up front to talk with Peter and check out the damage outside, Happy returns to his room—to my room,” Abe said, faltering a little.

If he hadn’t given him his whiskey, if he hadn’t agreed to changing rooms…

Abe plunged his hands into his pockets as if hoping to find another piece of evidence hidden away there, something to help it all make sense, but all he found was his light, a pack of cigarettes, and a couple slips of paper which he pulled out to have something to look at besides all the faces around him.

It was his ticket to ride the train. His ticket, and…

Abe looked at Wilford, feeling the hopelessness sink in as he finally said the words that had been lurking in the back of his mind all this time.

“We all did it.”

“Every one of us is the reason Agent Harold Apless is dead, in one way or another,” he said, and there wasn’t a single objection in the room. He took a deep, sucking breath, and then asked the world at large the question he still hadn’t found an answer to, after years of trying. “Now what?”

((End of Part 11. Thank you for reading!

Thanks to Wilford (and the original story), we all knew where this was going, but hopefully this mystery's still been fun even with the built-in spoilers? Meant to post this one a lot sooner, but wound up doing a lot of rewriting. Final chapter coming soon, I promise.

Tag list: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm abe #wilford warfstache #iswm bandit #wkm butler #wkm chef #big dick moneybags #iswm mack #agent harold apless #dorene whitacre #ahwm illinois #the reveal we all expected

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thebadgerclan · 7 months

Text

Interim

Pairing: Alex Claremont-Diaz x Henry Fox

Summary: While Henry is living in New York, he decided to surprise his boyfriend in D.C.

It was strange–this interim period. Alex was finishing classes at Georgetown, Henry was setting up his foundation in New York, Ellen had secured a second term, Alex and Henry were free to love each other openly; life was…good. While Henry had his Brownstone in Brooklyn, Alex had rented an apartment in downtown D.C., having decided to move out of the Residence. When he was finished with school, when he got accepted to NYU (because he would get accepted to NYU), he’d move to New York, but for now, having his own space was a nice change. And being only 200 miles away from his boyfriend rather than 3,500 was certainly an advantage.

But the First Son couldn’t simply move into any old apartment. No, it had to be approved by the Service and be revamped with the highest degree of security available. Every resident of the apartment building and all the staff had been required to sign an NDA when Alex moved in, and only the building manager and members of the Service knew which apartment Alex lived in. His mail was either delivered directly to him by whichever agent was on duty, or he picked it up on his way to or from classes.

Which is why it wasn’t unusual for Alex to receive a text from Amy, who was stationed in the lobby for her shift. There’s a delivery here for you. It’s already been cleared. Alex didn’t remember ordering anything, but it was entirely possible he had and completely forgotten. As he made his way down to the lobby, he was pondering what on earth might be waiting for him. A book? A new phone case? Something from his mother?

What Alex certainly wasn’t expecting was to find Henry standing in the lobby, a beaming smile on his face, a bouquet of two dozen red roses in hand. “Baby?” Alex said, and he was immediately running towards him, not caring that the people milling about could see. They’d signed NDAs anyhow. Amy stepped forward and took the flowers before Alex could crush them between his and Henry’s bodies as he flung himself at the Prince, wrapping him in a crushing embrace.

Henry held him close, kissing Alex’s temple as he breathed in his scent: spices and coffee, and simply Alex. “Hi, my love,” he said, carding a hand through Alex’s hair. “What’re you doing here?” Alex asked, and Henry kissed him, cradling his face in his hands. “Am I not allowed to come see my boyfriend?” “Well, yeah, but aren’t you busy with the shelters?” Henry smiled, tracing a thumb over Alex’s cheekbone.

“Pez is handling things for the weekend. And I recall hearing that someone doesn’t have any exams next week and has a free weekend…” It made something flutter in Alex’s heart to know that Henry knew his schedule and that he cared enough to come in from New York just for him. “God, I love you so much, you know that?” “I believe you’ve told me once or twice, darling,” Henry responded. “But I could stand to hear it again.”

Alex laughed, pressing his lips to Henry’s, letting his fingers tangle in his blond locks. “Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchirsten-Windsor, I love you so stupidly fucking much.” “And I love you, my dear. Now, might my stupidly handsome boyfriend take me upstairs?” Alex beamed. “I’ll never get tired of you calling me your boyfriend, baby. And yes, please, you’ve been here for 10 minutes, and I already want to do several bad things to you.”

***

Nearly two hours later, Alex lay curled up in Henry’s arms, both of them bare beneath the covers, Henry pressing lazy kisses to Alex’s skin. “You are so beautiful,” the Prince mused, and Alex felt his face heat. “Like…like someone brought a priceless piece of artwork to life.” Alex blushed deeper, turning his face into his boyfriend’s chest. “Don’t hide, love,” Henry said gently, coaxing Alex’s face upwards to look at him. “God, you are perfect. My perfect, beautiful love.”

Alex whimpered, something that made Henry’s heart skip several beats, and he kissed him, wrapping his arms around Henry’s neck, pulling him closer. “How are you real?” Alex asked. “How are you here, how are you mine?” Henry’s heart couldn’t help but break. His Alex had been through more than he deserved, had had his heart broken far more than anyone should. And Henry was fortunate enough to have earned that heart, and he knew with absolute certainty that he would defend it.

“I’m yours, my love,” Henry said, cupping Alex’s cheek, smiling when he leaned into the touch. “Because you are devastatingly kind, funny, generous, intelligent, and yes, ridiculously handsome. I am yours because you see me for me, not the Prince others see. And I am yours because despite my flaws and problems, you love me. And Alex, my darling, you love me so well. And I love you, sweetheart, more than anything else in the world.”

Alex sniffled, Henry’s words had brought him to tears. “More than David?” “Don’t tell him, but just a bit, yes.” Alex laughed, and Henry swiped away his tears. “I am yours, Alex, for as long as you’ll have me. I love you.” “I love you too, H. God, I love you.” Henry smiled, kissing him once more, wrapping his arms a bit tighter around him. Alex wanted nothing more than to have this every moment of every day; Henry in his bed, in his arms, but for now, until Henry’s shelters were on their feet, until Alex was done at Georgetown, this…this interim…this was wonderful

#firstprince #firstprince fluff #alex claremont diaz x henry fox #alex x henry #henry x alex #rwrb fanfiction #rwrb

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ingravinoveritas · 1 year

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<3 all ur d&m pics that show them as a couple. how many ppl who say that get as much stupid mail as u do? probably not many which sux. u say what everybody sees and then ppl get butthurt.

Aww thank you, Anon! I appreciate this so much. Yes, I have definitely had more than my share of stupid/hate mail (which you can see in my #the fact that i even gotta respond to this and #fandom woes tags) over the past few years. And it seems like every few months, a thread pops up on Twitter of people bashing RPF or anyone who talks about the possibility of Michael and David as a couple. I saw one such thread last night (not linking to it, cause it's not worth it), but I was struck by how...pointless...it seemed.

Because what I see--overwhelmingly--more than threads like that is comments like the Pinterest ones I've recently highlighted. Sometimes I see comments that are from as far back as four years ago, but I've seen a lot more newer comments, too. So the people who waste their time railing against RPF/shipping Michael and David seem willfully ignorant of the fact that a) A lot more people either don't care anymore because it's not a big deal/we have bigger issues to contend with; and b) Michael and David ship themselves with each other more than anyone else ever could.

It is interesting to me, what you said about this being something everyone sees. If that is the case, I do have to wonder why there is such an issue with me saying it out loud. Michael and David are over here calling each other their "other partner," "other wife," "lover," "emotional support pet" and so on and that's somehow fine, but then I get attacked for pointing out the possibility that maybe--maybe--they might not be joking. Or are telling the truth in the guise of a joke. And what really grates my cheese is that I've always said that I am more than open to the idea that Michael and David are just friends and nothing has happened between them...yet the anti-shipping crowd won't even consider the idea that something has, or that they could be more than friends.

I also think it's noteworthy that there truly are countless pictures of Michael and David looking like a couple. Not only from the GO press tour, and not only from 2019, but consistently over the past four years. Even when they're not in the same room, that 'vibe' is always present (such as on TLL, when Michael straight up bought David on national television and said he was going to keep him in his basement). And that's what I see people commenting on--casual fans who (for any number of reasons) more often than not pair Michael with David (and vice-versa) instead of their own partners.

So yes, it has been frustrating to see people getting butthurt (that Twitter thread from last night got under my skin somewhat because I was just starting to write a new MS/DT fic, and it felt like someone throwing a wet blanket on my ideas). But as I've said before, I would much rather people come for me than another person who would be far more affected/devastated by it. I will always talk honestly about the things I see and the observations I make, and I'm happy that my blog has become a place for people to safely share their thoughts, too.

Hopefully the discourse will improve some when GO 2 comes out (and if/when there is a press tour) and we get to see Michael and David together again. In the meantime, I'm so glad to have received your message, Anon. Thanks for writing in! x

#anonymous #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #fandom woes #i'd rather look like a 'bad' fan and talk about the reality of the situation #than look like a 'good' fan by ignoring it #michael ships himself with david more than anyone else ever could #the fact that there are countless examples by now should be enough to make people stop attacking shippers #and yet #good omens rpf #ineffable lovers #discourse

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akiiyamashun · 2 years

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Kiriko may have been in her early thirties ( and a successful medical professional who always worked night shifts ), but she still greeted her dad in the same way she did as a child. A tap to his shoulder first to make sure she didn't spook him followed by arms wrapping around his neck. Kiriko settled into that stance for a moment, evidently in need of an extended embrace.

"Hey, Dad?" she asked. "Can I talk to you for a bit?"

At Akiyama's acceptance, Kiriko found a seat on the couch next to him. Her curls were pulled back, and she wore a tank top and pajama pants. All evidence indicated that they had both recently woke up with the setting of the sun. Daigo was still asleep.

Kiriko settled a bent arm on the back of the sofa and leaned her cheek into her hand. "I've been thinking," she said. "Thinking about this a lot, actually. I haven't talked to Father about it yet, but . . . I think I'm ready. For what comes next. I've learned so much working with humans. Vampirism, though, is what I really want to understand, and there's not much more I can learn while I'm -- " Kiriko paused. She tucked her legs in tighter. "I want to ask Father if he would change me like what he did for you, Dad. If you would both be willing to still have me around, of course."

Kiriko had no way of knowing that her comment unintentionally mirrored a sentiment her dad had expressed several years prior. Her dark eyes searched Akiyama's face gently, as if she were afraid for a moment that her musings would be rejected. Her parents had always left the option open, but actually approaching the subject was stressful.

"Would you . . . give me your blessing, Dad?" Kiriko ventured quietly. "To turn? Do you think Father would do it?"

unscripted asks . always accepting

The fact that Akiyama was an earlier riser when compared to Daigo was surely attributed to an irony of the destiny: when they were both humans, the former chairman had an impossibly tight schedule which began before sunrise; the loan shark, on the other hand, was customarily heading to bed at such hour. Maybe his horrible sleeping pattern had finally helped with something in addition to Hana’s endless nagging.

Despite being awake, he hadn’t changed into anything acceptable to head outside - just sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt that had been mailed in as a gift for some donations made years and years ago on behalf of one of his trusts. His focus was on the cellphone when Kiriko entered the room - an old, very human addiction that most of the vampire society had also fallen victim to (except those who refused to adapt to the modern times, of course). But after her greeting, the vampire immediately let go of the device, focusing his attention on his daughter - even after death, Akiyama could tell when someone needed something; his people reading skills were still very much part of him.

As she spoke, there was something in his chest that reacted strongly to Kiriko’s words; it was nothing physical but just pure, raw emotion and a keen sense of understanding. The way that the girl (or rather, grown woman) seemed hesitant and like she wanted to retreat into a safe haven of sorts was a known sensation - to ponder exchanging one’s humanity for a new existence was a heavy burden; the irreversible nature of the choice did not make it a light one.

But Akiyama’s glowing, scarlet eyes only softened at her words - if Kiriko was concerned about rejection, surely that wasn’t the overtone of how the loan shark responded initially, moving to reach for his daughter. His fingers sought her free hand, squeezing it gently and then letting his palm lay over hers for a moment, enjoying the exchange of heat between their limbs. To a human, Akiyama was still colder than average - but not like a corpse; his touch was pleasing, passable for a mortal even.

“Kiri-chan, I don’t think I ever told you the details of the day I said I wanted to turn, have I?” he offered a grin to her then, one that showed his sharper, more pointed teeth but in a form that was clearly amused - his visage was rarely threatening when compared to the rest of his peers, “Don’t think I’ll need to, though - you just said almost the same stuff I said to your father back then.”

At Kiriko’s surprised look, Akiyama laughed - the type of sound that he was famous for, even under dire circumstances. Sighing softly after that unexpected outburst of joy, he nonetheless kept the close contact with his child - who was now beginning to relax shoulder and legs alike, visibly interested in what her dad had to say next, “I struggled at first; I didn’t see myself as anything but human. Despite everything, we can still be good, right? I’ve met so many people who proved that we can do better - your father was one of the first. He saved me without asking for a thing in return.”

He paused then, the memories now no longer painful - there was only fondness for how beautifully their paths had overlapped time and time again, eventually bringing them onto the same road - one that led them both to a child they had grown to love as much as the world and each other. The affection they shared for the girl was unlike anything else - for two creatures who had been so traumatized by fatherhood for different reasons, it turned out that Kiriko had healed these fears right away.

“But at some point I couldn’t see myself being apart from Daigo - it felt meaningless. I also realized that if I prepared and did everything right... My work could reach even more people; I could help Kamurocho and those beyond for longer, for centuries, maybe. Until I’m no longer a thing, you know,” he smiled, and it was no secret that he hoped to, one day, become obsolete. Akiyama’s true desire was for people like him to become relics - for everyone to have the minimum to be happy.

“Which brings me back to you, Kiri-chan. If you have gone through this already and you have made your mind... You know I’ll always love you no matter what. You’re a brilliant doctor and a kind soul; you would be a great addition to any species you choose to belong,” his hand moved up then, caressing her cheek and wiping away the tears that started to drop out of the corner of her eye given the emotions of the moment; Akiyama then opened his arms and she crawled there, immediately choosing the safety and familiarity of her father’s embrace rather than the one of the couch.

“Of course you have my blessing, Kiri-chan. I’m proud of you, kiddo. I’m pretty sure that your father would ugly cry at the idea of having you forever,” he murmured into his daughter’s black tresses, laughing softly alongside Kiriko when she chuckled against his shirt. Akiyama then went still for a second, eyes unfocusing for just a second before he patted the girl’s back, the gesture a soothing one and also a verbal translation of his thoughts.

“Daigo’s rejoined the land of the living - or undead, for that matter. If you want, we can go talk to him right now. If you’re not too old and embarrassed of your old man, I can totally hold your hand while you do it. Just in case you need some moral support, you know.”

#iii. answered #sixthxchairman #dyn. (daigo - the chairman)#v: the sweet embrace of darkness #I got carried away for a bit #I just love this a very healthy amount

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sexstories-101 · 2 years

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5 Ways to Get Your Wife to Have More Sex With You - Fox on Sex

Stop whining and fussing for a second and listen up: If you want more wife sex, you must mature and accept that people change, relationships change, and your sex life does not remain constant.

As a sexologist, relationship expert, and contributor to Good in Bed, I'm frequently asked, "How can I convince my wife to have more sex with me?" I also happen to be a wife and mother of two small children, so I'll tell you the truth. Here's my tip for getting some tonight without messing things up:

1. Snuggle rather than grope. You're in a mood, so you reach out and grab our breasts, buttocks, or genitals. Guys, believe me when I say that this is the most serious sin you can commit when attempting to seduce a lady. It will not make us go into an ecstatic trance. (And, hey, if it does, you don't need my help, do you?) Neither will they be groping us in the kitchen while we unload the dishes.

These inadequate moves do not irritate us; rather, they irritate us. Try embracing or kissing someone. Hold our hand and squeeze it. You must empty the dishwasher. Women want to feel linked to their spouses in ways that aren't always sexual.

As guys, you see something sexy and you're instantly in the mood for sex and ready to go. You pick up the mail, there's Victoria's Secret catalog in the box, and before we know it, you're sniffing in our direction like a puppy looking for a reward. Women, on the other hand, do not work in this manner. We may see something sexy, and it could even be you, but we don't suddenly want to have sex. Men and women vary in this regard: you must truly put us in the mood. You must make us feel sexy and want to be sexual.

Here's a hint: Did you know that hugging your lover for 30 seconds raises her oxytocin levels? Oxytocin is a hormone that makes us feel caring and connected and aids in mood regulation. So let's start with an embrace.

2. Please don't treat us like pornstars. You can't treat us like a 30-second money shot just because you can pay to watch a lady with false boobs and a fake tan fawn all over some hairy, grunting dude. Women are drawn to seduction. We yearn for pleasure. We want sex to be, well, sensual, not like some mediocre pornographic production. I'm not saying you won't receive those occasional surprises, but you'll have to work for them. Fortunately, the brain is our most powerful sex organ, and most women have fantasies that rival your porn sites. One of the reasons why women aren't more interested in porn? Because almost all of it is created by and for males who have no idea what truly turns a woman on. Do you want to know what gets us going? Inquire, and we will respond. That brings me to...

2. Do Good to Others. Do you want hot sex? You must supply us with the type of sex we desire. Simply, you must give as much as you receive. Do I have to explain it to you? You must use your mouth if you want us to use ours! And what happens if you do it first? That's all right. Most women get the most out of clitoral stimulation.

4. Allow Us Some Room. Allowing your girlfriend some alone time may seem paradoxical, but it can help her refresh. Offer to keep the kids for a few hours so she can go out for coffee with a friend, read a book at the beach, or relax in a bubble bath. This "time off" allows her to relax so that she will be ready to heat up later. By the way, watching your children is not the same as "babysitting." They're your children, so treat them with respect. Be a father rather than a bachelor. Remember, many of us find nothing hotter than a father who is into his children.

5. Talk—and then listen. I understand that many of you would rather clean the toilet than be compelled to "connect," but I'm not asking for an hour-long heart-to-heart here. Spending 20 minutes connecting with your partner and listening to what she has to say can make her feel valued. Avoid difficult topics such as your children, work, and home, and instead, focus on wider problems such as current events and the world around you. Respond in meaningful phrases rather than grunts. She'll be impressed if you can remember and repeat anything she said 12 hours later—and you'll be one step closer to sex.

If you are looking for motivation to enhance your sexual drive.

Kindly visit https://porno19.com/ a Vietnam porn website about wife sex movies

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thestarmaker · 3 years

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ok I now understand why a lot of adults don't like to celebrate their birthday for no real reason

#misc #it's not today it's in a week but like #idk maybe it's due to some sort of trauma or smthn but. don't make a spectacle of me.#not for i-don't-deserve-it reasons but for it-makes-me-uncomfortable reasons #and idk why! like friends wishing me a happy bday over text is fine but like in person??? when I'm expected to react??? pls no #one of my friends is taking me out to late lunch/early dinner and then we're gonna go wander a nature trail for several hours w some weed #and that sounds amazing esp bc the weather will be perfect #but now they said they wanna think of a gift to surprise me w and uhhhh. i mean go for it but also pls don't make it a big deal #and it's not like i don't like Getting Gifts but. really it's the reaction i don't like to do. idk why #is it some sort of trauma? is it my neurodivergence? is it just me bc I'm shy and introverted?#like i would much rather have someone like mail me something and i respond when it arrives than give it to me in person #and it's ironic bc I'm v much the type of person to see smthn a friend would like and get it for them #i got one of my friends a rainbow flask for Christmas and left it on their bed so they'd see it after i left and i enjoyed that #idk just like. don't make a spectacle of me don't praise me for something deep don't acknowledge me #is... is it from emotional neglect? could that be it? it makes me uncomfy bc i didn't have it for a while?#but that still... my parents were always chill abt it and dad was still fine abt it after mom died #so maybe not due to anything w my family/parents. idk maybe I'm thinking too deep abt this.#did my toxic high school friend group pavlov me into thinking that acknowledgement = ridicule or smthn like that?#bc that seems more likely. if only i could remember how far back this feeling goes.#anyway. woof this got long

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

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The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 14)

Summary: Spencer finds out Bunny has been tutoring Kyle. He tells each of them how he feels about it. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Fingering, possessiveness, jealousy, anger, male on male violence, implied/hypothetical sexual assault, threats Word Count: 6.9k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

—————————————————

The library was quiet, but still bustling for the time of night. The students were starting to panic about the end of term, and although I never really experienced that particular concern, I remembered witnessing it throughout my time in academia.

It was the same unfortunate phenomenon that had taken my Bunny away from me. While she had been diligent in her studies for most of the semester, I couldn’t say the same for our students. Unsurprisingly, her tutoring sessions were far more preferable than my office hours.

I couldn’t blame the students too much. After all, I’d wanted to waste the days away with her, too, and I would’ve taken any excuse that would have allowed me any second of her time.

She was the reason I was in the library, although the stack of books in my hand was the cover story if anyone asked. It wasn’t that we were necessarily a secret — I had a very well-drafted e-mail waiting to be sent to Human Resources the second she gave me her blessing — but I also understood that it wasn’t the best look for her.

As much as she insisted otherwise, I knew it would be strange for her to have a professor pining for her in front of everyone. I’d already made a bit of a joke out of her by revealing her nickname to the class. I was pleased to realize that it hadn’t done anything to taint the name, however. She still responded to its call with a fervent enthusiasm and batted lashes.

She knew what she was doing, too. She was blatantly aware of just how alluring her every move was to me. Each and every time she touched me, her fingers would linger just a little bit longer. Her eyes would, too, begging me for permission to stay. To roam and discover new pieces of ourselves that had remained buried under longing and fears that seemed silly in retrospect.

My Bunny knew the effect she had on me, and I suspect she knew about the others, as well. I wouldn’t forget the way she’d broken down my concerns about her virginity with sharp, calculated terms. She was not so innocent as to not realize how highly society would treasure that status, but she was still innocent enough to miss the fact that her virginity was, by far, the least pure aspect of her. That was the most compelling testament to the kind of person she was.

She was talented, brilliant, and so unbelievably, infuriatingly kind.

But above all else, my Bunny was a petty and precocious little thing.

She always knew what she was doing, so imagine my surprise when I finally spotted her through the wide-open door of a study room in the back corner of the library. She had her back to me, but I could recognize that silhouette and style anywhere.

Even when it was half blocked by a rather putrid site of a truly pitiful young boy.

Kyle stood far too close to her, with a wandering hand that found home on her hip after she’d stumbled over his feet. I thought of how manipulative a man must be to know how to trip a girl just to find a way to catch her. How easily someone like that could creep into your mind and make you question your own perception of him.

But more than anything, I thought about the fact that I wanted nothing more than to get him the hell away from her.

I could feel the glass beneath my fingers, which moved with a practiced precision that didn’t even require me to look down. I didn’t want to miss it in case something even more regrettable happened.

I dialed her number, and I waited for the sound of her ringtone to fill the area. I smiled at the way she jumped when she heard it, and I took great pride in the way her face lit up further as she read who was calling.

Then, as I’d been waiting for, her voice floated through the device as I rounded the corner to leave her view.

“Hey Professor!”

“Are you busy?” I asked, already making my way back to the office to ensure that my plan wouldn’t be foiled before it had even really begun.

“Hm? Do you need me for something?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Can you come meet me in my office?”

“O-Okay,” she muttered. I could only imagine the look on her face as she stared at the boy practically begging for her attention, just to realize that she was ready to abandon him immediately and without question.

Well, without a lot of questions, anyway. She did ask the one.

“Is everything alright?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, through a sly smirk that I was certain she could hear through the static, I hummed, “Quick as you can, Bunny.”

—————————————————

Entering Spencer’s office never felt the same twice. He had a way about him that was almost contagious. An aura that displayed his emotions to anyone who was willing to take some of them on for him.

So, when I entered the room to find him leaning back in his desk chair and watching the door, I knew that something was wrong. Not necessarily bad — just some information he was withholding.

Sure enough, he moved his hand from his chin to greet me with a suspicious smile.

“You got here fast,” he drawled, “Where were you?”

The playfulness elicited within the utterance of the second question made me weary, and although I stepped closer, I kept my wits about me to the best of my ability. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. The second that Spencer stood up and began approaching me with a devilish, knowing quirk of his lips, I knew that I was doomed.

“I was tutoring some students in the study rooms,” I explained.

He must’ve not liked the way I didn’t stutter when I said it, because he quickly became hellbent on taking my breath away.

Close enough to grab me within a second, he asked, “Who?”

“Um...”

“You don’t want to tell me?”

There was a genuine smile on his face despite the possessiveness bleeding through. I’d never felt so much like prey than I did in that moment, and when I took a step back, I hit the bookshelf with a yelp that carried through to my answer.

“I-I’m getting the feeling that you already know.”

He’d never been the biggest fan of the boy, and I was starting to realize that he must’ve figured that out, and that was the dreadfully urgent reason he’d needed my attention.

“You’re so clever, Bunny,” he purred into my ear.

Desperate for something, anything resembling power or control, I pressed one firm hand against his chest and made him look me in my eyes, no matter how anxious they looked.

“Is that why you called me here? Because you were jealous?”

“Should I be jealous?” he whispered before he ran a thumb over the pout that had formed on my face. The touch, although welcomed, was not helping my words sound any clearer or more confident.

“N-No. It’s my job to help our students.”

“Interesting…” he muttered, his touch becoming harder with each word as he clenched his jaw and pressed his whole body against me. “I don’t recall writing anything in your job description about letting that pitiful little boy touch you.”

My face was burning, and I knew that he could feel it. He could probably hear my heart pounding, and he definitely saw my pulse fluttering in my neck. My lungs weren’t filling fast enough, but I was able to give one very unconvincing half-truth.

“He didn’t.”

Because Kyle hadn’t touched me in any significant way — if he had, I surely would have told Spencer long before he’d backed me against a wall. The contact Kyle and I’d had was cursory and forgettable.

Nothing at all about the way I felt then as Spencer warned, “Oh, it’s not smart to lie to me, Bunny. You know better than that.”

All I could feel, smell, and think was him. His presence was suffocating in the sweetest way, and I had no intentions of freeing myself from the predicament I’d found myself in.

If anything, I wanted to bare my neck to him and let him do whatever he wished. He could punish me so long as he cleaned the wounds, and I would still hold him all the same afterwards.

But when he touched my face again, it was so tender that I could hardly believe the words that accompanied it.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he whispered, gently moving my hair away from my face and pressing the sweetest kiss against my temple.

“Why?” I asked.

But nothing could have prepared me for his answer. For the feel of his smirk against my skin and the sharp feeling of his nails sinking into my jaw as he said, “You’re going to want something to hold on to.”

Breathlessly, I started to turn. My movements were stuttered and awkward, but he didn’t seem to mind. His hands never really left me, either. He just let me slide around within them until my back was to him.

“Good girl.”

Spencer wrapped his arm around my waist and stepped closer. I could feel the outline of his erection pressed hard against me, and I barely contained a shocking desire to moan. Instead, I whimpered. The sound urged on the man behind me, who immediately tried to elicit it again. The hand that had been resting on my stomach quickly undid my slacks and slipped into my underwear.

“If you need to feel desired, I promise, all you have to do is ask,” he cooed between barely-there kisses over my ear.

I could hardly focus on the way that felt, though. Not while my thighs rubbed together to try to alleviate the frustration that I felt with his hand so close but not doing nearly enough. Just holding me — a reminder that he had unfettered access to my body. That I wanted him to touch me, and that he was, as always, the only one of us showing restraint.

But then, with a dark tilt to his voice that reminded me of dry whiskey and smoke, Spencer gave one very simple order.

“Spread your legs.”

I did what he asked, albeit while trembling in a way that suited my moniker well.

Spencer must have thought so, too, because he was all too happy to chuckle at the state of me, trapped between the shelves and the wall of his chest. He dipped one finger between my folds, and that was enough for me to almost come completely undone.

“So obedient,” he growled, “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

I wanted to answer him — I did — but I couldn’t breathe. It felt like I was suffocating, and I didn’t miss the air at all. Not if it didn’t taste like his lips and feel as torturous as his hands.

The finger that had begun to toy with me sunk into me with ease. I almost thought to be humiliated by just how badly I wanted him, but how could I think it a troubling thing when he wanted me just as badly?

And he did. He must have. I could feel it in the way his hips shifted along with mine, grinding against me while his fingers did what he wouldn’t allow other parts to do.

Spencer was more confident in his authority than he had been when I was in his lap, and part of me wondered if that’s why he had my back to him in the first place. The idea of it gave rise to a new, pleasant tension between my legs.

I thought of how often he closed his eyes when he touched me. The restraint I felt in his hands, even then, when he began to ruthlessly stroke me from the inside. My breath grew more impatient, and the sounds slipped easier from eager lips. Before I knew it, I’d started to ride his hand the same way I had ground myself against him.

“What are you dreaming about, sweetheart?” he whispered, as if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t removed his fingers and dragged the wetness over the small bundle of nerves above my heat.

“Professor, please,” I gasped, my knees buckling and my hands holding tightly to the shelves. When I heard him chuckle at his theory being proven correct, I resorted to a low, grumbling beg. “Please, don’t tease me.”

“Why is it only you get to tease, Bunny? Am I not allowed any fun?” he whined sarcastically against the side of my face. All the while, he’d continued to draw tight circles over and over again, winding me up like a plaything that he never planned to let loose.

The tip of his nose traced over my skin with a touch much lighter than his hands seemed capable of. But if I thought it had been his showing of mercy, I had been very wrong.

No sooner had the thought occurred to me than Spencer had buried his teeth into my shoulder. I cried out at the animalistic display not out of fear, but greed. The need to have him closer. To feel him mark and consume this body however he saw fit.

But however romantic or lustful I wanted to be, I couldn’t ignore the rest of the world when he began to suck fervently at the column of my throat.

“Ah! W-Wait! You’re going to leave marks!” I squeaked.

“Good,” Spencer growled back, “I hope he sees them.”

The sheer possessiveness, the sincerity behind the hope made my muscles tense within his hold. Although he had dramatically cut back on attempts to write his presence on my skin with mottled colors, the burning venom did not stop trickling from his tongue.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To know how badly I want you? You want to push my limits, Bunny?”

It hadn’t been the purpose for anything I’d done before, but once he’d dangled the prospect before me, I wasn’t able to shy away. While his lips worked to stop any words from sneaking between my whorish moans, his fingers began to apply more pressure in their movements.

For one of the first time while he touched me, I actually tried to imagine what it would be like for him to fuck me. Rather than meticulously charting each sensation to return to later, I let my mind wander.

I could feel his cock pressed against me, and I wondered how unhinged he would become when I was not the only one receiving pleasure. I imagined me not following through on his instructions just to see him finally lose that carefully maintained restraint.

Spencer, as usual, was able to read my mind so effortlessly. His hips began to rock against me, his fingers moving quicker around my clit and his voice taking on a dark, dangerous tone.

“I already told you what I want to do to you,” he warned, “Do you really need me to prove that I am a man of my word?”

“Spencer…” I answered immediately. His name still had the same effect on him, and he used his whole body to shove me closer to the bookshelves. The items rattled, but I felt like I was the thing ready to fall.

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now?” he teased.

I tried but failed to answer in anything other than a bat of my lashes over eyes hazy with need.

“Have you had enough?” he continued. When the sensations became overwhelming, he caught a single tear that had slipped over my cheek by giving a small, chaste kiss to the skin.

“My beautiful little Bunny,” he hummed as he felt the crescendo and collapse approaching, “I just want to make you feel so very well-loved.”

Because he wanted me the way fire lays claim to drought-ridden brush. I could feel the desire laced through every stroke of his fingers. He sparked things to life inside of me that would linger forever like the images of his heavy smoke clouded irises.

It burned, the way he wanted me. It tore through the tired muscles that broke down and gave in around him to the tune of his voice softly calling, “Go ahead, sweetheart. That’s it…”

The force of my orgasm stole any sense from me in seconds, but thankfully also robbed me of my voice. Wordless cries were still muffled as Spencer kissed the sides of my mouth through it all. And when my legs gave out and he still caught me in a loving embrace, I heard him continue, “Oh, that’s my good girl.”

I let myself rest in the sanctuary of him for a little while longer. Even after he’d finished fixing my clothes back up, I rested my body weight against him without ever worrying that he’d let me go.

But he did eventually, guiding me back to my chair and silently instructing me to rest before he fetched his scarf from the coat hanger next to his door.

“If you’re so worried about him knowing...” he whispered while his skillful, steady hands carefully wrapped the fabric around me like he’d done before.

I smiled at him from underneath, and I knew that he could see it in the way my cheeks bunched and my eyes wrinkled. He smiled, too, and he dragged the back of his palm over my heated cheeks like he was remembering something that hadn’t happened yet.

“Go get yourself a coffee if you’re going to run back to him. It’s late.”

“Would you like one, too?” I asked quietly.

Spencer laughed, shaking his head like it was the most ridiculous question in the world.

“No. You aren’t here for my coffee runs.”

I almost protested; I almost reminded him of all the times I’d done exactly that. But then his hands fell to my lap and grabbed hold of my own with an abundance of tenderness.

I held them back, lifting them to my face in a shy suggestion for him to give me reason not to leave yet. To give me a chance to return to him instead.

“But I want to make you happy,” I mumbled.

Again, Spencer chuckled. But that time, he punctuated the sound with a kiss. Like I’d suggested, he cradled my face with his hands and pulled me close as he could for those few seconds that would never be enough.

When we broke apart, breathless and still longing for more, he forced himself to instruct me, “Go. Be safe.”

Deciding that I’d already tried his patience enough for one night, I conceded quickly.

“Okay. I’ll text you later tonight when I get home.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he said before sneaking in one more little kiss, “I can’t wait.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” I said below my breath, because I hadn’t wanted to say it at all.

—————————————————

It was strange how different the world felt when my Bunny wasn’t around. It had been less than five minutes since she was in my arms with heavy, tired breaths; I could still smell the subtle scent of her shampoo on my clothes, and it was the only thing that managed to keep my heart rate at a tolerable level.

The library I’d just passed through not thirty minutes before felt more barren than it had before. Almost like the god-fearing creatures of the forest had taken refuge somewhere else. Like anything with even the slightest sense of self-preservation sensed the danger and abandoned the building.

There was at least one creature, though, who remained ignorant to the danger that approached. Ignorant, or possibly just arrogant. Regardless of the reason, the young boy still seated in the room perked up immediately at the sound of the door opening.

I relished the way his entire demeanor changed when he realized that the one who’d come knocking was not the kind, demure little flower he’d thought it was.

“Expecting someone else?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he immediately answered. The slight, nervous laughter and the twitch of his upper lip gave away the discomfort he felt by my presence. But it wasn’t enough to dissuade him from continuing, “It’s late for you to be here.”

“I could say the same for you.”

I didn’t need to glance up at the clock ticking steadily on the wall to know that it read 9:00PM. But while I was used to late night hours, and indeed preferred to work them most days, I knew that a boy like him had no business in any academic building at that hour.

“Gotta study hard, right?” he slurred through a yawn. He stretched his arms back, displaying his chest and failing to mask the fact that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable the closer I came to the table where he sat.

“Is that what you’re doing?”

Then, with a quick shift, he tilted his head up at me with a laugh that was more like a scoff.

“I heard a rumor about her, you know. About you, too.”

“Is that right?”

“I don’t think it’s true, though.”

While he seemed endlessly entertained with whatever pathetic thoughts were rolling around in that black hole where his brain ought to be, I was positively bored by the attempted threat.

“I wouldn’t know,” I droned, “I don’t concern myself with the whispers of desperate little boys.”

But, as most men like him do when backed into a corner, he turned the discussion away from himself — or anyone both willing and able to defend themselves — and shifted instead to the only innocent party.

My sweet Bunny, the only one of us who deserved to be left well enough alone.

“I’m not the only one who’s desperate if you ask me.”

He chuckled, his hand grabbing the edge of the table before he drummed against the wood. The slightly off-beat sound, paired with the words that were clearly aimed at her, awoke something in me. Something dark and unseemly; something I had tried very hard to keep at bay throughout most of my years.

He is just a boy.

He is just a stupid, reckless boy.

He won’t hurt her. He can’t hurt her.

“I didn’t ask,” I said as I talked myself down.

I won’t let him hurt her.

My heart was pounding in my chest, the possessive beast that had its talons sunk into her moments before was now begging for blood. To tear him to shreds and finally achieve the catharsis for the pain of the last few weeks.

It wasn’t his fault, I reminded myself. I was the one who’d abandoned her and cast her away. He was nothing but a lucky fool who’d caught her as she fell away from me.

But she had come back to me. I didn’t need to worry about what she had done in my absence because it didn’t matter. All that I cared about was knowing that she would be safe then, kept sheltered within my wings and protected from the evils that stalked just out of sight.

“She’s sweet. A bit helpless, though. Doesn’t seem to know how men work.”

My jaw snapped shut at the implication, and every grounding technique and attempt to distract or reason with myself was quickly dwindling. The oxygen reserves were being devoured by the white-hot rage that was aimed at any and all boys like him. Disgusting, filthy creatures that seemed destined to destroy everything beautiful they ever had the privilege to witness.

I said nothing, not trusting myself not to say something I would regret. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having broken me with nothing but allusions to things that weren’t a real concern, anyway.

I wanted to respect her in the way he’d failed to. I wanted to believe that she was capable of standing up for herself, and that I didn’t need to resort to brute masculinity or any other toxic method of laying claim to her body.

She had said that she wanted to be mine, but that didn’t mean she stopped belonging to herself.

I took a deep breath in, but it did nothing to clear the smoke that had built up. It shrouded the room, and the absolute idiot beside me believed him capable of laughing despite it.

“Especially when she was at my place,” he said, and with each word added, I could hear the breath and resistance leaving me. “She really does shake a lot when she’s nervous, huh?”

The images that crowded my thoughts were mind-numbingly painful. I had seen her tremble before, surely, but I got that sick feeling in my gut that he was speaking of a fear unlike what she’d displayed in my presence.

I saw a faun, wide eyed and terrified. I saw her crumpled in on herself, with tears sprouted in tender, naive eyes. I saw my Bunny with her hands pulled in tight, silently begging to be spared.

“It’s cute,” he said, but I barely heard him.

All I could hear was the way it sounded when she cried.

Then I turned to the boy who couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut. I saw his hubris, his absolutely astounding arrogance. I saw the foolish, vile kind of creature that would witness a girl like my darling and dare to align his crosshairs over her.

I tried to pity him, but I saw nothing worth seeing at all.

Whatever he saw, however, didn’t scare him like it should have. Because without an ounce of sense, he uttered the one thing that I never wanted to hear come from his mouth.

“Is that why you call her Bunny?”

I hadn’t even noticed I’d moved until I felt the tight pull of his hair wrapped around my fingers. His head was craned back, held in place by a relentless grip with a hand that hardly felt like it belonged to me.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growled with lips much the same.

But even if it all felt alien, none of it felt wrong.

If he was willing to frighten her, to imply that she was nothing but an object for his consumption, then he should have no qualms about a similar violence. If he thought he was a god, he had no reason to fear me.

And sure enough, he tried to demonstrate the size of his terribly fragile ego with the least convincing thing he’d said yet.

“I’m not scared of you.”

Funny how that’s usually the first thing people say when facing inevitable danger.

He knew not to beg for mercy; especially not after taunting me with the thought of her, terrified and alone. Suggesting that I’d failed to protect her the way I so clearly craved.

I saw her again, drowned in tears and legs dripping with blood until the iron overtook everything else. Until I saw nothing but red rage that demanded its presence be known.

The satisfying ‘crack’ of his nose against unforgiving hardwood made goosebumps ripple over heated skin. I hadn’t felt power like that in so long, and I hated how it hadn’t even scared me. I took pleasure in the silence that followed before he’d realized what happened.

I pulled him back up with the same grip in his hair and continued in a low, quiet voice, “Well, you should be.”

I heard whistling breath and felt trembling not from fear, but anger, and I almost hoped that he would try to fight me.

But he didn’t. He had already started to grasp the position he’d found himself in. We both knew that he hadn’t actually hurt the girl in the way he had been suggesting. She wore her pain freely, and I would have noticed. I would have known if he’d hurt her that way.

But he had put the images in my mind; he had revealed his character and his plans. And I would make damn sure they never came even remotely close to fruition.

“If I ever see you lay a hand on her again, you’ll have a lot more than a crooked nose to worry about, do you understand me?”

He didn’t answer. I took the silence as confirmation. So, with an eerie calmness only betrayed by a tight jaw, I uttered my final warning.

“I will end you. There will be nothing left.”

“Fine! Fuck!”

The broken words were music to my ears.

“I didn’t realize she was your fucking property!”

Those, less so. But I didn’t think much of it. If that was all it took to get him to leave my Bunny alone, I was willing to let him think that. I wanted him to see my name on her skin; to feel the scorching heat of my rage anytime he so much as looked at her.

She would understand one day. As for the boy before me, I thought the same, though less kindly. When I let go of him, my hand ached like it was still locked in the grip. I threw his head forward again, and his hands on the edge of the table continued to hold on for dear life, despite small, trickling droplets of blood.

“I’m glad you finally understand,” I said, back to boredom as I calmly fixed the cuff of my sleeve. “Now get your shit, tell her something came up, and leave.”

There was no argument from the boy then, either. As I passed back through the threshold, I heard the sounds of his leaving. I thought to myself that there were few things more relieving than being done with the boy. But I was wrong. There was something far more beautiful, in the form of my phone chiming softly from my pocket when I returned back to an empty office.

For once, I was fine with the solitude, because I knew it would be over soon.

“Change of plans… Kyle had to leave,” she’d sent before adding, “Can I come bother you until you tire of me?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to leave long before that happens,” I initially answered, too excited to say yes to realize that I’d failed to do just that. “But yes, I will always welcome any opportunity to see you.”

I’d been excited for her to arrive, and she certainly didn’t disappoint. Everything about her was much different than it’d been an hour before, but neither of us minded. She curled up in her favorite chair, with my jacket sprawled across her like she didn’t always carry her own with her.

She fell asleep just like that, too. Sweet and serene; at ease, at home within my office. I thought to the time I’d accidentally referred to it as such, and the way she’d lamented over it for days. But anywhere she was would always be home to me.

When I woke her from her slumber, it was only to transport her to a more suitable bed. She stirred awake, clutching tightly to the suit piece on her like I’d have the gall to take it back when she looked so positively adorable.

“Let me take you home,” I whispered.

“Really?” she sleepily slurred, and I tried not to take offense to the idea that I’d ever leave her to her own devices now that she’d given me any part of her heart.

“Yes. I want to see you get home safe.”

With a comically big yawn, she pulled my jacket closer to cover her mouth as she struggled to speak.

“You worry too much, Professor.”

Rather than arguing that there was no such thing when it came to her, I chuckled.

“Only about you.”

The ride back to her place was so domestic that it frightened me. It awoke that deeply ingrained fear; that long-learned lesson that good things never lasted too long for someone like me.

I tried not to think of anything bad happening to her, but it was so hard. That damned boy had gotten to me, no matter how much I was loath to admit it. Soon, I felt the storm clouds brewing in those dark recesses of my mind, and I knew if I didn’t do something about it, they would take control before I was able to rest my own eyes. And she wouldn’t be there to kiss away any tears that might fall.

“Can I come in for a second?” I asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

My Bunny looked the proper amount of surprised by the question, and I felt the need to clarify before I received a justified rejection.

“I meant what I said about wanting to know you’re safe. You can say no if I’m being overbearing, I just...”

“Did something happen?” she returned in lieu of an answer, “Or is it that you’re still jealous?”

When I laughed in response, she joined me. A smile sprouted over cheeks that were still too young to have started to wrinkle. As a brief aside, I imagined what she might look like as she aged. I thought of the dance of the decades and how I’d watch the years shift in front of me while recounting this exact memory.

Then, I remembered that she had asked me a question, and I gave an honest reply of, “A little bit of both.”

But I don’t think it would have mattered whether I had lied. She sprung up in her seat before the words even finished.

“You can come in for a minute, sure,” she chirped.

A few seconds later, she had flown out of the car and practically took off skipping her way to the entrance. She would slow down and sway in place whenever she’d wait for me to catch up. I suspect she knew that I was trying to extend the time I had left with her, but she never told me to hurry.

She had a way of being patient, my Bunny. I was grateful for it in so many ways.

It became clear to me shortly after we’d made it inside, however, that she had been overcompensating for just how tired she was. Like a child fighting a bedtime purely out of spite for having been given a hard rule, she continued to bounce in place and chatter with mostly incoherent sentences while she prepared herself for bed.

For the most part, I just watched her flitter to and fro throughout the intimate space. I would pretend like I could understand her when she had her toothbrush buzzing in her mouth, and I would wait and wonder behind closed doors while she changed into softer fabrics that were adorned with the creature that I associated with her.

She opened the door to her bedroom, but I didn’t follow her in. I was ready to say goodnight to her there, knowing that she would be safe when I locked the doors behind me.

But her small hands were so inviting. She wrapped them both around one of mine and pulled me forward into the room I had only visited in my dreams.

The smell of her perfume and soap lingered, and I breathed in slowly without even realizing the lovesick smile I sported. My Bunny noticed, but she just giggled and pulled me all the way over to her bed.

We both fell together, and her legs wound around mine before I could protest. I wouldn’t have, anyway. There was little she could do in her current state of exhaustion, especially considering her inexperience around dismantling three piece suits. That didn’t stop her, however, from fiddling with the tops of mismatched socks like the most subtle contact with tickling toes would be worth the effort.

Her arms wrapped around one of mine, and her cheek squished onto my shoulder; she didn’t even hesitate a little bit to make her home in our embrace. She settled into the warmth and her eyes shuttered despite best efforts to avoid it.

But the second I touched her face, she forced them open enough to spot the gentle smile I returned.

“I’ve seen a lot of awful things in this world,” I explained to that wistful little lavender girl, “I hope you know that I respect you. I just... I don’t want to watch you get crushed under the badness.”

As I said it, I wiped phantom tears from her cheek to make up for the nights I’d already missed. The way her mood immediately shifted to a somber stubbornness told me she knew what I was doing, and with all of her usual gusto, she tried to combat it however she could.

“I’ve survived bad before,” she grumbled, each word sounding sleepier than the last. She must’ve realized she was fighting a losing battle, because she raised a proverbial white flag with a lighthearted, dramatic sigh. “But I appreciate you, despite your worrywart tendencies.”

Before she could offer any other backhanded compliments, I caught her pouted lip between mine. It changed to a smile immediately, just as I’d always intended. And though I wanted more than anything to kiss her longer, I pried myself away from her. It was a bad idea to give her any ammunition, after all. I’d learned that lesson the last time she had been this close to me on a surface that lent itself to horizontal activities.

I cleared my throat like she’d been able to hear my reverie. She giggled like she actually had. I almost kissed her again to quiet that snickering, but then her face was buried in my shoulder again, and I found no need to correct her.

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t a delicate man, but...” I said with closed eyes and a somehow calm and vacant mind, “Thank you for believing me capable of it.”

With another lackadaisical sigh, she took hold of my hand and brought it up to her lips. She placed a soft but unforgiving kiss against the scar, then lingered to laugh against it.

“I know you no other way,” she muttered.

As much as I wanted to keep her awake, to draw more secrets and memories from her tired mind, I let her start to fade away from me. I watched as the energy she’d pulled from the reserves dwindled and dissipated. In a way, it felt like I was losing her. But I knew that was just my paranoid mind convincing me that I was somehow already running out time.

I was just being selfish, wanting to live an eternity in her shadow. To watch and to worship each incarnation, each annual bloom. I would collect strewn, discarded petals and dry them until I could create rose colored curtains and gowns.

I wanted to love her forever. But for now, she needed to sleep.

“Goodnight, Bunny,” I whispered, “I hope your mind spins the most wonderful web.”

“Will you meet me there?” she asked as she started to blur the two worlds together.

Just before she slipped into slumber, I made sure to promise, “Always.”

I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and tried to recall a time I’d ever slept so peacefully. I dreamed of a day where I felt comfortable staying.

The very tips of my fingers dragged over the soft, heated skin of her neck. I rested scarred knuckles over her pulse just to convince myself that she was real. That she had succumbed to sleep so soundly, so quickly, knowing that I could never hurt her.

I counted the pitter-patter and promised myself that I would leave when I hit 100. But every time I got to 99, I would convince myself that she wasn’t ready yet.

I didn’t want to leave her. I wanted to keep her close, to keep her in a sachet tucked safely in my pocket. I wanted to show her so many things without ever having to worry about what happened to her when I wasn’t around.

Because there would be times when I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t lock her away, because I knew she was too beautiful to keep only to myself. She had too many things to accomplish, too many lives to irrevocably alter and make brighter by nature of her being there.

Eventually, I was able to convince myself to leave by removing my hand from her entirely. I lifted it to move stray strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes so that I could see the tranquility unobstructed one more time before I left her.

I pressed a soft kiss against her forehead but caught her hands before they could wrap around me in her sleep. I replaced my body with a pillow and watched the way she wrapped around it like the most perfect little honeysuckle vine.

I reassured myself that it would be me again one night. Just not that one. Not yet.

I would grant her just a little bit of space for just a little bit longer. Because she was just a bud, and I knew it was better to let her bloom before I plucked any more of her petals.

—————————————————

| Part Fifteen |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid series #spencer reid slow burn #professor spencer reid

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - The First Year

Series Masterlist || Read on AO3

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

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

Chapters will have additional warning when necessary.

Tag list ( let me know if you want to be tagged or removed idk haha) @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia

//////////////////////////////////

Part I - The First Year

Hogwarts will be fun was the first thought you had when you opened the letter in your hands.

Tony, your older brother, ruffled your hair slightly as he came down into the kitchen and watched you open the mail.

"Your letter finally arrived, huh, little witch?" He joked with a smile as he sat down at the table.

"I can't wait to go!" You commented excitedly rereading the acceptance letter for the third time.

"Miss, after coffee, can we go to diagonal alley if you like?" Jarvis, your butler, asked you politely as he poured Tony's coffee making you hesitate slightly. Tony, who had his eye on you, forced a smile as he patted you on the arm.

"I'll go with you, don't worry." He assured and you nodded.

"I wish dad would come." You grumble as you sit down and Tony sighs.

" Yeah, me too." He says. "But you know he's busy, and we can't leave it to the last minute."

You mumble in agreement as you serve some sweetbreads on your plate.

Eating in silence for a few moments, you are startled slightly when Tony lets out an exclamation.

"Damn, I forgot to write back to Steve." He announces getting up and walking over to the next shelf where there were some stationery and pen.

"Your boyfriend will be upset." You tease lightly, and Tony mumbles softly without responding.

When he finishes writing the letter, he goes to the kitchen window and opens the metal, whistling loudly in a familiar rhythm. A few seconds later, Iron, his barn owl lands in front of him. Tony stroked the animal gently before dangling the letter in his paws.

" Please take this to Steve, Iron." He ordered and the animal made a noise before flying away again.

"Jarvis, I'll get ready to go." You tell the man as soon as you finish eating and head off toward the stairs.

//-//

Diagonal Alley is a noisy place.

Tony asked you to walk beside him, but you stopped walking at the first Quidditch shop you spotted, and he had to turn back halfway when he noticed you were no longer beside him.

"Don't do that." He warned, mildly annoyed, but you glazed over at the exposed broom in front of you, and he let out a chuckle when he noticed. "Come on, Y/N, you already have a broom."

"But that's no ordinary broom." You retorted with an impressed look. "It's a Nimbus 2000, it's the fastest broom there is."

"You have the 99, I don't understand the difference." He retorted with his hands in his pockets and you shrugged.

"Tony, can we buy it?" You asked pleadingly, making your brother laugh slightly.

"Let's buy your stuff first please" He retorted with a smile and you grumbled but accepted the arm he offered for you to hang on. Jarvis walked behind you with a keen eye on your surroundings.

After you had bought the vast majority of your supplies and replenished your stocks of potions items for Tony, Jarvis took you to Blossoms and Blurbs to buy this year's books.

"Good morning! Hogwarts, third and first year books, please." You heard Jarvis tell the clerk who approached you three. Tony nodded his head signaling you to feel free to walk around the bookstore in the meantime, and that is exactly what you did.

You found many interesting books in the place as you walked among the shelves. One in particular caught your attention, as there seemed to be little miniature magical creatures trying to jump out of the cover, and you grabbed it on a table, watching the item carefully.

You smiled when an ink dragon jumped into your hand, moving your head as if you were looking around. Distracted by the book, you let out a low exclamation when someone bumped into you.

"Sorry, kid." You heard a female voice speak in a humorous tone. It is a girl taller than you, short red hair. "I ended up tripping over some of those runner books."

"It's okay." You said with a smile. The girl looked at the one book in your hands for a moment.

"Do you enjoy creature tracts?" She asks casually as she reaches for a book on the bookshelf beside her.

"I don't know yet." You say and she looks at you slightly confused, "I never studied."

"Ah, first-year." She understands and you nod in agreement. "Hogwarts too or some other?"

"Hogwarts."

"Cool, I guess I'll see you there then." She says. "I'm from Slytherin, third year."

You let out a surprised exclamation.

"Maybe you know my brother." You say and the girl takes her gaze from the books in her hand she was checking to look at you with her eyebrow raised in curiosity. "His name is Tony Stark, he's also from your house."

The girl lets out a short laugh.

"I can't believe you are Stark's sister." She says. "We're not exactly friends, but I've seen him around the dorm several times. And your brother is a pain in the ass, by the way."

You laugh lightly, agreeing.

"I am Natasha Romanoff." She introduces herself next, balancing her books in one hand to greet you. You introduce yourself with a gentle smile. "Good luck with your books." She says before turning away.

You think it's cool that you already know someone besides your brother before you start at Hogwarts.

//-//

Buying your wand is a rather strange experience.

Mr. Ollivander has a glint in his eye as if he knows everyone's secrets, and seems to disappear and reappear in his store very easily.

Tony sat on one of the stools while he waited for you, and Jarvis went to buy something for you two to eat.

After trying almost five wands, and exploding a glass vase when he tried the last one, Mr. Ollivander sighed.

"Sorry, I don't know why it's not working." You asked feeling nervous, but he smiled.

"Don't worry, dear." He said. "Difficult customers are so much fun."

He walked back in between the shelves after that, and then reappeared with three new packages.

"I remember when Howard Stark bought his wand." He told smiling nostalgically as you opened one of the packages, a black wand in front of you. "Phoenix, Cedar, slightly flexible."

"Dad has changed wands thousands of times." Added Tony wryly, but Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to mind.

The wand you tested let out a faint spark when you tried to cast a simple conjuration spell, and the man in front of you was quick to take it from your hand the next second.

"I think I have a better idea." He announced turning around, and then climbed the ladder supported by the wall, picking up a package at the top.

"Try this one dear." He asked handing you a dark wand, the wood was shiny, a color you didn't know exactly what it was, but it was beautiful.

When you grabbed the item, you felt a tingling sensation spread throughout your hand, and the wand vibrated slightly for a few seconds, causing Ollivander to let out a noise of excitement.

"You see, I knew I would find an owner for you dear." He spoke and you realized that he was speaking with the item in your hands. Soon he turned his gaze back to you. "Take good care of this one, will you, it was quite difficult to get dark elf blood for the core."

"R-right." You said with a slight frown, not quite sure what to make of that information.

Tony laughed lightly at the interaction, he should be used to Mr. Ollivander's eccentric manner by now, since he kept breaking his wands just like your father and often returned to the store to get a new one.

After paying, you and Tony met Jarvis outside, he was carrying some sweet rolls.

//-//

July ended too quickly for your happiness. You were very eager to go to school.

You spent most of August at home, playing quidditch with Tony in the backyard, curiously reading the magic books you bought, and trying to peek into the basement where your father worked, but he always caught you looking and smiled, asking you to go back to your room.

You would like your father to take you to the station, but he said he had a magic conference in September, and would be traveling for the next few weeks. Tony was upset, but he put his arm around your shoulders and asked you to hurry to get your bags.

When you finally got to the station, you were slightly nervous about going through a wall, but Tony laughed, and showed you how to go first.

You hugged Jarvis good-bye before following your brother along the way.

Tony dragged you across the train cars to the first empty cabin he could find. He commented that it would be nice if you made your own friends, but that he would like you to sit with him.

So here you were, sitting with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, Tony's best friends since the first year. The boys smiled encouragingly at you. You already knew them, because Tony kept inviting them to spend holidays with him all the time.

"Hey, Y/N, how was your vacation?" Steve asked as soon as you sat down next to him. You shrugged, saying that it was nice, but that you were looking forward to attending Hogwarts.

Soon the boys started talking about what they were excited about next year, and you did your best to keep up, not knowing exactly who the people they mentioned were, or knowing the classes they talked about.

Many minutes after the train was moving, a girl opened the cabin door.

"Hey, strangers." She greeted with a smile.

"Hi Peggy." Steve said with a smile, you frowned at the slight scowl on your brother's face.

"They're calling for us in the prefects compartment, Steve." She warned and Steve nodded, getting up. He and the girl then left, and Tony crossed his arms.

"What's wrong?" You asked noticing his posture and the way Bucky had a little smile on his face.

"It's nothing." Grumbled your brother, and as he turned his face to the window, Bucky who was standing in front of you, whispered to you.

"Tony thinks Peggy likes Steve." He recounted. "So he doesn't like Peggy very much."

"Oh." You said, pretending to understand the whole plot. It didn't make much sense to you because everyone couldn't be friends, but you figured that when you were your brother's age you would understand better.

//-//

The Hogwarts Express only stopped at night.

Properly uniformed, you smiled when your brother patted you on the shoulder, telling you that he would meet you at the castle, since the first-year students had to go by boat.

Your hands were sweating a little as you walked up to the extraordinarily tall man who introduced himself as Drax.

"First-year students, please, six in each boat." He shouted to the crowd, and the students moved closer together.

You sat in one of the first little boats, five other children you didn't know surrounding you.

"I'm so excited." A blonde girl commented cheerfully, waving her hands. She smiled at everyone as she introduced herself as "Harley Quinn".

"I bet you''ll blow something up once we get there, Harley" Added a redheaded girl sitting next to you, you could tell by her tone that they were probably friends. The blonde, Harley, laughed.

"Shut up, Ivy." She said, and then Drax was back, climbing into one of the boats beside her. He checked the boats one last time, then waved his hand, and the transports began to move.

Everyone, including you, let out a chorus of excitement.

When you noticed the castle, you smiled. It was huge, and just as amazing as Tony used to tell you.

"Wow, it must be amazing to fly over all that." You quietly observed, and the girl next to you turned her head in your direction, smiling.

"Do you like flying?" She asked, and you nodded. She looked at you for a moment and then held out her hand to greet you. "I am Diana. Diana Prince."

"Hi, Diana." You said introducing yourself next. "Do you also like to fly?"

"I love it." She says. "I hope i can make it onto the team."

"I don't know if the first-years have any chance, but I'll be rooting for you." You assure, and Diana smiles.

When the boats stop in the harbor, the students are all excited to get out and see the castle, but Drax's almost intimidating posture makes everyone properly behaved.

He leads the crowd to the staircase, and then there is a lobby. There is a woman waiting for everyone, her strict posture makes you think she is someone you wouldn't want to upset.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." She announces. "I am Professor Okoye, head of Gryffindor house."

The students exchange burbles next, but the teacher's gaze shuts them up almost immediately.

"As long as you are here, your houses will be like your families." She continues. "Your triumphs will earn you points, and if you break any rules, those points will be taken away."

She says, casting a disapproving glance at one of the students in the corner, who giggled. "In a few moments we will begin the sorting hat ceremony."

The teacher then turns around, heading toward a large bronze door, and talking to someone on the other side. You hear someone laughing near you, and you turn your head to the side in curiosity.

It was a blond boy, and he seemed to be enjoying himself as he balanced one of the gold cups he picked up from the surrounding shelves. You thought he would be in trouble if he knocked it over, and this seemed to be exactly the same opinion as the girl next to him, who was looking at him disapprovingly.

"Stop being an idiot, Peter, put that back." She complained and he laughed, shrugging.

"Gamora, you're a spoilsport you know." He retorted and when he put the cup back, it spun and fell to the floor, breaking into several pieces. The boy turned pale as Teacher Okoye turned her head in his direction.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to them.

"Reparo" You said drawing your wand as you pointed at the broken object. Some children let out impressed exclamations when they saw the bowl form again, but you just put your wand away in shame. It was no big deal. Okoye caught up with the three of you next, looking reproachfully at the boy.

"I expect better behavior during the ceremony, sir..."

"Quill"

"Mister Quill." She completed and took one last look at the boy that had with his head down before turning back to the front of the crowd again, waving for the students to follow her.

"Hey, that was pretty cool." Peter commented beside you as you walked. You shrugged, focusing on the path.

//-//

The sorting hat was something exceptional.

Tony never told you how the choice was made, and you knew it was only to annoy you. He had sometimes joked that the students faced each other in a duel, and even though you told him to shut up, you had a look at his spell book before you came.

The actual ceremony was much simpler, however.

When it was your turn to climb onto the small stool, you bit your lips, hoping that everything would go smoothly. Just as the old cloth of the hat fell over your eyes, blocking your view of the rest of the hall, you heard a voice in your head.

" Hello, dear, no need to be so nervous." Announced the hat gently. "You are a curious little thing, I see."

"Is that a good thing?" You thought, and the hat chuckled lightly.

"It might be." He said mysteriously. "Interesting what I see here. Very interesting."

"What are you seeing?"

"Your memories, dear."

"Oh." You thought, feeling slightly embarrassed. That seemed like an intrusion of your privacy. The hat laughed again, and you remembered that he was on your head.

"You're hard to sort out." He says, and you squeeze the stool. "Don't worry, I'm not going to send you home, that's not how it works."

"Oh, right."

Hat was silent a few moments.

"I see courage in your heart." He says and you try to remember the characteristics of the houses. "But that courage is well forged with your loyalty."

You swallow dryly, feeling your anxiety rising. This was definitely taking much longer than the people who went before you.

"You are as smart as your father and brother, both members of the Slytherin house." He says. "There's a willingness not to let them down."

"That's personal." You grumble feeling your cheeks flush, but the hat doesn't care to apologize for bringing up your insecurities.

"Ah, this is interesting here. A pure kindness, yet pruned in your origins of shallow paternal affection”.

You frown, not understanding what he is saying.

"You are quite adaptable child, it has always been one of your best virtues." The hat remarks, and you get the impression that the next part is only said for you. "Tell me, where would you like to stay?"

"Isn't that your job?" You retort in thought, and hear him laugh again. You rush to correct yourself, not wanting to be rude. "Sorry, hat. I don't really know. I'd like to stay where I fit in best."

"You would do well anywhere." He retorts, and you frown. "And that's pretty impressive, you know. I haven't met another hatstall since the last century."

You swallow dryly, not knowing if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"I'll work hard, sir." You tell him. "I don't want people to think I'm a special witch just because of my family. That's something I'm sure, I don't know if it helps you choose."

Hat lets out a sigh of relief.

"Actually, that's exactly what I needed."

It takes a moment for him to speak again, and when he does, you feel your whole body shake.

"Hufflepuff"

//-//

Steve Rogers is the head boy of Hufflepuff and he celebrates excitedly when you sit down at the table next to him.

"That's so cool" He comments. "I'll be able to tease Tony all year about it."

After that, director Agatha Harkness, made the announcement of the beginning of the year. If her goal was to scare the students, she succeeded when she talked about the deadly dangers surrounding the forbidden forest and the punishments for the disobedient. Professor Strange interrupted her speech as he cleared his throat, awkwardly waving for Agatha to stop saying such things, and the woman giggled.

Dinner is delicious, and then you are following the crowd of students into the communal rooms.

"Butterbeer" Steve said to the portrait on the wall, and you blinked in surprise when the painting moved to the side, a door behind.

You sighed when you realized how cozy the Hufflepuff's common room was.

"Everyone please come in." Asked Steve in the center of the room, waving to the students who stayed behind. When everyone was around him, he smiled. "The dorms are divided by gender, but you can sleep wherever you feel most comfortable. I will only suggest that none of you try to sleep with the seventh graders, because they are scary." Steve joked making the crowd laugh lightly. "We have a supply of food in those lockers, just in case you feel like having a snack in the early morning, outside of the permitted hours for walking around the castle." He continues and stands thoughtfully for a few moments. "Most of the things you need to know are on the bulletin board on that wall, and you can also ask me anything you want. Your belongings have already been taken to the free beds, but if you want any help, you can organize among yourselves or just come talk to me."

Steve smiled as the crowd moved. You headed in the direction where he said the rooms were.

//-//

You let out a surprised exclamation as something landed on your head.

"Damn, sorry!" Asked an asian girl approaching you, and pulling the small being out of your hair as you entered the room. "Groot, I told you to behave yourself."

"I am groot." Grumbled the little creature. You looked at it wide-eyed, impressed.

"Wow, is that a tree?"

The girl laughed, putting the small creature sitting on her shoulder, sitting on the bed next to the one you identified as having your things.

"Yes and no." She said. "I found Groot in my garden over the vacations, and well, I don't know what he is exactly. But I think he was trying to make my mother's plants grow."

"He's really cute." You commented approaching with your finger extended. Groot smiled, accepting your touch.

"I am Mantis." Says the girl next and you smile at her as you introduce yourself. "We're going to be roommates."

"Yes, and so is Groot." You add as you take off your cape to throw on the bed that would be yours.

After eating so well at dinner, it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep.

You dream of glowing green eyes and a red light, but you don't recognize them or understand what it means, and when you wake up, you no longer remember.

//-//

Two weeks since you started at Hogwarts, you are used to how eccentric everything can be.

The classes weren't as difficult as you imagined, but that's probably because you've had contact with magic all your life and always had an easy time learning things. All the teachers were unique in their own way.

Professor Rocket, for example, taught Transfiguration and spent almost the entire period transfigured into a raccoon, even outside of class hours. He was temperamental and got irritated very easily when students talked too much in his class, so it was not recommended to do so.

There was also Professor Fury, who had an eye patch as a mandatory piece in his daily costume, and all the students spent more time trying to guess how this happened, than listening to his explanations of defense spells against the dark art.

Your astronomy class on Wednesdays was taught by Professor Odin, who like to claim that he was a descendant of the Olympian gods, but no one believed him. He was also the father of two of your classmates, Thor and Loki Odinson, who were the exact opposite of each other. While Thor was warm and friendly, Loki was cold and reclusive, plus the former was from Gryffindor and the other from Slytherin. Surprisingly, you liked them both.

You ended up meeting the head of your house only on the second day.

Professor Heimdall taught Divination, so you wouldn't have any classes with him until the third year.You bumped into him when you were late for fifth period and had to run to the common room for your Potions books, and almost fell on the floor when you turned the corner without looking and the professor was there. He prevented you from falling with a wave of his wand, smiling gently.

" Forgive me." You said clumsily, feeling slightly intimidated by the yellow irises as the magic set you on your feet properly, as well as catching your books in the air and placing them in your hands again.

"Be careful with the castle corridors, Miss Stark." Said the man, and for some reason, you thought he wasn't just talking about this little incident.

"Professor Heimdall, let's talk in a private place, please." Asked Professor Okoye, who was standing at his side, she looked at you with a certain disapproval, and you couldn't tell whether it was because of your intrusion, or the fact that your tie was hanging loosely around your neck, in addition to the open buttons on your shirt.

After this little incident, you asked Steve who Professor Heimdall was, and he explained that he was the head of Hufflepuff, and might seem intimidating at first glance, but that he was very kind.

But so far, the professor who has intrigued you the most was Professor Erik Lehnsherr, who taught Potions. He didn't say anything that wasn't related to the subject, didn't make any comments about behavior or events at school. And he had such a stern and mysterious look in his eyes that no student had the courage to ask him anything. You heard Peter Quill make a bet with Thor Odinson that Professor Erik was unable to smile because of some particular sorcery, but you thought it best not to laugh, especially since Mr. Lehnsherr was looking at your direction.

When you had your first Potions period with Slytherin, after herbology professor T'Challa needed to reschedule classes for an appointment, you were surprised to discover that professor Lehnsherr had children.

Gamora ended up on the same bench as you, and she was talking to her sister, Nebula, about an incident that occurred in their dormitory.

"Clearly, the professors' children have an easy time getting away with punishment." Nebula bitterly remarked, and you frowned in confusion.

"I don't think it was the girl's fault." Gamora retorted as she put the ingredients into her cauldron. She looked at you quickly, realizing that you were listening to the conversation, but she didn't scold you, she just kept stirring the mixture.

"What happened?" you asked next, and Nebula looked at you with mild irritation. She seemed about to tell you to mind your own business, but Gamora smiled, moving closer to whisper to you.

"A girl lost her temper in the Slytherin dorm bathrooms last night." She told. "She's a second year, her name is Wanda Maximoff. She and her brother are Professor Lehnsherr's kids, and everyone is saying that she didn't go to detention because of it."

Your jaw dropped, impressed.

"I can't believe Magneto has children." You said making Gamora and Nebula laugh at the nickname. Last week you found out that the school had been calling Erik that since he stopped the hall chandelier from falling on the teachers' desk two years ago when he used non-verbal magic to attract the metal, and everyone started calling him that behind his back. Tony told you and you liked the story.

"I know right, he seems so self-contained." Gamora remarked looking back briefly. Professor Erik was focused on his own potions book.

"That noisy kid from Gryffindor said he's married." Nebula added next and Gamora laughed lightly.

"Peter Quill?"

"Yes."

"Wow, that's surprising." Says the girl. You both return to stirring your cauldrons in silence after that little conversation.

When you have finished your mixing, Professor Erik gives Hufflepuff five points for your good work, and you smile with red cheeks.

"You're nice." Nebula suddenly said beside you as you were leaving the room. Gamora stood next to her. "Do you want to walk around with us?"

"We're already walking." You joked and Gamora laughed unlike her sister who grimaced.

"Yep, definitely cool." She added. "Do you want to have lunch with us?"

"At your table or mine?"

Gamora and Nebula exchanged glances.

"I'm not sitting with Hufflepuff." Nebula declared and you sighed, rolling your eyes.

"You know I'm from Hufflepuff, right?"

"I'm reconsidering the invitation." She retorted and you frowned, but Gamora smiled at you.

"Will you sit with us, please?"

You sighed, nodding in agreement. You could talk to Tony after all.

//-//

Lunch at the Slytherin table became an everyday thing after that day. It took two weeks for Mantis to start joining you, and then you realized that you had a small group of friends now.

At Christmas, neither you nor Tony came home, because your father was working and you didn't want to be alone in the Stark mansion. You ended up turning down Tony's invitation to spend Christmas with Steve Rogers and his family, because you weren't really friends with Steve. Tony insisted, not wanting you to be alone, but you assured him that you would be fine in the company of your friends, and that he needn't worry.

On Christmas morning, Groot woke you up by jumping on your face. You laughed lightly because he was so small that he was like a tickle, and stood up as you returned the little creature to Mantis' bedside table.

A few hours later, as you were opening your presents at the Slytherin table along with Gamora, Nebula, Mantis, and Peter Quill, who had also stayed at Hogwarts for the end of the year, you let out an excited exclamation.

"I can' believe it." You spoke, opening the package in front of you. It was a large box, it was bewitched and only revealed the actual wrapping once you tore the paper off. It was actually a broom.

"Wow, that's cool." Peter remarked as he looked at your present.

That's how you ended up in the middle of the snow, testing your new broom while your friends cheered and celebrated below you.

"Are you sure you can fly?" You asked Peter as soon as he asked you if he could ride. He shrugged, smiling.

You and the girls watched as he controlled the broom for a few feet above the ground, and then he overspeeded it and sped away.

You all ran into his direction, while the broom seemed almost annoyed at his lack of control, and knocked him into a tree. Peter fell between the branches, onto someone who was resting under it.

When you all reached him, you frowned when there was a boy pushing Quill.

"Watch it, dude!" Warned the boy, but before you could say anything, Gamora was already stepping forward, wand in hand.

"It was just an accident." She said and the boy looked at her surprised with her wand outstretched. He crossed his arms however, not looking scared.

"Oh, you're going to spell me now, are you?" He teased.

"Piss off, Maximoff." Warned Nebula next, taking a step beside her sister. So this was Pietro Maximoff. You figured that confidence should come from being the son of one of the professors.

"I suggest you leave my brother alone." Warned a voice behind you. You turned next, only to catch sight of a girl with brown hair, green eyes that glittered with anger.

Gamora clenched her jaw, and Nebula drew her own wand toward the girl, who also had her wand in her hands.

You sighed, raising your hands as you stood in the line of fire.

"Would everyone please calm down?" You asked. "It was just a misunderstanding, and the broom is mine anyway, no need to fight about it."

It takes a moment, but Gamora puts down her wand, and everyone follows her after that. She has an insinuating smile on her face.

"You really are a Hufflepuff, aren't you Stark?" She teases, and you laugh sheepishly, putting your hands in your pockets. "Come on Quill."

Gamora warns and the boy shoots Pietro an ugly look as he leaves. You accept your broom that he hands to you, and turn around, your gaze meeting that of the girl who is supposed to be Wanda Maximoff for a moment. You feel your face heat up at the intensity of the angry look, and you look away, following your friends.

//-//

The months went by quickly as the rest of the school year passed. You managed to do very well on the exams, and didn't get involved in any near-fights again.

When the year ended and the Hufflepuff didn't win the House Cup, you thought you should have been more upset, but you didn't mind having Gamora and Nebula celebrating beside you, laughing and hugging you excitedly.

You also didn't understand why you felt your stomach turn when you caught Wanda Maximoff smiling amidst the Slytherin celebration when you looked around.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wandaxreader #wandaxyou #wandaxyn #wanda maximoff x yn #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy #marvel imagines #harry potter au #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x fem!reader

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libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Text

Love Delivered To Your Doorstep

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of cheating, break ups and killing/serial killers. (<in a joking context)

Category: fluff for the most part.

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: Doesn’t follow canon, it has a little of buck begins in there but it doesn't follow a strict timeline. It also is written like Buck moves to LA and has his apartment from the moment he moves there while trying to figure out what he wants to do.

-----

Texting and calling was never your choice method of communication.

Letters had always been more of your thing.

Truthfully, they hadn't been your thing until your boyfriend moved halfway across the country for university. The two of you met in high school, freshman year and became inseparable since. Growing together and promising to always love each other no matter what -you always knew that couldn't be true but it never stopped you from telling him.

When he told you that he was going to be applying to UCLA during your senior year of high school, it came as a bit of a shock to you. The plan was always going to college together, get engaged when you were done school and then married with a house by 30.

You held out the hope of that being possible until the day he showed you his acceptance letter.

You were incredibly proud of him but it was real now, he was leaving.

You watched him pack up his entire life and uproot himself from New York and moved across the country. You sent the first letter to him at what was supposed to be his apartment.

September 30th.

‘Hi baby!

Just writing to see how you're settling in. How’s UCLA ? Have you gotten a chance to go around and get to see the place ? I know you’re there for school but you've got to live a little too. Hope your neighbours are sweet, your mom told me it’s a pretty nice place and it’s got a good view, sounds like your type of place. Hopefully I can come visit you soon.

I started my classes last week. My chem professor is a pain in my ass already, he expects us to read an entire textbook in a week - well not exactly an entire textbook but you get the point. My biology professor is a sweetheart, she showed us pictures of her kids and talked about them for an hour, I didn't realize being a mother was so interesting but she was cool. Also showed us a video of an appendectomy that one of her colleagues performed last week. How are your classes and professors ?

Did I mention I bumped into Sam at the grocery store ? Yeah, he’s back and he’s not fine to tell you the truth. He seemed like he was ready to snap but that might just be my judgment. He said to tell you hello if I spoke to you so- hello :)

I’m going to sign off here, I know this one is short but I don’t have much to update you on. Life’s been pretty dull without you. Hope you’re having fun out there, soaking up the sun for me.

Write me back soon, I love you.

Yours always, y/n’

You mailed the letter the next day, a few weeks had passed before you received a letter back. Except this letter had a different sender name but the same address.

October 22nd.

‘Hi y/n,

This isn't your boyfriend. (I'm assuming that’s who you're writing too based on the context of the letter) I’m Evan, I live in the apartment you thought belonged to your boyfriend or maybe you got the address wrong, I’m not sure. I know you were waiting for an update on all these exciting things that are happening at UCLA. I do not go to UCLA nor can I update you in anything exciting that’s happening there, sorry.

Anyways, the reason I'm writing you back is because I figured you’d want to know that this isn't the correct address and the person you were looking for isn't here before you send another letter and get no response. I was debating if I should have even written you back, but here I am, writing you back.

Your professor for chem seems like an ass to be honest (hope that’s not rude) and your biology professor sounds great, is she hot by the way ? because bonus points for that. Anyways, are you studying medicine ? I'm guessing yes because of the classes you're taking. I'm thinking of signing up to become a first responder but I haven’t decided yet on what yet or if I'm actually going to do it. Anyways, good luck on your classes and the shitty chem professor.

Hope you find your boyfriend (again, assuming)

Peace out,

Evan.’

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. How could the letter you sent to your boyfriend’s apartment belong to someone else ? Why was there someone else living in his apartment ? You dug through your apartment, searching for the paper he left you with the address, you finally found it buried in a drawer.

The address on the paper was identical to the one that Evan sent to you and to the one you sent prior to that. Either your boyfriend was lying or you were losing your mind.

November 4th.

‘Dear Evan,

I'm sorry that I sent the first letter to you and as you guessed, I was looking for my boyfriend who seems to be a bit MIA right now. His mother says that’s the right address and the place that she helped him move into. So I'm not really sure what’s happening there. Anyways, sorry for unloading all of that on you.

To answer your question, yes, I am studying medicine and no, she isn't hot. My bio professor is a 65 year old woman who loves her college aged kids very much. If that’s your definition of hot, then yes - she's got milf status

Have you decided yet if you’re going to sign up to be a first responder ? That’d be pretty cool. Imagine all the girls swoon over you and how many girls you’d pick up just for being a paramedic or a firefighter.

Wait, are you into girls ? Or guys ? You know, whoever you're into, just imagine how many of them you’d pick up.

Also, you’re not a murderer or anything right ? because I rather not answer questions when the police come asking about why I've been sending letters to a serial killer.

Anyways, signing off for now.

Yours always, y/n.

ps. if you do end up bumping into or meeting a guy that looks like my boyfriend, (tall, brown hair, brown eyes. he’s got a pierced ear and a little butterfly tattoo by his collarbone- though not sure why or how you'd see his collarbone) let me know or tell him that his girlfriend is looking for him.

Double ps, what size shirt do you wear ?’

Buck laughed at your absurd question. A person he didn’t even know was asking what size shirt he wore. The letter was set on the coffee table with the rest of the mail, getting buried under all of the stuff he had on there. It was almost the end of December when he realized that he hadn't written you back yet.

December 21st.

‘Hey y/n,

Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. Things have been hectic over here. I’ve been doing some ‘soul-searching’ - I guess you could call it that and honestly, I don’t think if this whole first responders thing is for me.

I tried out bartending or well, the technical term is mixologist and I’m liking it so far, I think i’m going to stick with it for now.

How have you been ? How’s school ? Surely, you’re on break for the holidays right about now or at least when you get this letter. I hope that you're spending the break doing something fun.

I’m not going to make this very long, I’m sure you’ve been busy with whatever you’re doing right now.

Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you located the mysteriously disappearing boyfriend yet ? I haven't seen anyone that fit your description.

well, that’s not true- I did and just to be sure I asked to see his collarbone, he looked at me like I was a mad man so I guess it wasn't him ?

Anyways, I hope you have a good holiday and you're probably gonna get this sometime between holidays, so merry belated (?) Christmas and happy New Years y/n.

Peace out,

Evan.

ps. medium or large, depending on what it is. Hopefully that answers your question weirdo.’

January 13th.

The morning of the 13th, he went down to check his mail. A box was there with his name on it, the return address was one he had only seen on an envelope. The box returned upstairs with him, setting it on the counter before opening it.

Upon opening it, there was a letter and some colourful tissue paper with what seemed like a sweater under it. He opened the letter first.

‘Dear Evan,

Happy New Years! How was your holiday going ? Did you do anything fun ?

I’ve been good and school is good too, I'm almost done my first year, isn't that crazy ? Just a few more months to go.

How’s your job as mr. mixologist going ? I'm sure you’ve met some wild people and heard some interesting stories.

As for the boyfriend situation, that's over. I’m not surprised to tell you the truth but it still kinda sucks. Anyways, so what happened was that his older brother had come home from college last year and brought a friend with him. She went to the same school as his brother but transferred to UCLA- anyways long story short, they hooked up while he and I were still together and he moved in with her after his mom helped him move into the apartment I thought he had.

But! I’m single and chilling now so it’s all good. (bonus, she cheated on him and left him so yeah)

I got you a little something for Christmas and as a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present. I was in the gift shop and it made me think of you. Do you celebrate Christmas? I forgot to check oops. If you don't, count it as a just a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present?

I got a large because I wasn't sure if it would fit. I hope you like it. That’s all for now.

Yours always, y/n.’

He unwrapped the tissue paper to see a blue sweater with the letters NYU on it. He smiled, he assumed that’s where you went. It was sweet that you took the time to get him something, even if it was a by the way thing. Not a lot of people would send something to a person they had been talking to via letters and halfway across the country.

February 12th.

2 days before Valentine's Day, your least favourite holiday of the year. You weren't looking forward to watching all your friends going on with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The mail had arrived while you were out, you picked it up and headed in. There were two envelopes with your name on it, a plain white one and a red one. The red envelope was more squared than rectangular, you assumed it was a card- both had the same sender name.

‘Hey y/n!

Thank you for the sweater, it was nice of you to think of me and get me something. I didn’t know we were doing gifts or I would have sent you something as well and yes, I do celebrate Christmas.

My job as ‘mr. mixologist’ was going well until I quit. It just didn’t feel like the right fit for me you know ? I'm going to see what else is out there for me.

Sorry to hear about your boyfriend, he seems like a douche. Who would cheat on you ? You seem great I mean at least you are on paper (did you get my joke, it’s hard to tell)

Also, remember how I was thinking I might actually give that first responder thing a try? Imagine me as a firefighter, that’s pretty cool right ?

So I kinda did a thing and signed up and then I got in. I started two weeks ago and it was kicking my ass at first but I've gotten a hang of it and things are going pretty well. There's three other Evans in my class so everyone calls me Buck-I kind of like it.

The other envelope, hopefully you opened this one first, is a little something for you for valentines. Hope you like it.

Peace out,

Buck’

The red envelope was on your lap, you pulled the edges carefully not wanting to rip it. Inside was a plain white card with bright red letters that made you laugh. The cover read ‘I’m not sick of you yet!” Opening the card, a $20 fell onto your lap. There was a little message inside that went along with the cash.

‘Since we aren't together and can’t spend valentines together, there’s some cash to get yourself a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. Happy Valentines Day y/n

Love, Buck.’

You smile, this was the first time that Buck had signed with ‘love, buck’ it had always been ‘peace out, buck.’ You tucked the card into the drawer, one you didn’t use very often so you knew it’d be safe there.

*4 years later*

A few weeks had passed since Buck had last heard from y/n. His last letter to her was at the end of June, telling her all about the day he had spent at Hen and Karen’s. He always described every little detail so vividly that it made her feel like she was there with him- but it was now July, end of actually and moving into August.

4 years had blown like nothing.

It felt like just yesterday he got the first letter in the mail. 4 years and they still had no idea what each other looked like but they knew every intricate and intimate detail about each other, their lives and the people in it.

Y/n and Buck had grown rather close over the last few months- more than they already were. Y/n just went through a pretty shitty break up and Buck wasn't exactly big on relationships as of right now.

He had just gotten home from work, his keys set on the counter when he realized that he forgot to check his mail. Stepping back out, there was a woman in the hallway and boxes scattered across her, leading into the apartment down the hall.

She must be his new neighbour.

He wanted to go over and introduce himself but she was busy telling the movers where to set her couch so he decided that he would check the mail and then introduce himself when he returned so he did just that.

Except, she was still busy.

She leaned against the wall, watching the movers move what looked like a coffee table. She glanced up to see Buck walking by, she smiled and he returned the smile.

Buck reaches his apartment, the mail in hand and steps in. He sorts through the pile, bills, ads, coupons and no letter from y/n.

---

Your new apartment was a mess. You decided it was time for a change. You applied to a few hospitals after your break up and the one in LA hired you. So you dropped everything and moved- no family, no ties.

A fresh start.

It was a nice neighbourhood and the building was quiet. The neighbours you met were pleasant and welcoming. When you were having the furniture moved in, there was a blonde man who smiled at you and you assumed he lived in the unit down the hall because that’s where he stepped into.

It was almost 11pm when you finally sat down. You had been on your feet all day and just wanted to eat something. The box with the dishes was beside the couch, you pulled the tape off and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on top of the stack of plates.

Buck’s last letter to you.

You must have tossed it into the boxes while packing and you forgot to write him back. Tumbling through the boxes, you find a sheet of paper and a pen from your bag. Sitting on the floor, the paper resting on an unopened box, you begin writing.

‘Dear Buck,

I’m sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. I quit my job, and uprooted my entire life. The break up sucked major ass as you know, so I decided it was time for a change.

Guess where I decided to go ?

Did you guess yet?

No, not Canada, why would you guess Canada ?

LA!

Yeah, isn't that crazy that I ended up here of all places? Maybe we could get together one day (if you haven’t turned into a crazy serial killer that is.)

Anyways, that’s why I've taken so long to write. I was packing when I got your letter and I tossed it in a box and just found it again. Anyways, I hope you’ve been good, how have things been at the station ?

I promise I'll write again with more details soon, I just have to get settled in first.

Yours always, y/n.’

Folding the paper, you slipped into an envelope. The address being scribbled into the back of the envelope. You were about to seal it when the building number caught your eye.

It was the same number as the place you moved into. The same address, the building number, the same floor.

The unit number was the only difference.

There was no way you moved into the building that Buck lived in.

You knew the address felt familiar when you saw the listing but you didn’t think anything of it nor did it occur to you that you knew the address.

Stepping out of your apartment, looking at the number on the room and back down at the envelope in your hand. Buck’s apartment was down the hall.

Part of you just wanted to mail it and keep things as it was but another part of you wanted to meet him, to see what he was really like in person. So there you were walking down the hallway at a quarter past 11 in the dead of the night to meet a man you had been sending letters to for the last 4 years.

The end of the hallway, you stared at the black wooden door in front of you. Your brain weighing the options right now: he’s a sweetheart and welcoming and makes you feel comfortable or he’s a weird guy who’s been lying to you this whole time and you told him everything about you and now he’s going to kill you.

Before you could register what you were doing, you knocked on the door.

Glancing down at yourself, you were wearing a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt from high school that you found in a drawer while packing. Not an ideal outfit, maybe he’s sleeping and you can go home and change- the door opened, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt stood there. He looked like he had just woken up.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It's alright,” he yawned, his hand covering his mouth as he blinked away a few tears. “What can I do for you ?” he leaned against the door.

“Um, this is an odd question-” you shifted, glancing down at the envelope in your hand. “Are you Buck ?”

“I am, who are you ?”

“Y/n.”

You had never seen a man wake up that fast, he seemed surprised, confused and concerned all in one. “How- uh, are you- What ?” he mumbled.

“I found your letter in the box after I moved, I moved into the apartment down the hall” you point to your left, Buck sticks his head out of the doorway and looks at the door you were pointing to. You were the woman in the hallway that he saw earlier, he knew you looked familiar.

“I just wrote your letter and I noticed that the addresses were the same, just a different unit number so I decided to come check. Sorry if I bothered you, we can talk another day- it’s late and you probably have work” “Would you like to come in?” he opens the door a bit more, looking to you for an answer.

“Um, okay sure.” stepping in, you can’t help but glance around. The apartment was similar to yours, the layout was a bit different though. “Can I get you something to drink ? Coffee, water ? A beer ?” he rounded the kitchen counter, you took a seat on one of the chairs by the counter.

“Water’s fine, thanks”

He reached for a bottle from the fridge, sliding it over to you. You gave him a smile, he leaned against the counter and was now looking- studying you.

“I know we’ve talked to each other for 4 years but this is kinda strange” you chuckled awkwardly, Buck can't help but smile.

“Yeah, it is, isn't it? but can I ask why you moved to LA?”

“Well all of that was in the letter” you slide the envelope across the counter and he picks it up, opening it. Giving him a few moments to read, you watch his expression like you were hoping for some insight as to how he was feeling or what he was thinking. He let out a laugh, “how’d you know I'd guess Canada ?” you smiled at him, a small wave of relief washing over you for some reason. “Lucky guess I suppose”

“Do you-” “What are-” the sentences cutting each other off, the two of you awkwardly smiling at each other. “You first” looking at him, he hums.

“Do you have work tomorrow or are you busy ?” His eyes meet yours, you found yourself leaning forwards towards the counter- towards him. He made you feel comfortable, you’d go as far as to say safe, in a way you’ve never felt before.

“No, I don't start until the 21st. Why ?”

“I was thinking - if you're not busy and if you want to, of course. Maybe I could take you out for breakfast and I could show you around ? Or lunch or dinner ? Whatever works for you actually” he rambles, fiddling with his fingers to avoid eye contact.

A small laugh slips past your lips causing him to look up, his brows furrowed as he studies your face, looking for an answer.

“Breakfast sounds good, what time should I be ready for ?”

“Uh, is 10 okay ?” he asks, you nod. “I’ll be ready for 10 then.”

“Okay, I'll pick you up” he smiles.

“Buck, we live in the same building.”

“Oh right,” he chuckles, “well I'll be by yours at 10 then” the two of you smiling at each other.

“Okay.”

----

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 3 years

Text

𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑆/𝑂'𝑠 '𝐶𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝐾𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑜𝑢' 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Hongjoong was busy scribbling away on his notebook that he didn't even notice that you had set up a camera to face him in the studio. Giving a thumbs up to the screen, you tiptoed over to where he sat. Crouching down, you wrapped your arms around him and kissed his cheek. He didn't really react so you leaned in and kissed his nose, this time a small smile formed on his lips.

"Ok. Ok. Come here." He pushed his chair backwards and placed you on his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist.

He thought you just wanted to sit on his lap while he worked, but instead he got you placing kisses all over his face, which made it impossible for him to concentrate, especially when your lips were so soft and warm.

"Baby." He whined as you smushed your lips onto his.

"Hmmm?" You hummed as you continued to kiss him.

"I'm trying to finish.." He told you but still made no effort to move you, instead he just lazily kissed you back.

You chuckled against his lips.

"Ok then..." You pulled back slowly and stood up to get off him.

"Wait! No! Come back!"

In an instant, Hongjoong made you straddle his lap again, his hands cupping the sides of your face as he began kissing you again. He just couldn't stop after you made him crave some smooches.

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

All throughout the day, you had been pecking Seonghwa's lips whenever you got the chance. He didn't notice anything off about it, you were always affectionate with each other and he himself tended to be kissing you randomly.

He started to suspect something was up though when you were helping him with his sit ups. Every time he came up, you purposefully kissed him, making him lose count or get distracted. He just giggled though and thought you were being playful or to motivate him in his workouts.

So when you two were cuddling, he started to do the same to you: he began randomly kissing you, making you a blushing mess.

"Seonghwa!" You squeaked when he began kissing down your neck.

"What? You've been like this all day, but when I do it, you get shy?" He shook his head.

That's when you bursted out laughing and began explaining to him what was going on. He became embarrassed and began laughing.

"Here I thought I made you fall in love with me more and that's why you were so lovey dovey." He confessed awkwardly.

You smile and leaned in to kiss him again.

"There's no way I could possibly fall more in love with you than what I already am."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

Yunho was already excited at the thought of getting to spend time with you after endless promotions. He had missed you so much and craved your affection that he obviously didn't find it weird that you were peppering him with kisses when you met up.

"Oh my god. Baby did you miss me that much?" He teased you even though he had missed you a lot as well.

You two went out and did all sorts of things: go to an arcade, take a walk in the park, got lunch somewhere and eventually went back to your place to watch some movies. All throughout this, Yunho had not really noticed that you were kissing him more than usual.

Sensing that he wasn't really reacting, you decided to try something. Throughout the entire movie, you began kissing different parts of his face almost every 15 seconds. At first Yunho just smiled and would mutter something about you being cute.

Then suddenly, after you kissed his neck for 4 times in a row, he stopped and looked at you with a serious look.

"I hope you're willing to take responsibility for your actions."

He shocked you when he tackled you onto the couch, trapping you in his arms as he aggressively kissed your cheeks and neck. You writhed your body as you tried to get out, but Yunho wasn't having it.

"You can't just keep kissing me and showering me with affection and not expect me to retaliate Y/N! This is war!" He chuckled as he kept attacking you with kisses.

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

You truly weren't sure how to go about this. Yeosang wasn't particularly fond of PDA and wouldn't often initiate affection. Still, you wanted to see how he would react....if he even reacted at all.

You started off by linking hands with him as you walked by the streets, he didn't seem to mind, even putting your hands inside his coat pocket to keep them warm. Going in for the kill, you pecked his cheek. He stopped in his tracks for a split second but then continued on as if nothing happened, only noticeable difference was the blush on his cheeks and ears. You tried doing that several more times and succeeded in 4 of them, but the rest Yeosang ended up avoiding.

You honestly felt disappointed. Sure Yeosang was shy, but you never thought he'd reject your affection so coldly. So you decided to give up and just sat there quietly next to him on the bed as he read one of his many novels, his hand squeezing yours every now and then. Feeling a little brave and wanting to try it one last time, you leaned in and placed 3 kisses to his temple. Yeosang paused before closing his book. After he set it down, he turned to look at you, sighing as he stared deep in your eyes. You were about to apologize but then he surprised you by pulling you into a soft and romantic kiss.

He only pulled back to whisper against your lips:

"You have no idea how long I've been holding back." before proceeding to kiss you again.

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

You already pictured how the challenge might end up, you knew your boyfriend so well. As expected, every time you placed a kiss on any part of his face, he'd return the favor. And the more kisses you were giving him, the more he clung onto you.

Soon, it was he who was placing more and more kisses on you that you almost forgot you were supposed to be the one doing the kissing.

"Seriously baby? What has gotten into you?" San asked you rather amused when you crawled into his lap and intensified the amount of kisses you were giving him.

"Don't." Kiss. "Know." Kiss. "Want." Kiss. "Kissies." You responded with kisses in between your words.

San chuckled at how cute you were.

"Well....seems to me like someone is being needy."

He flipped your positions so he was now hovering above you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Do you want some help?"

Attaching his lips to your neck, San began nibbling on all your sensitive spots, making you get flustered as you tried to push him off.

"San! Wait! It was only a challenge!" You exclaimed, letting out a tiny moan when he bit down on a particular spot.

"You think that's gonna stop me?" He smirked at you.

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

"Baby? What do you think of this one?"

Mingi only got a kiss in response to his question. He blushed slightly and put the red sweater back.

"That's the 4th time you've done that." He pointed out.

"Done what?" You feigned ignorance.

"Kissed me out of nowhere." He explained.

You merely mumbled something and went back to looking through the clothes on the rack. Mingi was confused though, not knowing what was going on. Were you trying to tell him something? Were you mad at him? Did he do something wrong? Was this payback? He was so lost.

He just decided to see what else you'd do and indeed, you kept pecking his lips at random times that left him baffled and somehow wanting more. Now whenever you started leaning in, he'd cup your chin and kiss you back. He began thinking that maybe he'd been neglecting you and you wanted extra love. So when you guys got back home, the first thing he did was pick you up and carry you to the bedroom as he kissed you all over your face.

"Ok we're home now. So let me love you and adore you like the little baby you are." He cooed at you as he tangled his legs and arms all around your body.

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

You were frustrated. At first, everything was going fine. Wooyoung became shook every time you planted a kiss on his lips at random times, sometimes blushing. But now? He was evading your kisses.

"Oh look! Mail's here!" He exclaimed as he walked away from you before you could even lean into his face.

It seemed like he was doing it on purpose. So you tried something.

"Woo? Can you get this thing down for me?" You pointed to one of the cabinets in the kitchen.

Sighing, Wooyoung abandoned his task of washing fruits to go help you out.

"Shorty." He snorted as he got down the box of pretzels for you.

You grinned at him. "Thank you my handsome and tall boy-"

You were cut off because he placed the box in front of your face when you tried to yet again kiss him. He began laughing at your frowning face.

"You're so mean! All I want is to kiss you!" You huffed.

"Oh really? You sure it's not for your vlog?" He raised an eyebrow at you.

You widened your eyes at him, wondering how he knew when he continued.

"You're not very discreet baby. And besides, I'm always the one initiating kisses. That was the first clue something was up."

You had to give it to him: he is smarter than what you gave him credit for.

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

You decided to start early, knowing it'd be a lot cuter to catch his reaction if he was still half asleep. You cuddled up next to his sleeping body, sifts snores coming out of his nose. You brushed your nose against his cheek before pressing a soft kiss on his skin. He didn't move.

Pouting, you moved him slightly, making him groan softly. Hovering on top of him, you began pecking his lips repeatedly. At first, Jongho only twitched the corners of his lips and then he started giggling softly.

"5 more minutes baby cakes. And then I'll play with you." He whined softly.

You started humming, making it seem like you'd let him have his 5 minutes, but one minute passed and you began kissing his lips again. Jongho groaned, repeating that he was tired. You began to kiss his shoulders and when he shuffled his body, you ended up kissing his neck, more specifically, right on his mole, where he was particularly sensitive in.

Jongho's eyes shut wide open, startling you and further scaring you when he flipped you in the blink of an eye and pinned you down on the bed.

"Ok. My turn."

He was definitely awake now.

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

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crimsonophelia · 3 years

Note

hi! could i request for an imagine involving childe and a gn reader? the reader is childe’s longtime childhood friend who’s more or less been in love with him since they were young—and they document the extent of their feelings in a diary (complete with embarrassingly detailed paragraphs planning out theirs and childe’s wedding, gushing over every little thing about him, incidents where they felt petty and jealous over childe showing interest in someone else, etc etc.) that they accidentally end up mailing to childe in liyue thinking it was the book they bought him as a gift.

when they realize the mix-up, they try to make a run for the post office to stop it from being sent to him, but it’s no use—it’s already been shipped out and sent off. how childe ends up responding, doing, or reacting is completely up to you! (i apologize if this request was a little long aha; i hope you have a wonderful day!)

featuring: childe x gn!reader

warnings: none

published: april 22 2021

form: imagine

a/n: thank you for requesting!! this is so cute~~ i love wholesome, bashful childe www

you couldn’t believe it. oh my god, you were such a huge, fucking idiot. how could you have gotten the letters mixed up with the bank documents??? the whole point of keeping your ridiculously embarrassing letters to tartaglia separate from the rest of your documents was just so something like THIS could never happen!

the eleventh fatui harbinger had requested a few copies of official documents from northland bank to help zhongli with some funeral parlor legal paperwork, and you happily obliged, jumping at the opportunity to be of help to the boy you’ve admired for so long.

but for some reason, you were feeling particularly airheaded today. the night before, you had written yet another “letter” to tartaglia in your diary, much like the countless other sheets of paper clipped together, filled with endless words of yearning that will never be read by their intended recipient. you wrote:

“my dearest ajax,

i hope life as a harbinger is going well. i quite miss when we were back in snezhnaya as children, but i suppose i should thank celestia that fate brought us back together in liyue. i still cant help but to miss you each and every day, though. it feels like its been so long since we last got together and talked. i remember last time we had an actual conversation was at wangshu inn— was it three, no, four months ago? i cant quite recall. you looked so lovely, as usual. your smile never fails to make me laugh, especially with that one crooked tooth. i still love to bully you about that, you know. hopefully we can meet again soon, sincerely. im tired of being just friends, tartaglia. not when you look at me like that, and not when you always love to put your arm around my shoulder and pull me in to you every time we meet. i dont know how you feel about me—sometimes it appears as if you might feel the same, though i can never be sure. but i digress. life is rather lonely without you, and yet i manage to get by, somehow.

always yours,

[y/n]”

you tucked the letter amidst the stack of all the others, confident that they would never see the light of day. but somehow, somehow, your foolish, sleep-deprived brain mixed the letters in between the documents from the bank, and now tartaglia would know everything. all your foolish musings over the years, fawning over his rogueish charm like a child, yearning for your friend with such humiliating naïveté. this cannot happen. you have to get to him before the mail can, somehow. he was currently staying at an inn nearby the funeral parlor—there’s gotta be a way to be quicker than the mail deliverer.

you hurried out of your office and hailed the first rickshaw you see lined up on the street, and ordered him to drive you to the inn, as soon as humanly possible.

upon arrival, you leapt out of the seat, tossing an indiscriminately large fare at the driver before stumbling onto the sidewalk, almost dropping your things. slamming open the door to the inn, you reach the front counter. asking breathlessly, “which room is mr. tartaglia staying in?”, you hurry to the room the doorman indicates to be the fatui’s residence.

but before you get the chance to even look for the room, you turn the corner and slam into a taller body. to your dismay, you look up and see the face of a shocked tartaglia looking down at you, a stack of papers tucked under his arm. shit.

shit shit shit. this cannot be happening right now. maybe he hasn’t read the letters yet? slim chance, though—he’s always been nosy.

“[y/n]...” Childe looked at you with a pained glint in his eyes. he reached out for your arm with his free hand.

ah. so he knew.

you tried to jerk away, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarassment and the pressure that always comes before tears. things are never going to be the same again. all because of my stupidity.

you felt yourself colliding with the wall of tartaglia’s chest again, as he abruptly dropped all he was holding. a pair of arms wrapped themselves assuredly around your waist, so familiar, yet so foreign. not able to hold yourself together for any longer, you let yourself go, crying into tartaglia’s chest, your voice racked with harsh, humiliating, childish sobs.

“why did you hide it from me for so long?” you felt tartaglia whisper into your hair, his breath grazing your scalp. his warmth was so delicious, something youve been craving for so long finally being satiated.

looking up, his usual charming smirk was much more sad, almost guilt-ridden. “i care about you so much [y/n]. you know you can tell me anything, right?”

gasping for air, you felt so ashamed for making such a scene in front of him. “i was so scared, ajax. scared that i would drag you down, or scared you would leave me behind.” you couldn’t bear to meet the pained gaze of the boy yoy so hopelessly fell in love with.

his rough hand smoothed over your hair, comforting you like he used to, back when you two were children in snezhnaya. drawing you effortlessly closer towards him, until you felt his lips plant a chaste kiss upon your forehead.

“you know i love you, [y/n], don’t you? i always have and i always will.”

you clung on to him tighter, fearing what the world might return to if you ever let go. you couldn’t let him slip through your fingers, not again.

“i don’t want you to suffer because of me anymore, my dear.”

a/n: to clarify YES THIS IS A HAPPY ENDING READER AND CHILDE GET TOGETHER i just didnt wanna go any further and do a complete 180 on the tone lolol i hope this is okay!!

#childe x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #childe headcanons #childe imagines #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia headcanons #genshin childe #genshin impact childe #childe fanfic #childe fic #when will i stop writing angst

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astrella-writes · 3 years

Text

prompt | @ssoftlydreaming asked: nfjsja ok from sweet home can you do lee eun-hyeok and basically he has to decide if he should risk the danger of everyone in the apartment complex or save reader who is outside and struggling to survive.

warnings | female pronouns, angst, spoilers for episode one of the netflix adaptation of sweet home, if you haven’t watched episode one complete then this won’t make much sense, panic attacks, the general horror of sweet home, eun-hyuk being a logical pain in the ass, somewhat of an open-ending.

word count | 1.7K

author’s note | i hope this satisfies your masochistic desires! i’m honestly so happy to have angst as my first request, and that isn’t sarcasm at all.

The sound of his descending footsteps echoing throughout the concrete stairwell became background noise to Eun-Hyuk as he stared at the unanswered messages he had sent you well over an hour ago. This was strange behavior coming from you, considering you usually responded back within minutes. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, he tried to think of a logical explanation to calm his increasing worries. Perhaps your phone died on your walk home, or you had to work over-time without a chance to inform him.

He was certain some minor inconvenience caused your abrupt absence, although he couldn’t shake off the unnerving feeling settling like a burden of tense muscles upon his shoulders. Realizing there wasn’t much more he could do, especially since all the calls he gave you went straight to voice mail, he decided to wait patiently for a reply from you and try to keep his thoughts clear during the meantime.

Eun-Hyuk stuffed his phone into his pocket as he finally reached the half-open double doors that led out onto the first floor, his ears immediately picking up on the commotion before he looked over at the front entrance that was blocked by the shutters. A group of people stood dispersed nearby, talking amongst themselves and watching one resident in particular as he tried tugging on the metal bracing that barely budged. The man sighed, dropping his arm and admitting defeat as he walked away from the shutters, mumbling to himself.

‘First the elevators aren’t working, and now this?’ he thought to himself, unimpressed with the current situation, especially since he had work that night. He wasn’t the only one annoyed by the circumstances as the surrounding people openly expressed their vexation. Although, unlike most of them, he remained calm and simply observed the scene with his hands in his pockets. Multiple residents spoke loud enough for him to catch on to the fact that the security guard was missing, which made little sense considering this was an issue for him to resolve.

“Excuse me?” a feminine voice sounded from behind him, causing him to turn around and look at the woman. “Do you have any service on your cell?” Despite having just been on his phone, Eun-Hyuk was so preoccupied with his thoughts regarding your whereabouts that he didn’t notice the minor detail of whether he had any service.

Pulling out his phone and unlocking it, he immediately dialed your number, taking the possibility to hopefully connect with you and find out where you were. When his ear met with a high-pitched ringing, Eun-Hyuk lowered the phone, lost in thought for a second before looking at the woman.

“I guess not,” he said, watching as her face dropped in disappointment and she turned to walk away, but he stopped her with a question. “What’s going on here?”

The woman hesitated, wondering if anything was even worth sharing considering she would give him more questions than answers. She went on to explain how every main exit had been closed up, locking everyone inside. Although she speculated someone was behind this, she had no idea who it was and for what purpose it was done.

The explanation caused Eun-Hyuk to swallow thickly before turning his gaze towards the concealed entrance. He stared for a moment, silently wishing for your safety.

―――

A shrill ringing penetrated your ear, causing you to jerk your head away from your phone and hang up on your attempt at calling Eun-Hyuk. With a frustrated cry, you threw your cellphone upon the ground, hearing the shattering of the screen as it smacked face-first against the concrete.

On the verge of tears, you made yourself as small as possible in the alleyway's corner, pulling your knees up to your chest as you rested your forehead on top of them. Your breathing grew increasingly more labored as the sensation of dread and pure hopelessness consumed your mind.

Eun-Hyuk’s words repeated in your head during times like this, when you were at risk of having a panic attack. Stay still. Take slow breaths. Think of something nice.

You squeezed your eyes shut, allowing the gathering tears to flow freely down your cheeks as they gathered at the tip of your chin. Forcing yourself to take in deep breaths, your trembling body gradually stilled. Eventually, your thoughts morphed as you focused on your breathing, rather than the surrounding chaos.

Think of something nice.

Eun-Hyuk’s face filled your mind, the sight prompting a ghost of a smile. You recalled your first meeting which occurred almost a year ago, when you had just moved into Green Roof Apartments. Someone had suddenly removed the towering stack of boxes you were carrying from your hold, and just as you were about to thank the person for helping, you realized you recognized him.

It turns out that you both used to attend the same high school, although you weren’t in the same class, your friend group interacted with his friend group quite a lot. Seeing his face brought back all those times at lunch when you would sneakily try to steal glances at him without your friends noticing. They noticed, of course, and teased you relentlessly about your crush but they were nonetheless supportive. They even proposed setting you two up on a date, because a ‘little birdie’ told them he had been crushing on you too.

Unfortunately, you were in such denial that someone as handsome as him had feelings for you, and rejected the offer. He was simply unobtainable, the extent of your relationship never surpassing polite greetings and friendly smiles until you both graduated and never saw each other again. Or at least, that’s what you assumed would happen.

It seemed fate gave you two another chance, unsatisfied with your prior silent pining and not acting upon anything. Considering you both matured immensely, talking came easy, and it wasn’t long before a much deeper connection began blossoming between the both of you.

His sister reacted indifferently when she walked out into the hallway one day, only to witness the both of you moving suspiciously away from each other, as if trying to conceal something. She caught on immediately, especially since her brother had been mentioning you quite often.

“Seriously? He’s the best you can do?” She scoffed, eyeing her brother disapprovingly before pushing between the both of you and walking off. You stared at her retreating figure in shock, oblivious to the smile on Eun-Yoo’s face as she disappeared down the stairs.

Once his sister found out, Eun-Hyuk became increasingly more open in terms of your relationship. And eventually, after a long week of his sister degrading him for not moving to the next step, he asked you to be his girlfriend. It wasn’t the most romantic of set-up’s; he had knocked on your door and asked you so casually that you wondered if he was joking.

When he assured you he wasn’t, you almost knocked him off his feet from the abrupt hug you gave him, accepting his simple proposal.

The memory faded, and the realization hit you like a truck. Eun-Hyuk was waiting for you, and you couldn’t give up on him. Taking a deep breath, you got up from the ground, trying not to focus on the screams and sounds of destruction in the distance as you lightly jogged towards the entrance of the alleyway. You peered behind the wall and looked both ways. The coast was clear; it was now or never.

―――

You raced around the corner, narrowly dodging the attention of a nearby monster as its head popped up from one of the many dumpsters lining the brick wall of Green Roof Apartments, the location you had been trying to reach from when this all started.

The sound of metal creaking, which you quickly recognized to be the shutters descending, urged your aching legs to run faster as the darkness before you faded the closer you got to the entrance. That’s when you noticed Eun-Hyuk struggling to keep the shutters open as a distraught woman crawled towards him. He reached out a hand towards her, just as he looked up and made eye contact with you. His eyes widened at the sight, although bloodied and bruised, you were very much alive. You smiled at him, relieved, feeling safe already.

That was until you heard a rustling coming from your right, along with animalistic groans, as if something was just stirring back to life after being immobilized and ready to lash out again. A flurry of panicked voices came from the lobby of the apartment, everyone watching in horror as the hunched-over silhouette of the monster with a snake-like tongue began recovering to its full height.

Luckily for you, the monster disregarded your presence as it ambled towards the entrance. You stood frozen in fear as the shadow of its body passed over you, the sound of its languid steps lulling you into a trance as your body trembled lightly.

It was perceptible that trying to run past it would end in your demise, leaving you stuck on what to do. Your pleading eyes drifted towards Eun-Hyuk, hoping he would come up with a plan to distract the monster long enough so you could make a break for the gap underneath the shutters he had been holding open - a perfect enough size for you to slide under.

He stared you dead in the eyes as he dropped the shutters; the metal clanging loudly against the tiled floor. You blanched, staring back at him in disbelief. A semblance of guilt took over his features, and you shook your head in denial.

Your eyes stung with tears, and you wondered whether to cry and beg for him to help you or keep the remaining bit of dignity you had left. The monster suddenly shot its tongue within the gaps of the barred metal and Eun-Hyuk disappeared from sight as he dodged; the trance you were in instantly dissipating as you came to terms with the situation.

He left you to fend for yourself, surrounded by a horde of monsters. You weren’t sure whether to give up or keep going, considering nothing seemed worth fighting for at the moment.

Did he regret it? Of course. Would he do it again? Without question. Eun-Hyuk would sacrifice anyone to keep his sister safe, even you, and even himself.

#sweet home #sweet home x reader #eun-hyuk x reader #eun-hyeok x reader #sweet home imagines #sweet home netflix #sweet home x reader netflix #angst #sweet home angst

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years

Text

4:01 PM

Dean sips his whiskey and glowers across the bar at his own reflection. His wrist is burning like a brand, but it’s probably all in his head. The stupid timers don’t cause physical pain when they reach T-minus zero, Houston we have a problem. The numbers freeze, and that’s that.

Dean’s had counted down to nothing at exactly 4:01 PM, fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes of running into his soulmate, getting his number, continuing on his way to this bar, and telling the bartender to keep ‘em coming.

He refuses to look at the far corner of the room, the booth he had reserved like an idiot. Four PM, party of two, under the name Winchester.

On the bar by his glass, his phone is still lit up with Cas’s texts from the past hour.

Cas 3:11 I’m so sorry I have to move our appointment. My client just unexpectedly switched our time to 4pm.

Cas 3:21 I think I’ll be able to escape by 4:30. Can I meet you then?

Dean had responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He didn’t have it in him to say any more.

Cas 3:50 This city is impossible to navigate. How does anyone live here?

Cas 3:58 You were right, I should have rented a car.

Three minutes after Cas’s last text, Dean ran into his soulmate. Right on schedule.

As far as first meetings go, it hadn’t been as much of a shitshow as Dean had expected.

The dude was attractive, at least, and the first thing he did after bumping into Dean was apologize. But he was wearing a tailored suit and glued to his phone, so it definitely could have been better.

His soulmate would’ve run off none the wiser, except Dean had to blurt, “Wait!” because, despite his disappointment, Dean couldn’t let his soulmate disappear into the throngs of Michigan Avenue. Dean wasn't about to fall to one knee, but he also couldn't let his best shot just go.

The man stopped, irritated. His gaze refused to linger on Dean, instead fixating on a building at the end of the block.

Head swimming with too many thoughts to name, Dean couldn’t get the right words out. He gestured mutely to his wrist, pulling up the flannel to show him.

Eyes widening with understanding, his soulmate quickly tugged up the cuff of his sleeve, only sparing a second to verify his own timer stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.” he said, distracted. “My name is James. Here,” he fished out a pen and something to write on from various pockets of his trench coat, “my number. We… should talk. Later.” He scowled, raising his other wrist to check at his watch. “I need to go.”

“Sure, man,” Dean said, mostly grateful he didn’t have to stick around and have some heart-to-heart with a stranger that was apparently meant for him. Whatever the fuck that actually meant.

“Thank you,” James said swiftly. Without another word, he took off back down the street.

Dean didn’t bother to watch him go. He had a barstool waiting with his name on it.

Sam will laugh himself silly once Dean tells him his perfect match wound up being some corporate suit. Dean once told him he’d rather microwave his own head than set foot in an office cubicle.

Sammy was the big soulmate skeptic in the family. He found his non-timer approved other half while he was protesting an illegal dismissal of a disabled employee. Three years later, when Sam bumped into Gabriel Crawford in a strip club at midnight on Dean’s birthday, he discovered Gabe was perfectly happy to let Sam live his apple pie life while Gabe continued to party like it was 1999.

Gabe made Sam promise to look him up if Eileen was ever down for a threesome.

Turned out, Eileen was.

Sam most certainly was not.

He still sends Gabe a card for the holidays, and usually Gabe sends him back candy samples from wherever he’s vacationing for the winter.

But everyone else Dean knew bought into the soulmates game, hook, line, and sinker. His parents were soulmates. Benny and Garth both settled down with theirs. Charlie and Aaron were holding out for theirs. Hell, even Jo had her weird thing with Bela Talbot.

Dean would’ve counted himself among their number - until he met Cas.

Well, until Cas messaged him on Bobby’s new ask-a-mechanic feature on the garage’s website. Cas had inherited a banged up 1967 Mustang and had no idea where to start with restoration. Apparently Gabe of all people was staying with Cas at his place in southern California, and he recommended Dean.

Why Cas couldn’t just look up a local place still baffles Dean to this day, but he has never been more grateful for Cas’s weird-ass logic.

Their relationship had stayed strictly professional until Cas’s actual car broke down on some random highway in California. Dean had tried to talk Cas through the repair himself, but it was no use. Cas either didn’t have the equipment for the fix, or Dean didn’t diagnose the right problem. Dean was about to hang up, when Cas had asked, clearly embarrassed, “Would you please stay on the line? I have this irrational fear of being murdered in the middle of nowhere where nobody can find my body for proper rites.”

Dean, almost surprising himself, didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, “Sure thing. Wanna put me on hold while you get in touch with Triple A?”

He spent an hour and a half on the phone with Cas, telling him stupid stories about the worst things people have done with their cars.

In return, Cas told him all about the stars that were just coming out in the darkening desert sky.

The week after, Bobby’s garage received a gift certificate in the mail. It was for a weeklong stay at the Chicago location of the five-star hotel chain Cas works for, in Dean’s name.

Those little chocolates on the pillows ruined Dean for motels everywhere.

At the bar, Dean signals the bartender for a refill. He glares down at his phone. The little rectangle contains his entire history with Cas, call logs, text receipts, everything.

He can’t look at it any longer. He shoves it in his pocket, and the receipt with his soulmate’s phone number crinkles in protest. With a sigh, Dean takes out the flimsy piece of paper.

James’s handwriting is neat, so Dean doesn’t even have the excuse of not being able to read a digit or two.

Maybe Dean will give him a call after his drink with Cas. Hopefully, once James finds out that Dean’s just a mechanic, lives in a shoebox apartment in Bucktown, and has never been to Aspen or the Alps, he’ll tell Dean to take a hike.

Dean flips the receipt over, and his stomach gives a sickening lurch. In pretentious curlicue lettering, the first words Dean reads are, The Nine Spheres.

James is staying at Cas’s hotel.

Fucking great. Dean crumples the receipt and shoves it back in his pocket. With his luck, James will probably want to meet in the restaurant on the first floor, the fancy-ass place with the steakhouse burger and truffle fries Dean would actually sell his soul for.

Dean actually dreamed about that burger, a few months after his Cas-sponsored stay. When he told Cas about it, Cas let out a bark of laughter.

In the next breath, though, he told Dean he does the same when he’s scoping out a new location and can’t stay at a nearby Nine Spheres.

Dean tips back his glass of whiskey. It’s stopped burning on the way down his throat, a good sign.

He was so stupid, thinking he could fuck with destiny, fate, or whatever shitty power up there decides soulmates.

Once Cas told him about his business trip to his neck of the woods, Dean had taken one look at the numbers on his arm counting down and did the math. He would meet his soulmate smack dab in the middle of Cas’s window in Chicago.

He could make Cas be his soulmate. Cas never brought up his timer, if it was still ticking, if he’d already met his other half. And Dean, coward that he was, never asked. If he didn’t know for sure, then there was that slim, slim chance that theirs matched up after all.

But no, Cas had to go and switch up their meeting time at the last second, and Dean had run into James instead.

His pocket buzzes with a new text. Mood lower than Cas’s voice register, Dean slides his phone out.

Cas 4:38 My meeting is over. Should I still meet you at the same place?

Dean 4:39 Yeah Hope its okay I got started without you

Cas 4:40 More than okay, considering my scheduling difficulties.

Dean 4:40 See you soon

Dean sighs and drains his glass.

Foot jiggling on the barstool and eyes trained on his hands clasped in front of him, Dean deliberately does not look around as the door opens.

And opens again.

And again.

Confused and irritated, Dean takes another look around. Above the bar, a chalkboard clearly proclaims Happy Hour from 4:30-6:30 PM. Dean ducks his head, scowling into the remains of his drink. He probably overlooked the sign before because of his single-minded quest to get shitfaced like a freshly-dumped senior at prom stuck next to the spiked punch bowl.

His phone obnoxiously tells him it’s 4:43.

That’s just great. Dean hops off the stool, meaning to ask the hostess if anyone’s asked for Winchester, when James pushes open the door.

Dean stops dead in his tracks.

James freezes, his eyes going wide. His trench coat swishes ominously to a stop.

Should Dean turn around? Pretend he didn’t see? Cas is going to be here any second.

Before he can make up his mind, James is walking towards him. “Hello,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he says honestly.

James scans the small crowd now gathered around the bar, brow furrowing in concentration. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

Dean lets out a silent exhale of relief. He musters up a weak smile. “No problem, man. I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns back around, James steps up to the hostess stand.

James says, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the din, “I’m a bit late, but is there a reservation for Winchester? For 4:30?”

Dean could not possibly have heard what he thinks he did. But the timing is right - for once. He spins around, practically losing his balance thanks to the booze he already drank.

The hostess scans her sheet of names, shaking her head. “There was a reservation for Winchester at four PM, but that’s it.”

James’s face falls. Shoulders slumping, he pulls out his phone, squinting as the screen lights up. “He said he was here,” he mutters.

He can’t be Cas. That would be crazy - like, dingo ate my baby, crazy.

“Could be at the bar,” the hostess says flippantly, tilting her head to the crowded area. “Most of ‘em don’t check in.”

James’s lips press together. “Thank you,” he says to the hostess, his tone clipped. “I’ll wait there.”

Dean steps in front of him before James can get lost in the throng of people. “I heard you’re lookin’ for me,” he says with a confidence that’s only 99% bullshit.

James blinks. “You?”

“Dean Winchester, at your service,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Dean,” he echoes, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in with his new eyes.

“Gotta say,” Dean drawls as his heart pounds with nerves. Doubt niggles at the back of his mind like an itch he can’t scratch, but he’s already made his memory foam bed. Might as well lie in it. “Cas is the weirdest nickname for James that I’ve ever heard.”

“My full name is James Castiel Novak,” Cas says, flushing. “James - that’s what I go by professionally. My family calls me Castiel.”

Dean can’t hold back his broad grin. “Family, eh?”

Cas’s expression takes a swift dive from embarrassed to mortified. “And friends,” he tacks on. He takes a step closer, staring at Dean’s face in wonder. “But you’re also my soulmate.”

Dean laughs giddily. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t beat around the bush. Not your style.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “I think I see an open seat. You wanna have that talk now?”

Cas hesitates. “Would you like to go to Nine Spheres instead? I’ve had business dinners every evening I’ve been in Chicago so far, and, while the food has been good-”

“It’s not the steakhouse burger?” Dean finishes for him.

The corners of Cas’s mouth turn down into a slight grimace. “Last night, a client treated us to tapas. I woke up starving.”

Dean smiles. “You know I’m always down for that burger.”

“Excellent,” Cas says with relish as he pushes open the door.

They walk onto the street, and it’s almost offensively quiet after the noise of the bar. It’s a balmy Spring evening, the sun still relatively high in the sky.

“You don’t seem disappointed anymore,” Cas says out of nowhere as they reach the end of the block.

So Cas caught on to that, back when they first ran into each other. Dean shrugs. “I just got stood up by the guy I’d specially set up to meet me at 4:01. Wouldn’t you be?”

Cas clears his throat, asking hoarsely, “You wanted it to be me?”

Dean throws him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Cas just shrugs. The light changes, and they step off the curb.

“Were you… disappointed?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Cas lets out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I didn’t even think - well,” he falters, casting a sidelong look at Dean, “I’m not disappointed. Believe me.”

The automatic doors to Nine Spheres open, hitting them with a burst of perfectly conditioned air. Dean hasn’t stepped foot in the hotel since Cas paid for his stay, but it hasn’t changed one bit. The same tiered giant chandelier glitters overhead. Giant pillars bracket the concierge desk to the left and the enormous staircase to the right that leads up to the second floor rooms. The tiled floor, so polished Dean can practically see his reflection, stretches the length of the lobby.

Dean sticks out like a flannel-wearing sore thumb. “Cas,” he hisses, “hold on. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this place.”

Cas sucks in a breath. “No,” he says as Dean’s heart sinks, “I suppose not.” He jerks his head towards the elevator bay. “Room service?”

Dean blinks.

“I’ve called for the burgers on several occasions at other locations,” Cas assures him. “It tastes as good.”

Was Cas actually trying to convince him to go up to his room? What a dumbass. Dean laughs.

Cas colors, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget it,” he mutters. “We don’t-”

“You know, if you invite me up to your room,” Dean cuts him off, “you’re going to have a bitch of a time getting me to leave, right?”

Cas stares at him.

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice in my life. Between the food, the water pressure, and the robe that felt like I was fucking a cloud, I had enough of a hard time leaving last time.”

“I’m glad,” Cas says stiltedly. “We strive to provide the optimal experience to all our guests.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “’M saying, add you to the mix, and they’re gonna have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.”

“And if I don’t want you to leave?” Cas asks in an undertone as he pushes the up button for the elevator.

“Then I guess we don’t have a problem,” Dean says, winking.

Cas’s responding grin falls as the doors close behind them and the elevator starts moving. He shakes his head. “It’s a shame there are cameras in here.”

Dean leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “Doesn’t bother me much. Whaddya say to giving the peeping toms a show, then?”

Cas bites his lip, and this close, Dean can see how his eyes have blown black with want. “I - I can’t.”

It’s like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Dean steps back, shame filling him. That’s fine. He can regroup. Hopefully Cas will be more receptive behind closed doors. It’s not the first time this has happened, anyway.

“Dean, I have to work with these people every day,” Cas hisses, wringing his hands. “The last time an executive got… busy with a coworker in the pool, the mocking didn’t end for weeks. Not to mention her rebuke from upper management.” He throws Dean a desperate look. “I would like for you to be fully clothed by the time you meet my coworkers for the first time.”

Cas is already planning for Dean to meet his people?

The elevator dings, and Cas steps out. “Are you coming?” he asks hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says quickly. As he follows Cas down the maze of rooms, he has to ask, “You were planning on introducing me to your coworkers?”

Cas’s cheeks pink. “Unless you were opposed to it,” he mutters as he stops in front of Room 1518. He sighs, making no move to insert his keycard. Instead, he lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze squarely. “I’ve put in a transfer request to Chicago.”

“What?”

“It was before I knew you were my soulmate,” Cas says quickly. “I’ve never felt like I fit in in California, and my parents live in Pontiac. The Chicago office is decently large, and, well, I knew you were here,” he says, his voice going quiet near the end. He straightens. “So there were many reasons.”

“You’re staying?” Dean says, his mouth dry.

Cas bobs a nervous nod. “I hope that’s okay.”

Dean grins. “Sure is.”

Cas touches the inside of his wrist, his expression turning almost shy. “Of course, when I first pictured introductions, it was strictly as a friend. I don’t really know anyone else in this city well, and I’ve told you about my difficulty in social situations, so it would’ve been more for moral support than anything else. But after this evening -”

Dean interrupts his rambling. “Are there cameras in the hallway?”

“What- oh,” Cas says, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips before back up again. “Yes?” He points. “They’re all the way down there, though, so they can’t -”

Dean cuts him off with a heated kiss.

#destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #soulmates au #businessman Castiel #mechanic Dean #profoundnet #rae writes fic #i post something new every Sunday #this one kind of got away from me #but hopefully in a good way #deancas #deancas fanfic

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"Don't you think you've done enough?"

Wakko was angry.

Very, very angry.

He thought Dot was on his side- but she was easily swayed by that dumb doctor.

Ooh, that doctor made his blood boil. He suggested talking to Yakko, but that wasn't going to work because he was hypnotized by Max. Scratchnsniff didn't understand- he couldn't possibly understand what it was like to watch a brother who swore he'd die for you just... abandon you out of nowhere.

He thought his mother would understand too, but it seemed she was fooled too, wanting him to give Max a shot. Yeah right- would she suggest he "just give Grandma a shot?". No. It was clear she was underestimating Max's control of Yakko. He wasn't just "a little carried away". He was hypnotized- he had to be.

If he wasn't, then...

If Dot and his mom wanted to give up on him, fine. He could save Yakko all on his own. He had the brains. He'd just have to go a little bit further this time- to make sure Max would never want to come back ever again. He had to make sure Max knew he wasn't welcome and do it in a sneakier way so he wouldn't get caught this time.

Wakko was going to lock Max in the tower.

And he knew just how he'd do it.

He had already stolen the key, though his paranoia made him check to see if the door had been blocked up constantly. however- he even took a step beyond, making sure a key similar enough replaced it, to assure no one would notice it was gone.

As far as getting Max there, he knew he wasn't strong enough or tall enough to drag or force him to the tower, so he'd have to make him want go up there himself. Going off of his mom's "advice", he figured he'd just say that he wanted to talk with him alone in a letter or note or something, which was easy enough. The hard part would be getting it to Max without being seen. He didn't have time to send it in the mail, as he was visiting the very next day.

So that meant he'd just have to wait for an opportune moment when the day arrived.

Which he did.

He ate breakfast just with Dot, apparently, his parents and Yakko had gotten up earlier and were busy this morning- which he was fine with. He wasn't exactly feeling chatty, though Dot kept giving him looks which he ignored.

If she knew anything, she didn't say, so Wakko moved on with his day.

When Max arrived at Warnerstock castle, it went much like it did the first time: with Max only giving them side glances but otherwise ignoring their existences and running off with Yakko. What made it different though was Dot going with their parents and goofy, leaving Wakko by himself to enact his plan.

Normally he would've felt offended at such an exclusion but he needed to enact his plan somehow, and he had already set up a room with art supplies to help distract him while he waited for them to break for lunch before he could plant his note.

Thankfully, the hours passed rather quickly, and Wakko was able to make his move. Hurriedly, he ran into the room Yakko and Max always hung out in and placed the note carefully in Max's satchel (he always brought one to bring gifts for Yakko from Disneyland or something like that according to the letters) before running with all his might to the tower, unlocking the first door and climbing up the fifty feet to the top, unlocking that heavy iron door, and slowly and painfully pulling it open and hiding behind, hoping Max wouldn't be suspicious of it being open when he arrived.

Unlike before though, it was a very, very long time before he heard Max at the bottom of the tower. With each step Max took, Wakko's heart raced more and more as he gripped the key in his hands tighter.

He had to do this. He had to make Max hate him- hate all of them. He had to make Max know he wasn't welcome- that he couldn't get away with separating his siblings.

Max was a bad person. He deserved this.

By the time Max reached the top, Wakko's heart was racing, and he kept a hand over his mouth to make sure his breath was silent. He made sure Max was deep into the dark and dusty room before Wakko pushed the heavy door shut with all his might, scrambling to lock it and scurrying down the stairs as fast as he could- ignoring Max's shouts and questions as he pounded against the iron door.

Max was a bad person. He was trying to take Yakko away from him.

As he scrambled down, his mind was flooded with memories.

Dot's cries, the ache in his ears, the horror as he looked down, the banging of his head against the floor, the slamming of the iron door, the hopelessness-

Max was a bad person. He deserved this.

Wakko ran faster, closing his eyes best he could in a poor attempt to suppress the memories. He almost kissed the ground when he reached the bottom, but he didn't waste his time, running out and locking the door as fast as possible before running all the way to his room and laying down in his bed and burying his head under his pillow in hopes his breathing and heart would calm eventually.

However, his head throbbed as the memories he was trying so desperately to swallow surfaced once more.

"Let go of him!" Dot had shouted, pulling on Angelina's dress- and before Wakko knew it, his grandmother's grip was tight around his neck as he felt himself dangling off the ledge. He shouldn't have looked down, but he did.

Dear god- he was going to die.

"Shout at me again young lady, and I will," Angelina threatened, her grip around his neck tightening.

"Wait- please! Don't hurt him-!" Dot got on her knees and begged, tears streaming down her face as she made eye contact with him.

Dear god he wished he was a lot braver.

"Go back downstairs, Angelina. You've done enough today," Angelina spat on Dot's face. It filled Wakko with rage, but he couldn't fight back. He saw Dot's look of defeat as she lowered her head.

"Good girl," That bitch of a grandmother said, and Wakko felt a return to the ground. He immediately went to go hug Dot, but she grabbed his arm and forced him away from his sobbing little sister before tossing him in that disgusting and dark prison.

"How long do you plan to leave me in here, huh?!" He had shouted, his voice betraying him and cracking as tears filled his eyes. He pounded against the door demanding a response, but the only response he got was mumbles from his grandmother, and a yelp of pain from Dot.

He continued to pound his fists against the door with everything he had in him for hours on end. He had to make her suffer- she couldn't get away with this. She couldn't just hurt his siblings like that- she needed to pay.

By the end his hands were bruised and bloody and his voice practically vanished due to the shouting. Eventually- he just gave up, hugging his knees as he begged for this nightmare to end, somehow.

Angelina the First was a fucking monster.

...was Max really the same?

O-of course he was. He was taking Yakko away from him- from him AND Dot. Angelina did that too. She knew they were weaker seperated and always divided them, and Max knows the same.

Sure Angelina never made Yakko happy ever... but that meant Max was just more of a threat, right? His techniques were new- Yakko didn't know how to protect himself against them. Wakko was just doing what he had to to protect his sibs.

Wakko was doing what he had to.

Time passed- a lot of it. Eventually someone came into his room, and Wakko buried himself under his blanket, clutching the key as tight as he could, hoping they'd just assume he was asleep.

"Wak, have you seen-? Oh-" It was Yakko, embarrassed that he "interrupted Wakko's nap".

"Sorry- I'll just-... have a nice nap," Yakko apologized and left.

See? His plan was already working.

...Right?

God, would the pounding in his chest ever stop???

He was just doing what he had to.

Just what he had to.

.o0o.

More time passed, though Wakko couldn't be sure how much. All he knew was that Yakko had begun to worry, seriously searching through every room in the castle (as Wakko could hear from the door slams). He didn't check on Wakko again, but there were a few close calls. Eventually, Yakko must've employed his parents help though, as he soon started hearing them begin to search too.

It dawned on Wakko that perhaps he should've forged a note from Max that said he ran away or something- that would've prevented the searches and made Yakko hate Max too.

Oh well- hindsight and all that.

The pounding in his chest never stopped.

Eventually, he heard his door creak open slowly as he quickly tried to pretend he was still sleeping, but Dot wasn't easily fooled, as she climbed onto his bed and shook his shoulder, pulling back the blanket.

"Max is missing and mom told me to get you to help search. If you have anything to do with this- I swear-" Dot's eyes fell onto the key in Wakko's hands.

"...You didn't-" Dot's eyes widened. Wakko nearly jumped off the bed.

"I-it's not what you think-!" Wakko fumbled in shock, but Dot took the opportunity and snatched the key from his hand and ran out of the room, and after Wakko processed what happened, he chased after.

"Dot give it back!" Wakko shouted at her.

"No! His dad is looking for him and Yakko is really upset! I won't let you keep him there!" Dot shouted back.

"You're just brainwashed! He's manipulating you- just like grandma!" Wakko disputed.

"No he isn't Wakko!" Dot contended. "You're the only one who thinks that!"

"I'm just doing what I have to to protect Yakko! Yakko would never have left us before Max arrived- why can't you see that?!" He argued back.

Eventually, Dot slowed and sighed.

"Max is nothing like Grandma- he's pretty cool and is nice and has a nice dad and Yakko really cares about him. He doesn't deserve to be locked in there- just like how you didn't," Dot's grip on the key tightened.

"Locked in where?"

To Wakko's horror, Yakko and Lena weren't too far away.

Neither sibling responded, As Dot gripped the key tighter. However, she didn't hide it, and eventually Lena noticed, her face mortified with recognition.

She looked at Wakko a moment, before shaking her head and taking the key, hurriedly walking toward the tower.

"Locked where? Where does that key go?" Yakko asked innocently as he followed along- he was the only one of the four who hadn't seen it before.

Dot and Wakko decided to follow too, despite the dread that filled both of them with every step (though Dot's was more of empathy than of direct guilt).

However, Yakko was clever, and eventually he recognized the halls.

He grabbed the key from his mother's hand and bolted to the tower, unlocking the door as fast as he could, and running up the stairs at least 3 at a time.

Lena, Dot and Wakko stayed at the bottom silently.

Eventually, the heavy iron door creaked open, and Max was released- the pair making their way down slowly. Wakko didn't hear a word either of them said- the pounding in his head louder than ever as he suppressed tears.

However, when he reached the bottom, he made eye contact with Max.

He didn't... seem mad. Just tired.

"Max, please give your father our sincerest apologies. We're terribly sorry this happened- if there's anything we can do to make up for it, please let us know," Lena apologized.

"Yeah, okay," Max shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Where is he, by the way?"

"Likely the grand foyer with William- Yakko, would you-?"

"No, I can walk myself." Max interrupted, giving a quick nod to each of them before walking out, leaving everyone frozen as he walked away.

Shit.

His plan worked, but he still felt like crap. Why??? Max was bad. He tried to seperate- he was bad. He-

"Wakko- what the fuck was that?!" Yakko's face was full of tears as he grabbed his brother's collar.

"Yakko- let go of your brother. Now." Lena ordered.

"No- what the fuck?! First, you try to ruin our hang outs, then you read my letters, and then you lock him in the prison our grandmother threw you in and left you to starve??? What is wrong with you?!" Yakko demanded.

"Yakko, I said now." Lena broke them apart.

"Y-you were so blinded by him-!"

"Because I like him, Wakko! He's a good guy!!!"

"He was trying to take you away!!!"

"No he wasn't-! God- are you even listening to us? How many times have we tried to tell you you're delusional!" Yakko threw his hands in the air.

"I am not!!! Why can't you see it-!" Wakko began to tear up too.

"God- are you seriously gonna cry?! You're the one who decided to possible ruin the only fucking friendship I've ever had outside of my family and not only that- but you also possibly just ruined Warnerstock's relationship with Max's Kingdom too!"

Wakko took a step back at that.

"I-i didn't-"

He looked at his mom and Dot- their looks confirming.

"No... No- i- I can't believe you. You are such an idiot- Did you not consider that would happen at all?" Yakko was baffled.

"Yakko-" Lena tried to interrupt.

"I-i'm not an idiot!" Wakko tried to defend, but it was getting really hard for him to justify his actions...

"Yes, you are!!! God- you never think anything through- and even if you realize it was utterly moronic, you still commit!" Yakko spat. "Fucking wild animals have more sense than you!!!"

"Yakko, that is enough." Lena snapped.

Silence echoed through the empty tower, but the damage had already been done. Wakko looked to his mother for sympathy, she only met him with a look of dead seriousness.

"Wakko- you put Warnerstock's relationship with Disneyland, as well as Yakko's relationship with Max, at great risk due to your recklessness and jealousy. There will be a severe punishment to speak of in the morning." She said firmly.

"I w-was just trying to protect..." He hardly had the strength to say it.

"Wake the fuck up, Wakko. Does anyone here look better off- or "protected"- because of your actions? Haven't you done enough?" Yakko bit. Lena gave him a look, but Wakko saw he was right.

Good god- he really was a screw-up, wasn't he?

"I just..." Wakko practically whispered, as he looked to Dot, who only shook her head and looked away. With that last little betrayal, Wakko had had enough. Before he knew it, he bolted out of the tower and out and around the hallways of the castle, before he made it out into the garden and ran deep, deep, deep within to where the hedges were trimmed high and he knew no one would hopefully ever find him.

God- he was such an idiot. He should've listened- he should've fucking listened. Now Yakko hated him, his mom hated him, his dad probably hated him, and even Dot hated him. He put the kingdom in jeopardy- god- why was he such an idiot??

Grandma was right about him. He never knew his place- always acting out on idiotic decisions, impulsive like a filthy animal (though even rabid animals had more sense than him).

He should just stay in this garden forever and die, then everyone around him would stop being hurt from his stupid decisions.

Wakko curled into a ball, hugging his knees as he laid in the grass as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until he eventually ran out of energy, and before he knew it, he was totally and utterly asleep.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

#my fics #animaniacs #wakko warner #yakko warner #angst #tw sucidal thoughts #heavy angst #queen angelina ii #dot warner #yakko wakko and dot #Wakko makes bad decisions #just to be clear he is 1000% wrong and not justified #he just has trauma #yax #oh yeah this is about yax lmao #this took forever #but hopefully it isn't terrible lmao #anyway enjoy #bone apple tea

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