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spideyspeaches · 3 years

Text

Roller-coaster ↬ p.p

gif’s not mine

A/N: My take on What if Peter was in Wandavision? But with a twist ;) Beta read by my wifey @stars-aligning 🥰🥰

Warnings: canon typical voilence? mentions of death. Also the timeline doesn’t really make sense, just pretend everyone is of the same age. OH and Wandavision spoilers :)

WC: 9k (longest one shot I’ve ever written 😭)

Pairing: Peter Parker x ex!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

"Ben? What's wrong? Why are you looking at her like that?"

"I- I don't. I don't know. She seems familiar."

"Familiar? Familiar how?"

"Like her and I don't belong here. Like we're from another world."

Working with Tony Stark as his intern, then head of the R&D and now working in the labs as the head of the department felt surreal, a fresh breath of air every time he looked at his desk, with his name written on it. It had been Peter’s dream to meet Tony Stark, maybe work with him too.

And then he got bit by a radioactive spider, giving him super strength, super eyesight and apparently super luck too, because though he liked to think that he was working in SI due to his intelligence, the spider bite did play a role in becoming his mentor’s favourite intern, without which he might have not had a chance to meet him hands on.

Tony kept reminding him that even if Peter had not been bit by the spider, he would have still secured a high position in Stark Industries, with his disarming intelligence that rivaled Tony’s own and charmingly trippy personality.

Peter begged to differ. But then again, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in it’s mouth. Ever since he was a bushy haired, rosy cheeked jittery teenager, he had always worshiped the ground Tony walked on.

Peter remembers the day he got an anonymous letter, which turned out to be SHIELD's handiwork, asking him to join them in their base in New York, even if he insisted that he wasn't interested in being a superspy wannabe. He was skeptical at first, why would the most paranoid of paranoid agents send him a letter in mail? Him, twenty three years old Peter Parker, who lives in a shitty one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with termite issues and smokes weed like the government is going to ban tobacco and is barely able to take care of himself with the overload of work.

Maybe it was just his Parker luck, or the fact that he was a freelance vigilante who looked after New York in a skintight spandex suit, because the safety of the people was apparently second in priority to the government. They'd rather have people die than have an illegal protector.

Yeah so Peter was salty, and what about It?

Slinging his satchel higher, he saw the sleek black car in confusion, trying to get a look at the number plate before the lift binged on arrival, walking into the open door. He swore he was either hallucinating or in midst of an intense flashback of the events that lead to what people dubbed as the 'Civil War', back to when he had been shaken out of his mind watching Tony Stark eat his aunt’s homemade walnut date loaf that had more salt than sugar.

His thoughts were put to a halt when he entered his and his aunt's old apartment in Queen’s after a long week of Spidey on mission and nearly getting (illegally) fired, footsteps coming to a pit stop. It's not like it's everyday you come face to face with Agent Coulson, Nick Fury and your ex not- really- girlfriend, somehow all in one day all together.

"So… um. What are you- What are you guys doing here again?" he asked, folding his hands on his chest defensively, leaning into his aunt's side as he whispered, "how long have they been sitting here?" from the corner of his mouth.

Fury raised a non-existent eyebrow, looking at him with a dagger for eye, making Peter shift nervously. Agent Coulson looked uncomfortable and You, You looked strangely in your element, sitting on the couch with one leg over the other, a neutral expression on your face.

Back when he was still in high school, when he'd first met you, he used to be in awe of how outgoing you were, seemingly adjusting in whichever situation you were thrown in. You had always accommodated to your surroundings, but with a start he realised that he had never seen you so… You in a while.

Not during your visit to the Avengers tower, not during the first time you came into his bedroom, all alone. Not when he had seen you take down a mugger on your way home from your first date without even as much as batting an eye.

"They were here ten minutes or so before you came home. It's creepy, as if they knew you were visiting," May answered with a whisper, wearily eyeballing them before moving towards the kitchen, leaving Peter unattended to Your and Fury's piercing gazes.

"I'm sure they know my monthly schedule before I do," Peter said, turning to look at the aforementioned agents. "So... you like, work for SHIELD, too?" He asked, wringing his hands to abate the tension in them.

"Yes, she does, but that's not what we're here for, Mister Parker," Fury said in his gruff voice, sitting back with a sauve expression. Peter gulped as Agent Coulson looked him in the eye, finally noticing the thin file he held in his hands.

"Well what are you here for?" Peter asked, mustering up some confidence as he tried not to look at You or the eye that Fury had that wasn’t covered by the patch.

"We need you to come to Westview, New Jersey with us," You said, a final no nonsense undertone in your voice. He shuddered when he heard you, remembering how soft and sweet you used to be. But that was before you disappeared out of nowhere, and apparently that nowhere was with SHIELD.

"Me as in Peter Parker or Spider-Man?" he asked, looking behind his shoulder to make sure May wasn't listening. It's not like she didn't know about his… nightly whereabouts, he just wasn't comfortable with making her worry. She already had too much to deal with, with the nephew by day and vigilante by night thing he had going on.

It was also a little concerning that the three in front of him knew that he was visiting her today. He wondered if his apartment was bugged (well, more than the daily roaches and ants) or if SHIELD had been keeping an eye on him after he had denied their offer, instead opting to stay in SI.

It was probably the second one, although the first one was entirely a possibility. He was going to need to talk with Mister Stark about debugging his shitty one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.

"We need Peter Parker and his tech skills for this one," Fury said, before shoving the file in Peter's hands and crossing his own, “and my offer still stands.”

"For the last time, I'm not joining your little murderous boy band," Peter grumbled, scrunching his eyebrows as he looked at your twitching lips, as if holding in laughter. "I'm perfectly content with working with Dr. Connors in his little laboratory in SI."

Fury didn’t look convinced and opened his mouth to probably threaten Peter, when Aunt May came in with a tray of cookies. They smelled amazing, too good to be made by her, she probably brought them from Delmer’s.

“Oh- Were you…? I just thought you guys might want to eat something,” She said awkwardly, looking at Peter with pleading eyes.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, May! I would love to eat some of those, I’m famished,” You butt in, taking the tray from her with a smile.

“Um, May, you can um- you know?” Peter gestured, shifting on his legs, hoping that May would get the message before she stood for a minute too long. He didn’t like the way Nick Fury’s eye was looking at him, his tranquilizer gun suddenly visible from his leather jacket.

“Don’t be rude Pete, here May, I’ll help you get that.” You smiled, winking at him and dragging May by her arm, who was mouthing “she’s such a sweetheart” behind her shoulders.

"What if I told you that his man accidently got evicted due to some legal issues? And that now you're legally unemployed with severe financial issues that need to be looked after because the government suspects something illegal brewing?" Fury continued, looking him dead in the eye.

"Are you seriously blackmailing me? Threatening to unemploy me after all that shit you put me through with Mysterio?" Peter defended, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, watching you strutt back into the room, distracted by the sway of your hips in your mom jeans. He tried to shake the image, rolling his head to crack some tension that had built at the base of his skull.

"Mysterio was a mistake, Parker. This one is not; and we really need you for this one. Besides, remember that you're still a vigilante that hasn't signed the Accords of Sokovia."

Peter stiffened that the mention of the Accords. He thought the government was over it after the second amendment after the arrest of Thaddeus Ross, but apparently not.

"You said that last time and I almost died! My ex-girlfriend almost died, my best friend nearly died, heck half of Europe almost died because you Director Fury, apparently trust some superhero wannabe in a green and purple costume and overlook facts that could potentially harm someone. So the answer is clearly no!" he retorted, flopping the file on the table as he resisted the urge to sit on the floor flat on his back.

The three agents were looking at him with an unreadable expression, making him uncomfortable in his skin.

"Well, it's all up to you then." His voice had a finality to it, one that irked him to no end.

"Do I have a choice?" He sighed after a beat, looking at the three of you with a forlorn expression.

"Get your equipment ready, Mr. Parker. We'll be leaving for the camp tonight. You can read the details in this file." He heard Agent Coulson say (he was pretty sure his name was Phil), trying to make sense of how fast everything was going past the chronic tinnitus in his ears.

"It's Dr. Peter Parker," he muttered fruitlessly, blushing under your raised eyebrow.

***

"So, I didn't know you got a PhD. I knew you were smart, still are, considering that you're a PhD at twenty two," You said, sipping on your virgin mojito, and placing the mug in front of you.

Peter had taken you to a cafe after the confrontation, wanting to know more about your whereabouts and how he had not noticed that you were a superspy all of his high school years. You had retorted with a simple "I'm a spy, that's why,” which he found pretty badass.

"Well, yeah, I did my undergraduate and PhD together." He shrugged casually, looking out of the window to avoid looking at you.

You had always been beautiful, but somehow, you had become even more beautiful than the last time Peter saw you.

"That sounds brutal. Only you can manage that," You joked. You weren't going to admit it, but you had missed being with Peter, joking with him and watching his beautiful side profile as he blushed under your scrutinizing gaze.

"So, um. This thing, what is it about?" Peter asked, snapping you out of your daze.

"Huh? Oh it's a long story. Like really long, if this was a TV show it would take five episodes for me to explain." You gestured, dismissing his scowl. "Okay, so you remember that time when that super high security facility was broken in back in december 2019?"

"Which super high facility? There are a lot of break ins happening in high security facilities in America, and it's more than concerning, considering they're supposed to be super high security." He said, fiddling with his own drink.

"Okay, Yeah that's true. It was a S.W.O.R.D facility, and long story short, Wanda Maximoff kidnapped her corpse husband to reenact the dad-knows-best suburban lifestyle with an entire town held as her hostage." You said, looking over your shoulders to make sure no one was listening.

"Wanda stole Vision's corpse? Wait, is this about Westview? 'The Town that ceased to exist'? Is that what happened? Is this some sort of mind control thing? Cause I know she can make people believe what she wants them to..." Peter whispered, leaning in to show that he was interested. You took a moment to admire his front profile, his broken nose and dimpled chin, rosy lips and sharp cheekbones, accidently zoning out on his theories.

Leaning forward, you brought a hand up his face, pushing a stray curl behind his ears, cutting him short of his rambling.

"W-what?" He stuttered, his breath hitching, making the table shake with a wince.

"You have nice hair." You commented with a smirk, caressing his hair one more time.

"You said that in the senior's party too, and well, there's no sex happening anytime soon." He said, rolling his eyes, sitting back in his hair with his hands folded on his chest.

"I like being optimistic." You rolled your own eyes, heart beating a mile a minute at the reminder of your relationship- ex relationship with Peter, "so what were you saying about Westview? I kind of zoned out."

You watched him roll his eyes again, trying not to let your eyes wander around his biceps and the little bit of his collarbones peeking from his shirt, unbuttoned from the top, also exposing the thin chain that he always seems to be wearing. With a start you realised that it was the one you had gifted him on his eighteenth birthday.

"So this town, Westview, it just disappeared right? Behind a barrier of sorts? Is it like, coming from an energy source? Was it created by Wanda? " he asked, ever his inquisitive self.

"Yeah, apparently she's created an alternate reality, sitcom style, with the people of Westview trapped in it."

"So she's basically starring in a fanfiction alternate reality of sorts but a sitcom format? Wouldn't blame her, poor woman's been through a lot." He nodded, shifting in his seat. He could feel your eyes burning a hole in his skull, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Are you staying in a hotel? Or a shield facility?"

"Nope," You answered, leaning back on your chair. "Am I still allowed to stay in your room? With the doors open?"

He watched you with narrowed eyes, tilting his head with a smirk, replying to you with a nod, "alright."

***

"Did you pack your mittens? The extra warm ones with a built in heater? You know you're susceptible to frost bites-"

"May! I packed my mittens." Peter murmured, ducking his head in embarrassment as he raised an eyebrow at your amused smile.

"Okay, okay, that's great. Socks? Painkillers? Extra pair of glasses?" she asked, fumbling around the room like she did whenever he went on field trips.

"Yes, May!"

"Great. Stay safe, okay?" Her eyes softened, holding his cheeks in his hand like he was a seven year old, living with them with a knowledge of death no seven year old should have. Sighing, he leant into her palm, holding his own hand encompassing her small one. Giving her a smile, he kissed her cheek. “Ti amo, May. I’ll call you once I get there, okay?”

She nodded, pulling him into her embrace, though she knew full well that he’s going to forget to call her, too excited to be in the vicinity of multiple certified geniuses and other figures of authority.

***

"Is there anything I should know about? Like anything unexpected?" Peter asked, looking at the camp in awe as the jeep pulled over makeshift gates, a bunch of soldiers surrounding them.

Peter was used to seeing the hustle and bustle of camps, considering all the missions he had gone through with the Avengers, back when Steve wasn’t retired and the newer generation of avengers hadn’t entered.

“Your blood’s radioactive, right?” You asked, turning to face him with a smile.

“Yeah. Why? Is that relevant?” he replied, raising an eyebrow as he saw someone carrying his bags before he could protest.

“Well, Dr. Lewis found out about this hexagonal anomaly, no one really knows what it is, but the source seems to be emitting huge amounts of radiations,” You said, getting off the jeep, pulling Peter out with you. Walking towards the crowded camp, you came face to face with the tent where everything was set up.

“Doctor Darcy Lewis?” Peter said, looking at the place in awe. It wasn’t extravagant, but the technology surrounding the tent, the vans and what seemed to be a broadcasting antenna were all way beyond the regular one used in tech companies, which is funny, considering he’s been working with Mr. Stark his whole teenage life.

“Yup, that’s her, nerd.”

“So, what exactly is this Hexagon? Is it, like, a barrier of sorts? Can everyone go in?” He asked, looking around with glinting eyes, lips twitching in a smirk as he saw the barrier in question. His super hearing caught the static sound it emitted, wincing at the sharp noises. His boots crunched under the snow as he felt the thing pull him towards it, your voice muffled by the noises of the hex.

It was something he had never seen before, like the static of a TV with a lost signal, glowing red in places as if reaching out to him. His senses seemed dull, the world greying around the way it had before he was bit by the radioactive spider. The spider bite had enhanced his vision in a way that he saw colours not visible to the human eye, a technicolour wonder that even Bruce couldn’t solve.

He felt a tug, looking down at his shoes, wondering if he had just imagined it.

“Mom and dad have been, not fighting, just like different.”

He swore he felt a white light flash in front of him, his spidey sense buzzing at the base of his skull, tingling all the way to his spine as he straightened up to dissipate the feeling, shifting awkwardly.

“Only Captain Rambeau has gone in and come back intact so far. It’s emitting a colossal amount of cosmic microwave background radiation, also known as CMBR, and once you get into it, your mind doesn’t really stay your own, so no one has volunteered other than her. Everyone knows the risk,” You said, startling him, a sharp contrast to the voices that seemed to have suddenly accumulated in his brain.

“If you’re going to break the sound barrier, please just take your brother with you!”

‘Sound barrier?’ he thought, looking back at the hex as it flashed red, the tug strong enough to make him stumble in his place. You looked at him weirdly, asking if he was okay, but he wasn’t listening, turning to ask you what the red flash meant, distortion evident in the barrier.

“Captain Rambeau? The daughter of the director of SWORD?” he asked instead.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Damn.” He sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair, and dragging it down his face.

Walking inside the tent, Peter was hit with a face full of cold air, and the hundreds of monitors nearly gave him a sensory overload. The people running around didn’t help, either. “Where do I keep this?” He asked, pointing to his bag full of equipment that Fury had asked for.

“You can set up over here, newbie,” A new voice said chirpily. Turning around, he came face to face with the Darcy Lewis, eyes widening as he took in her smiley presence, another human who he didn't recognise standing behind her. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Doctor D-”

“Darcy Lewis, I know- I’m a fan!”

“Aw look at you, you have a fanboy at your hand,” Captain Monica Rambeau said, strutting in and keeping a hand on her shoulder, confidence radiating off of her every pore.

"And… You are?" he asked awkwardly, looking pointedly at the FBI agent. He saw Darcy hide a snicker behind her hand, patting his shoulder and shoving him forward.

The man fell forward, steadying himself on the table before he flicked a card seemingly out of nowhere. "Agent Jimmy Woo, FBI,” he said proudly, a smile on his cute little baby face. Peter was left staring in awe, wondering how he had done that.

"Wait, can you do that again? How did you do that?!"

"It's cool, isn't it? I could teach you if you want."

"Yes, of course, but how did you do it? It appeared out of nowhere and if you take in consideration the law of conservation of mass, it can neither be created nor be destroyed and it just seemed to have accumulated-"

"It's a trick of illusion. You see, when I opened my palms, I-"

"Peter, let's set things up shall we?" You interrupted their session, a smirk on yours and the other women's faces, shaking your head.

Ditching the bag on the counter, he nodded, willing his heart to stop beating out of his chest. This was the coolest thing that had ever happened to him next to Tony Stark sitting on his aunt’s old futon. And the magic trick.

“This is the coolest day of my life,” he whispered, shrugging when you chuckled at his excitement. “Ned’s going to freak out.”

“Wait until you see the schematics and control panels.” You smirked, making him raise an eyebrow as he blushed, the flush apparent from his neck to his ear. The others scattered just as he finished setting his station up, fidgeting with the radio, when the voice of Hayward boomed across the cubicle.

“Ah, Mister Parker!” he says, a faux smile on his face as he looks at the station, making Peter shift uncomfortably. The weird tingling of his spidey-sense came up again, his hand automatically reaching there to scratch at the itch.

“Here we go again,” Darcy muttered, patting Peter’s back, her eye roll loud enough for him to glance at her.

“It- It’s doctor,” he muttered, hearing a “he gets me” from Darcy.

“Very well, Doctor Parker it is, then. I’m Hayward, welcome to SWORD.”

“SWORD? I thought this was a SHIELD thing?”

“...Fury didn’t brief you?”

“He did! He was just very vague, hence why I’m asking. What exactly have I been called here for?”

The silence that took over was palpable, with you shifting awkwardly as Hayward eyeballed them all, looking at the five of them morosely before saying, “Brief him Monica,” and leaving.

“God, is every higher official such a dick here?” Peter grumbled, watching him retreat, shaking his head as he threw the ball of paper he hadn’t noticed he had been fidgeting with.

“See? He agrees, I like him.” Darcy nodded, pulling him with her towards the briefing table.

“This all started when the town of Westview disappeared after the second blip,” Monica said, pulling up holographs that showed the image of people reappearing from the snap, his breathing increasing in pace as he remembered vaguely of his own reappearance.

The whole situation was fucked up. After stealing Vision’s corpse, Wanda had basically resurrected him, holding and controlling thousands of people, an entire fucking town. Looking at the list of all the missing people, his eyes zeroed on to one particular face. He racked his memory to remember who exactly it was, mouth hanging open when he realised who exactly she was.

“Is that… is that Agatha Harkness?” Peter said, pointing at the woman who had no name written under her photograph.

“You know her real name?” Darcy asked, looking at him with raised eyebrows as he nodded, wringing his hands around.

“Yeah, Wanda told me about her, she’s the witch from the Salem trials!”

“How is she significant to the plot, though?”

“She... she mentored Wanda, before she went to the dark side."

In the time he knew Wanda, she had been the sweetest person ever. She was like an older sister he didn’t know he needed, empathising with him on a cosmic level. They had come close before the events of Thanos happened. She was his person, and they shared a lot of secrets, this one being one of them.

“That’s one connection to her. What about the others? She keeps telling Vision that she doesn’t know what’s happening, but when the drone strike happened, she looked straight at the camera, like she knew,” Monica intervened.

“He tried to deploy a drone strike? In front of her children, after knowing very well that she saw her parents die in the Sokovian attack when she was ten? Is he fucking insane?!” Peter seethed, nearly crashing his fist on the table hard enough for cracks to appear on it.

“Peter, hey, calm down! You breaking things is not going to make the situation any better, okay? He already tried to chuck us out of this, you don’t go around breaking things now!” You said, holding him still as his body shook. You had never seen him this angry, and frankly, you would never want to see it again.

Peter was a sweet person, respecting people’s boundaries and always so understanding. He was the embodiment of good, even after living a fucked up life, he never projected his trauma on the other. He wore his emotions on his sleeves, and your heart clenched every single time, seeing him in pain.

"Listen, that's my sister in there, and she has no idea what she's doing. She needs our help and I'll do anything to help that woman and if you guys even think of hurting her I will make sure each of you regret it," Peter hissed, staring daggers at the silent team members of the room.

“Is there any way to reach there?” he asked, more softly than before. Darcy exchanged a look with Agent Woo and Monica, opening her mouth before knowing better and shutting it. “What?! Is there a way to communicate with her?”

“Follow us,” the brown woman said, breathing deeply as she looked at the other two silently.

"Where are we going?" Peter asked, fidgeting with your fingers. He hadn't noticed himself holding your hands, your lips twitching when you realised he had done that unconsciously.

“Trust me, I don’t know half the things these ladies do,” Woo whispered, and Peter nodded along seriously.

“Whoa, I feel like there’s a secret underground base here! Is there a secret underground base?”

“Well, it’s not underground, and not really a secret anymore,” Captain Rambeau said, unravelling a curtain, revealing a small space with a million monitors and a wooden desk littered with laptops and too many empty coffee cups.

“This is so cool,” You whispered, watching in awe as Dracy lit up the screens, revealing various codes and stuff you didn’t really understand. Peter was already invested, babbling about codes and addresses and hidden files within hidden files, things that flew over your head at the speed of Darcy’s fingers on the keypad.

Leaning on the table with one hand, Your eye caught a flat round metal looking thing on the ground, picking it up and tracing it with your fingers. “Is this… a bullet?!”

“Yeah, it was hit on that suit, which turns out to be 87% kevlar. That happened when Captain shot at it,” Jimmy answered, giving you a smile as you dropped your jaw.

“She went in wearing a bulletproof vest right? Wanda just… manifested a dress made of kevlar?” You wondered, your words interrupted by Peter’s yelp.

“So, remember how Director Douchebag ordered a drone strike on Wanda?” she said, contemplating her words next as everyone turned towards her. “Turns out he’s been planning something else.”

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked, pointing at the screen, which displayed two boxes full of what seemed like cells.

“That’s Monica’s blood work, he’s been tracking it the whole time. The first time you travelled to the hex? It changed your cellular structure on a molecular level, twice.” She said.

A sombre expression took over the older woman’s face, pursing her lips. “He thinks I’m gaining powers.” Monica nodded.

“I may not be a genetic engineer, but from what I’m seeing here, he’s most likely right,” Peter interrupted, a silence taking over everyone. “He’s keeping track of the enhanced, if I’m not wrong.”

Shaking his head, he clenched his eyes when he heard another voice. You watched him weirdly, reaching to ask him if he was okay, before retracting your hand.

“Chill out sis, it’s not like you can kill your dead husband twice.”

“You’re right. He’s been tracking everyone who’s enhanced, including Vision.” Dracy said, typing something on the screen to show you the map of Westview, pulsing red and blue dots appearing in your sight.

“Do you know what his endgame is?”

“Yeah. Rebooting Vision.”

Peter inhaled sharply, trying not to let his face show the anger inside him as he looked at Monica with wide eyes, both of them looking at each other dangerously, both of them realising same thing.

“Then, I’m going in. Someone needs to tell her,” he said, looking at the others for affirmation.

You took a step back, gulping in anticipation of his words. Reaching out with a hand, you stared at him, hoping he wouldn't lash out. "Peter, you have to know, the hex is a dangerous place. You won't even remember who you are so there’s no point in you going in. You won’t be able to convince her to magically leave her hostages, she’ll just see you as an outsider and throw you out-"

"Captain Rambeau went in and she was able to get out!" he argued.

"Peter, I was tossed out because she saw me as a threat. She might not do that to you but going in that thing is dangerous, especially with your mutations-"

"I don't give a fuck about my mutation! You of all people should know how it feels like to lose family, Monica," Peter said, looking at her. The fire in his eyes spoke volumes. No one dared to intervene.

"Peter, your mutation could potentially kill you. You know the risks of going past the barrier due to your enhancements. The radiations are altering DNA to a molecular level, your cells-”

"-are already metastasizing! My spider DNA is going to get me killed some day because my body won’t be able to handle it anymore, so I don't care, I'm going and that's final." He nodded, puffing his chest to show that he wasn't going to step down.

"Fine, I'll come with you then," You said, looking at him as you said that. A lump formed in your throat as you realised that he was so willing to sacrifice himself, and blood pumped in your veins as determination set in along with a rush of adrenaline.

"Do as you please." He shrugged, pursing his lips, but his eyes were a different story. You felt sick, insides tearing themselves up as you took a good look at him and his pallor, the artificial lights illuminating the scar tissues on his face. Ones that you knew were inflicted by his years of being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

***

“Maximoff is never gonna negotiate with us,” Hayward said, circling the table as Monica looked at him with disbelief in her expression. “We’ll need all the guns we have here to stop her.”

“We can’t outgun her, but what we can do is try and talk her out of this. Antagonising her is only making things worse. If Wanda is the problem, she has to be our solution!” Monica argued, looking forward.

“She’s already killed thousands during the Sokovian attack. How do you guarantee that she won’t kill another person she finds threatening?!”

“She was guilty about it. It wasn’t her fault, do not bring that into this.”

“Yeah? Well, the guilt isn’t going to bring back the dead children is it?”

"The dead children aren't coming back, but those people trapped in Westview? They can, if you fucking let us!"

"Fine. But someone will be monitoring you."

Negotiations with your boss and commanding team of SWORD concerning the ship was a tough feat. you had finally convinced them to let you and Peter go across the border, but Darcy and Monica were to be on the radio in case everything went amiss.

Sitting in the (illegally acquired) van, you watched Jimmy, who was trying to teach Peter the card trick, invested in the trick yourself. Leaning forward to get a better view, you tried not to let the rush of blood in your cheeks get to you at the close proximity with Peter, heart pounding with every step you took closer to the hex.

“I did it! I finally did it, Y/N, look!” Peter said, showing you the trick, smiling at his childlike enthusiasm.

“That’s great! You should show it to Morgan, she’ll like it.”

“How do you know about Morgan?”

“I know everything.”

You may have been bluffing, but he seemed to have caught on your cue, the awkward tension reappearing as he shifted in his seat, twisting and turning and going back to the magic trick. You tried not to smile, but your mouth never did coordinate with your brain.

“We’re here,” the driver said, parking the van.

“Okay let’s go through this again: Captain Rambeau and Dr. Lewis will be on the radio while you try and get in, stay near a radio as much as you can so we can try and communicate, and do not try to meddle with Wanda,” Jimmy said, going over your checklist.

You were skeptical of the plan, thinking about how successful your mission was going to be, considering how powerful she had become in her own little sitcom. You had heard of her expanding the borders just after you had started driving near it.

“You ready?” Peter asked, taking your hand as you nodded, and wrapped your fingers around his knuckles, before taking a deep breath.

“I’m ready.” You nodded, looking over your shoulders to see the FBI agent giving you a thumbs up, muttering something into the comms. Looking back at Peter, you felt dizzy with the buzzing anxiety, the pull of the barrier strong.

Stepping close to it, you felt electricity buzz in your veins, shuddering at the chilling sensation and sudden exposure to stimuli, your gut twisting the more your hand went in the hexagonal anomaly. You swore you felt your physical being tear apart, your life flashing in front of you in a white hot light, your brain was practically mush with how much force you needed just to get in.

"I thought we would be able to get in easily!" Peter shouts, his screams echoing in your eardrums, mixed with your own screams.

"She's becoming more powerful the longer she stays inside, and so is the hex," You replied, gasping for a breath as you tried to move forward.

With a final scream, you closed your eyes at the static sound bombarded your ears, you couldn't fathom how loud it must be for Peter, sending a look towards him. His eyes were scrunched, hands curled around his head and ears to stop the sound. Before you could comment on his state, your own vision doubled, bright green and magenta lights appearing out of nowhere, the coiling of your gut intensifying, and before you knew it, the strong force pulled you inside, throwing you off on the hard concrete of the road, and everything went dark.

***

“I’m okay. I’m okay. Everything is alright,” Wanda said, repeating the phrase like a mantra as she sat on the couch.

She repeated the phrase like clockwork, just like being a mom to two half synthezoid pre-teens and the gatekeeper of Westview. Snapping out of her daze, she felt something in her brain stir, realising with a start that something had been messing with the barrier-- or, rather, someone.

Closing her eyes, she willed her powers, similar to the ones Tommy had, to look past the barrier, opening her eyes with a flash when she saw a familiar face.

“Peter,” she muttered, the brown eyed boy who she had come to think of as a brother materialising in front of her, dropping on the carpet with a thud as his unconscious form fell on top of Yours. Wanda remembered you from all the stories Peter had told her about.

Crouching down, she reached out to touch you both. Her eyes glowing red as she held a finger to your and his forehead, scrunching her eyelids as she navigated both of your heads.

A lonely young girl was seen sitting on a rock, the wind blowing wisps of her dark hair along with her dress. Suddenly, the noise of clucking of horseshoes could be heard, a woman coming into view as she got off her horse.

“Feeling lonely and afraid at the middle of the night when you’re a young and beautiful teenage girl?” the woman in the cowgirl shoes said, holding her hip as the girl nodded. “Well, don’t worry, every young girl must have a sword at her disposal!”

“A sword?” the young girl asked, tilting her head as she took the object in her hand.

“Yes, a s.w.o.r.d, my dear. Fear not, for the sword will protect you from all the hexes around you.”

The girl smiled, looking at the camera with the cowgirl’s hands on her shoulder. “A sword to protect the young!”

Buy now at your nearest convenience store, terms and conditions apply.

“What are you two doing here and not at school?” Wanda chortled, startling the two who were now very much conscious. The boy moved, fisting his eyes, and he curled his hands to stretch the kinks that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, the varsity jacket scrunching underneath his fists.

“Babe?” the boy groaned, messing up his hair, looking at the general direction of the girl.

Putting on a smile, Wanda folded her arms, biting her lips at how adorable the two of you were.

“Ben? Is that you?” the girl asked, looking at her disheveled frock with a confused expression, finally noticed the woman standing in front of her. “Oh my god, babe, I swear we were at the bleachers not long ago. Did you manifest teleportation powers now?”

“Miss Maximoff! You’re Billy and Tommy’s mom! Babe, we’re in Billy and Tommy’s house!” The guy, Ben said, his voice rising up an octave as he looked at his surroundings.

He couldn't remember much about the Maximoffs, except that his neighbours talk about the weird mom and dad almost everyday in the gossip sessions. Whatever, he wasn't interested in them.

"She turned them into teenagers."

"Well there goes our plan. Do we still have back up ready?"

“That’s right, kids. Now, what were you two naughty children doing out of school?” Wanda asked, helping the two kids get up as the boy blushed, stuttering an apology.

“We- we weren’t ditching, I swear, Miss Maximoff! We were just-”

"-Doing homework! Because… because Ben's a nerd and he doesn't like that he gets behind because of the baseball team!" the girl said, stuttering as Ben nodded along with her.

“Yeah! We weren't making out or anything! Even if we're totally dating."

Their relationship wasn't exactly your normal relationship. It was more of a… mutually beneficial relationship.

Well, so far they had the entire town fooled, having them all think that a guy such as Benjamin Fitzpatrick would ever date a girl like her, who liked her books more than her siblings.

"Hmm, well, thankfully, I'm a cool mom and I will not tell your parents about this… thing. Whatever it was. Anyone want cheesecake?" Wanda smiled, clapping her hands once as she looked at the two teenagers.

Ben's stomach growled at the thought of food. "You don't have to do it, Miss Maximoff, but I would love some," he said, sheepishly looking at the ground, and wincing at another growl.

Wanda chuckled, patting the boys back kindly. "Oh honey, it's alright. Come on, don't be shy, the both of you!" she said, looking over her shoulder and saying, "and it's just Wanda! Miss Maximoff makes me feel old, you know."

They followed her to the kitchen, taking in the interior of the house. Ben's eyes caught something from the corner, it was almost as if it was… flickering? Shaking his head, he dug his fingers in his eyes, wondering if he was still feeling the effects of the time he had hit his head during the baseball practice.

"You okay?" the girl asked, keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Yeah, probably the aftereffects of a concussion." He nodded, burrowing his brows in confusion.

"Hmm, should probably get that thick little noggin of yours checked by the nurse." She snickered, hitting his shoulders playfully. Her heart was beating fast, he noted, wondering how he could hear it so clearly. The thought that he would have to leave her after she gets a date for prom made him sad.

They may be faking their relationship, but he had caught on very fast and realised that he wanted it to be real. As real as the town of Westview.

Wait, what?

"You know we don't have to pretend anymore, right?" Ben said, looking at the girl as she came to a halt. Miss Maximoff was nowhere in sight, the house eerily silent with her heartbeat echoing in his ears.

"This is the best ship SWORD could ever make."

The awkward silence was interrupted by the opening of the front door, a loud jingle as Agnes came strutting in, a big smile on her face. It made Ben's neck sting weirdly, slapping his hand at the base to nullify the feeling.

"Hello, children! What are you doing, skipping school like the little troublemakers you are?" She grinned, pinching each of their cheeks as her voice took a baby-like tone to it. Ben took a step back, grimacing as she continued pinching his cheeks.

"Um, we weren't- we have no idea actually-"

"Agnes! Oh, what great timing! Were you here for Billy and Tommy?" Wanda came in, a plate full of cheesecake and crackers in her hand.

"Oh, Wanda, Wanda, Wanda! Your little troublemakers are already in my house, or did you forget?" She chuckled, the sound of her laughter taking a higher pitch.

Wanda furrowed her brows, opening her mouth to say something, before closing it, a grin taking over. "Right. Yeah, of course! They really love it there with you, huh?"

"That's right, everybody loves Auntie Agnes!"

Ben looked at his girlfriend again, feeling strangely out of place between the two women.

"Um, Miss Ma- Wanda? C-Can we go now? I feel like-"

"Oh, Ben, don't be ridiculous! Why don't you sit down and take a breather? You look pale, hon." Wanda smiled, setting down the plate and ushering the two kids on the table, both of whom looked at the table with hunger in their eyes. Well, it had been long since lunch break.

"Thank you for the cheesecake Mi- uh, Wanda, we appreciate it," the girl said, promptly digging in after the affirmation.

***

Vision knew something was wrong the moment Agnes showed signs of knowing what was going on. The first time it happened, he was sure his paranoid wife would do something, but she had continued to act as if nothing was wrong with Agnes' behaviour.

Walking down the road in his ridiculous costume, he nearly sighed in resignation, before he realised that he wasn't capable of such human actions.

One more thing that perplexed him to no end was his strangely human behaviour. It was as if someone was forcing him to act more human, some weird force that was so unlike Wanda's warm presence, something more foreign and way out of his realm (like the gum incident. He sure did remember Wanda chastising him for doing this atrocity, surely she couldn't have been the one controlling him? Right?).

His mechanical heart ached for his wife. She had gone through a lot, from what he had read from her thoughts; losing a brother (twice, if the absence of Pietro was anything but a confirmation), and then him (it didn't bother him much. He was a synthezoid, there was entirely a possibility that he could be revived).

He just really missed her, he realised. Their relationship had been strained ever since the boys were born. He didn't blame the drift on his boys, of course. He loved them to no end, would sacrifice himself for them, but he couldn't help but notice the change it brought in Wanda.

The arrival of Pietro 2.0 didn't help either.

His thoughts were interrupted as his feet halted their movements, and with a snap he realised that he had somehow made it to Ellis avenue, the border's static buzzing through his entire being.

"You look lost, buddy," a strange man said.

Looking at the man, Vision tilted his head, looking through the database of Westview to see that the man seemed to be nowhere in the records. How had he made it here?

"I- I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked, leaning against the car door to peer inside, the man sitting rigid. It was only then did he realise that the man's eyes seemed… glazed, almost like he wasn't aware. Looking back at the barrier, Vision gaped at the view in front of him.

The man's car was half inside and half outside the barrier, the slow moving particles seemed to be disintegrating the vehicle, watching in awe as sparks flew the closer the barrier came to the man.

"Listen, you have to get out of here before that thing destroys you." Vision tried shaking the man, but to no avail. His attempts were in vain as the man simply grunted. "Listen! Can you hear me? What's happening? Why is the barrier moving?"

He tried opening the door, but it was shut firmly. Groaning, he punched the door, nearly falling to catch the falling man, who was mumbling some incoherent mumbo jumbo.

"Wanda, what are you up to...?" Vision muttered to himself, realising with a start that the barrier was expanding and the man had come from outside the barrier.

Looking at the muttering man, he quickly moved them both away from the barrier, propping him up against the grass.

"I'm sorry," Vision said, his hands gliding yellow as he touched the man's forehead, his own circuits being bombarded with incoherent noises.

"Oh god! I'm sorry, please save me! Please, this hurts, this- you- you're the Vision!" the man screamed.

"Yes, I'm the Vision! Now, can you stay still? I'm trying to help you!"

"-Please! She's in my head!"

His hands lit up again, the yellow light smothering the man's forehead as he went still again, as Vision retracted his hands regretfully. Opting to leave the man there, he stood up again, startling once again that day when he heard a shrill cry, the body of… Geraldine? Appearing out of the barrier. Shaking his head, he was convinced that he was hallucinating, if that was even possible for a droid, and turned around to walk back home.

(Agatha gave a satisfied chuckle, purple sparks erupting from her fingers as she turned back to Wanda, pretending that that didn't just happen.)

***

"Do you think our school is a little… solitary?" Ben asked, inhaling a puff of smoke from the blunt in his hands. His girlfriend and him were sitting on the rooftop of Westview high, their feet swinging against the edge as she clutched at Pe- Ben for dear life.

Peter? Who was that?

"Did you see that?? Peter was right, that was Agatha Harkness and she's been the one manipulating the people, it never was Wanda! It was meant to be a plot twist, but I totally predicted it."

"Um…"

"What? I'm invested."

Peter?

Y/n? Can you hear me? Please say yes if you can hear me.

She noticed the static sound of the radio speaking to someone. The static noise increased, and Ben didn't seem to have noticed the small portable radio malfunctioning. Shrugging it off, she went back to passing the blunt from her boyfriend.

Boyfriend. The word ignited a flame in her chest. Ben, who she faked her dates with once upon a time, now was her actual, real boyfriend, who she was ditching homework to smoke a blunt with, uncaring of her nearing curfew. Her parents would have her head if she found out.

"Do you hear that?" She asked, exhaling the stale air from her lungs. She knew it was more of the deep breathing than the weed, but it made her feel serene.

"I've been hearing a lot of things lately." He croaked, clearing his throat, sniffing the air as he leaned back, his Adam's apple bobbing with every gulp. His glasses were sliding off his face. She reached to push them back up, smiling at the flush of his face.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, slipping her fingers through his, rubbing a hand on his back. His life had been difficult, she knew about him being an orphan, but she didn't know he was having a hard time with life at the very moment, her heart aching for the poor boy.

"I don't know, I keep hearing these voices in my head. Children screaming, people crying, and this… this buzz at my neck, I can't ignore it anymore! I feel like I'm going insane and I can't keep them quiet! I've tried, but it's like they're trying to communicate with me."

Her eyes softened, hands running through his thick, straight hair as he leaned his head on her shoulder. Suddenly, the height at which they were sitting on didn't matter, she had him in her arms.

"He broke the fourth wall. He's been hearing things, just like Billy."

Wiping away his tears, she kissed his forehead, rubbing her hands gently on his back.

"It's gonna be okay. You're okay, they'll go away soon." She reassured, folding her legs to get up, and pulling him up with her. "It's getting late, and mom will have my head if I'm later than curfew."

"You've broken curfew before." He chuckled, stepping closer to Her, his hands on her hips.

Moving forward, she enclosed her hands around his shoulders, intertwining her fingers at the nape of his neck. Standing on her highest tip toes, she crashed her lips into his, their bodies swaying with the cold wind.

"Awww, they're so cute! Exes to lovers, I like it."

"I agree. Didn't see the fake dating coming though."

"Right?! Wanda should start a production company."

"If Agnes lets these people go."

***

Meanwhile, Monica had managed to find an abandoned shack in the backyard of Wanda's neighbour's house, her body buzzing with a familiar tension.

Opening the shack, she saw the trails of purple, vein like thing running their tracks until they reached somewhere she couldn't see. She didn't notice another person creeping up on her, too busy looking at the trails.

"Snoopers gonna snoop," the voice said, making her jump out of her skin, and keeping a hand on her heaving chest to stop her from hyperventilating.

"Pietro?!" She startled, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. The neighbourhood was eerily silent, leaning against the wall, before deciding against it and squared her shoulders, looking at the man in front of her.

"Yeah, that's me. But who are you? And what are you doing in Margie's backyard?" he asked defensively. She would have found the expression comical if it wasn't for her racing heart and adrenaline filled brain.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, folding her arms to show a defensive stance.

"I'm here because… I live here?" he muttered, borrowing his brows as his eyes glazed over again, "Yeah, wait, no... I live with my sister! Who lives two houses from here! What am I doing here?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"God, this is so weird. First Wanda was being weird, now I am."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

***

Billy was afraid. He knew that he should be stronger and braver, if not for himself, then for Tommy. His momma always told him that the only thing to fear was fear itself, and he didn't know what that meant, but he knew that he had to be braver to get back to his mom and dad.

"Billy, I'm scared," Tommy whimpered. "I'm hearing voices again."

"It's gonna be okay, Mom and Dad will be here soon," he reassured, just as scared as his brother. They were only twelve minutes apart, but he still felt a responsibility for him.

Mom said that they both reminded of her own brother- Uncle Pietro.

Hearing the door open, he felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"She's here! Billy, she's here!"

"I know! I know! Shh!"

Her footsteps came closer, the cackling of her laughter making his heart pound. His brother buried himself in his shoulders, both of them huddled next to each other, as if the inevitable could be avoided.

"How are my best boys doing?" Agnes' shrill voice rang, making Billy breathe faster.

"We want Mommy," Tommy whimpered, sounding as small as Billy felt.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey, that's not happening anytime soon." She tsked, sounding as apologetic as the villains in the action movies his mom forbade him from watching.

"Why's that?" Billy asked, squaring his shoulders as much as he could.

"You didn't hear? Mommy's dead."

And his world crashed, his brain crowding with darkness.

A/N: Lemme know what you think! 😁😁

#wandavision #wandavision au #wandavision spoilers #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x stark!reader #peter x reader #dark!peter parker #wanda x vision #jimmy woo #darcy lewis #monica rambeau #spideygirl writes #queue tea

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dilucids · 3 years

Text

��ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLove in cameras ━━ Genshin idol! au

newbie! idol!reader collaborating on a photoshoot together with idol! genshin characters

includes beidou, rosaria, childe, zhongli, diluc and xiao

( back on that idol au grind. also, the sheer amount of 'male reader' shit on this app that involves incest makes me genuinely tear up and take a shot everytime i say 'shot', you'd be drunk enough to hook up with zhongli dragon form. )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 BEIDOU ━━ UNCROWNED QUEEN OF THE OCEAN 〕

━━ one of the most nerve-wrecking things ever because she's simply so intimidating and good at what she does.

━━ you're literally shaking in your seat as she takes her solo shots, watching her lean on one leg, placing the other by her side, stretching her arms all the whilst making eye contact with the camera.

━━ she just looks so professional and you're afraid you won't be able to live up to her and ruin the entire shoot since even though you're both idols, she's been in more magazines as a senior group compared to you.

━━ when you switch for your solo shots, she seems to sense how nervous you were ( although you weren't really hiding it much with your shaky knees and annoying tapping your foot. )

━━ she places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a smile and a thumbs up, telling you you'll be okay.

━━ you realise she wasn't as menacing and stoic as she was in magazines and slightly relax.

━━ helps you relax by offering support behind the camera!!!

You lean sideways a little, allowing the thin material to fall off your shoulder a little as you glance back at the camera, lips slightly apart. Your stoic facade is broken almost immediately when you hear Beidou hollering and clapping in the background. You begin to laugh in suprised shock as the staff around the set follow her example, the shuttering of cameras now longer heard as it is replaced with clapping and whooping.

You grow a little embarrassed, glancing over at Beidou for help but she seems proud, stood there with hands on her hips and a satisfied grin. You realise she isn't going to help you out so you attempt to calm the set down with thanks and bows until you're continuing with the shoot.

━━ beidou has a very large presence, so it's very hard to have magnetism next to her but you somehow make it work.

━━ compared to your solo shots, your duo shots have a pirate/knight theme.

━━ with beidou in a pirate getup and you in a knight getup, it was obvious to see that this was some type of old ancient rivalry between the two groups and you two were meant to potray that anger and tension.

━━ due to you being new to this type of scene, she'll take the lead, making sure that her pose allowed you to fit in perfectly, whether it be far away, close, a sword to her throat, you splayed on the floor and her leaning in with her sword next to your head. ( thank god that shot was meant to focus on beidou cause with her that close to you, you couldn't keep a straight face. )

━━ of course even with such a theme, fan service is everything! so some of the poses are a little more touchy touchy and if she can tell you're nervous, will immediately lighten the mood and assure you you're doing well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 ROSARIA ━━ THORNING BENEVOLENCE 〕

━━ like beidou, will naturally exude professionalism and skill.

━━ unlike beidou though, she'll probably ignore your nervousness or bluntly tell you to toughen up if you want to make it, it sounds harsh but you know it's her own way of advice giving.

━━ her poses are less showy than beidou, more elegant and graceful as she rests her hands on her waist or cross her legs over each other over the arm of the chair and look back at the camera.

━━ will watch you, probably assessing your style, as you take your solo shots and if she notices your embarrassment ( she definitely does ), well she doesn't stop.

━━ will somehow converse with the photographer about poses she thinks will bring out your potential and it works, she has an eye for these things apparently and a lot of photographers like her style of modelling.

As you step back, allowing the staff to move props around, you glance back at the director of the shoot and Rosaria stood before the screen, showing off the photos. They seem to be deep in conversation, the only giveaway about the tense conversation however was the director's furrowed eyebrows and lips pressed into a tight line, Rosaria had no expression on her face.

The director seems to give up after Rosaria says something, pointing at the screen with her arms crossed, walking away with a shake of his head albeit the smile of being challenged. You immediately look away when she peers up at you, catching your eyes for a split second; you knew she had been shamelessly staring at you but it was quite embarrassing to be caught yourself.

"Here we go," snaps you out of your embarrassment and you're back to sitting on a black throne lined with gold, posing for the shoot.

━━ it's awkward before the camera is on you two as you stand on the set but once the camera is on? you two flow so perfectly together.

━━ rosaria would allow you to take the reins, allowing you to do what you felt was natural and would simply follow. ( another one of her ways of easing newbies into the modelling scene. )

━━ if your pose is a little awkward though, she'd quietly tell you to move certain ways and try not to overpower you ( but if you were overpowered, that'd be your own fault and you should try harder. that's her motto. )

━━ it actually surprises you how good she looked with a spear in hand and how well it suited her.

━━ it was kinda nerve-wracking to be working with rosaria but you absolutely loved it and would kill to work with her and have her guidance again ( deffo should ask for her number for future guidance!! )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 CHILDE ━━ 11TH FATUI HARBINGER 〕

━━ looks professional on camera but is surprisingly childlike off camera.

━━ why is his little brother on the set wearing a pj mask costume again? right, he had to pick him up from school earlier than usual cause teucer said he was sick and wanted childe to come so he got use his older brother's reputation to get closer to that female teacher he liked. as for the pj mask costume, he wanted to fit in with the shoot theme so the poor stylists had to pull out some slightly too large, dusty halloween costume they found somewhere for him. great.

━━ other than that, childe is great at what he does, amazing at facial expressions like *whistles*, terrifyingly good at making the expressions asked of him. ( can cry on command actually (( learnt to entertain his younger siblings. )) ).

━━ you're intimidated by him at first but when you guys are taking a small break between his shoot and yours, you get to see him play around with his teucer and oh my god.

━━ he's literally carrying teucer above his head, teucer posed as superman with one arm sticking out and the other on his hip as he carefully runs throughout the set.

━━ when it's actually your turn, he will secretly hype you up with teucer.

"Pretty," Teucer mutters under his breath as prop flower petals are being thrown up as you pose under them. Childe smiles a little as he ruffles his younger brother's hair, "isn't my partner the prettiest?"

You're oblivious to these comments, focusing on the camera that was following your every move but your eyes glance over to the two brothers ever so often, finding their closeness rather endearing.

"They're prettier and nicer than your last partner," Teucer huffs, thinking of the previous collaboration he had attended with another celebrity, although she was a little too flirty with Childe for Teucer's liking. "Momma said you have to find a good person, big bro" Teucer reminds aa Childe smiles amused. "Are they a good person?" Childe thrusts his thumb over in your direction.

Teucer hums, thinking carefully with his chin in hand before nodding, beaming at Childe. "I'm sure they'll fit in nicely with everyone!" Your future had just been planned and you had no say in it at all.

━━ as for duo shots, it's another enemies theme but it's more of an assassination theme with childe holding a bow, perched on a higher stage than you.

━━ took ten minutes for childe to figure out how to look good with a bow in hand, with an eye scrunched up like he was actually aiming at you. ( of course he wouldn't have succeeded if not for teucer shouting advice at him off set with his hands on his hips. )

━━ he swears he almost feels the adrenaline of the scene as if his life was actually on the line when you shoot him a glare like directed.

━━ you two get on pretty well off set as well! you joke around as props are being moved around or make up is being fixed for either of you.

━━ you feel bad when you actually stab him with the fake sword, but he plays through with it, acting like he was dying.

━━ play fighting with teucer as an evil overlord ( still wearing his pj mask costume ) mind controlling childe's lover ( you ) into thinking he was the enemy ( teucer came up with the plot ).

━━ slipped his number into your pocket as you two were posing.

━━ teucer also got to keep his pj mask costume!!

━━ posts a picture of you messing around with teucer on his instagram.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 ZHONGLI ━━ VAGO MUNDO 〕

━━ probably the most professional out of them all.

━━ his poses are quite simplistic as he models the suit, hand in his pocket, fixing a cuff link, checking the time, simply casting his gaze to the side but he still holds a very large presence on set.

━━ would calmly converse with you as if you two had been friends for a long time, with a small smile on his face.

━━ if he can tell you're nervous, he'll tell you small anecdotes about anything and everything. when it's your turn, he give your shoulder a small squeeze and nod at you.

━━ talks to the director about poses as well, has a keen eye about what prop should be used and the positioning of them; you're suprised he isn't the director of the shoot.

━━ when you thank him for his help on the sidelines, he'll shake his head and tell you it was due to your talent and that he was only creating opportunities for them to naturally shine.

━━ was literally made for the camera, just the way he poses, the way he holds himself; god, it would've been a crime if this man had never been placed front page of a magazine.

You're entraced by the way he moves━━ subtle ways, like placing one foot ahead of the other, a hand in his pocket, looking down at the watch on his wrist. He's amazing. You could watch him for ages; he was like a sculpture made by the Gods, their most prized possession. What else could explain his sharp jawline, the bangs framing his face, his long hair pulled back into a low ponytail?

"You're staring," a staff member nudges you with a small smile, you snap out of it right away, slightly embarrassed at being caught. She laughs however, waving you off, "it's okay, we were all like that at first." You nod awkwardly, her words not helping at easing the embarrassment filling you.

You're talking with a staff member when he comes striding towards you, appearing behind you and scaring off the makeup artist with a mere smile and gracing you with a hand on your shoulder. "You're up next, good luck."

━━ mentally prepare yourself to be within a five metre radius of this man for the next hour or so.

━━ whether you're weak to pretty faces or not, i assure you, this man will honestly be the death of you if your guard is down even the littlest bit.

━━ the theme of this shoot? ceo/secretary and it does make sense━━ no it would make sense, if you were the secretary, not the ceo. but apparently fans like this type of power dynamic ( assuming you're shorter than him ) and so for the future of your careers you persevere.

━━ zhongli stood clad in a suit, next to you with his hands behind his back and you sat down at a desk, eyebrows furrowed like you're examining paper work or zhongli pouring you a cup of tea. you're pretty sure this is some odd dream at this point.

━━ you only persevere until zhongli has to pose as if he was fixing your tie.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 DILUC RAGNVINDR ━━ DARKNIGHT HERO 〕

━━ intimidating. intimidating. intimidating.

━━ did you wrong god in some type of way in your past life because being watched so openly as you pose for the camera for such a man, naturally exerting power, with eyebrows furrowed was one of the most terrifying things ever.

━━ his poses are similar to zhongli's but he puts a little more back into it, dignified aura as he crosses his leg, or one hand holding his hair up into a high pony as the other is near his mouth, using his teeth to pull the bobble off his wrist.

━━ also more open to differing hairstyles! unlike zhongli who only keeps his hair in a low ponytail, diluc can comprise with a low pony, high pony or even a messy bun.

━━ good balance of praise and constructive criticism; will tell you if you're doing good but will also tell you if you could improve in certain areas or even help with poses.

━━ diluc has amazing chemistry with everyone, he fits naturally into other people's style of modelling and can alter himself or his partner to fit if necessary, he also has a large presence on camera and sometimes accidentally overtakes when he gets too into the shoot.

"Calm down," you step back in reflex when you hear Diluc's voice just behind you, "your nervousness is plastered all over your face." You make a sound of acknowledgement and bow your head, "just take a few breaths and imagine you're at home in your mirror bathroom." It scared you that he knew infront of your mirror bathroom, you were the most confident but thanks to his help, you were able to ease yourself into modelling.

"You did well," he smiles at you when you come off the set, patting you on the shoulder. You smile back, "thanks to your advice," you redirect the compliment back at him. The short interaction ends when you two have to change into your couple costume.

━━ unintended sexual tension 👫

━━ was supposed to be casual poses, really easy ones with you two sat on steps with a respective cigarette in hand as friends but somehow,,,,, you two looked like y'all had fucked a second before hopping onto the set.

━━ so, the director took the inherent sexual tension and put it into use; changing just seeming like you were smoke buddies into poses where you two leaning into the same flame to light up your cigarettes. ( close ups of you two staring into each other's eyes over the flame! )

━━ kept lesser tension packed photos though and the one above^^ just as a small treat for the fans.

━━ he definitely posted a picture of you ( tagged ) behind the scenes on his instagram with no caption though.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 XIAO ━━ CONQUEROR OF DEMONS 〕

━━ more reserved, if he has a problem with the way you do things, doesn't say anything and just makes a certain expression with his face.

━━ his poses vary, he's able to adapt to each and every theme that's given to him and usually plays it safe with poses. he's usually modelling for makeup brands so he's very good with close ups, or hand and face poses; also is very used to working with many people but often never attempts to befriend.

━━ if you initiate conversation, he'll use dry replies or even attempt to leg it out of the conversation, only because he's a little shy or doesn't really understand social rules after a while, he'll given into your conversations and try to reply normally.

━━ i feel like he has mints with him no matter where he goes so expect a "do you want a mint?" halfway into your conversation.

━━ definitely is trusted with the music that plays in the background as you guys work. xiao is literally globally known for having one of the best music tastes and often makes songs hit the 'top 100' even if it's been out for years.

━━ it takes him a little while to get used to a new partner so give him a few test shots to get your vibe checked and he'll adapt!

You try hard to ignore the song in the background, but it's stuck in your head. Watching Xiao placing his fingers gingerly on his face as he peers to the side, the camera zooming into his face, you tap your foot along to the beat━━ you've never heard this song before but it really suited your tastes.

"Excuse me," you call out to a staff member who was walking past, he stops and nods at you, pulling down his headphones, "do you know what song this is?" He shakes his head however, leaving you with disappointment but not before he tells you that this was Xiao's Spotify playlist. You nod and thank you, immediately finding Xiao on Spotify to see all his different playlists for different moods.

You never understood why fans chose to listen to their idol's playlist because some of their music tastes was just trash but Xiao had genuinely good taste and it kinda suprised you.

━━ close proximity poses since you two are modelling for a makeup brand; some shots are just headshots with you two practically sat ontop of each other.

━━ some poses are torso shots, where you're both holding the product. there was a pose where you got to act as if you were applying eyeliner onto xiao's eyes and there was definitely a period of time when xiao couldn't stop blushing.

━━ he absentmindedly hums the song in the background as you two wait on set for the director to finish their conversation with the photographer.

━━ posts a picture of himself that you took whilst he was asleep and tagged you before the photoshoot was released so fans started speculating the weirdest shit and he never bothered to clear it up, just waited until the photos were released and hoped someone in his fandom was smart enough to connect dots.

#genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin beidou #genshin diluc #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #genshin rosaria #genshin xiao

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

cold coffee in the morning {poe dameron}

summary: aka the one where you and poe can't seem to work out your commitment issues, and also the one where c3po is the unsung hero (based loosely on the song by ed sheeran)

warnings: language, brief innuendos

enjoy! idk why i'm writing this at 3am but we mooooove

- jazz xx

Poe Dameron had never needed another person before - then he met you, and the idea of ever existing as an independent being for the rest of his living years had suddenly seemed like the most unappealing thing since Luke Skywalker's blue-milk cheesecake. The way you'd whirlwhinded into his life with your gorgeous smile and contagious laugh had knocked the usually-suave pilot completely and utterly onto the floor. Bruised ass aside, he wasn't mad about it. He was happy to have you in his life in whatever way you'd let him.

And what way that was exactly, he didn't know.

You were friends; close, close friends. Bonded for life through your shared goofy humour and seemingly-endless banter. Then you did things that friends didn't normally do - at least not in Poe's experience - and you would act like it was nothing. As if your nights spent together and the whispers you lost between the sheets meant as much to you as the things you did for your other friends, like stopping Finn from tripping on his shoe laces or picking up R2-D2 when he toppled over. It was as though every-time you crossed that line, you immediately regretted it; then, a few days later, you'd decide that you missed Poe, and you'd repeat the same mistake again and again, like you were trapped in a time loop of love and pain.

The feeling would stay with Poe for days; your hands tangled in his hair, his skin against yours, laughter rippling through clashing teeth and soft lips. The way you fell beside each other, sharing highs and secrets and inside jokes; the way you would reference one of your late night talks in shared conversations with friends, and his brown eyes would flick to the ground, cheeks burning red at the fact you'd remembered. It made his heart-rate pick up and palms sweaty.

And sometimes, just sometimes, it would make up for the way you'd leave in the morning; the way he'd arise to find a you-size hole in his bed and heart, and a cup of half-finished caff on the side. With his brain tinged with the remains of a hangover from the previous night, he'd pour the cold beverage down the sink and go about his day.

Poe did manage to catch you one morning; he'd purposely set his alarm so that he would stir earlier than you and rest assured, you were still dead to the world when he came around. The sun outside was still rising, the sky a dull pink-and-blue, the day fresh with hope and brimming with potential for heartbreak. It felt unnatural to see you quiet and peaceful, and not running your mouth and poking fun at anyone who would listen. There was a reason that C3PO avoided you like the plague - it wasn't his fault he was an easy target.

"You watching me sleep, creep?" You murmured.

"Just enjoying the view." Poe replied. He rolled over, crossing his arms behind his head. "You're usually gone by the time I'm awake."

You peeled one eye open, your one-eyed glare enough to send a shiver down his spine. "Don't be passive aggressive, Poe. Just say it."

"Isn't it a little early to be so feisty?"

"Isn't it a little early to make back-handed comments?" You shot back.

"Sorry. I was trying to find a way to bring up such a touchy subject."

You reached across to squeeze his check. "And you did a great job, curly."

"Alright, that's enough of that." He swatted your hand away. "I did want to talk to you about it, though."

"What is there to talk about?" You sat up, brow furrowing.

"You're confusing." Poe began. "During the day, we're friends. At night, you can't keep your hands off of me."

"It's kind of sexy and mysterious." You tried to joke.

"Sexy and mysterious is tiring."

"Sexy and mysterious is also late for work." You quipped.

You rolled out of bed, reaching for your strewn clothes. Without thinking, you pulled one of Poe's shirts over your head, grabbing your boots and socks. So many of his clothes had just snuck their way into your wardrobe - all of your friends had noticed it, but none of them commented on it. Everybody knew that there was something going on between you, but they were wise enough than to point it out. There had been one new guy who tried to ask, but he'd quickly been shut down.

"I'll see you tonight?" You asked, tugging on Poe's your jacket.

His brown eyes lingered on the floor for a moment, before flicking towards you, holding your gaze in a chokehold. "I don't think we should do this again."

You wavered for a moment, a wave of guilt clouding your judgement for a moment. This had never been about feelings - at least not for you. It had just a bit of fun; a bit of fooling around with a hot pilot. You hadn't meant to get in so deep, or get to a point where you were dismissing his feelings in favour of your own. It was more of a survival instinct than anything - breaking his heart to save your own.

That was it: lack of trust, presence of fear. All things that stopped you taking the full plunge, simply for the worry of letting him hurt you - or worst, you hurting him. Maybe it was a little late to start worrying about the latter. That ship had sailed a long time ago. Maybe it had sunk too.

"Poe-" you began, before pausing. "I have a lot going on in my life. I just don't have room for anything real right now."

"I thought the same." He was still staring right at you. "So I made room."

"It's not that simple." You reminded him. "It's not like...decluttering a room. I can't just Marie Kondo that shit and declare my love for you."

Poe froze at the mention of the L-word. It had been an elephant in the room for a long, long time - but it was outdone by the presence of bigger elephants. Like the ongoing war, and the fact that mortality had never seemed so fucking relevant. It was something you wanted to put a pin in for later, but later wasn't something that was guaranteed these days.

"Fine." He shrugged. "Good talk."

The guilt weighed on your brain for days, like a lead hat made of bullshit and regret.

You hadn't realised how much of a hole Poe Dameron left in your life until he was gone -- it was massive, like someone had broken into your home and ripped out two of the walls during a harsh winter storm. Everything felt a little colder and more confusing, and the amount of times you'd had to resist temptation to find him and beg for forgiveness was astounding.

The only reason you hadn't done so was because you knew what you would have to do. Give into your feelings, and let yourself become fully and entirely his. Let him into your life and into your heart. All the bullshit you'd spewed about not having room had been just that: bullshit. You didn't need to make room for him in your heart when he, entirely and wholly, was your heart. And he'd taken a little bit of it with him when he walked away - well, when you'd walked away.

Is this how it felt to be the villain?

"Is everything okay, master?" The sound of your favourite droid brought you back to the present. "You're being uncharacteristically quiet. On average, you've usually said 356 words by 9AM."

"You keep count?" You glanced up from your paperwork, eyebrow quirked. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Eight of ten times that you've said that, you haven't been fine-"

"- just give it a rest, Threepio." You cut him off. "Please?"

"If there's anything I can help with, let me know." He replied. "A droid's logic can be surprisingly helpful."

"I'm fine but thank-" you stopped in your tracks, pondering for a moment.

Logic. That was certainly something you lacked - the part of your brain that was supposed to be rational was too busy thinking about hot pilots.

"Master?"

"Sorry." You blinked. "Maybe I'll have your input on something."

"Please, go on."

"I love someone and he loves me." You said. "It's just very complicated."

"If a problem can be reduced down to seven words, I would not class that as a problem." Threepio said. "I would say a problem is at least thirty words or more."

You thinned your eyes at him. "What are you saying, goldilocks?"

"Perhaps, your problem is only a problem because you think it is." He replied. "When you lay things out and look at them logically, it can make more sense."

"Logic isn't my strong-point. You know that better than anyone."

"You love Master Dameron and he loves you-"

"- I never mentioned names."

"My apologies." Threepio said. "I was simply reading the room."

"Right."

"Remove your emotions, and those are the facts." He continued.

It was bad enough when Poe was right, but it was even worse when C3PO was. But, for all his theatrics and whining, he was right. Decisions made with logic rather than emotion always had a better outcome. It was plain and simple: you and Poe loved one another. Everything else - your fear and his dismissiveness and your collective confusion - only existed because you let it. But your feelings for each other? That was something you couldn't help.

"Right - thanks." You murmured. "I'll be right back."

You quickly stood up, tossing aside your datapad and immediately exiting the room. The base was small, and Poe was never that far away, even when the room was on the furthest side of the base. It was also your favourite place in the entire camp; it was covered in photos of you and him and your friends, and it was always warm. The mixture of sentimental clutter and little knick-knacks, paired with the gentle smell of his aftershave clinging to the sheets and clothes scattered around, made it feel like an actual home.

You didn't bother knocking - that formality had gone out the window long ago. Instead, you took a deep breath and gently opened the door. There was no certainty that he would even be in - you could only hope. The chances of him being anywhere else were pretty slim.

They'd worked in your favour today, because Poe was stood by his coffee machine, a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wild and curly and there were still drops of water on his back.

He turned around when he saw you, brow furrowing. Mostly because he had never seen you so breathless and sweaty, but also because he hadn't expected you to ever talk to him again. He'd always known you to stick by your decisions - he normally admired your stubbornness, but as of recent, it had been fucking exhausting.

"Hi-"

"- I love you." You suddenly blurted. "Hi."

"I-" Poe paused, putting down his coffee. "What?"

"I love you. More than anything in the world, ever." You shrugged. "That terrifies me, but I can deal with fear."

"You can. You're pretty bad-ass." He casually nodded.

"Right." You smiled. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say that."

"Hey, it's okay." He gently smiled. "Come here."

You met half way across the room, bodies colliding in a tight hug. His warm, post-shower skin felt like heaven against yours, large hands dragging up and down your back. He consumed everyone one of your senses at once, but mostly, he consumed your ability to think. Your brain was so over-loaded with feelings that the rest of it completely broke down and malfunctioned - kind of like the time you spilt coffee on BB-8.

"I love you too, by the way." Poe gently murmured. You let out a small chuckle.

"I know." You smiled.

"What made you say it now?"

"Threepio said something about logic." You muttered. "The only logical thing for two people who love each other to do is be together, right?"

"I mean, I can think of other things-"

"- Poe!" You whacked his shoulder.

It was though you had untangled your feelings, and the only thing left was a line that went straight from him to you.

"You're right." Poe said. "Thank you for realising it."

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you for being patient."

"It's worth it." He couldn't help but grin. "Do you want some caff? It's still warm."

tags: @anetteaneta @poestardust @marvelinsanity

#i want a POE now please #idk why i even wrote this #hoe well #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron blurb #poe dameron x reader #poe imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars fluff #star wars x you #star wars angst #star wars imagines

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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

Note

massaging them , bandaging injury in healer draco / auror Harry one shot please thank you ❤️

This one is new!! Btw sorry for delaying it. Here ya go, hope you like it. @flakeyakey

Single healers

" come on, get him in here" although it was deafening. He was probably losing his senses, his eyes opening and closing, blurring his vision. He couldn't really see the speaker but unconsciously sensed the urgency in their voice.

" and you're sure he wasn't bitten ?" The same voice asked again. Harry tried very hard to open his eyes and see who it was, but exhaustion was pulling him under and he was ready to sleep. Long sleep.

His breath was cutting short, his vision blackening, he was relaxed finally until someone started to lightly pat his cheeks.

" keep breathing, potter... Don't you dare give up right now " and that was the last thing he heard, only getting a slight peek of someone oddly familiar and with a nod, harry closed his eyes.

It was really exhausting to be where harry was right now but all he did really felt was the uncomfortable pillow, hurting his neck. In attempts to fix his pillow, he tried to move his arm until he realised they weren't exactly in a spectacular shape and he grimaced with pain.

" welcome back sweetie" he heard a sweet voice. Okay, there isn't any woman at Harry's home, so he opened his eyes.

" ouch " harry immediately shielded his eyes because of the intense light

" shut that light Karen, it's hurting his visuals" Someone said as they must've shut the door behind him.

Once the light was turned off, harry relaxed and opened his eyes again.

" wow, this is definitely not home " harry groaned

" well not if your home is a hospital potter" the guy in the white coat said. Harry couldn't see whoever it was, mostly because his back was turned to harry but also because he was very much leaned over onto the table that you couldn't see anything but his white coat, his black pants and nice black shoes, shining, and if harry wasn't wrong they were vintage, oh!!

" so how do you feel ?" The guy finally turned around

" I knew it, only you say my name that way " harry fisted his palm in a small victory.

"yeah, yeah very great achievement potter, now how do you feel ?" He asked

" well, for one, I can't feel my ass because of this bed, second, my arm is really sore, third my pillow isn't put right so it definitely is craning my neck too much that it hurts. And lastly my question how did I wound up here ?" Harry goes

" Karen please do the honours of adjusting thy majesty's pillow or he'd cry over it" the other man said as he poured some liquid carefull in a vial.

" now, to answer your question, I am not even slightly interested in how you wound up here, all I know is that you are here and I have to take care of you. Next, the beds are a bit uncomfortable, you'll get used to it in a bit and if not, I'll cast a cushioning spell and lastly, can you tell me exactly where your arm feels most sore ? And do the honours of actually telling me how you feel ?" He said as he walked towards harry, analysing the morning reports he received.

" still keeping the I am a prat attitude Malfoy, suits you " harry rolled his eyes, pointing above his elbow on the dorsal side.

" well the sodding insolent prat attitude suits you too potter " draco rolled his eyes as he lightly dabbed Harry's arm recieving a flinch.

" there's no such external injury here so I think that's a bruise. Think massage would do it " draco frowned to himself

" I feel a little dizzy by the way. Also there's a portion on my neck that is itching quite badly, can I scratch ?" Harry asked innocently.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows before helping harry sit upright and taking a look at the point of his itch.

" those are deep scratches. So no you can't scratch Over. Karen I thought all wounds were cleaned up "

" I did. It must've been because it's on his back I might've missed it. I'm sorry " she hurriedly Apologized

" that wouldn't really qualify you as a healer would It, now, next time don't make the same mistakes. Ms. Adelman across the room needs you by the way " draco said as he dipped some cotton in antiseptic potion and cleansed Harry's wound.

" it's burns ? " Draco asked

" a little " harry grimaced.

" I think you got that from the werewolf " draco whispered as he carefully studied for any bites.

" when will I be free ?" Harry asked impatiently.

" well at this pace not for another two weeks" draco replied as he pushed down his reading glasses and kept the files over the side table.

" no way. I'm not staying for 2 weeks. That's 14 days off work, I can't do that. I'm in the Middle of an important case and-"

" okay save it potter. You have to stay for 2 weeks and it ends there. Your friend Weasley will come by and explain you everything but under my watch, even if you're free you're not allowed to work"

" and who gives you the right?" Harry rolled his eyes frustratingly

" me. As your healer, it is my responsibility to make sure that you only resume when you're wounds are all healed up " draco huffed, annoyed by Harry's childish behaviour to just break free.

" and you think I'd listen to you ?" Harry narrowed his eyes in a glare at Draco.

Draco clenched his jaw before closing his eyes and continuing speaking " you are not going anywhere and that is it, you get me! And if you do try to get away, I will tie you up with shackles without a wand. Now if you're a chain eater or something like that then you'd be successful to break free otherwise not "

" whatever " harry rolled his eyes, again. If draco had one pet peeve, it was people rolling their eyes necessarily on his face and potter seemed to have a death wish.

" look " draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed " you don't understand the severity of your injuries. I understand your passion for work and all but not at the risk of health. If you must know you were attacked by a werewolf, the problem however is that we're not sure if you were bitten or not.. it might've been someone who bit you before full moon, basically not a werewolf then but there is a possibility that you're not bitten, the more likely one -"

" but if there's a bite, you should be able to see right ?"

" yes and no. The evolution of werewolves is allowing them to leave very little traces of bites these days which of course does not benefit them nor potentially harm the one bitten. The real reason why we can't figure whether you're bitten or not is because your back Is covered in scratches and if you can't feel them it's because of the numbing potion. And we're done talking. Drink this up quietly"

Harry looked at Draco strangely for a moment before taking the vial from his hand and bottomed up " can I work from here ?"

" no " and draco walked out.

And then it became a thing, harry constantly asking if he could work and draco constantly denying and threatening him that this time he'd definitely put him in shackles. And by the by, interactions between them did get pretty interesting every once in a while when Draco used to check him up late at night before leaving from work.

And one of these days harry shoot his shot "you pretty much always leave late, come early and stay here all day, so I should by now just assume that you're single "

" not that it's any of your business potter " draco absent-mindedly replied as he changed the bandages on Harry's back.

" ha- you didn't deny it. So you are single " harry exclaimed

" sit still "

" sorry "

" why do you care if I date or not ? My personal life Potter " draco said as he changed the bandages on the bottom right of Harry's back, amused for a moment of what he saw something going under his pants. It seemed like a mark, he didn't question it.

"I don't. Just curious " harry shrugged.

" well dearest curious George, I must assume that you're single too since nobody special visited you " draco said as he got up and lightly massaged Harry's sore arm from before. Harry relaxed in his touch before he continued the conversation

" I don't do Dating. Even if I do date someone, it's never about us or the dating in itself, it's just mostly to get into witch weekly or daily prophet under the chosen one's new beau sort of thing "

Draco almost pitied harry for never having found something but decided not to, since he obviously didn't need the pity.

"that sucks " draco hummed " does it hurt still ?" He pressed a little more firmly over the spot

" not much anymore " harry replied " what's your not dating excuse ?"

Draco etched a small smile especially for harry before he told him the truth " it's a bitter world for me out there. I think it's the same as you, you know just the opposite end. It's almost as if i- I'm still a death Eater and people still hate me for that "

Harry pressed his lips in a thin line, never having thought of it. He always thought it must've been easy for Draco to find Someone, with being attractive and working somewhere you're basically helping people all day but it came as a mild shock as it was opposite.

" whoever ends up with would be one lucky person though " harry complimented just in time draco stopped massaging and picked up the vials to give to harry.

" really ? What makes you say that ?" Draco smiled

" because I know you'd do anything to keep that person in your life no matter the cost. And I've seen the good in you, you're not all bad " and with that harry gulped the vial, missing out draco's blushing.

" I think whoever ends up with you would be a lucky one too then " draco said as he finished up aligning the empty vial bottles on a tray to take them away.

" and why's that ?" Harry smiled

" because- it's just you. You're different and you're nice.. think you'd always keep them happy and safe if it were your life on stake. That's just you " draco complimented smiling at harry.

Not as capable as draco, harry turned pink from the compliment " that's nice of you "

Draco should not have been mesmerized but unfortunately he was and it should've been a mistake, but he liked it. And he knew harry enjoyed gazing at him too but the moment Only lasted so long and draco broke free before he could've lost control.

" I should go. Goodnight. Take care " and he left the room.

The next morning draco returned to his room, the first thing he saw was an empty bed until he harry walked in, shirtless.

" y- you can walk " draco said

" yeah. I can " harry smiled.

Gaining his composure back, Draco resumed " and you cleaned up nice, with all the Shaving "

" I figured I'll be leaving in 3 days so better get used to it again " harry replied

Draco stared at harry dumb folded " oh, right, yeah, 3 days "

" so " draco pouted " does it hurt anywhere? Need of change in bandages ? Or anything else?"

" no, I think I'm fine " harry placed his hand over his hips, frowning.

" well, alright then. I'll be going. I'll be checking in on you at the end of the day like a normal healer. Goodbye potter " and he practically ran before his heart might've fell out of his chest, metaphorically ofcourse.

The rest of the day draco got so busy that when the night came, he couldn't visit harry again even if he desperately wanted to but he was so exhausted that he could Barely walk and so by the recommendation of the work counsellor, he got sent off.

The first he did next day was visit harry, who to his surprise was sleeping. So like a normal healer, he checked his bottled of vial, his normal medicines and the bruises and left. When the night came, harry was swamped with his friends that draco couldn't had stayed for more than professional purpose. The next day again when he visited harry, he was tiredly sleeping. Defeated, draco worked all day until again at the end of the night he visited harry to see him sitting with all the files.

" working?" Draco asked as he place his files over the side table and started checking Harry's injuries, which were now almost healed.

" yeah. Filling in for what I missed while being here " harry sighed.

Draco scrunched his eyebrows looking at Harry he retrieved his hands and asked him " do you really enjoy your work though? Like putting your life on line and working immensely over something so exhausting ?"

" do you enjoy your work ?" Harry huffed

" I do. I very much do. It's tiring sometimes yes but I like what I do. It makes me feel nice About myself. Is it the same for you ?"

Harry huffed pushing away the files before Pouring our reality " to tell you the truth, I don't enjoy work. It was all fun in the beginning, the chase and run but now it just seems as if that's all I've been doing my whole life. Running after the bad guys but then that's exactly what everyone expects of me and I can't let them down. So I do exactly what I've been doing, the right thing "

Draco amusingly watched him, as if it was fun story, only it wasn't " my mom always used to say, much before anyone else's you're your own. There's no point in living your life the way people expects. I think they must've have had enough of that already. There's nothing new in the potter magazine you know, the chosen one after the bad guy. Life's too short for the same title harry "

" hey, you called me harry " harry pointed out grinning

" don't I deserve to at least call you by your name after taking care of your lame ass for 2 weeks " draco chuckled.

Harry chuckled " you deserve it, draco "

And draco smiled.

The next morning when harry was finally ready to depart with no ill effects or presence of lycanthropy, he waited until he see'd off draco..

" and I thought I'd almost miss your departure " draco heaved, breathing in harshly..

" nah, I wouldn't had let that happen " harry chuckled..

When Draco finally had his air back he leaned upright looking at harry " it was nice having you here "

" it was nice being here " harry smiled

" so, I guess, I'll see you around then ?" Draco asked awkwardly.

" right, yeah, of course " harry rambled.

" cool then " draco pressed his lips in a thin line, pushing his hands in his coat pocket.

" alright then. Bye " harry hesitated

" oh. Yeah..bye. see you again probably " draco replied

" yeah, might. Bye then "

" bye " and then finally harry stepped back one by one until he reached the door handle and turned around to walk out.

" fuck it " harry whispered under his breath and walked back to draco

" something wrong ?" Draco asked

" you. I don't care how stupid I might sound, but I like you, like I really really like you and I haven't felt his way for someone in a long time and I don't want to blow this away. So draco malfoy would you maybe want to go out with me someday even if I'm a complete insolent prat-"

" okay, yeah "draco grinned

" and I've got attitude problem and you possibly don't feel the same- wait- you said yes?" Harry rambled

" yep. I said yes " draco chuckled.

" oh. Then I'll definitely see you. Outside leaky cauldron, at 7 "

" you definitely will " draco smiled

" okay then" harry grinned as he started walking back again.

" okay "

" okay " harry bit his lip.

" I like you too by the way " draco chuckled

" I really have to go.. but it's good to know " harry chuckled..

" okay " and then harry finally left, after dancing in victory of course.

Requests open

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isamijoo · 3 years

Text

Can You See Me

Written for @amortentiaboys (again! lol). Betaed by @fw00shy! Also many thanks to @orange-peony & @vukovich.

Features Unspeakable!Draco in a Soulmate AU.

WC: ~2.6k.

Rating: Teen and Up

A/N: The fic takes place in another realm where they are 'souls' while their physical bodies remain in the 'real world'. Some lines are inspired by Doctor Who.

READ ON AO3

~~~

If Auror Harry Potter had to describe his relationship with Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, seven years after the war, he would use the phrase "in limbo": neither here nor there. Frustratingly stuck somewhere between nothing and everything. Friends? Yes, but not really. Boyfriends? Maybe, but not quite. Perplexing? Absolutely.

Hermione, an Unspeakable herself, had a theory that the problem lied in their inability to communicate effectively. Harry was notoriously bad with words while Draco became quiet and subdued after the trials and induction into the Department of Mysteries.

Except when Draco was drunk.

The first time Harry and Draco kissed, they had just solved their first case together. Harry dragged Draco to a pub, and after several rounds of drinks in a booth, the alcohol loosened Draco's tongue and reduced his inhibitions. Before they knew it, they were making out right in the booth, unhidden, out in the open for anyone to see.

One week later, Harry chanced upon Draco at the Auror Office when the blond came to submit a report. Harry caught his eye and shortly afterwards, found himself slammed against the wall in a broom cupboard by a charming Unspeakable, who was crafty with a Silencing Charm.

They fell into a pattern. They kissed, bit, and groped each other. Although inappropriate, Harry loved these private moments with Draco. He often glimpsed Draco smiling dreamily between their kisses, grey eyes gazing at him with an adoration that never failed to make Harry's heart beat faster.

They never brought each other home. They never went on dates. They never addressed what they did, but not due to any lack of effort from Harry. Whenever he tried to talk about it, Draco would stare at him in trepidation and despair, as though Harry was going to curse him or strike him with a sword. Then he would use whatever Unspeakable skills he had to escape and disappear.

Did Harry find Draco infuriating as hell? Yes, very much so.

Did he also love the git to death? Utterly and completely.

So when Hermione barged into the Auror Office and hurried to his desk as though chased by lightning, screaming "Malfoy is in trouble!", what would you expect Harry to do?

~~~

Harry landed on two feet in a shallow puddle of mud.

He quickly surveyed his surroundings. He was standing in a clearing in the middle of a vast field of yellow wheat. Earthy brown mountains lined the horizon, and a strong breeze chilled him down to his bones, despite his thick Auror uniform and robes. As he looked down to inspect his boots, he realised that his glasses had vanished, but his vision was perfectly clear.

Harry brought his hands to his face, just to make sure. A finger graced his forehead and — his breath hitched — touched the smooth skin over the spot where his lightning bolt scar should have been.

The scars at the back of his left hand were gone too.

He hastily patted his chest, stomach, arms, and thighs. Aside from his eyesight and scars, his physique was unchanged. He still wore the same uniform he had on at St Mungo’s before he blacked out.

As he got his bearing, he felt the air chill and the wind blow stronger. He heard footsteps approaching and immediately grabbed his wand by his hip.

About five metres from where Harry stood, a tall wall of wheat parted and out walked Draco Malfoy, decked in his elegant navy blue Unspeakable uniform. His skin was pale and there were dark circles below his eyes, but he appeared unharmed. His usually immaculate blonde hair was slightly tousled, thanks to the breeze.

“Potter?” Draco yelled, a hand shielding his squinted eyes from the harsh wind. His dark robes billowed out around his knees “What are you doing here?”

With a grunt, Harry tucked away his wand and trudged across the muddy soil until he reached more solid ground, taking note that Draco was also moving in his direction. “Saving your arse, obviously. What the fuck were you thinking? Sending your soul to another dimension?” Harry shrieked. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“A place where souls transit between life and death,” Draco replied, not having to shout now that they were within arm's length. “Some people call this place Bardo.”

Anger burned in the pit of Harry’s stomach, yearning to burst. Didn’t Draco have any idea how worried he made Harry?

But his desire to scold vanished when Draco asked, “Why did the Department of Mysteries send you, an Auror? Why not another Unspeakable?”

Harry breathed heavily. The wind was picking up and he figured they should get moving, but he couldn’t move, not when Draco was gazing at him curiously. “They couldn’t locate your soul. They needed me to find you.”

Pale eyebrows rose quizzically. “Why you?”

Harry gazed into his cool grey eyes. “You know why,” he muttered. “Apparently I’m your soulmate.”

Draco’s jaw went slack; no words came out as he stared unblinkingly at Harry’s face.

“Were you planning on telling me at some point?” Harry asked softly.

“Do you have a way to get us back?” Draco enquired instead.

Harry reached inside his shirt and pulled out a silver medallion that fit nicely in his palm. At the centre of the medallion rested a small piece of jade stone, which now glowed red. Hermione had told him to wait until the stone turned green before attempting any more dimension-hopping.

With a small squeak of excitement and relief, Draco grabbed the medallion with both hands. It was still connected to a chain around Harry’s neck, so Draco stood close to the Auror as he ran his fingers over the jade stone.

“A Dimension Transporter, perfected by Granger herself. This is powered by your magic,” Draco said almost reverently. “I can feel it.”

Unable to help himself, Harry took the other wizard’s hand and held it to his chest. “I'm glad you're alright. Don't scare me like this.”

“I’m not here by choice, Potter,” Draco clarified, rolling his eyes as he slowly pulled his hand out of Harry’s grasp. “I suppose now that you’re involved, I can explain how I got here, while we wait for the Transporter to recharge.”

Suddenly a strong gust of wind blasted around them. Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him towards the direction he came from. Harry followed Draco into the wheat field, but as soon as he stepped between the tall stalks, his surroundings changed. Gone were the yellow scenery, replaced by a vast landscape of a snowy mountain valley.

Draco appeared unperturbed by the sudden change in climate. The wind was still strong here, though, so Harry obediently followed Draco as the latter trekked up a small hill.

At the top of the hill was a small hut, in which they took shelter from the harsh elements. Inside, Draco had arranged several flat stones to masquerade as a stool and a table. On the table sat an emerald green sphere the size of a Remembrall. A small key-shaped trinket suspended inside the misty orb. Numerous narrow cracks ran around the surface of the sphere.

Harry had seen the sphere before, minus the cracks. He was the one who found the sphere a few months ago during a raid. The sphere was unimportant to the case at hand, but Harry had a suspicious feeling about it, and after blasting it with every curse-detection spell he knew, he wanted to destroy it. But Robards stopped him and sent it to the Mysterious Artifacts Division, more colloquially known as MAD.

The idea of the sphere falling into Draco’s hands and potentially harming him made Harry angry again.

“Why do you have that?” Harry’s voice trembled with barely disguised fury as he kept his eyes on the orb.

With a sigh, Draco went to a corner of the hut and kicked a large rock the size of Quaffle to Harry’s feet. “Do you have a wand?”

Nodding, Harry transfigured the rock into a proper stool, complete with a cushion. He then did the same to Draco’s stone-stool. Draco muttered his gratitude as they both settled down around the table, the sphere glowing ominously.

“The people at MAD sent this to my department last month,” Draco explained. “My senior colleagues knew right away that this sphere was previously used by Dark Wizards in the seventh century to extract a person’s soul from their body, basically leaving behind an empty shell.”

Any talk about souls — extracting, separating, severing — always reminded Harry of Horcruxes. Even when Hermione was explaining to him the plan to save Draco by sending Harry’s soul after him, Harry had been uneasy. Their real bodies — both his and Draco’s — were lying in a ward in St Mungo’s, lifeless and dependent on magic to keep them alive. “Sounds like something you should stay away from.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over Harry’s face for a second before he dropped his gaze. “It’s my job to figure out how it works. I managed to dismantle it. See these cracks?” He pointed at the lines over the sphere, careful not to touch it. “I was able to decode the spell inside it, layer by layer, until I reached the key inside. When I touched it with my magic, I blacked out and woke up here.”

“And that thing followed you here?” Harry raised an unbelieving eyebrow, but it explained why nobody mentioned finding any cursed objects around Draco’s unconscious body.

“I suppose,” Draco replied, uncertain. “Maybe it’s pissed at me for taking it apart, and wants to make sure no one in the physical world can use it to rescue me.”

Harry leaped to his feet and pointed his wand at the sphere. “Reducto! Evanesco!”

The sphere exploded into a hundred pieces before vanishing into thin air.

“There," Harry said contently, dropping back onto the stool. "I should have done that as soon as I found it.”

“Good job, Potter,” Draco said sarcastically, grimacing. “Please remember next time you destroy my projects, that I’m the one who has to write the paperwork.”

“It could have killed you!” Harry protested.

Draco shrugged flippantly and rested his elbows on the now-empty table, purposely avoiding looking at Harry.

A few minutes passed where no one spoke. The wind outside grew more violent, transforming into a full-on blizzard.

Harry glanced at the red glow of the medallion around his neck and pulled his stool closer to the other man. "Draco, we need to talk."

Draco's nimble fingers tapped the surface of the stone absentmindedly. "If you say so. It's not like I can go anywhere."

Now being given the chance to address their relationship, Harry didn't know where to start. So he started with the most recent development. "Did you know we're soulmates?"

"Yes. I'm a member of the Soul Squad. We study anything related to the human soul. The Soulmate Detection spell is a simple spell, created by the Unspeakables themselves.” Draco paused before adding. “Of course, I've tried it on myself."

"When did you find out?" was the next question, loaded.

Draco studied Harry's face silently for a few seconds before answering, "After our kiss at the pub." He tucked strands of blond hair behind his ears and cleared his throat. "I was just curious. There is no benefit in knowing your soulmate, after all. It's old magic; interesting to study, but practically, it isn't useful."

"Now, hang on." Harry's own throat constricted. "Not useful? Your colleagues spent 48 hours going round in circles, no idea how to find you, until one of them suggested the soulmate route. They taught me a spell to make me aware of the soulmate connection, and then I could locate you easily." He gestured at the medallion around his neck, pointedly ignoring the green glow of the jade. "I only needed one jump."

Draco gazed forlornly at the device resting against Harry's chest. "Well, it's not typical to find oneself in a limbo world and needing to be rescued, is it?”

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would that change, Potter?" Draco snapped as his hands started gesturing wildly. "I know how your childhood and teenage years were influenced by a madman's response to a prophecy that was out of your control. Isn't this similar? An ancient, poorly understood magical force dictates who is compatible with your magic and soul. It's not even comprehensive! It doesn't take into account your emotions, your minds, or your physical compatibility. Why do you think the Department of Mysteries never shared this knowledge with the public? It's useless and even harmful in some instances. It gives false hope and robs people of their agency. Not all soulmates end up getting along. They can even be enemies."

Harry tasted bitterness in his mouth. "We're not enemies."

Draco rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. "Then what are we?"

"That's exactly what we should talk about."

Draco's lips twisted in displeasure as he glared at the table, arms firmly crossed over his chest. "I know what you want, but it's not going to work. You'll get sick of me very quickly. You hate when people keep secrets from you. My whole career is a secret."

"Sure, you can't talk about your job. But you're more than that."

"If I'm not an Unspeakable, what am I?" Draco demanded, the unspoken implication hung in the air.

"Draco, you're not defined by your job. You're brilliant and intelligent. I like you for you." There, Harry had said it. He could not backtrack now. “Hermione and Ron can make it work. They even have a baby together.”

"Weasley and Granger survived a war together."

"Didn't we survive a war too?" Harry quipped, earning a frustrated growl from the other wizard. "Draco, please look at me."

After an excruciating wait, Draco turned on his stool until his body faced Harry, though his arms remained crossed. He lifted his chin and locked eyes with Harry, flinching when the Auror tenderly touched his jaw but neither broke eye contact.

"You can't see me, can you?" Harry murmured bleakly. "No, you refuse to. You always work hard for people to acknowledge your work and that's fine but I'm also right here. I'm right in front of you and I'm in love with you. But you don't want to see that. You don't see me. Have you any idea what that's like?"

Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I see you, but... Potter, if I do this with you but we don't work out," he whispered, "I won't be able to handle it. I'm not… strong enough."

Harry felt an invisible weight lift off his shoulders while another, newer and more hopeful, sensation settled in his stomach. "Then let's make sure we make this work," he said resolutely. "It takes effort from both of us. We have to try."

Draco closed his eyes, another protest ready on the tip of his tongue, but he pressed his lips shut together, visibly holding himself back. He was already making an effort.

When he opened his eyes again, he reached out and cupped Harry's cheeks. Draco turned Harry's head from side to side, studying the latter's face. "You're pretty handsome without those ugly glasses."

Harry chuckled. Draco smiled before they both leaned forward and their mouths met in a chaste kiss.

"Thank you," Draco said after they separated, "for coming for me."

After a few more kisses, Harry decided he had held Draco hostage long enough. Harry lengthened the chain around his neck so that it could loop around Draco's neck as well as his own. With Draco's help, he rotated the jade stone a few times before pressing it firmly.

~~~

If Harry had to describe his relationship with Draco Malfoy, five years after they exited the realm of limbo, he would fiddle with the silver wedding band on his left ring finger and grin happily, no words necessary.

~fin~

LINK TO AO3

#wheel of drarry mini exchange #drarry #drarry fic #isamijoo

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 22)

Notes: Apologies for any major errors. I'm going to edit this again in the morning, but I wanted to keep to my promise and give you something today!

And also, I'm sorry... this is an eventful chapter...

EDIT: Now hopefully free of typos and grammatical errors...

Chapter Twenty Two Nesta

Despite the fact that it was only an hour past dawn, the camp was already bustling the next morning as Nesta made her way through the back end of the mountain pass. Cassian was scheduled to visit Swallow’s Ridge at midday, so Nesta had risen early and eaten breakfast alone before walking to meet him in their usual training spot.

It was a bleak, grey sort of day, the sky kissed with the promise of snow and the air so cold Nesta’s breath clouded thick in front of her as she approached the sparring rings.

The training grounds were not the same as those carved into the rock towards the front of the mountain pass. Instead, an area had been felled of pine trees that was just large enough to construct three large training areas, which were partitioned off by wooden fencing. Unlike the punishing crystalline rock, the ground was soft and open to the elements, a mixture of stone and compact earth that had frozen solid in the cold weather.

Nesta counted twenty girls in the ring as she drew closer — the most Cassian had ever had, he’d informed her over dinner a few nights prior — and whilst some of them looked like they hated every second of it, Nesta noticed Durkhanai and some of the other orphans frowning in concentration as Cassian took them through the guard swings.

At the entrance of the ring, with his arms crossed firmly across his hard and unyielding chest, was Lord Devlon. He was wearing a stern expression, but apart from the odd clipped order he allowed Cassian to lead the session rather than stepping in himself. This did not seem to bother Cassian, who appeared wholly focussed as he walked up and down the training ground, correcting handgrips and stances with a voice that was still General but kinder than when Nesta had heard him barked instructions at the males.

Unlike when Nesta trained, no males had stopped to watch the girls in the ring. Instead, they appeared to avoid the training ground altogether, as if they were purposefully keeping their distance. Nesta was sure there was some pathetic reason for it, but she cast the sneering males to the back of her mind as she deliberately drew to a halt beside the pine fencing a metre from Devlon.

The positioning was purposeful; Nesta was not going to be intimidated by a half-wit bat with a stick up his ass. If Devlon wanted to believe she was a witch, she’d damn well let him.

So drawing up tall, Nesta surveyed Cassian walking up and down the line of girls as they practiced guard swings with wooden swords, and ignored Devlon with blatant disinterest.

The girls attention wavered as they clocked her arrival, and even Cassian stopped correcting a young female’s grip, his wings and nostrils flaring slightly as he scented her on the breeze.

Cassian’s head started to turn but Nesta didn’t have time to meet his gaze, as Devlon cast his dark, cold eyes to rest upon her.

“Here for training are you,” he grunted. He eyed her hands warily as if he expected mist to be seeping from them.

Nesta twitched her fingers in the hope that he might squirm — just for her satisfaction — and a small, cruel smile twisting her lips upwards. “Yes.”

A begrudging nod. Not a snarl or a sneer. Only, “Mind where you blast that fire.”

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, but then Cassian was in front of her on the other side of the fence. His hair was even more tangled than usual. “I’m nearly finished,” he told Nesta, even though his eyes remained fiercely trained on Devlon. His expression was hard and a muscle in his jaw was already twitching. “Start warming up. Ten laps around the ring.”

Shrugging, Nesta started to jog around the training ground as the girls began to put away their wooden training swords. Durkhanai’s eyes widened as she spotted Nesta, a shy smile flitting across her face.

Nesta saw the orphan most days. Together they helped bathe, dress and feed the younglings to relieve the widows who needed to get down the mountain for work. Durkhanai was quiet but lovely, and after a week of working silently side by side, she started to speak to Nesta, telling her of the death of her mother during the brutal winter last year and her journey to the widows camp, the only place that would take her in. In turn, Nesta had shared a part of herself: her starvation as a human and the death of her own mother.

She did not speak about how she had been Made or about her father’s death. That was something Nesta was still not ready to discuss, let alone face herself.

Sometimes, late at night, Nesta would wake with her face wet with tears, having dreamt of those ships sailing into the midst of battle. How her father had stood at the helm of Nesta, as he looked towards the coastline and his daughters. In that moment, he looked forever young; his hair golden brown rather than grey, his face alight with purpose, his posture tall. The father he had been before their mother died, when Nesta had been his favourite and Feyre had not been forced to the woods so they did not starve.

Feyre. The sister who Nesta might potentially see today, if she willed it.

Originally, Nesta had not even contemplated meeting her sister. Had imagined Feyre standing at the top of the mountain in the freezing cold as she waited for a sister who would not come. But slowly, as three weeks passed, Nesta found herself torn between unbridled fury and curiosity.

Even now, Nesta did not know how to feel. Did not know whether she would face her sister or not. Did not know if she could.

So when she and Cassian trained, Nesta went hard. She ignored the few girls that had stayed behind to watch and Devlon’s beady eyes from his spot at the gates. Instead, Nesta slipped into the rhythm of hand-to-hand combat with an ease that had not come before, her fists and body a blur against the grey landscape.

When she finished her fifth round, a bead of sweat trickled down Cassian’s brow. “Good,” he praised between breaths, and Nesta knew it was deserved. “I felt that kick to the side, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she mirrored, and Cassian barked a laugh. “Maybe you’ll stop going easy on me.”

“I didn’t,” Cassian promised.

A dismissive snort. “You could have pinned me after that upper cut.”

Hazel eyes glowed bright. “I don’t fancy being blasted with silver fire this early in the morning,” Cassian said, even though they both knew why he hadn't pinned her. He stalked to the weapons rack and threw her a longsword, which she effortlessly caught by the handle. “Guards and then combat. Let’s see if you can strike me twice today.”

After their training session, Cassian loitered around the bungalow for longer than he should have. He had bathed first, so Nesta raised an eyebrow at him in surprise as she came out of the bathroom to find him in the living room.

“I thought you were going to Swallow’s Ridge,” Nesta said, her chin lifted as if daring for him to comment that she was wearing nothing but a towel.

The Nesta riddled with alcohol and completely numb would have had no qualms about baring her skin for all the world to see, if only to discover whether it would make her bitter heart feel. But with the potential meeting of her sister on the horizon, Nesta felt splintered and raw.

After failing to illicit comments from Cassian the day of Mor’s visit, Nesta also no longer felt as body confident as she had been. Her failure to draw his attention had only confirmed what she had not wanted to admit: that whilst she had put on weight, the knots in her spine were still too prominent and her thighs were far thinner than they should be, bowing at the tops rather than meeting in the middle. And whilst it wasn’t as if Cassian hadn’t seen more of Nesta’s skin before, today she wasn’t in a place where she could relish in it. If she had known he were still around the house, she would have changed into fresh clothes in the bathroom rather than her room.

Cassian’s nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed for such a short moment that Nesta wondered if it had merely been the fire dancing in his irises. “I might stay and oversee the foot soldiers instead.”

Raising an eyebrow, Nesta tightened the towel around her body. “Why,” she asked shortly. Too shortly. They both knew what today could be, depending on Nesta’s decision. It had been an omen hanging over them that morning as they trained. Cassian had not dared bring it up, and Nesta, who was still too conflicted over her sister’s impending visit, had only set her mouth in thin determination and wielded the longsword after he had thrown it at her, as if it were an extension of herself.

To Cassian’s delight, she had struck him twice. When they had ended, Cassian had vowed that he would start training her with the bow the following day at Spearhead.

Loosing a shrug, Cassian replied, “The rite is in three months. The Windhaven soldiers need as much training as they can get.”

A casual response, but Nesta was not fooled.

She reset her posture, her eyes narrowing in a way that usually had other’s running. “Do it tomorrow.”

Cassian cocked his head and those hazel eyes tunnelled into her with such intensity that Nesta wanted to look away. She didn’t let herself give in to the temptation, staring him down with the sort of unveiled threat that promised she’d make his life hell if he dared defy her.

Eventually, Cassian just shrugged, his broad wings shifting with the movement. He ruffled them, spreading them quickly before tucking them back in. It was a signature move of his when he was uncomfortable. “I’ll be back at dusk. I’ll see you for dinner?”

A careful question designed to ensure that Nesta didn’t intend to retreat into herself should she meet with Feyre. Cassian was worried, Nesta realised, fiercely so, the sensation escaping the walls he had constructed after Kamanam and lining her stomach with the scent of pine and musk and untamed air.

It had been a while since Nesta had been left feeling fully numb. It was a feat that hadn’t escaped her. Clearly, it hadn’t escaped Cassian either, and he wanted the reassurance that meeting with her sister wasn’t going to make her suffer, even though they both knew it didn’t work that way.

For once though, Nesta did hope that the numbness wouldn’t take a hold of her. The sensation felt odd — hope — but it was there, a flicker in the dark. And the thought of coming back to the bungalow later to eat in the kitchen with Cassian… the image was warm and inviting. Nesta could see the orange glow of faelight around the kitchen window, could imagine her feet crunching on snow and ice as she trekked her way back, could taste the spices on her tongue as she bit into the food he would prepare for her…

So Nesta said, “That depends on what you’re making.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “What would you like, sweetheart?”

Nesta shrugged, as if she were wholly uncaring, even as it felt as if someone had clenched a fist in her chest. “Dosas,” she said, tossing the word over her shoulder as she turned on her heel to head into the bedroom.

A low chuckle made her stomach twist and flip, but she did not look back at him, even though she knew his eyes had darkened and flared simultaneously.

Despite the distance, Nesta felt Cassian’s laugh rumble through her, like a flame licking down to her core. “Dosas it is.”

***

Once she had dressed, Nesta left her bedroom with the intention of making her way to the widows camp. To her fury, she found that Cassian had still not left. He was waiting by the door, her headband in his outstretched hand. Her coat remained hanging from its hook, as if he had anticipated that she would emerge in clean leathers rather than an Illyrian dress.

When he informed her that he planned to walk her to the bottom of the mountain, Nesta snatched the headband from his hands and stormed out of the door with a furious hiss that had him grinning.

Yet... Nesta allowed him to follow her. Knew his cocky grin was just for show. Knew that he wouldn’t voice what they both knew: that somehow his presence had a calming effect on her, smoothing over the gravitas of what could or couldn’t happen in a few hours time.

Cassian opened his mouth a number of times during the walk, but eventually he chose to remain silent. Only when they arrived at the base of the mountain did he surprise her, conversing quickly with the guards in sharp Illyrian before stepping onto the treacherous path with her, rather than shooting into the skies.

Nesta’s scathing look did nothing to stop him in his tracks, and it was only when they made the first brutal turn that he spoke. “You don’t have to see your sister today if you don’t want to.”

Nesta scowled, angry at Cassian for bringing up Feyre when she had intended to cast her to the back of her mind whilst she still could. Her entire body stiffened but she did not turn to him, knowing somehow, that he wanted eye contact from her — hazel on blue.

She kept on walking; one foot in front of the other, her fur-lined boots crunching loose rock beneath her feet. “I am fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Her delivery was pointed enough to wound, but Cassian did not flinch. He stopped, reaching for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “I meant what I said to you the other day, Nesta. You shouldn’t see your sister if you don’t think it’s best for you right now.”

Silence followed as heat licked through Nesta’s veins, her power slithering like a serpent through a dark tunnel.

When Cassian spoke next, his voice was low — a confession, “I fucked up before. I was so angry at you for ignoring me that I didn’t try to see things from your perspective. So I’m going to tell you again what I think you need to hear: only do this for you. Don’t do this for Feyre. If it feels right to meet your sister, meet her. If your gut tells you it is wrong, follow that feeling.”

Nesta nearly snorted in dismissal, but she quashed the sound before it could escape, remembering the look on Cassian’s face that night of Solstice, when she had treated him as if he weren’t worthy enough to even reject.

Instead, she said frostily, “I don’t need your support.”

Something flickered behind Cassian’s eyes. “I know,” he admitted, “but I want you to know that you have it, if you do want it.” His grip tightened around her wrist, his touch warm and too packed with meaning. “Sometimes we need distance to figure out what we need, Nesta.”

His gaze was too intense, so Nesta threw his words back at him as she scrabbled to keep her expression neutral. “And what do you need.”

A shake of the head had Cassian’s wind-snarled hair moving. “I don’t need anything from you," he confessed. "Recently there’s a spark of life in you that wasn’t there before. I don’t want to see it go out.”

Nesta’s windpipe tightened and she sucked in a breath as she purposefully slid her eyes away from him to the frost-kissed landscape; to the snow-capped pine trees, the canvas tents and the shadowed blurs of leather and steel.

“I’m not the same girl who was forced into the Cauldron,” Nesta said.

It was true. Nesta was not who she had been. The Cauldron and the war had remoulded her body and self until she was recognisably different: harder around the edges, broken in the middle. A jumble of revenge and anger and grief and hatred. Emotions that she tried in vein to trap in ice to stop herself from self-combusting.

As if he could tell what she was thinking, Cassian’s fingers moved from her wrist to squeeze her fingers.

“No,” Cassian agreed softly, “but I like who you have become, all the same.” With his other hand, he reached up to brush his thumb lightly over the arch of her cheekbone.

The initiated contact surprised Nesta so much that she did not have the time to order herself to flinch.

“I’ll see you later,” Cassian said, after he had stared into her eyes for a little too long. “If you need me, get one of the guards to send a messenger to Swallow’s Ridge. I’ll come back.”

They both knew Nesta would not ask for him, but she nodded to indicate that she had heard before he shot into the sky. Nesta watched him until he faded into the clouds, his dark wings merging with grey…

A flash of ruby flared like lightning, and then he was gone.

The weather was moody — Nesta’s favourite — and the rolling white and smoke clouds made her emotions spark in a way that she found comforting as she continued up the path. Despite her initial hesitancy, Nesta had learnt that for the most part, it was better to feel than to feel nothing at all. And now… all she could feel was where Cassian’s calloused thumb had brushed over her skin. She wondered if the bastard had done it on purpose to distract her — to make her feel when now was a time when she’d usually retreat into herself.

It irritated her beyond belief that it worked, but it irked her more that she wanted him to do it again.

Females dipped their heads at Nesta in greeting as she submerged herself into the bustling widows camp. Nesta nodded back at them, and when she found the least battered tent at the East side of the camp, Nesta rapped her knuckled on the canvas to alert Mas to her arrival before she ducked quickly inside. The housekeeper’s face lit up at the sight of her. Mas had been winding a thick scarf around Roksana’s neck, but she stopped the task to take Nesta’s face in her hands and plant two quick kisses on each cheek before she hurried off to help the other females in the makeshift kitchens.

“Tiya, sunt tibi beni?” Nesta asked Roksana when they were alone, smoothing a hand over the girl’s tangled hair before she continued to wind the scarf around the youngling.

Roksana did not reply, she only wrapped her arms around Nesta’s legs in a hug that warmed Nesta’s blood.

It was a recent development that Nesta had taken to greeting Roksana in Illyrian, hoping to coax out some words in her in her native tongue. It hadn’t worked yet, but the way in which Roksana’s eyes had lit up the first time Nesta had tried to sound out the language, had left Nesta determined to persist, even if she continued to come up empty.

The chores in the widows camp were never-ending. Tuesdays were many of the females day off and so the camp was far busier than usual. Nesta helped to feed and clothe the orphans with Durkhanai at the Eastern side of the camp, before urging the younglings to warm their wings and frozen limbs by the campfire.

Some of the older widows, including Mas, had come to settle by the fire as well, in order to keep an eye on the younglings whilst they weaved beautiful fabric together with needle and thread. Braving the fire, Nesta settled with Roksana against her side and recounted a few stories, until the spitting became too much and the sun was high in the sky.

Then, without thinking, Nesta stood. She ran a hand over Roksana’s hair and bid Mas goodbye, before heading to the path that traversed up the mountain to the summit at the Western point of the camp. She ignored the way in which Mas had watched her go, her expression concerned to the point of troubled. There was no way in which Mas could know what Nesta was about to do — Nesta had not told anyone about her potential meeting with her sister — but Mas had come to learn her moods just as Cassian had.

If Nesta was more forthcoming about herself, she might have asked Mas’s advice, but instead Nesta continued to move on instinct — on the pull that was drawing her legs to climb up, up, up until the path flattened out.

She saw Feyre as soon as she reached the peak. It was not hard to spot her. She was standing at the precipice, staring down at the widows camp below. Despite the long braid that had woven her sister’s golden brown hair into three strands, the fierce wind carried it behind her, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the slight upwards slant to her eyes. Her long, elegant figure was swept up in the finest fur-lined leathers, as if she too had unwittingly dressed to expect a battle. Or, Nesta thought grimly, the clothing that her mate had insisted she wear, knowing that her sister was not only braving the Illyrian weather but her thorny, quarrelsome sister.

Nesta had just noted the sword strapped to her spine, when Feyre turned and noticed her.

There was a pregnant pause as eyes near identical to her own took in Nesta’s figure: her frost-kissed skin rather than sunken cheeks; the loose braid rather than the tight crown; the figure-hugging leathers rather than the drab, over-sized dresses. A far cry to when Feyre had seen her last, Nesta could admit that much.

“You came,” Feyre said eventually.

Nesta angled her chin, ready to spar.

“I come here every morning,” she replied coldly. “I’d assume that’s why you were advised to suggest here as a meeting point.”

There was no added insult for Cassian. No bat, no bastard, no scathing him. Even so, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say his name. It felt too intimate — too much of a giveaway that she no longer hated him with such raging intensity she wanted to shatter things.

That was not to say that Cassian did not make her want to break things now… He did, but it was rarely from anger. Rather, it was in the way that he would look at her — in the way that no one else dared — as if she were wholly unbreakable and he had no qualms about closing the distance and pinning her between a wall and the muscled cords of his body.

The tension was rising between them — it had been for a while — and it hung thick and heavy in the air, so much so that at times Nesta found it hard to breathe.

And the worst thing was that Nesta felt herself giving in; melting into the temptation and scent of him, even when she knew that every sensation he pulled from her was a veiled disguise. An illusion. Not of choice but of a decision already made, whereby they were both playing out what was destined for them.

Yet, despite that knowledge, Nesta couldn’t deny that the thought of Cassian speaking of her to the Inner Circle opened the fetid wound that had been falsely healing inside of her. It seeped ruby through the cracks in her wall of ice, like blood tainting the purest snow.

In Nesta’s mouth, she tasted copper.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Feyre repeated, her voice disbelieving as she shook her head.

“I can leave as quickly as I came,” Nesta threatened, her face stony and impenetrable.

To her surprise, Feyre didn’t retaliate or sigh. She only looked down at the view in the fearless way anyone with wings could on a deadly precipice.

“That rock looks like a tombstone,” Feyre observed.

Nesta did not move from her position at the top of the path. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot in case she decided to make a quick exit. Nesta suspected that moment might come sooner than later. Already she felt rubbed raw, her hackles raised, her body primed to fight, yet she kept her face impassive as she followed her sister’s gaze.

Far above them, three warriors flew across the sky. Their bodies were black dots against the grey backdrop, and Nesta watched silver glint off one of them as a gap between the clouds exposed the sun’s rays. Nesta wished she was with them rather than here. Maybe Cassian was right, she was not ready for this. She was not ready to face the ghosts that haunted her… the ghosts that Feyre unwittingly brought with her.

“It’s the widows camp,” Nesta told Feyre coldly, trying to swallow down the urge to run.

Feyre cut a sideways glance at her. “You were there this morning?”

Nesta rose her chin. “Are you asking me that because you’ve been spying on me or because your faithful informant has been telling you how I spend my day?”

Feyre blew out a breath that Nesta dissected as a method of steadying the rising temper they both shared. “I arrived early. Cassian doesn’t like to speak of you to me.”

Surprise flared inside of Nesta so sharp that for a second she couldn’t breathe. She had always thought Cassian loyal to Feyre first and foremost. Had always thought he would choose his High Lady over her lowly, cruel sister, despite the things he had said that had insinuated otherwise.

But Nesta kept her expression blank as she asked, “And I suppose that makes you angry?”

The way Feyre shook her head was tormented. “No, he — it has made me realise some truths — of how I have failed you, Nesta.”

The concession was not packaged how Nesta had been expecting it, so she did not speak. Feyre had turned to look at her. Her irises were the exact same as Nesta’s own, yet not half as steely. Out of the three of them, she and Feyre were the most similar; both in looks and personality.

Nobody was as lovely as Elain, she and Feyre had learnt that long ago.

Just once, Feyre rang her hands before they fell uselessly at her sides. It betrayed her as nervous.

“I don’t know if I ever told you the full story of what happened to me Under the Mountain,” Feyre started. She tore her gaze from Nesta’s to stare out at the sky. “Afterwards, I… things were very difficult. I had nightmares every night of those I had killed and I couldn’t keep any food down. I barely slept and I felt heavy all of the time, as if I were wading through mud. I hated being confined so much so that when Tamlin locked me in the house the Night Court saved me because I threw the entirety of it into darkness. Even once I was in Velaris, there was no light, only dark, and I could barely feel… Sometimes I went days of feeling nothing and I had this... power inside of me that I didn’t know how to use.”

Feyre turned back to look at Nesta. Her expression was grave, as if she were tunnelling too far into herself, into a part of her that she did not like to bring back to the surface.

Nesta had seen the look many times before, in the reflection of Cassian and Mas’s eyes, as they stared concernedly at her.

“I’m not telling you this with the intention of making you feel sorry for me,” Feyre said quietly. She had stepped closer to Nesta without realising. Nesta had been too preoccupied with that haunted look. “The reason I’m telling you this is because despite everything I went through and the people who helped me, I didn’t truly stop to realise that you were going through something similar after the war. I should have seen what was happening with you, Nesta, and tried to truly understand what you needed, but I didn’t. I could try to better myself by saying that everything was so busy during and after the war that I was too distracted, but really that’s just an excuse for my behaviour. I thought Illyria would give you a change of scenery away from…everything.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh. “You thought to throw me into a war camp so I could escape the memory of what happened in the war?”

Feyre’s wince was visible and Nesta watched her sister pinch the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t—” Feyre started, but then she trailed off with a shake of her head, as if she wished to start again. “Nesta, I’m sorry for sending you here. I was so worried that you would destroy yourself and so I did something drastic—”

“I am not yours to control,” Nesta snarled. “You summoned me like I was dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You banished me in front of half of your precious Inner Circle with no regard to how I was suffering. You humiliated me not as my sister but as High Lady and that is unforgivable.”

Fire raged inside of Nesta at the memory, so bright that she knew mist was seeping threateningly from her fingers. Feyre cast an alarmed look to her hands as Nesta stepped closer, as if she were expecting her sister to blast her off the mountain.

“You say you don’t like small spaces,” Nesta continued with quiet fervour. “Have you considered what it is like for me? To be banished somewhere where I cannot fly away? Have you considered that I too was trapped when I was kidnapped and thrown into a Cauldron to be remade against my will? And when I told you I could not bare to sit in the tub — when I gave you a piece of myself — you did not truly listen. Instead you trapped me into another life that has been chosen for me.”

Another step forwards, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth coming from her sister’s skin. “I am sorry for what you endured Under the Mountain. I am sorry for making your life miserable when we were younger, but I am not sorry for how I chose to deal with my trauma.”

Feyre’s skin turned so pale her freckles looked like they had been painted on with the tip of a paintbrush. “Nesta—”

But Nesta was not finished. Now she had started, she couldn’t stop. The words poured forth as easily as fire wanted to flow from her fingertips. “Have you considered that I have never had control over any aspect of my life — that I have always been told what to do and how to behave?”

That fateful finger was out now, stabbing the air between them. Feyre took a step backwards as if Nesta had prodded her in the chest. Silver sparked in the air between them, a promise of what would undoubtedly come.

“I fought in the war,” Nesta continued with quiet fury. “I killed the King and changed the course of history. I tried to show you that I was sorry for how I had treated you through my actions. I tried to earn forgiveness, to try and make up for what I had done wrong. Yet you and your mate did not see my actions as worthy. And when I told you I did not want to be controlled by you, you banished me somewhere with somebody I could not stand to be around, as if I wasn’t your sister but a troublesome subject.”

Taking that final step, Nesta closed the distance between she and Feyre. Feyre did not back away again. Instead, Nesta watched a tear roll down Feyre’s cheek with a chilled sort of fury, and with quiet fervour, said, “Well, I have news for you, sister. I am untameable and I do not answer to anybody but myself.”

Horror coursed through Nesta’s insides, the sensation interwoven with the scent of lilac and pear. Feyre’s hands came to cover her face and a sob coursed through the mountain landscape, so sharp it was as if it were her sister’s last breath. “I didn’t want you to die. I thought you were going to drink yourself to death, Nesta. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Seeing her sister cry hurt, but being understood hurt more. So Nesta ploughed on; the words escaping as if they had been scrabbling to get out for a long, long time, “You once asked me why I pushed everyone away but Elain — why I pushed you away. Well, here’s your answer High Lady: you never needed me. I lost you long ago, as soon as mother told you that I was unsuitable to look out for my younger sisters and that you were the only one up for the task.”

Nesta hadn’t thought it possible for Feyre to turn paler, but she had. Her skin looked as if it had been leeched of life. As Nesta said the words, she knew they were unfair. Her younger self had projected anger onto Feyre rather than taint the dying mother who Nesta had always tried so hard to please.

A silence stretched out between them that was so taut and angry, Nesta had to resist the urge to throw her hands to the sky until it was burning mercury. Instead, she kept her power inside, wanting to feel the ferocious thrum of it in her blood, at the pulse in her neck which was hammering as if it were trying to escape.

“Is that why—” Feyre started, but a sound had Nesta throwing up a finger to stop her, because she had heard something on the wind which had made her blood freeze.

For a moment… nothing. Then on the wind came familiar, high pitched laughter that sent chills down Nesta’s spine. It was a sound that she had hoped to never hear again, yet it was unmistakable — clear as day.

“No,” Nesta breathed, whirling round to stare down the mountain path. Through the misty clouds, Nesta could make out nothing but the dark shape of the tombstone, but she knew that sound. She would never forget that sound, not as long as she lived.

“What is it?” Feyre demanded.

“Be quiet,” Nesta snapped.

Laughter came again. It skittered up the craggy rock, followed by snarling and snapping teeth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Nesta moaned, running to ledge that Feyre had been standing at previously, which gave an unhindered view of the widows camp. And through the foggy clouds, Nesta saw them. Sloping four-legged figures on the western perimeter of the widows camp, slinking through the shadows. Too many of them. Nesta had no idea how they had gotten there, why they would have ventured somewhere so populated…

“What is it?” Feyre demanded again, running to Nesta’s side so she too could look over the mountain. “Oh Gods,” Feyre breathed. “The females. The children. Nesta, what are they—”

But Nesta was not listening. She was running before she had time to think, her feet digging into the stone as she tore her way to the mountain path that zagged its way down to the widows camp.

“Move,” she barked over her shoulder. The command was biting but Feyre did not hesitate, tearing after her sister as if it were second nature.

Nesta had only reached the first bend with Feyre hot on her heels when the first scream pierced through the clouds. Power leapt within Nesta, and then her mind went loose as it went taut… as Nesta reached within herself, into her veins where that magic hummed hello… ready. And Nesta did not push it away. Instead, she brushed against it in greeting, just as she had done when she had worn Cassian’s siphon, in the moment before she bended it to her will. And then her fingers were curling around the pommel of a longsword made entirely of breathing, silver flame.

She clutched on to it, the weapon so much an extension of herself that she did not have to worry about it falling from her grasp. The rest of the descent passed in a blur of moving rock, as she and Feyre skidded on loose stone and slushy ice, and the screams… they kept coming. Again and again. Panic and terror so palpable they pierced through Nesta’s emotional shields, each agonised sound stabbing through her, her power leaping to meet it, pushing beneath her skin, desperate to get out…

Together, she and Feyre plunged into the fray. Crowds of female were stampeding towards them, desperate to get to safety, to reach the only path that led down to the safety of the main camp.

And amongst them… kerits. So many of them chittering and snarling, their long, pointed teeth snapping and tearing as they leapt at the defenceless females with the intent of feasting on their flesh. Nesta slashed at them with her sword, fire sizzling through fur and flesh, her body moving independently of her brain as it fell into a killing dance.

Feyre had not drawn her sword from her back, instead she wielded ice from her palms, and spears of it wove their way through the air like arrowheads, plunging themselves into moving bodies of spotted fur. Nesta just had time to see the body of a kerit slump to the floor, its body impaled by ice, to reveal a female cowering against the canvas of her tent. The female’s face was ashen and disbelieving as she stared at the sloping bodies that had fallen before her at the will of Feyre’s magic. At the trail of limbs and guts scattered around her, belonging to the female who they had not been in time to save… But then another kerit was leaping at Nesta, and Nesta did not have time to think, only react as she plunged her sword into it’s belly. It fell by her feet with a sharp cry, black blood spilling on the rocky ground. Nesta did not pause to consider the bloodshed or how her feet slipped in it as she continued to run, she only raised her free hand to the sky again, desperately blazing silver into the clouds, hoping that it would be enough to alert the camp below of the attack.

Already Nesta knew that there were too many kerits for she and Feyre to fight off themselves… Already there had been casualties. And still, the orphans were huddled at the Eastern-point of the camp with nobody to protect them…

It was that thought that had Nesta pressing on. Kerits leapt at she and Feyre before they realised that they had chosen the wrong pray, and Nesta sliced and jabbed with her fire-breathing steel, relishing in the beasts dying screams and savouring the sobs of the widows, which brought solace in the knowledge that they were alive and momentarily safe.

All went eerily quiet as Nesta and Feyre reached the towering tomb of rock and the makeshift canteen surrounding it. The stampede of females had petered out, and Nesta hoped it was because most of them had managed to escape down the mountain pass, rather than because they had fallen victims to the kerits. Her gut twisted at the thought… as she thought of Mas, Roksana and the other orphans who had been tucked away against the mountain wall at the Eastern side of the camp… a dead end.

If the kerits had managed to corner them… it would be a massacre.

Another lurch of her stomach as Nesta surveyed the benches and tables that had been strewn across the stone floor. Beside one of the upturned benches lay the twisted body of the elderly cook with crooked teeth — the female who insisted on feeding Nesta each morning, even when Nesta told her that she had already eaten breakfast. The cook’s tan skin was covered in claw and tooth marks, her body bloody and brutalised in such a horrific way that Nesta knew there was not a glimmer of life left in the female.

It must have been a horrible way to die.

Biting back a sob, Nesta closed her fingers around her sister’s arm, needing Feyre to understand that in this moment, she did not care if she died; she only cared that she could protect the defenceless females before she fell.

“The orphans,” Nesta urged to Feyre, pointing towards the Eastern side of the camp and the screams that were being tossed away on the wind. “They’re at the East side of the camp. There’s no way out.”

Nesta did not dare say the name Roksana or Mas. Could not voice what she was terrified of… That something could have already happened to the Illyrian’s she had come to care for so deeply.

Nesta tried to push away the thought of how Roksana had clung to her that morning… of how her small fingers had grabbed onto her legs in a clumsy hug. Nesta tried not to think about how Mas had kissed her in greeting; her weathered palm patting lightly against Nesta’s cheek in that motherly way of hers that always made her feel unconditionally accepted and loved.

The boom of wings sounded across the mountain pass, and then different coloured lights started to flash as siphons were willed into action, warriors finally landing in the camp to fight off the beasts. Nesta spotted Ragar and his friends, Devlon, guards on patrol, but then Feyre’s hands came to rest on her arms, pulling her attention away.

Nesta stared at her sister — at the white face streaked with blood which was set in grim determination, even as they heard the rising screams.

“Let’s go,” Feyre said, those two words sparking more respect in Nesta than any of their tense exchange at the top of the mountain.

And then they were running again, both of them throwing magic from their palms, taking out a gang of kerits who had leapt between the tents. Nesta swung her longsword of silver fire with her left-hand just as a kerit jumped in front of Feyre, attacking from seemed like nowhere.

Black blood streaked hot across Nesta’s face as her sword sizzled through muscle and sinew, but she ignored the wailing screams of the dying beast, turning only to make sure her sister was alive and unharmed.

Feyre’s eyes were wide, her heartbeat as frantic as a hummingbird in Nesta’s ears. “Thanks,” Feyre breathed, panting desperately for breath. Then she pointed to the direction they had been heading — to the Eastern-most point where Nesta had left Roksana and Mas that morning. “There are lots of warriors up ahead.”

Together they dodged the crowds and beams of coloured light. To Nesta’s relief, the huddled figures on the floor seemed to mainly consist of spotted fur, the Illyrian males clearly having arrived in time to prevent a massacre. But still Nesta ran, not realising how her lungs were heaving for breath or the burn in her thighs as she weaved through lifeless bodies and crying females, heading towards the smoke that wafted up from the dying camp fire — the place she had left Roksana and Mas what felt like mere minutes ago.

It was not how she had left it.

In front of her, metres before the campfire, lay Durkhanai’s bloody body. Her eyes were open and unseeing, her pupils green and mesmerising even in death… her spirit already well departed from the world. And a foot away from her…

“No.”

The sound that tore from Nesta was agony. It ripped from her chest — from deep, deep inside that locked cage as it cracked.

Nesta’s boots slipped through guts and gore, but she did not care. In her periphery, Nesta saw limbs and the unseeing eyes of the females who had flung themselves in the paths of the beasts, as if they had willingly lay themselves on the pyre to put the lives of the orphans before themselves.

Nesta did not feel the blinding pain that should have splintered through her as she fell to her knees on the grey rock. Because in front of her was Mas. She was lying on the floor and her wings — her scarred and battered wings — were in tatters. Her stomach was oozing with blood, deep claw marks raked through raw flesh.

And beside her was Roksana, her face and clothes covered in bright scarlet blood. Her small, precious hands buried deep in Mas’s gut, holding in the punctured intestines that were trailing out of her body; as if they had been dragged out by long, pointed teeth…

The little girl stared up at Nesta, her dark eyes blown wide in shock. Around them, the anguished cries and screams of agony went quiet, Nesta’s ears drowning out all noise but the croak that came from the youngling’s mouth. “Help,” she said, those little hands sliding on intestines and blood as it leaked through her fingers. “Help.”

“No,” Nesta repeated again, the word cracking out of her as she surveyed the damage that was too severe for an Illyrian to remedy. “No, no, no.”

Her hands slipped in hot blood as she pressed her own palms over Mas’s gaping wounds. The housekeeper’s breath rattled, the sound terrible and wringing with what Nesta knew was unimaginable pain. Mas’s face was grey — as if already it had been drained of life; as if the end had been written and there was no avoiding it.

Fingers grasped at Nesta’s but the Illyrian’s eyes did not open, even as her eyelids flickered — the movement asking too much of her body. They slipped against Nesta’s as they moved through her own ruby blood.

“You will not die,” Nesta told Mas fiercely, her eyesight blinded by tears. A silver tear rolled down Nesta’s cheek and fell onto their clasped hands… into the open, gaping wound. “You will not. Do you hear me?”

Only silence answered as Mas’s body went slack. Her chest rattling one last time before it stopped moving all together.

When the housekeeper’s fingers fell away from Nesta’s own, everything went still.

“Nesta.”

A hand was on her shoulder — Feyre — but Nesta did not feel or care for it. Someone had pulled Roksana away into the safety of their arms — away from the dead body with its departing soul. Deep inside of Nesta, the scent of roasted chestnuts and wood shavings began to fade, as if it had been caught in the wind and was about to be tossed away.

“No.”

That same word again, but this time it came with weight behind it. Defiance. Anger. Heartbreak. All her own, and yet piling on top of that, layer by layer, was every painful emotion and memory of loss that had been imprinted on the stone over the years, from the widows that had come before and had suffered unimaginably.

Something turned inside of Nesta, her magic flipping as if someone had turned a key in a lock to reveal not silver but white… A pure, snow white light that seeped from her fingertips, singing with gentle promise rather than destruction.

“No,” Nesta said.

That word again, but this time deadly calm.

Still.

Who do you want to be, Nesta?

Cassian’s words from the day before sounded in her head. At the time she had not known the answer, but now, her path had never been clearer.

Raising her steady blood-stained hands to hover over Mas’s wounds, Nesta let that icy wall protecting her emotions fall away inside of her. It crashed down around her like a dam whose gates had been opened, her emotions running like rampant and wild rapids, rushing into her blood and down strands of interwoven rope. Her power vibrated with a controlled energy and then that white light glowed, shining from her palms.

It was so bright that Nesta had to close her eyes to protect herself from the sheer brilliance of her power as it poured forth.

She did not need to look at Mas’s body to bear witness to her healing. Did not need to watch the housekeeper’s wounds knit themselves back together, as if someone were turning back time in slow motion.

She just knew.

And in that moment, Nesta also knew exactly who she was supposed to be, even as her body started to hurt.

Two weaving components, bound together as surely as a rope plaited with two complementing strands.

Protector.

Healer.

That was who Nesta was.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arin1030-blog @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @hatemecozuaintme @lovelynesta @heymelphs @nestable @darkshadowqueensrule @nestalytical @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @swankii-art-teacher

#acosf #acomaf #acowar #acotar #nessian #nessianfic #nesta x cassian #nestaarcheron #cassian #fanfiction #embersandlightfic

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shini--chan · 4 years

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1p allies and axis react to that the reader gave birth to they're child. When they ask here she wants the hold the baby? , her answer is like "I don't want hold that thing!"

Alright. So, before I start off I need to give a fair warning that as to why it would even come to that point … let’s just say that it is pretty dark. Warning for implied non-con, manipulation & coercion. You’re reading this at your own risk.

Yandere Allies

America

“What do you mean you don’t want it?”, Alfred would ask, completely dumbfounded by your vindictive reaction to your very own child. Lovingly, he stared down at the bundle in his arms. The reddened face covered with wax was just too adorable to be true.

“We’re finally going to be a family; it is the most wonderful thing I can think off. And you have to react like this.”

The malice in those sky-blue eyes was clear as he took in your exhausted state.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? This is your child as well as mine and you have to go on and reject the best thing that has ever happened to you? Your lack of compassion is shocking. So, either put your big girl panties on and act like an adult or we’re going to have a serious talk!”

Let’s just say that Alfred wouldn’t take it well at all that you have such an aversion to your very own child. He would see it as grounds as to have a serious talk with you. If you’re lucky, it would be something akin to a psychotherapy section that he would do with you, only with a lot of condensation. Then, if he is in a very bad mood, it would be far more macabre.

Of course, the things he would do to you would be wrong, except in his mind where everyone of his actions would be justified. Through rejecting your child, you would have tarnished his image of you. Alfred would have thought that you had gotten used to idea of spending the rest of your days by his side. Those vile words of yours would have served to confirm the latter. And villainize you in his eyes.

You would have a lot of apologizing to do. Just keep in mind that if he would sense anything fake in your buttering up to him, the trust he would have established would crumble to ashes. And he is good at disconcerting true from false. However, if you’d hide any lies you’d have behind extreme emotions, then you could succeed.

Canada

“But, she/he is your child”, Matthew would protest. The way you’d firmly shake your head would make his heart drop to your gut.

“A child I never wanted”, you would whisper, sweat glistening on your brow and making it seem as through you were submerged in a fever dream. “Only you wanted a child, I didn’t. How can you be so blind to not see that?”, you would murmur, too lost to evade the hole you were digging yourself into.

Your captor’s lips would thin as he was reminded about the darker aspects of your relationship.

Talk about popping a balloon with a needle, there goes all that happiness and excitement, blown away by a few cruel realisations. Of course, due to your relationship not being of an overly violent nature the fall-out wouldn’t be harsh in the direct, tangible sense. Needless to say, Canada would be pissed that you just had to go on and ruin the whole show and his dreams of a saccharine future.

He’ll skilfully dismissed that you would have been coerced into bearing a child (if not by the worst way you can get pregnant) and tell everybody that would even catch wind that there was something sinister buried deep, that you were just hysterical because of all the residue hormones from the delivery and the exhaustion. That is, if he has too.

China

A fine, pencil thin eyebrow would rise as he condescendingly regarded your disarrayed constitution. Calmly, he would turn to the midwife he had order and take the new-born expertly out of their arms while stating:

“We thank you sincerely for your services. Please, leave now that I may calm my wife down.”

They would nod and quickly scurry out of the room.

Snake-yellow eyes would stare fondly at the infant weakly kicking at the blankets and thin lips stretched to an endearing smile as a tiny, waxy hand was extended up to his face. Gently, he would shift his arms so one hand was free. The baby would snatch the outstretched index finger as soon as they would have the chance, clumsily stuffing it in their mouth and sucking.

Yao wouldn’t even glance your way as he would seat himself on the edge of the mattress, however, his scolding words said with such calmness would add a crude shadow to the picturesque image:

“All your tantrums are growing increasing petty. You should restrain your emotions before you go completely out of control.”

You wanted to gap at him, at his patronizing words. But more than anything else, you wanted to cry for help. Not that any would come. You were stationed in the guest room of his estate and the midwife that had been summoned was the only other person anywhere near you.

She wouldn’t aid you, not that she could. Your “lover” had a way with words – his violence wasn’t physical; it was an intangible knife that made wounds that would never heal.

Instead, you would stammer shakily: “But you said we would give it up for adoption.”

“I said I would consider it. There is a big difference there. Besides, you shouldn’t torture yourself by denying your own nature.”

At those words you would find yourself trembling. Rage would simmer like a pool of magma in your stomach and combined with exhaustion it would make you shake – a brittle leaf in the autumn wind. Your voice would crack as you seethed: “Do you have to start with this sexist nonsense out me being a woman…”

A glare would be enough to silence you.

“It is not because you’re a woman. It is because you’re a human and humans care for their kin.”

To China, it would be barbaric for you to so callously reject your very own child, the fruit of your womb, a testament of the love you two have for each other. To him, family is infinitely precious and for you to smash that vision there would be severe consequences. Whether you would like it or not, you’re going to keep the child and you’re going to love him/her. Although, you might do all that out of your own “volition”, as in China would manipulate you to extent that you’d think those thought would be yours.

England

“Shut up!”, would be his immediate response and the waspishness of his tone would be enough to make the nurse raise their eyebrows in suspicion. However, the rage upon porcelain feature and the harshly snapped instructions of “Leave” and “Not you bloody dare tell anybody about this” would be enough to make your only gate way to freedom vanish.

Money would also help seal the deal.

The baby would be in the cradle at the foot of your bed, luckily, because the expression of malevolent fury on his face told you that he would’ve broken anything in his hands in fit of rage. It was the expression of hot passion and chilled anger that one would normally attribute to a general.

Still you summoned your courage to make your case: “I never wanted this, not any of this so not give me that look. You knew I never wanted a baby, you knew that didn’t want to…“, you would yell and choke on those last words because of the memories they’d evoke.

And that window of opportunity would be what Arthur would use to crush your case to dust:

“It is funny, really, because half of the time you don’t know what you want from life”, he would say, voice dangerous soft as he approached you, the fairy fire in his green irises making your skin itch as if there was something contagious directly underneath the first few layers.

“But that doesn’t matter anyhow because your feelings are irrelevant.”

You would open your mouth to protest but only a croak your come out.

“No matter what you say, your emotions are not accurate assessments of reality. What is reality is that you don’t know what is best for you. I do, better than anybody else and that is why you need me. Face it, you’re nothing without me.

“So, except your new role of mother. I promise, you’ll grow to love it.”

As the man himself just now stated, your wants and desires are meaningless to him in the grand scheme of things, or at least, he’ll convince you of that. If you would believe that yourself, then thing would be much easier for him. Arthur would see it as another chance to degrade your identity while putting his on a pedestal.

However, if you wouldn’t fall soon for his manipulations, then he would let you feel his anger in controlled bursts. The spite would surface over your time of recovery and he would purposefully leave you alone with the child so that you would be forced to take care of them.

France

“You will”, he’d state firmly.

Your jaw would hit the floor. Him not getting sentimental would shock you.

“It pains me to see you like this, to see you so cruel, so take those words back. What happened to my (y/n)? What happened that her morals decayed to this point? Where is her heart? Where is her compassion?”, he would sorrowfully lament, like a heart broken poet.

His touching little serenade would be enough to make the fussing baby fall silent, not to mention you.

Guilt would rise up in your gut, toxic and hot. Just what had come out of your mouth?

This would be one of the matters where he’d leave no room for his delusions, where he would even go as far as to revive all the memories of your countless grievances for the sole purpose of teaching you a lesson. It would be needed, and he would be lucid enough to recognize you as a potential threat to your own offspring.

To say the least, he would be weary of you during the next few years, least you try to get rid of the child somehow, be it through cold blooded murder or by giving them away for adoption. With the outburst you would have displayed, nothing would be off the plate in his eyes.

Russia

Violet-blue eyes would be harsh as the high north when they met yours, the warning glare enough to silence you and make something shrivel up in you. Defeated, you would press yourself back into the mattress hoping the accursed thing would swallow you whole because that would be better than all the damnation that the hardset features of your captor promised.

Therefore, it would be all the more petrifying when Russia would elect to ignore in order to turn his attention to the squirming infant in his arms, cooing lovingly and smiling.

Ivan wouldn’t take any nonsense on your part and if you hadn’t learned it at that point then you would be in double trouble. It might even descend into slaps. Although that would be a last resort, if he would feel his control slipping and resort to drastic measures in order to regain it.

He wouldn’t lose a word over your unforgivable behaviour, not the next day, not the next week, not the next year. If you would bring the topic up, then he would be quick to shut it down. However, just because he would verbalise the problem doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be any consequences for it. It would take for in the nuances of your life together – him not help you with the post-delivery recovery, often having a patronizing and degrading undertone in his voice when speaking with you, generally acting more spiteful towards you…

Those would just be a few examples. And he wouldn’t take written or spoken apologises either. Ivan wouldn’t care for lip-service, you would have to prove yourself to be a worthy and loving mother in order to get in his good books again.

#yandere allies #yandere hetalia #yandere America #yandere england #yandere china #yandere Russia #yandere canada #yandere france #yandere hetalia x reader #x reader

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Apple Of My Pie (5) — Jin

A Small Town Swoons story Chapter 5.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Buttercup)

Wordcount: 3.8k

Genre: non-idol!AU, Baker/Café owner!Seokjin, University student!reader Flatmates!AU, Friends To Lovers; angst, very little fluff

Rating: suggested 18+

Trigger Warnings: swearing, slight anxiety, verbal fight, generic allusions to sex.

A/N: Hello my cupcakes! Welcome to the Small Town Swoon Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: As Jin and Grace grow more intimate, Buttercup realises she needs a way out of her situation, and Namjoon and Jeongguk offer her just that. However, as the events develop, she understands that her decision needs to be even more drastic. Jeongguk teaches Seokjin a very tough lesson — maybe the toughest of them all.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Swearing. Allusions to sex; accidental overhearing. Seokjin is kind of a jerk, Jeongguk is very angry at him. Verbal fight. Buttercup feels slightly anxious/panics at the thought of going back to the apartment.

Remember to vote for next prompt (check the link in my bio) and in case you need it, here’s my masterlist 💜

If you’d like some company, here is the music companion (Spotify only, sorry 😔)

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

There were things you never thought you would have to do, things that made you realise the absurdity of your position, the complete stupidity of the circumstances.

Real people don’t need to handle this. Real people live banal lives, date, fall in love, break up. Or get married, have kids, grow up and grow old together.

Real people aren’t awake at four am because their crush’s date is mewling from the opposite side of the apartment.

You didn’t want to ask yourself questions.

You wanted to sleep and possibly wake up cold. That is, dead.

She mewled. Of course, not actually cat sounds but rather that kind of small, shy squeals that usually mean “I’m shy but I love whatever this person is doing”.

You didn’t allow yourself to dig into that.

You just turned to the other side and pressed the spare pillow against your head, trying to mute the sounds — and maybe mute your thoughts in the process.

Maybe accidentally suffocate yourself.

It was ridiculous.

This had happened about a month ago, with reversed roles — you being the squealer and Seokjin being the unfortunate listener.

You wondered whether he had felt just like you were feeling at that moment.

You thought about wearing your headphones and blasting some music. You thought about rushing out of the apartment and smashing the door on your way out.

You knew you had no one to call, no one who could rescue you at four am on a winter night, sheltering you from the shards of your heart precipitating and stabbing your guts.

Maybe you were allucinating. Maybe it was the sound of your pulse getting too loud because you didn’t trust yourself breathing without emitting a sob.

No, it was the headboard. There was no other way to explain the thumping.

You turned and grabbed your phone, sending a hopeless shout in the void. Just a text to the one most likely to answer, even though the chances were pretty thin.

Are you awake? Perhaps?

The thumping subdued.

Your vision blurred as you stared and stared, occasionally tapping the screen and praying for a miracle.

You thought you had fallen asleep, trapped in a nightmare, when a small bubble appeared.

On the hunt. We’re just back from Mulbreigh field. I guess you’re home?”

You shook yourself up and got moving, not even caring to keep quiet. The thumping had resumed, and so had the mewling.

At Ginger’s in five.

Gotcha.

You did exit the apartment in a few minutes, grabbing just the bare necessities, and closing the door quietly.

By now you were familiar with nightly runaways.

And you were also familiar with the trio headed toward you.

“Buttercup, is that you?” A calm, familiar voice asked.

“Joon?”

“Yeah, it’s us. We have just one field left.” He said. “We’re hoping to get the last one in time for the meteor shower.”

You raised your eyebrows. “There’s a meteor shower tonight?”

The other man at Namjoon’s side was a vet from a city nearby, who occasionally helped him track new wild animals that inhabited the area. “Yes. At around five am. It will be barely visible, but it will be there. Nice to see you, Buttercup.”

“Hello Marcus, always a pleasure.” You said kindly, still shaking your head at the nickname. Shortly after, you noticed the third man greeting you. “Hi Buttercup!”

“Hello Guk!” You said. “How many did you find?”

“We found three owls and got them chipped and registered. And we found a new fox, just out of Mulbreigh. We’re going to track him or her soon, hopefully. No wolves, fortunately.”

You smiled. “That’s good news!” You said enthusiastically, thinking about how the farmer would have menaced those. The four of you walked toward the last location, taking a long path stretching north.

“We’re hoping to find deers, honestly. Remember when we found that doe, last year? Apparently she found a way to remove her tracker and we’re hoping we can keep her monitored, just in case she has more fawns this year.” Marcus explained, at which you nodded in interest.

Staying focused allowed you to remove some thoughts from your mind, but at the same time you kept yourself out of their way, letting the experts work, following them from a distance as they combed the field and placed pheromones signals around the area, hoping to attract the doe to the trees near the field, where it was easier to find her traces and where it was potentially easier to catch her.

“There’s no point going on here,” commented Marcus. “We can only wait. It might take weeks.”

Namjoon huffed and nodded. “Oh, there!” He said, pointing up. A white sign resembling a scratch slashed the horizon in the west, Jeongguk whipping his head in the direction, his pretty eyes widening in wonder as he saw one more shooting star zoom through the sky lighting up at dawn in such delicate shades, from rose to periwinkle to deep royal blue.

For a moment you stared at the sky, feeling its immensity, peace and beauty heal you slowly and steadily. How could such tiny human matters affect its infinity? You let your eyes drown in the greatness of everything, with the snowcaps rimmed in gold in the distance, and the meteors becoming invisible as the sky finally became too bright.

“Guk, Buttercup, why don’t you head home while me and Marcus drive back at the cabin and finish up the paperwork?” Namjoon suggested, by now extremely used to his routine.

Jeongguk looked intermittently at you and Namjoon, adorably confused before he nodded.

“Okay.” He agreed.

You smiled timidly before thanking him, the two of you starting your walk back to town. It was a thirty minute trek, at worst, but you were both fast walkers and in twenty-five you reached his small house. Bibby, his large, scary dog — who of course is a sweetheart, just like his owner — welcomed both of you, the oversized puppy throwing himself at you and barking just once before Jeongguk shushed him.

“How come you joined us?” Jeongguk asked, uncapping his orange juice bottle and pouring a glass, offering you some while you shook your head and declined politely.

You crossed your arms, your stance becoming defensive. You fidgeted and tried to speak, starting a couple times before stopping and starting again, trying to build an actual sentence.

Jeongguk looked at you and waited patiently. He was familiar with the blabbering, stuttering and reformulating.

“Okay. Don’t say this to Yoongi, but… Yeah, he took Grace home last night— That is, he brought her to the apartment and they… Slept together?” You said, your voice so squeaky by the time you said the final word.

“And by ‘sleeping’ you mean everything but, right?” Jeongguk asked tactfully.

You nodded and looked at the floor, busying yourself petting Bibby.

“I’m so sorry, Buttercup.” He said, coming close to you and caressing your back soothingly.

You didn’t have the energies to cry. You probably would, in a while, after waking up.

“You need some sleep, don’t you, Buttercup?” Jeongguk asked, patting your head.

Again you replied wordlessly, moving your head in approval.

“Bibby is a great nap buddy, and I can get the futon ready and let you sleep there.” He reassured you, already fluffing up the pillows and grabbing an extra blanket.

“I’d like to sleep on the sofa, please?” You said, sitting down and removing your shoes, Bibby immediately getting interested in your wiggling toes.

“Oh, you’d like that?” He asked in surprise, “try it first, I can still get the futon ready if you don’t like this old guy.” He joked about the piece of furniture.

You laid on your side, wiggling a little as you found the right position. “Can do.” You said with a barely-there smile. “Thank you, Guk.”

“It’s okay.” He said, throwing the blanket on top of you. “This one is just for guests. I washed it last weekend, don’t worry.” He reassured you.

Knowing Jeongguk, you didn’t even mind. He is a neat freak and a tattoo artist: cleanliness means everything to him. “Can I seriously keep Bibby?” You asked, soft eyed.

He beamed and nodded. “He only sleeps on the sofa.” He said proudly and, as if following his owner’s praise, Bibby climbed on the cushions, curling up in the space before you and laying his head on your arm, using it as a pillow.

You giggled and scratched the spot behind his ear.

“Ask me if you need anything.” Jeongguk murmured. “I’ll leave my door open, just in case you need help or something.” He commented sweetly, closing the blinds to the several windows before walking to the kitchen and coming back to you, placing a bottle of water close to you.

He noticed Bibby was already asleep and he caressed the dog’s head before whispering “sleep tight”.

You heard him leave the room. You closed your eyes, feeling Bibby’s lungs inflate and deflate regularly, his heartbeat strong, his short fur velvety and relaxing under your fingertips.

You fell asleep like a baby.

Waking up meant a lot of things happening altogether.

Realising Bibby was in your arms.

Realising you were on Jeongguk’s sofa.

Realising you were heartbroken and that the idea of going back home nauseated you so deeply you couldn’t even remotely consider it.

Jeongguk greeted you from the kitchen. “You’re up, Buttercup!” He cheered, while Bibby turned around and placed his big head under your chin, shading his eyes. He always marvelled you with his curious manners. “It’s midday, would you like brunch?”

You sniffed the air. Bacon and eggs.

“Yes, please.”

Bibby seemed to follow your lead, sniffing the air and running to his owner, acting way faster than you.

“Okay, what do we wanna do?” Jeongguk asked once you were both seated at the kitchen table.

You ate some food, chewing quietly as you thought. You took your time.

“Honestly, I don't feel like going home, I guess.” You said, staring at your dish. You felt a bit lost.

“We can hang out. Watch TV, meet the guys, do anything you want.” Jeongguk said.

“I was thinking of… No, it's okay, I should go home.”

“But you don't want to.” Jeongguk opposed.

“No, but I don't want to go back later tonight and find myself dreading sleeping in my room.” You said. You couldn't explain the emptiness in your stomach as you thought of the room.

“You know you can stay here as long as you want, right? I have a spare room. We can put the futon there.” He said touching your hand.

That small sentence felt like the water threatening to drown you was slowly lowering.

“I don't want to abuse your kindness.” You admitted shyly, softly.

“I am your friend. It is my duty to help you” He reassured you.

You mulled over your various possibilities. “Okay. But I'd like to go home and grab some stuff. Maybe they're not around.” You considered, looking at Jeongguk doubtfully.

“It's okay. We can go together.”

You exhaled in relief.

Standing in front of the apartment door, you took a deep breath, Jeongguk rubbing his hand between your shoulder blades, over your jacket.

You could already hear them laughing and chatting.

You slipped the keys into the lock and opened the door.

“I'll wait here, yes?” Jeongguk reassured you.

You nodded and went in, walking to your room hesitantly, only to be completely overwhelmed by the sight in the kitchen.

Jin was standing behind Grace, helping her prepare his special avocado sandwich, an elaborate mug topped with whipped cream and crushed almonds waiting beside her while the breakfast table was filled with any kind of breakfast and brunch food one could only dream of.

However, what truly unsettled you was Grace, wearing an oversized shirt — Jin's — bare-legged, with Granny's thick handmade socks covering her feet and calves.

Seokjin said something in her ear and she giggled cutely, throwing her head back and leaning into his shoulder.

They ignored you completely, caught in their happy bubble, while you hid slightly.

You refused to hold on, rushing back to the front door.

Jeongguk spoke softly. “Where's your stuff?”

You shook your head.

“I'm coming with you.” He said, placing his hand on the small of your back and leading you inside, closing the door noisily.

“Hello, we're here.” He called loudly, bringing the two of you to the kitchen.

Seokjin's eyes zeroed in to the place the man's voice had come from, spotting you instead.

So this is it, he thought.

He. Grace.

You. Jeongguk.

Jeongguk?

His jaw contracted.

“Buttercup came by to grab some things. It won't take long, will it, sweets?”

You widened your eyes at him and shook your head. “Yes, sure.”

You almost ran to your bedroom, picking up the most basic stuff to spend a night out and to head off to lessons the following morning.

In the bathroom, you collected your toothbrush and beauty products before returning to the kitchen, your bag ready.

“Good to go, sweets?” He questioned, looking at you with his expressive, gleeful eyes.

You nodded and gave him the tiniest of smiles. “Let's go.”

Jeongguk turned towards Jin and Grace. “Have a nice afternoon, goodbye!” He greeted, letting you wave at the two before dragging you out, not before offering Seokjin a smug grin and winking.

Wearing that mask took a toll on him. He hated what Seokjin had done to you through the years, acting like a protective older brother without being one. He hated that the man kept you emotionally busy and never let you out of his influence. Most of your past relationships had dramatically been brought to an end by Seokjin's asphyxiating presence, by the incapability of your partners to rival with your best friend.

He had ruined you for everyone else, and Jeongguk couldn't find any words to define how cruel that was.

“Are you doing okay, Buttercup?” He asked.

You smiled a bit coldly.

“I'm sorry you had to see that.” He opened the door and let you in, Bibby welcoming the both of you.

“It's okay. They've been dating for more than a month now. He's been by himself for a long time–”

“But he had you!” Jeongguk objected as he took off his jacket.

Your mouth stretched sadly. “Not like that.”

Jeongguk scrunched his nose in disappointment. “Okay. You know I’ve had the biggest crush over you. And we know that by now it’s just water under the bridge. And maybe I never told you but it was so easy to get over you — no offence — since to me, actually to all of us, you and Jin have always belonged to each other. It’s canon. Anyone else would be wrong for the two of you. Obviously.”

You completely ignored Jeongguk’s mention of those old feelings. You already knew; it was all water under the bridge — just like he said — and the two had discussed it years ago. Instead, you focused on the belonging part. “He has Grace now. They’ve been dating for what? Six weeks?”

“He’s been in love with you for four years!” Jeongguk said, slightly upset.

“Well, apparently he didn’t do a great job of showing that! And it doesn’t matter now. He has Grace.” You repeated.

“The two of you are so stupidly dumb, I need to call Yoongi.” Jeongguk said, absolutely frustrated.

Silence lingered heavy in the room, like a thick fog. “Don’t call Yoongi, please.” You said, sitting on the sofa and curling up in a ball. “He’ll scold me and then snap at Jin and then Spice will kill all of us for stressing him and interrupting their kinky Sunday afternoon.”

Jeongguk startled and put down the phone. “Kinky Sunday afternoon? Is that a thing?”

“With Spice, anything is a thing, especially if it means alone time with Yoongi.” You explained, scratching your nose and hugging Bibby as he got on the sofa.

“Okay. Let’s think about happier, less traumatising things. Do you wanna watch some TV? I have some Disney DVDs from when Namjoon comes over. No Bambi and Dumbo because those make him cry.” Jeongguk said, exposing his friend shamelessly. “And I don’t want to pay for Disney plus, Yoongi would disown me and I would never tattoo him anymore and I don’t want that.”

You giggled, completely endeared. “Do you think you have Tangled?”

“Oh, yes!” Jeongguk checked the case and placed the CD in his PlayStation. “Namjoon loves Pascal. The chameleon.” Jeongguk gushed, sitting on the sofa, switching on a small lamp. “Oh, would you like some popcorn?” He asked, ever friendly and welcoming.

You smirked before nodding.

Pausing the film, he dashed to the kitchen, getting a bag into the microwave and coming back five minutes later with a large bowl, the whole room smelling of salted butter.

You hummed in approval and settled down, Bibby miraculously uninterested in the snack. He restarted the film and your mind got completely absorbed by that.

Seokjin was confused.

He had accompanied Grace home, and now he sat in an empty room — an empty house —, looking at the opposite end of the table, where you weren’t sitting.

Did you sleep with Jeongguk for revenge?

Did you maybe talk to him and he made his move and you said ‘why not’, just like you had with that dude almost a month ago?

Maybe you liked him. Maybe you had always liked him and the two of you had confessed — he had a different gleam in his eyes and he had called you ‘sweetie’ or some other dumb nickname like that.

He should have confessed. He should have stopped hiding his head in his ass and should have grown a pair and told you, Buttercup, I’m so far gone that I’d be ready to serve you for the rest of my life, hell, I’d even donate you my sperm if your husband was infertile and you wanted kids. I’d even give up a kidney, fuck, I’d give up my heart too for you.

He was a dumb, stupid fucker.

He wrote you a text.

I’m sorry about fucking Grace, please come home.

Erased

Please come home. We need to talk. I’m in love with you.

Erased

Don’t fuck Jeongguk, you can fuck me instead, please.

Erased

He realised he always wrote ‘please’, and the more he went on, the more he needed to add.

He tried to stop overthinking everything and focused on the actual reality of it all.

He stared at your empty seat again.

Are you coming home for dinner?

Sent

The silence felt eternal.

That must be how space rovers feel, he thought, thinking about that tiny robot that wandered over the surface of Mars all alone.

He felt like the whole apartment couldn’t possibly be home anymore.

He shook his head, telling himself he was being melodramatic. After five minutes, he decided to call you. You always answered texts about food! You knew how much it meant to him eating together!

With renewed tenacity, he found your contact at the very top of the list, three A’s added before your name to make sure it always stayed on top of the list.

And he called you.

The beeping sound of the call ringing went on for ages. He swore he could feel his hair grow and his skin wither.

He waited maybe for a bit less than a minute, his mind already knowing that you were upset with him, that you were making him wait and grovel. You were trying to get on his nerves. Most definitely.

The ringing stopped.

“What is it?”

It was Jeongguk.

“Is she with you?” Seokjin asked, cold as ice.

“Yes. Of course.”

“When is she coming home?” Jin asked dryly. He felt ready for a fight.

“When she wants to.” Jeongguk replied equally dryly.

“Give her the phone.”

Jeongguk breathed heavily. He didn’t want to pass the phone to you. Seokjin had no right claiming you like that, using that voice, acting so mean when he was the one at fault. “She’s sleeping.” It was true. You were really sleeping; you had completely crashed at the end of the cartoon, with Bibby keeping you warm and covering you in affection, never leaving your side. After all, some dogs have a sense of smell so fine that they can sniff at their owner’s skin and perceive the hormones making their human happy or sad.

Seokjin waited, trying to calm himself down. It didn’t work. “I bet you’re gloating. You finally have her, don’t you? You must be feeling so smug.”

Jeongguk stretched his neck, keeping his composure. “I don’t have her, okay? She came to me and I gave her space. I gave her somewhere safe—”

“Our home is safe.” Jin growled. “Here is safe.”

“With you breaking her heart by banging that girl you don’t love?”

“She also banged a man she didn’t give a shit about.”

Jeongguk raised his eyebrows. “Did you bang Grace for revenge, then?”

“No. God, I’ve been alone for years, can’t I have one good thing?” Seokjin almost screamed, his frustration spilling over.

“Maybe she banged him to get over you. Maybe she did that because she’s tired of being alone, too.” Jeongguk explained, his tone glacial. His anger was scary — it didn’t explode or break. It froze everything it touched. “You hurt her. The moment you chose Grace, and with every date you went on. When you went to her on Valentine’s, when you banged her the other night. And there’s a difference. The dude she banged? That was just sex. But you and Grace? There are feelings there. That’s the part she can’t stand. This morning, when she saw the two of you in the kitchen? You broke her heart, Jin. She was broken—”

“But you fixed that, didn’t you, sweetie?” He teased, sarcastic and poisonous.

“Stop talking about my feelings for her.” Jeongguk chastised him. “Unlike you, I told her. I told her I had had a crush for her. I told her three years ago and I also told her that my feelings died down once I realised how she looked at you and how you looked at her. And we’re friends, we’re cool. I would never be able to look at her like anything more than a sister.”

Seokjin shut his mouth. He felt horrible. Maybe because he was horrible. He needed your sparkly laugh and your soothing touch. To talk things out about last night. Make everything right again. “Please, convince her to come home.”

Jeongguk tutted. “I won’t. She’ll come if she wants to. At her own time.”

“Jeongguk...” Seokjin begged.

“You both need to move on from this toxic bond. And there’s no way other than separating. Physically first, and emotionally second.” Jeongguk reasoned, repeating something he and Yoongi had discussed a thousand times.

“She is my friend.”

“You’re not hers, though. You are the person she loves, and the person hurting her. She deserves a real chance, away from you.” Jeongguk rubbed the crown of his head. “I have to go. Goodnight.”

He hung up.

------------------------------------------

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

#kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bangtan hq #thetruthuntoldnet #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #Baker!seokjin #bts fanfiction #bts blog #Seokjin flatmates!Au #seokjin friends to lovers

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not-safeforsanders · 4 years

Text

Pleasure of a Punishment

Ship: King!Creativity/Virgil

Word Count: 2899

Warnings: Some slight dub-con because whether Virgil consented or not, he probably would’ve gone through with it. Use of the term “street rat” to describe an orphan.

Notes: Power dynamics, also Not A Foot Fetish But Some Grinding Against Feet I Do Not Have A Foot Fetish.

Plot: The king finds someone stealing from his royal treasury, but he’s a lot softer than he lets on and can’t send him to the rope, so he improvises a punishment.

Requested by anon! I made this a whole lot softer than you probably wanted but I’ve written enough non-con for the week!

The rattle of noise alerts the king to the sound of someone else other than himself in the royal treasury. He stands very still for a moment, his red-and-green eyes narrowing as he scans the shadows of a room he is very familiar with. This gives him a distinct advantage, of course, he knows this room like his own name, a stranger would not be quite so adept to making their way through it.

The sound of his boots on the floor make him wince a little, the noise surely making himself known. He hears a sharp inhale of breath in the far corner of the room and smirks to himself. ‘They better have a damn good excuse,’ he thinks.

He crosses the room in two quick strides and reaches forward to yank a boy out of the shadows; he’s tall, thin, his hair dark and messy, his skin sickly pale but otherwise...he is very pretty. His dark brown eyes stare up at the king with terror, apologies and pleads on his tongue.

“Silence.” The boy shuts his mouth. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen sir,” he’s far too young for a life like this, whatever could possess someone barely five years younger than himself to lead a life of criminal intent?

“What’s your name?”

“Virgil sir,”

“Do you have a surname Virgil?”

“I was orphaned sir, we don’t get surnames,”

“A street rat then,” the hand on the other’s shirt loosens, a little bit of sympathy in his eyes. The hard expression slips and he sighs, curse his ability to care. ‘Father was right,’ he thinks to himself, ‘I’m far too soft’. He runs a hand through his hair “How did you even get in here?”

“I uh...had a disagreement with your guards,” the king can’t help but smirk a little, the idea of this lanky but scrawny little thing besting armed guards is...an amusing image, to say the least.

“Have you done this before?”

“That depends on your definition of this,” he likes dodging questions, doesn’t he?

“I have to punish you, but you’ve no need to fear the rope today if you keep your mouth shut.” Virgil stares at him in the dark, their eyes meeting properly for the first time, he straightens out the slump of his shoulders and nods firmly. “Come, I have a job for you.” The dark-haired man’s eyebrows furrow, but the king simply turns on his heel and ignores the expression. He follows the man through the castle, dodging strange looks from servants and members of the castle’s work team. He doesn’t even want to know how it looks, a young man wearing what is basically rags, following after the king obediently.

He doesn’t even want to know what it is, because the more he thinks about it, the less he thinks this is a job he wants to do.

When the reach the royal chambers, Virgil gets a nervous feeling that this is exactly what it looks like. The king opens the door, and then closes it behind the two of them, pressing both locks into place. “You’re filthy,” he mutters, his hand coming up to tilt the other man’s face to the side firmly, eyes studying him. “I’m going to run a bath.”

Virgil simply stands awkwardly in the middle of a room that is larger than his entire home, watching as the king pulls his cloak off and hangs it over the door of his wardrobe. His build looks somehow bigger without it, his shoulders broader, neck thicker, his back wider. Virgil swallows as his eyes trail over the other man and then decides looking away would be better. He doesn’t speak, he’s not even really sure he’s breathing until the bath is ready.

The king moves closer to him again, his hands damp, he brings them to the hem of Virgil’s thin, battered shirt, tugging a little. “Off,” he says firmly, the young man doesn’t argue, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor, he feels watched underneath the other’s eyes as the king raises an eyebrow and nods by way of invitation to continue. He slides his pants and underwear off, stepping out of them. The sunlight streaming through the window makes him feel so much more exposed, his hands hanging by his sides as the other’s eyes watch him. “Bath is ready, just go right ahead.” The king steps to the side gesturing to the bath. It’s right by the window too, he wonders if he has a bath in his bedroom for this exact reason, or whether the other man just likes to get out of the bath and roll straight into bed.

Virgil really hopes it’s the latter.

The water is warm against his skin, making him sigh a little. He’s never had such a warm bath, with soap too, his eyes flutter closed as he sinks into it, his hair matting as he dips under the water. He holds his breath for a moment, revelling in the sensation before pulling himself up right with a quiet gasp for air. The dark-haired man starts to relax with the eyes of the king on him, he even looks over at him; his hair clings to his face and neck and shoulders so he runs a hand through the knotted wetness so he can see better. The longer he holds the other man’s eyes, the longer he realises he’s inviting him, he can’t help it, those eyes are so curious; one red and one green, he’s never seen anyone with red eyes before, let alone only one.

He takes a deep breath when the elder man moves over to him, kneeling by the side of the bath; his sleeves had been rolled up from when he was making the bath, his arms folded and lean against the side of the cool metal tub, his eyes studying him. “Somehow I think I need to come up with better punishments,” he whispers, “I’m very bad at taking what I want,” the corner of his lips quirk into a smile, and Virgil smiles back.

“Perhaps you’re just a good king,” the other replies, his feet sliding under the water. “But you’re right, I was trying to steal from you...I should be punished,” his eyes flicker to the other man’s lips very briefly.

“You should be,” his hand moves from the side of the tub into the water, sliding between Virgil’s legs, the other leans back against the tub, his hands coming to rest on the sides with an ironclad grip. “Have you ever been with a man?”

“I’ve never been with anyone,” Virgil replies, inhaling sharply as a hand wraps around his cock, his eyes fall shut with a shuddering breath. “No-one around wanting a street rat with nothing...sir,”

The king’s jaw tenses and he swallows dryly, leaning over to kiss Virgil firmly, their lips part as they meet and his hand jerks Virgil’s cock. “So I’m the first person to touch you?” he whispers against his lips as they part for air.

“Other than myself,”

“Then I suppose your punishment is that I’m going to take something from you that you can never give to anyone else.” That’s fine by Virgil, if he’s honest, it’s not like he has a list of potential lovers and anyone he gets it’s not going to be someone he loves. Not in this society.

“I’ll be your mistress if that’s what you want, sir,” he replies hotly. ‘Damn any poor wife you get,’ he thinks to himself “What’s your name? No-one ever gives your name?”

“That’s because I don’t give my name.” his hand slides from Virgil’s cock, eliciting a small noise of protest from the other, which only gets a short chuckle in response. His lips trail from his lips to his jaw, to his neck, where he bites down gently, sucking at the skin.

“A king with no name, how odd,” Virgil breathes, trying not to lose his cool. Another chuckle in response, and the touch to his body dissipates.

“Stand up,” he commands, the other hesitates before doing as he’s told. His hard cock utterly on display as he stands in front of the other. “As I said before, you’re dirty,” Virgil feels the cool glide of soap on his chest before he’s even had a chance to register it, sliding over his collarbones, his chest, down his stomach. The king’s wrist grazes his cock and Virgil’s eyes close briefly, a quick exhale of air on his tongue. Then his back, neck, down his sides and sliding over his ass and thighs. The king’s hands trail down the inside of his thighs as he washes him, Virgil is sure his legs are shaking by that point.

The king soaps up his hand and then places it down, looking straight into his eyes as he wraps a soapy hand around his cock, slowly but deliberately jerking him. The younger’s nails dig into his palm and he moans softly, looking down at the other who is staring at him with both amusement and lust.

It’s not his fault he’s not used to being touched like this, even less that he already feels like he’s about to lose his mind.

The hand slips from him and the elder steps back. “You can rinse now.” Holy fuck, this is punishment. He sits back down in the water, his own hands running over his skin to wash the soap off, he washes his face whilst he’s at it.

The head of his cock dips above and below the waterline with his movements, and he wonders if such a simple sort of movement is supposed to feel so stimulating, or whether he may actually be losing his actual mind. The king does not miss his frustration and grinned “you insisted I punished you,” he says, so cockily that Virgil wants to slap that smug bastard smile off of his face. He figures that would be a bad idea consider he’s skipping out on capital punishment to be bathed and touched by the king himself.

‘There are worst ways to spend a Friday afternoon,’ he thinks, before there’s a hand on his thigh again, he lifts his legs a little so that the soles of his feet press flat against the base of the tub. His knees shift apart a little as the hand travels to the back of his sensitive thighs, a curious look in his eyes as he watches the other’s hand. The king runs his hand over his skin as if mapping out all the points that make him twitch or jolt, or inhale sharply; Virgil’s skin doesn’t usually feel this sensitive, but he also doesn’t usually have company.

He’s struggling to wrap his head around this entire situation if he’s honest.

Finally, the hand withdraws and the king stands up again. “You should dry off, the water’s getting cold.” As he stands, water drips from Virgil into the tub. He stands still, looking cold and somewhat beautiful in the sunlight. The king resists handing him a towel, wanting to simply admire the flushed skin and sharp angles of this man’s body. Finally, he decides to bring the towel over, but instead of handing it to him, he runs it down Virgil’s body himself, drying him off at a tedious pace.

The younger man looks almost fit to collapse after all of this teasing, his cock aching with every bout of touching that manages to keep him hard.

When he’s dry, stood naked in front of a fully clothed man who is twice his weight and at least a head taller, staring down at him like a meal, Virgil feels...different. His body feels clean, there’s that, he’s never been so clean in his life. But he also feels dizzy with want in a way he’s never felt before in his life, it’s exhilarating.

The king backs him up against the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress and kissing him firmly, Virgil’s lips part for the other, his body utterly pliable under the other man’s touches. He feels his body aching for release, but he knows he’s not getting it yet. Somehow, he gets the feeling he’s not getting to cum until the other man has.

The king moves off of him again, reluctantly, kicking his shoes off. He pulls Virgil up by the hands and switches their positions. “Kneel,” Virgil’s knees hit the ground before he’d even thought, the voice so firm and demanding he couldn’t even hope to resist. He stares up through his thick lashes and dark eyes as the other man frees his cock from his pants, pumping it slowly. “I’m sure you know what to do.”

“Yes sir,” Virgil eyes it with some semblance of anxiety, he really doesn’t want to choke. Still, he leans forward and wraps his mouth around the other man’s cock, bobbing his head, getting used to the weight and feel until he starts taking more of him in, his movements fluid and without practice. Experimenting with what feels like it works, until he finds himself not really thinking at all, absorbed in the idea of creating pleasure.

Pleasuring his king.

The other man moans softly, cursing under his breath as his eyes fall shut, his hand running through Virgil’s damp hair almost by way of praising him, soothing him. Even with all the control, he can’t find it within himself to be a harsher person. His body shakes with resilience until he experimentally shifts his hips into Virgil’s mouth, the other looks up at him, breathing deep through his nose before taking the other’s cock down his throat slowly. He gags a little, pulling back, but finds he likes the feeling, repeating the movement at a pace that he knows won’t make him sick.

The king utters praises to him, telling him he’s doing good, wonderfully even, he shifts his hips with the movements, eyes screwing shut as his head falls back. Virgil stares up at him with tears pricking his eyes from his choking endeavours, fixated on one goal only. The moment he can tell the other man is tensing underneath his administrations, he moves faster, saliva dripping from his mouth down the king’s cock, soaking against the hair at the base.

The elder man lets out a stifled moan through his bitten lip, his grip in Virgil’s hair tightening as his hips twitch. The taste of cum squirting into the young man’s mouth makes him gag a little, it’s so sudden, unexpected and bitter, but he swallows it so he doesn’t choke, wrinkling his nose as the grip lessens and he can pull away.

“Good boy,” Virgil grins up at the praise but remains on his knees. His own cock had softened by now, but the frustration was still there, unmoving. The king brings his foot between Virgil’s legs, applying pressure to his cock, the young gasps sharply, leaning back on his hand as he stares down. His cheeks flush a little as he feels his cock twitch a little. “Go on, I can tell you’re desperate,” The other man bites his lip, wanting to resist, but the sheer desire for release overcomes him as he shifts his hips into the touch, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he grinds against the only release he can currently get it. “You’re so desperate you’d rut like a dog.” The king watches amused, a nonchalant expression on his face as he watches Virgil’s body move, his cock hardening against him.

It’s endearing (amongst many, many other things), to watch, Virgil’s eyes half-closed as he avoids the other’s gaze with a look of embarrassment and humiliation, chasing the stimulation as though his life depends on it. He whines with frustration, tears pricking at his eyes as he grinds particularly hard to no avail, panting in exertion.

Finally, the other man takes pity on him, leans down to pick him up as though he weighs next to nothing and toss him on his back onto the bed. Virgil’s legs spread as the other climbs between them, the King’s hand wrapping around his cock as their lips meet in a heated kiss. He strokes him, once, twice, three times, and the other sees white, his loud and broken sob of a moan captured in the kiss and swallowed by the other’s lips. He cums hard between their bodies, his legs trembling as he lies still, looking dizzy with the energy he’s used today.

The king grabs a towel to wipe him down, staring down at the other with a small smile. “You look as though you’re going to pass out.” He pulls the blankets from under Virgil and wraps him in them, looking down with far too much fondness. “You know, I might keep you,”

“Like a pet?” is the tired response he gets.

“You’d be fed, watered, a roof over your head, you’d never have to steal for food again.”

“But I’d be your pet,”

“I was thinking more a servant, you’d have other jobs apart from this...cooking, cleaning, a life of servitude, but it’s well paid.” Virgil looks up at him tiredly.

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” The king leans over to press a kiss to his lips, much softer, much calmer than before, Virgil inhales sharply but not from lust, a whole different feeling that knocks the air out of his lungs. He doesn’t want to think about it. “For now, just rest.” And he does.

#not safe for sanders

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 3 years

Text

Family Pride or Clan Trevor

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @stupidbluegirl @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst

This Passage Contains Potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and very smutty content.

Summary: Rod and Kirby talk more about what a potential future together might look like and Rod meets the rest of the Trevor Clan.

Kirby's POV:

The rest of the day was quiet, too quiet, almost as if Roddy was planning something for the get-together tomorrow. The morning of the Twenty-Ninth was quiet still, then we had to leave to go to the get together, we got in my dad's Vauxhall Firenza and I zoned out until we reached the community centre and parked in the overflow parking lot.

I spotted two of my cousins walking over, the identical twins, Mona and Meredith, with their husbands and kids not to far behind them.

"Su’mae"

"Su’mae" They repeated, in unison.

My skin crawled as I recalled all the times over the years that the twins had spooked me.

"Beth ydy eich enw chi?" Mona attempted to ask Roddy.

"Mon, he doesn't speak Welsh, this is Roddy. Rod, this is Mona and Meredith."

"Hi Ladies, I'm Rod, Kirby's boyfriend."

"Cariad?" Meredith looked up at me, my face unmasked showing flushed cheeks, "Cawsoch chi'ch hun yn gariad?"

"Aye."

"Llongyfarchiadau!"

"Thank you, Meredith, How're the kids?"

"Oh, They're fine."

"You speak English?" Rod asked, incredulous.

"Of course we do." The twins answered in unison.

Rod shot me a concerned look, I gave him a knowing but still somewhat scared look in return.

We walked into the centre and I immediately saw the 'welcome home' banner and I couldn't stop the rush of emotions and Rod noticed the change in me, seeing the softer and much more hidden side of me, the part of me that never wanted to leave my homeland for the USA. I rushed outside, sitting on the bench next to the door, Roddy following quickly behind me.

"Woah, woah. Are ya alright, baby?"

"I'm fine, just a little light-headed is all."

"Don't you go lying ta me."

"I'm just a little emotional, Rod, it's been a while since I was here and I haven't seen half of my family for much longer than that."

My cousins Pat and Rod came up to the bench.

"Hey Kirby, new fella."

"Hey Patrick, Roderick. Uhh, boys, this is my boyfriend, Roddy. Roddy, my cousins, Patrick and Roderick."

"So," Pat started, "When's the wedding?"

"What are ya talkin' about," Rod (My cousin, Roderick) added, "There's got to be an engagement party before a weddin, Paddy."

"I know Roddy, but then there's also the Hen and Stag Do's, too."

"So, How long you two been dating?"

"Not long enough for you two to be making those jokes." I chided

"Okay, we'll leave you two to your business."

They scarpered off quite quickly after that, leaving me and Roddy (Piper) alone for a while.

"Those two are weird."

"Rod, they're family, of course they're weird."

"They raise a fair point though."

"What do you mean?!" I shot him a confused look

"Well, when would our wedding be?"

"That depends."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, knowing your 'appetite' it depends on if you y'know put me 'up the duff' so to speak, before or after the end of the year."

"Well, if I get you 'knocked up' before the end of the year, you'd marry me at the start f next year?"

"Exactly."

"What if I get you 'knocked up' before the end of next month?" he teased

"Roddy, don't tease me, boyo."

"Oh come on, we'll sneak back to ya Da's Firenza, get in the back, shack up and-"

I covered Rod's mouth with my hand, "Don't be a fuckwit, Roderick," I let him speak again.

"I'm not being a 'fuckwit', I'm suggesting," he placed his hand on my thigh, close to my knee, slowly moving his hand closer to my groin, "We go, shack up, fly back before the second of Feb, if I get you pregnant, then we'll get married sooner rather than later, if I don't then we'll try again."

"Rod, I'm twenty-nine."

"So am I, until April seventeenth. Why? When are you suggesting I get ya 'Knocked up'?"

"I dunno, when I'm thirty, or in my thirties. Not now."

"So, next year. I think I can wait until then," He then whispered something to himself that I could barely hear, "If I don't get blue balls and die."

"Roddy!"

"Ya heard that, didn't ya."

"Rod, I, you, ugh."

"C'mere baby." He pulled me closer, one hand on my thigh and the other cupping my cheek, giving me a quick kiss on the lips, "I love ya baby, I would wait an eternity to have a family with you," He pulled me back into a longer and more passionate kiss, pulling away when we both needed to breathe.

"I love you, Piper."

"Do you want me to marry ya, before we have kids?"

"Preferably, I don't want you to leave me."

"I'd never leave ya, never, not me."

"Yeah, like you're Prince fucking Arthur."

"That would make you my Guinevere."

"I'm nothing like Guinevere."

The rest of the evening was quite quiet, a family meal at a local restaurant, resulting in a drunken Roddy and me getting somewhat tipsy. Safe to say, my Da did not enjoy driving us back to the house. But I had sobered up somewhat by the time we were in bed for the night, Rod not so much.

"Oh, baby, let me make love to ya."

"Rod, shush."

"But we could be havin' so much fun."

"Roddy, get some rest or you'll hate yourself in the morning."

"But I just wanna kiss ya, and hug ya, and stuff ya pretty little maw wit ma co-"

"Roderick. Shut up."

"Fine, fine. I'll get some sleep, ya bi-"

I pulled him into a rough and passionate kiss, slipping my tongue into his mouth before pulling away and shifting positions to straddle his lap.

"ya big sexy beast, c'mere."

He pulled me down into another rough but passionate kiss, using his free hand to grind my grin against his, making sure that I can feel the heat rising from his crotch, barely covered by his briefs, grinding against my own barely clothed frame. The bulge in his pants pressing into the curve of my groin, Rod letting out small grunts and groans, feeling his hand move from my ass to the front of my crotch before feeling him rub at my clit before he slipped his hand into my boxer shorts, rubbing at my clit before checking to see if I'm wet, letting out a satisfied grunt before pulling away from the kiss.

"Would you like me to get you off, Roddy?"

"How about, you give me my release and I give you yours."

"Sure, but we gotta keep this quiet."

Rod pulled me into another heated make out session.

When we woke up the following morning, limbs intertwined, Rod's body on top of mine.

"Morning, beautiful."

"Good Morning, my love."

"What day is it?"

"Monday. Thirtieth, January. Nineteen Eighty-Four."

"I gotta make some calls."

Rod tried to get up, not realising how intertwined our legs were, climbing out of the bed, pulling us both off the bed and landing on his back on the floor with a thud.

"Oh my God, Roddy, are you okay?"

"I'm alright baby, I'm ok, you?"

"I'm alright. I was scared that I hurt ya."

"Nah, you could never hurt me."

I got off of him, pulling him up afterwards and kissing him before he went off to make the calls he needed to. I did my morning routine, my Mam gave me a coffee and I set myself up in the gym half of the garage.

At least an hour passed before I saw Roddy again, I was drinking the final drops of my coffee when he rushed into the gym his concerned expression instantly turning into relief.

"Ya alright, handsome."

"I'm okay honey, I'm okay. Turns out we need to leave earlier than planned, as in before the fourth."

"Then we'll leave tomorrow, my parents will understand. My Da won't like us leaving so soon, so if I were you, I'd go build the familial bridge now so that he doesn't kill ya."

"Alright, I'll go do that. I love ya. Oh, you have a match on the Sixth against S.D Jones."

"Okay, I love you."

I spent another hour in the gym before Piper returned.

"Ya Da has said that he'll kill me if I hurt ya or break ya heart, however he knows that we need to go back to work eventually and trusts that you'll put me in my place."

"Sounds like my Da, hey Hot Rod."

"Hey baby," He got closer, wrapping his arms around my waist, "gimme some sugar."

"No, I'm covered in sweat," I tried to avoid him kissing my neck but failed, "alright, fine, fine. I give in."

He cupped my jaw with his left hand, pulling me down into the kiss, his eyebrows knitted together and my eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, letting Rod control the moment. The moment Rod pulled away I pressed my forehead to his.

"Do you wanna watch me work out?"

"You box, Rod?"

"Golden Gloves Champion. Black belt in Judo, too."

"Handsome and athletic, you are the whole package."

"Thanks for the compliment, but y'know, a strong man is only as strong as his partner."

"Do you mean me or Orndorff and Schultz?"

"You, ya dafty."

"Rod."

"Yes, Kirby?"

"Do you wanna leave tonight, red eye flight, get back before tomorrow morning?"

"Sure, if that's what ya wanna do, we'll go tonight."

"Rod."

"Yeah."

"I want … I would like," I took a second to compose myself," I would like to have a family with you."

He pulled away, locking eyes with me, his tone optimistic, "Really?"

"Absolutely," I wiped a tear away from my eye, "I want to marry you, I want to be a wife and a mother and I want to be with you."

"Do you want to live here, or in the States?"

"Well, America would mean we can work easier."

He let out a small chuckle, smirking up at me, "I love ya, I want to marry ya and be with ya through thick and thin, anything happens, I'll be by your side."

"Promise me, you won't fight with Damien any more."

"I promise you I won't. Promise me, you'll let me tell people about us."

"I promise you, you can tell whoever you want."

"Let's go make ourselves a new home, alright baby?"

"Yeah."

We packed our things and my Da drove us to the airport. I gave my parents a tearful goodbye and we got the next flight back to New Jersey, checking into a hotel in Edison and I left Piper for half an hour to pick up the D200, collecting my paperwork from a nearby DMV centre and going back to the hotel. Rod opened the door, letting me in and slumping on the double bed next to me.

"Hey beautiful."

"Hi Rod, help me with this, please." I gestured to the paperwork

"What is it?"

"Insurance stuff, getting you insured on the D200."

"Give it here, I'll deal with it."

"No Rod, I'm capable of filling it out, just help me with the details."

"Just, gimme the papers," He leaned over and kissed my neck, "let me handle it, baby."

"Not with the mood you're in."

"I can't help that you're sexy."

"Rod, stop thinking with ya dick for five minutes and help me."

"Alright, fine."

We were almost finished with the paperwork when there was a knocking at the door.

"Who is it?"

"Piper, let me in or I'm kicking this door down." The muffled voice threatened.

"Shit, that's Schultz."

"Holy shit, Piper. Are you fucking the female giant?"

That was not Schultz's voice. It sounded like Orndorff.

Piper groaned as he opened the door.

"I'm not fucking her right now, Paul."

"Hi Schultz, Orndorff. Rod get your ass back over here and help me with this."

"Pay me." Rod teased

"With what?" I jokingly responded

"With sex" Schultz and Orndorff said almost simultaneously, giving each other a knowing look.

"All three of you share a brain." I mumbled

Piper groaned, gesturing for me to give him the papers, I complied and he read through it, mumbling the words of the document to himself.

Schultz looked from me to Piper before nudging Orndorff's arm, "They look like they're already married, Paul. Piper's got himself a wife."

"I'm not his wife-"

"She's my girlfriend." Roddy interrupted

"I was gonna say that Roddy."

"I know baby, I know."

"Jeez Rod, get her pregnant or somethin' boy."

"David!" I chided

"I would, but she's got a fight on the sixth."

"Roddy!" Orndorff chastised

We spent the rest of the evening with the boys and eventually I fell asleep next to Roddy. I woke up the next morning with Roddy next to me.

"Morning Kirby."

"Good morning, Roderick, ya handsome fool."

"I love you too honey," Rod kissed my forehead, "I filed the paperwork for ya."

"Thank you. What's the time?"

"About, half ten in the morning. Do ya wanna go grab breakfast?"

"I'd thought you'd never ask."

END OF FAMILY PRIDE or CLAN TREVOR

#wrestling fic #Lucifarians

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fatbottombucky · 4 years

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What’s The Diagnostic? They’re Obliviously In Love |StevexBucky|

Summary:Avengers Assemble Hospital is a non-profit hospital. It's also a teaching hospital to Interns and Students. Some of the best minds work, teach, and learn at the hospital. Dr Rogers and Dr Barnes have been friends through thick and thin, both meeting in Med School- when Steve used to get into fights with more students than he'd ever admitted. They're both about to relive Steve's first marriage as his first-wife is back, she wants to try again and Steve thinks this is it for him; he's an almost 40yr old-man, who doesn't get out much. Whilst Steve is dealing with his past, James, is dealing with the Chairman of The Board, Mr Rumlow, who hates him. A personal vendetta is what Rumlow has, James can't figure out why. Rumlow also has a keen interest in Steve, as if Steve needs more attention- this angers Barnes more. Their co-workers have a bet going on. Their long time patients are trying to set them up. Rogers and Barnes are helpless and oblivious...They're also RoomMates.

±Inspired by House MD; House and Wilson's relationship/ Diagnostic job is used for Bucky±

Ratings: (+18) Explicit Content

Warnings: SLOW BURN!!!! Will be displayed here when appropriate

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Notes: Each chapter is titled as 'Episodes', to clarify, if three chapters are titled "Episode One" that means those three chapters exist within the same time frame (AKA those chapters happen over a singular day or span over a week).

Episode One- The Deduction of Steve Rogers

11:00 am Wreck Room

"Have you told him?" Steve looks up from the staff's coffee machine to see Natasha, she's leaning against the table with her arms crossed. She's still dressed in her scrubs, despite being in surgery for plus five hours she still looks immaculate and beautiful. "He's going to find out soon, ya know? He's the master at deducing, heck, that's his entire job. There's no problem or puzzle that he can't solve."

Steve sighed, stirring the milk into the coffee for a second longer than necessary. "He's got a case right now. I have about," Steve looks at the clock on the wall and back to Natasha, "three more hours to think of how to break the news." He gives a little sigh and shakes his head, "I don't know why he'd be mad, she messaged me and I haven't even replied back, yet."

"You know how he gets," She shrugs, red hair pulled into a tight bun that she is currently taking down. "He's going to be figuring out why you haven't replied, he'll go into some in-depth explanation that'll explain why you didn't tell him straight away either- leading all towards the fact you want to message her."

Steve shakes his head, rolling his blue eyes as he taps the spoon three times against the rim of his mug before taking a thoughtful sip of his drink.

"Don't need to tell him now," giving her a pointed look, "you've been hanging around his office too much, Romanoff."

Natasha shrugs one shoulder, "I've been looking out for his newest intern, Parker. Stark wanted to make sure that Barnes didn't fire him within the first week, despite the demeaning comments the kid seems to be holding himself well."

Steve nodded and hears his phone beep, he checks and sees it's his ex-wife, his first ex-wife. Peggy Carter, his first real and true love, she's the one that pushed him into this job and supported him through his last year at Med School. He, honestly, thought she was it for him. They'd have a couple of kids together, work their respected jobs and raise a beautiful, happy family and grow old. But that didn't happen. In fact, on their second wedding anniversary, he was given divorce papers- by her lawyer, Edwin Jarvis.

Didn't see it coming. Sure, they had arguments like normal couples. Steve was dedicated to his job, he has to be because he's the Oncologist. There are people that are relying on him to form a good treatment plan; something that'll give them more time or help them beat their cancer. He never neglected his husband duties, he never neglected her and he never got a definitive answer to their divorce. What he does know is that James Barnes, his best friend, resents the woman and practically got Steve back on his feet after the divorce was finalised.

"You still not gonna answer her?"

'We need to talk, Steven.' Is the latest text that was sent to his phone, maybe they do need to talk, it'll get him some closure but he can't face her right now.

"I'm too busy, right now." He sighed and slipped the phone back into his pant pocket, "I've got to go over the recent funding for my department, Fury wants all documented and flies perfect for the Chairman that's coming this week. Meaning," he sighed and slipped his eyes to Natasha as he walks to the door, "I've gotta somehow get Barnes to do his own reports... or do them myself. He's also gotta do his six hours of clinic duty, but I might be going for overkill."

Steve walks out of the room, mug still in hand and turning, almost spilling the contents of his mug over the small intern. Parker is pushing a stretcher with Wanda on the other side, to save the coffee he holds it up and out of their way.

"Sorry, Dr Rogers, heading to surgery!" Wanda yells over her shoulder, blood splattered over her clothes.

Steve is almost tempted to follow, clearly, the Diagnostics Teams case is more complicated than they thought and James hadn't solved it just yet.

Meaning Steve had a couple of hours to get his work done before James starts snooping into his life, as normal. He has a few hours to reflect and act normal as if nothing has happened and therefore meaning his friend won't realise anything has happened.

1:34 pm Cafeteria

A body slides up beside Steve, plopping a Red Bull and a bowl of fries, plus a packet of Doritos onto his tray. Steve doesn't have to look to know it's James, but he looks anyway to see the usual neutral face of his friend. Steely eyes are looking back at him, there's a slight ghost of a smirk on his lips because he knows that Steve will complain... but pay for his lunch anyway.

"I'm adding all these lunches up, by the way. Giving you the bill at Christmas." Is all Steve mutters to him, standing in line behind a few clinic nurses; that are chatting amongst themselves.

James rolls his eyes, "My guy needs a Craniotomy," Completely changing the subject altogether, "can you get Wilson to do it?" Steve furrows his eyebrows and looks at him, crossing his arms over his chest when he faces him, shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a couple of pens in his shirt pocket. "He always puts me around the ringer, he'll say yes without question if you ask."

"I'm not asking Sam, if you need that surgery then you ask." Voice stern as he turns back and pulls out his wallet, nodding at the cashier, "for both," he mutters before handing over the money. James picks up the tray as he grabs the change, both walking over to a table and sitting down. "Don't throw my salad at me," he reprimands as James chucks the salad bowl at him.

"Oh, you mean that rabbit food?" James counters, pulling a chocolate bar from his pocket and opening it, Steve frowns when looking at him unwrapping the sweet treat. "You're gonna go up and pay for this, aren't you?"

Steve gives him a disapproving look. "Did you steal that?"

"I didn't if you go and pay for it," he laughs loudly when Steve gets up and walks to the counter, handing her the correct change and explaining before walking back to their table. "You're such a good boy, Rogers. So, what's been going on?"

Steve rolls his eyes, out of the two Barnes was the guy who cut corners. He believed that separating emotions from their work makes you a better Doctor, he could be right, but Steve has the belief that being emotional and leading with your emotions creates an environment that makes you want to save every patient. They're opposite ends of the spectrum. Bucky likes the thrill of puzzle-solving, getting that diagnostic and Steve likes saving his patients anyway he can.

Steve stopped mid-bite of his salad, glancing at James who wasn't even looking at him, opening his can of energy drink.

"Well, Fury has ordered all of us to get our paperwork done and I have, so do you want me to do yours?" James looks up and raises his eyebrows, "the new chairman of the board, Barnes. I don't want him to have more reasons to hate you, your personality already puts people off." Barnes gives a mock hurt face but nods in agreement. "I'll take your reports home tonight and do it for you."

They're silent for a few minutes, both eating in respective silence. James gets a few alerts on his pager, not bothering to check it; standard for him. Steve mostly talks, randomly talking about the wrestling match that they're going to have to record this weekend; he's working the night shifts. Telling James the usual bet wager is on, they always put in 200$ each and each, and every time, Barnes somehow wins- yet, Steve pays for his lunches.

Once they've finished their food and put their trash away they walk to the elevators. Stepping in and pressing the button for their floor, fortunately, their offices are next to one another. Something that Rogers later found out that Barnes requested, he wanted Steve closeby, possibly to annoy him as he does on the daily. James is often found in Steve's office, hiding from potential cases.

Steve glances at his wristwatch, present from his first wife-he's sentimental. Bucky calls him hopeless, perhaps he is. Peggy had brought that for him, a birthday present, and he has said he would pawn it off and buy himself a new watch. He just never has the time to go and look at watches or spend that amount on a decent one- the one Peggy got was decent, at least, that's what she had told him.

"You never answered my question," Steve quirks an eyebrow and looks at James, "About what's been going. You avoided the question and told me about work, we haven't caught up in almost two days because of my latest case." He looks expectingly at Steve, "could be because nothing new has happened, but you always update me on something new you've watched on Netflix and I know you have started something new. Something has happened; you don't want to tell me and it's either because it's bad or you just don't want to tell me."

The elevator doors open and they both step out, Steve looks at James and sighs softly.

"For once, please, just leave this alone." James tilts his head, he's only a few inches shorter than Steve. "It's not even that interesting or worth your time, trust me."

James nods once, "You don't want me to know and it's also bad, interesting." He smiles before walking to his office, just as his team shows up.

5:00pm Barnes' Office

"James, give me your paperwork." He has his coat hanging off an arm and his briefcase in the other, shoulder holding the glass door open.

Parker, Maximoff, and Jones all look up at Steve from their table. The whiteboard behind them have the patients different symptoms down, Steve briefly looks before watching James' attempt to lift the large stacks of files and papers. He notices the stiffness displayed in the left shoulder, how it locks-up and he can't move it, so Steve steps up and grabs the files.

An injury from years ago, he got it looked at even had surgery on that shoulder... to no avail. The pain lingers on. A reminder of his past life, a life that Steve never brings up out of respect for his friend.

"Hows the first wife?"

Steve stops and looks up, James doesn't wear a readable expression and Steve's throat tightens, daring to glance at the others in the room. He couldn't wait to bring this up privately, of course, he couldn't because it's James Barnes: when he figures something out he needs an audience. They all just watch as Steve has an internal battle within himself.

"It could be Non-Hodjikns-lymphoma," Jones pipes up, coat hanging off the back of her chair, clearly trying to get the conversation back onto the patient. "We've been thinking it's all in the head, but it could be pushing down on the spine and creating the symptoms we've seen in the brain."

"So I'm right," Barnes continues and Steve places the paperwork into his briefcase.

Finally looking at him once he clicks it shut. "I haven't even replied to her. It's nothing. I told you to leave this alone, so leave it."

"I just can't figure out why you weren't going to tell me," James leans against the wall and shrugs his shoulders as Steve looks at him with disbelief. "I'm your best friend, in fact, I'm your only friend that knows Peggy Carter and what she did to you. Why didn't you come to me first?" Before Steve can get a word in, James is off again, "Could be many things; you want to message her and me knowing would make it difficult, you know I would remind you of how evil she is. Could be because you aren't going to message her but you feel guilty, you want to message her but you know she's evil. It's something deeper, though."

Steve just sighs tiredly, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bucky," the nickname he hardly ever uses a work because professionalism is Steve's forte, "It's five text messages, all of which I have received today. This is one piece of thread that is frayed and small, not everything deserves to be a puzzle and my life, what I do, isn't something to be discussed at work. Leave it." The room is silent, James gives a curt nod.

"50$ on you texting her before lunch tomorrow," James calls out before his office door closes, Steve grumbles to himself with a shake of his head when pressing the elevator button heading to the parking lot.

- Please let me know what you think, I really appreciate feedback and want to know if this is something you’re interested in. Let me know if you want to be tagged too :) Rosalie-

Tagging: @starkerhowlter @atanoissapa @princessn-97 @oddone92 @rexburn12 @stevie-strawberry

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