#Like he could have just been born from the stone *only* but then we still gotta explain all of the other bullshit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

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

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

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

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

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

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

It started as petty crime—the theft.

You got good at it. Very good.

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

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

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

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

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

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

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

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

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

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

It was perfect. Perfect.

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

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

You consider yourself an artist.

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

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

Not that you cared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your body moves to it.

“Ma’am,” he nods.

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

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

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

“Of course, Ma’am.”

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

But beauty takes time.

You’d look better with those pearls.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not even mentioning the thighs.

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

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

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone.

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head.

“So, here for Victor’s party then?”

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.”

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part.

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.”

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron.

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so.

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another.

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to.

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up.

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there.

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand.

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do.

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing.

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind.

You blink, sighing under your breath.

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days.

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time.

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.”

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping.

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat?

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle.

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it.

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.”

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs.

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them.

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns.

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately.

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him.

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule.

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes.

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely.

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins.

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back.

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks.

“Affirmative, Lt.”

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him.

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.”

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull.

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence.

A flash of red catches his eye.

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be.

It was you.

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside.

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock.

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air.

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all.

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat.

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp.

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions.

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck.

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames.

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues.

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence.

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon.

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back.

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head.

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents.

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers.

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?”

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate?

Was he a thief like you, or hired security?

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.”

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you.

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow.

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest.

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!”

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks.

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall.

“Get over here,” he snaps.

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!”

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together.

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.”

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.”

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.”

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall.

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide.

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!”

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad.

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric.

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?”

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip.

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again.

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat.

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind.

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down.

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught.

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement.

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.”

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery.

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here.

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step.

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated.

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk.

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?”

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself.

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you.

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night.

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later.

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick.

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex.

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal.

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving.

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking.

“And Gaz?”

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.”

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed.

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options.

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea.

It was perfect.

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces.

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag.

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order.

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him.

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting.

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play.

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly.

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently.

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?”

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?”

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway.

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you.

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain.

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught.

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips.

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.”

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse.

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow.

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking.

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest.

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders.

A bullet whizzes past your face.

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths.

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool.

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him.

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing.

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders.

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head.

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again.

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form.

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest.

Both of your eyes lock in a battle.

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose.

You needed to disappear again.

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.”

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another.

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked.

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand.

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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kentosbabes · 1 year

Note

hi can i request arranged marriage hcs with nanami? tysm

YES !!!

Arranged marriage with Nanami

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You both were born into business empires, and your families were close so it was written in stone that you would end up married to Nanami. You felt robbed that you wouldn’t be able to choose your own partner but for the good of the company and family, you bit your tongue and moved along with the marriage.

Nanami didn’t want to marry you, you both grew up with each other and he didn’t want to be the reason for your unhappiness. He loved you and despite his cold exterior, he knew that if you figured out that he actually liked you romantically, you would feel uncomfortable in the situation. So he tried his hardest to go against this marriage, but he was only able to delay it a couple years. But for those three years, you were able to go to university and have a normal life.

Nanami’s mother and father set up a meeting with your family to further discuss the logistics of the marriage, you will still be working but will be taking a break for the “married life” and to bond with Nanami. He will also be going on a break to do the same.

He knew you felt uncomfortable during the meeting but didn’t say anything until after, “I’m sorry.” You can’t remember the last time he apologised to you, “I’m alright, just a little jet-lagged.”

The mothers ™️ designed the wedding and reception all you had to do was to show up, to be honest, you prefer it this way, with fewer feelings involved, you are less likely to fall deeper in love with a man who could never love you back. Nanami felt frustrated on your behalf, being poked and prodded with questions and measuring tapes can only go so far before annoyance settles.

Nanami realised that you were avoiding him, and unsure of what he could have possibly done to offend you, he decided to confront you. You were walking back from your car into his parent's mansion, and he crept up to you, tapping you on the shoulder. You jumped and asked him what the hell he was playing at. He simply asked you why you were avoiding him, trying hard to keep the hurt out of your voice, you ask him if he was being "fucking serious?" You paused to get a hold of your emotions. "You hate me, I am to be wed to a man who hates me and you want to know why I am avoiding you?"

The shock was evident on Nanami's face, you looked down at your feet, ashamed that you let your emotions run unchecked. It is unbecoming and your mother if she knew, would have your head. "I've liked you since the moment you punched me in the face when we were both ten playing in the garden, I love you, darling, I didn't want this marriage to happen out of fear that you didn't like me back and this would have ruined your life. I am alright liking you one-sidedly, I have been used to the idea of unrequited love." He put his thumb and index finger between your chin, lifting your head to reveal unshed tears welling up in your eyes. "I love you and I want to prove it."

Nanami brought you along for a date a week before your wedding, he was running a little bit late so you headed into the up-scale bar and ordered beforehand. A man with a smug grin saddled up to you and sat in the seat beside you, introducing himself and offering to buy you a drink. You politely turn him down, citing you were meeting someone and were not interested. Not taking the very overt hint, you felt uncomfortable, checking the time and your messages in case Nanami texted you back. He handed you a business card, and whilst you went to reach for it he grabbed your hand, “C’mon, I have a suite booked at the Hilton next door.”

“I’m afraid she will have to reject that ever so-kind offer, and you need to get your hands off of her or we are going to have to take this outside.” Nanami drawled, you stare at his dark, imposing figure, wide-eyed and a little horrified by how attractive you found him right now. Oh dear, you think, This is going to require a lot of self-reflection later on.

The man got up and rolled his eyes, “Fine, you don’t know what you’re missing anyways.” Nanami sat down in his seat, looking over you to see if he harmed you at all, “My sincerest apologies, traffic was bad and I had a board meeting that overran.” He kissed your hand, and held it for a beat, “You know, it took me a while to find the perfect ring for such a perfect bride,” you didn’t know, in fact, you were so sure that The Mothers ™️ chose it like they chose everything else for the wedding.

You both got to talking, about where life found you and the drinks kept coming. You started to get a little tipsy, confessing that you had always found Nanami attractive but didn’t want to ruin everything. He smirked, “And now? Hm? Am I still attractive to you?”

You became flustered and changed the subject quickly. You could tell the drink was getting to him, Nanami's face flushed and his smile finally reached his eyes.

Nanami placed his hand on your inner thigh, “Wanna head out? I have my driver waiting outside,” you nodded and he paid the waiter. It was chilly outside so he gave you his jacket, you could smell Dior Sauvage and nature on it, breathing it in even more- it was addicting.

He dropped you home and gave you a kiss on the cheek, wishing you a good night. Telling you to keep the jacket since he’s got so much. The next time you saw each other was the wedding itself. Nanami could only remember how beautiful you looked in your white dress, your hair was done up in an intricate style and your make-up flawless as usual. If he wasn’t in love, then he was in love now.

The wedding itself went by without a hitch, you were just looking forward to the rest and relaxation offered by the honeymoon. Nanami couldn’t wait for you to finish up your final goodbyes to your friends and family before you headed out on the private jet to the Caribbean.

You were nervous that’s for sure for your first time with him, the tension on the flight was building to say the least. Heavy looks and innuendos were exchanged, it was a shock you didn’t join the mile high club then and there.

You got to the hotel and Nanami wasted no time. Kissing your lips, cheeks and neck. In between the kisses like a mantra he would repeat, “You’re mine now, my wife.” Littering kisses down your collarbone and navel, he placed butterfly kisses feverishly down your body. He got down on his knees and laid you down, memorising your heavenly body, worshiping it. He didn’t know if this was too much off the bat, he paused and asked if it was ok to continue, “‘S’okay,” you mumbles, head-turning inward, lips grazing his jaw. “I like it.”

Fuck.

It’s achingly slow, the way he inches into you. You feel like you’re being split open and your eyes are wide when he reaches down to grip tightly onto your hips. “Mine, mine, mine- ah,” you looked up into his eyes through your eyebrows, “m’ yours, only yours.” Nanami smiles at you, even as he tries to sound displeased. “Such a mess.”

You stare up at Nanami with flushed cheeks and bleary eyes, pupils dilated and completely fucked. He starts moaning; murmuring – It’s alright, yes, you’ve got this, just look at me, m’right here, yeah… Oh… Feels good, you’re mine, I’ve got you… His eyes are closed but his brows are furrowed, and he pants through parted plush lips of his.

You can hardly think with the way each thrust makes your toes curl in unabashed pleasure and of course, Nanami knows just which way causes your eyes to roll back.

Without warning, he grips your hips and flips you over onto your back. The display of casual strength is unexpected and very, very attractive, and your legs spread eagerly before he even moves to open them himself. “Ah- faster, ‘Ken faster.” He nodded and started to move at an animalistic pace and speed, grabbing onto the headboard for leverage.

You came with a broken moan, convulsing around Nanami's cock. And he was still fucking you hard, drawing out the orgasm. “Fuck- ah,” you moaned out. “Watch your mouth, darlin’,” he warns, rolling your hips against his.

Nanami pulls out and he groans throatily as his fist tugs his dick and arcs thin streaks of white onto your skin. Sighing out little moans and gently writhing against the mattress, and fuck, Nanami thinks you make such a pretty picture.

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rae-writes · 7 months

Text

familiars

Mammon, Satan, Asmo || 0.8k wc || crack post [to make up for all the angst recently] ft. menace mc (Tannie's is my favorite bc that's literally me)

Mammon

The second born was on his way to Lucifer’s office again when he saw you plopped on the common room floor

You had tons of materials surrounding you : scissors, needles, thread, fabric, small stickers— even glitter glue!

Mammon didn’t have the time to stop and ask why, he just chalked it up to his little human just doing their weird little human things

After he was dismissed from Lucifer’s office (and after a 3 fucking hour long lecture), he made his way back to the common room, but you were gone

In your place was a yellow sticky note that read “Hey Mammon! Don’t freak out, I just went outside for a bit <3”

And that made him freak out even more

Because it was raining like all fuck out there

So he scrambles to the entrance hall and throws open the front door, ready to yell, when he just stops

You’re crouched down on the steps with an umbrella over you while his crow familiars hop around your feet

They’re all decked out in tiny rain hats, rain coats, and some of his older ones even have small rain boots

Currently, you’re putting a glittery gold lookin set on Mammon’s youngest crow and the demon’s heart swells

The crows notice him fairly quickly and begin to jump around even more, making you look back and beam

“Hi Mamoney! Alright little fella, you’re all good to go now! Go say hi to Mammon!”

He could cry. Literally sob at how fucking cute this is

“Aw, guys! Look at ya!” He pets them over their hats, grinnin’ ear to ear, “Mc. You didn’t tell me you wanted to parent the kids with me.”

You laughed, making him grin even more. “You mentioned them getting cold when they got rained on so I figured I’d help out! Don’t they just look so cute?!”

Mammon’s eyes were practically heart shaped, “y-yeah…”

(he absolutely gets you and him a rain set so you can all go out in them like a big family)

(and yes his brothers made fun of him for it and no he didn’t care— especially not when you slapped them with your wet rain hat)

Satan

You and Satan were out on a simple walk. A relaxing, uneventful walk

That is until you get approached by a fucking unicorn

You don’t know what the hell to do or say- you just kinda stand there staring for a minute while Satan pets his uh…friend. He chuckles at your response, raising an eyebrow when you hold a single finger up

“Someone either slipped me some severe drugs or you’re just a stone cold traitor who did not tell me he was bffs with this gorgeous creature. Both of which I will take offense to.”

“I deeply apologize for my transgressions, my love.”

You glanced at the unicorn with a look of ‘can you fucking believe this guy’ before raising a hand, “May I?”

You received a neigh, to which you leaned in closer and stroked up its nose, where you then received a delighted huff

“I would die for you.”

Satan snorted, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. His laughter only got louder when his familiar looked at him with the equivalent expression of ‘how dare you keep this human from me’

“Yes, yes, I should’ve introduced you two sooner. Are we done pouting now?”

You and the unicorn looked at eachother. Then at Satan. Then back to each other. “No.”

He smiled, still amused, “then how about a ride through town? I’ll walk beside you.”

“Like the peasant you are. Alright- onward, Uni! Let’s go kick a guy in the gut.”

...perhaps Satan had been leaving you alone with Belphie for too long

Asmo

For once (though not for long), the House of Lamentation was peacefully quiet

Most of them were doing their own thing in the common room, existing without a hitch beside each other— a perfect day, in Lucifer’s opinion

“EEEEKKK!”

The sound was extremely high pitched and cracked, but it was written off as ‘just Mammon doing something stupid again’

Yeah…until he walked through the door asking what the hell that noise was. Then they all did a headcount- you were the only one not present

Asmo turned into the world’s biggest track star in that moment and made his way to you first, finding you floating in mid air at the entrance hall

And on the floor was a sleek black scorpion just…sitting there

“Hon…don’t tell me you’re scared of my gorgeous little baby?!”

You stared at him like he was fucking nuts— which you thought so in that moment. “I’m sorry, I was a bit too focused on the stINGER!”

“He doesn’t sting anyone unless I tell him too, Hon, no worries!”

…’no worries’ he says, as if the creepy thing wasn’t among the most dangerous animals to humans. And a human, you were

In fairness, the scorpion was not so horrible looking. It’s tail faded into a hot pink like Azzy’s horns and it’s feet(?) we’re tipped with gold. And it had a faint sparkly coat. Of course.

“Okay…I can deal with this…I guess he is..kind of..pretty..?”

“Indeed he is! I shine him myself! You wanna hold him?”

“No, that’s alrig— STOP BRINGING IT CLOSER!”

#obey me x reader #om x reader #mammon x reader #om mammon #satan x reader #om satan #asmo x reader #om asmodeus

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thatfreshi · 8 months

Text

"He Can't Have You" (Astarion x Reader)

Seems as though Auntie Ethel doesn't go down without a fight, and that fight involves bringing out the worst in people's minds. (Also we get to see where the nickname Aster came from)

tw - mentions of abuse, panic attack

The Sunny Wetlands, later revealed to be a putrid swamp, have proven particularly difficult for Astarion. The last thing any of you expected was to find a Gur hunting him, especially this far from the city. It made your heart skip a beat, hearing the monster hunter utter his name, and you could feel the tension in the vampire. Thankfully, you did away with him quickly. By now, he's told you plenty about his past, at least as much as he could bear to tell. That haunting feeling though, knowing that Cazador was hunting him, it was paralyzing. As you searched for Mayrina, you and Astarion fell behind the rest of the group.

"Are you alright my love? I could tell them we should just set up camp for the night, rest up for dealing with the hag."

"Nonsense. What would I look like, asking everyone to stop for me? The Gur has been dealt with, let's just leave it at that darling."

"I cannot imagine dealing with the hag will be easy though."

"I'll simply run my blade through her like I do everything else. I'll be fine."

It hasn't been long enough with him to truly know if he's lying, but you certainly have a hunch. On the way back to the hag's house, Gale casts detect magic.

"She's definitely in here. We should be prepared."

Sure, she looked like a sad old woman, but those adventurers told you the truth, how she took their sister. When Karlach leads the charge, opening the door, she tries to look shocked.

"Oh dear! It's quite rude to storm into someone's house like that. Where are your manners?"

Without responding, Karlach throws her axe into the hag's shoulder, breaking the illusion, showing the monster for who she is. Covered in grime, like a witch born straight from the mud.

"It looks like I'll just have to teach you all how to be polite!"

Karlach tries to go for a second hit, but the hag teleports. Gale soon tracks her down, casting a ray of frost. Astarion follows her up the stairs while she tries to counterspell Gale. You and Lae'zel try to attack from a distance, missing because of just how quick she can move from place to place. Wyll has focused on assisting Gale, and Shadowheart is keeping track of all your party members, making sure to be there as soon as one of you takes a hit. In the meantime, she casts guidance on Astarion, who is fighting much more intensely than usual. Perhaps killing the Gur wasn't enough, and the anger was still boiling inside.

"Alright little mosquito, you want to be a thorn in my side? Poor decision."

The hag disappears from sight, and Astarion stops in his tracks. At first you think nothing of it. It almost looks like he's searching the room for where your enemy landed. For him though, the hag has cast a strong illusion, preying on his worst fear: being back in Cazador's grasp. The teahouse has transformed into the kennels, cold stone on bare feet, blood spattered across the walls.

Well, well, well. Seems as though the boy never learns! Perhaps, this time, will set you straight.

He hears the voice of Godey taunting him, threatening to pull him apart again.

"No! No, I left- I left, I was free!"

It's at this moment you realize he's not here, not in the mental sense.

"Focus on the hag, I'll try to snap him out of it."

You order the rest of the group, and they nod without a word, searching the teahouse for where she's gone now. You run up the stairs, finding a trembling pale man who has dropped his daggers.

Deep down, you like bein' leashed, don't ya?

The words bounce around in his head, a vision of Cazador appearing. You try to shake him, to mentally connect him back to his body, but it only plays into the illusion more, your actions becoming Cazador's.

"Astarion! Astarion it's just a spell, it's not real. It's not real my love, please."

Soon enough, your group finds the hag again, disrupting her concentration, releasing her grip on the elf. His breathing is terrifyingly fast, and he takes a moment to come out of the vision, grabbing a dagger from the floor and very quickly brandishing it towards you.

"DON'T."

You're trying desperately not to cry, because you know he doesn't need your shared sadness right now.

"Hey, it's okay. It's just me, Tav."

You lightly touch the hand holding the dagger, and he loosens his grip. Your hands move to take the blade from his grasp, setting his weapons to the side.

"I... I was there. I was back there."

"I know. Seems as though Ethel knows more than she should."

Astarion is still trying to root himself back in reality, you blood still racing in his dead veins.

"I can't go back Tav. Please, I can't go back."

"I know. I won't let you end up back there, ever."

He's still weary of physical touch, so you simply rub across his knuckles, trying to ground him in the moment. Your deepest urge is to wrap yourself around him and never let go, keep him in a protective case where no one can ever hurt him again, but that's not real. Being entirely safe isn't real. But damn, do you wish it was, for his sake.

As you're sitting there with him, the group makes their way back.

"We lost her. Have a feeling she went deeper into a cave somewhere."

You eye Karlach, and the two of you come to a silent understanding as you hold onto Astarion's shakey hands.

"We'll go set up camp where we entered the swamp. Take your time."

And with that, the tiefling takes the rest of your companions out of the teahouse, leaving the two of you alone.

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, cocking your head slightly.

"Why what?"

"Why would you say you won't let me end up there again? Cazador isn't some being you can simply keep me from, he's... different."

"I don't care."

"What do you mean you don't care?"

"I just, don't care. I don't care how powerful he is or whatever abilities he has, he can't have you. He just can't."

You finally do tear up now, not sure how else to explain it to the vampire.

"He most definitely cou-"

"No."

You try to blink the tears away, feeling the little callouses on his palm from over the decades.

"I want you to know what it's like to belong to someone in a pure way, not for personal gain, but just because they need you. And now that I have you... I just need you. I need you Astarion, so he can't have you. I'd die before he could take you from me."

He's silent for a moment. All forms of ownership he's known have been terrifying. Whatever could you mean by belonging to someone in a pure way? How can you belong to someone innocently? Your tadpole senses his concern, connecting without much effort at all.

"I don't need anything from you. I don't need you to do anything for me, I just need you Aster."

He smiles a little.

"Aster?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I had just been thinking about it. If you don't like it-"

"No I- I love it. Aster. Like the flower?"

"Yeah."

Somehow, the teahouse is peaceful in this moment. You feel young all over again, like you've never been in love before, like Astarion is the only being you've ever known. He interrupts your thoughts.

"Thank you, for saying all that. Maybe I wouldn't mind belonging to someone without expectations. It sounds, nice."

His voice cracks on the last word.

"Well, Aster, then you can belong to me as long as you'd like."

You swipe a piece of hair behind his ear, looking for a reason to get close to his face. As if the fates knew it to be true, you lock lips, despite the horrific smell outside and the creaking wood of the floorboards, you're somewhere else. Some place where the asters bloom in peace.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #comfort #fluff #x reader

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iwritefandomimagines · 2 months

Text

NOT A GAME — JESS MARIANO

based on a request

masterlist

pairing: jess mariano x reader

description: the playful banter was fun at first, but the line had blurred so long ago that you were starting to get sick of wondering how jess really felt. luckily for you, he’s been thinking the same thing.

warnings: angst into fluff, jess being annoying in a way that makes me love him more lol, swearing ofc,

author’s note: thank you so much for this request, i hope it does jess justice for you— i love writing him so much. i hope you enjoy — sorry it’s quite short i just wanted to keep it short n sweet

———

“Well that’s two hours of my life I’m never getting back, huh,” Jess took a final sip of the drink he’d been cradling for the whole film and threw it dramatically in the trash, his arm slung around your shoulder, “Think I aged like fifteen years in the time they took to wrap up that fuckin’ terrible plot.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling away from him and discarding your own empty cup as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and eyed you curiously, “What, don’t tell me you actually enjoyed that?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you shrugged, “You’re just being pretentious.”

His brows furrowed at that — he hated when you of all people called him pretentious, and he knew you only ever did it to wind him up.

“Okay, what have I done?” Jess huffed, “You so didn’t enjoy that film, you’re just trying to piss me off. What did I do?”

You looked down at your feet with a grunt, “Nothing.”

“Despite my sweet baby face, I wasn’t born yesterday Y/N. It’s not nothing.”

The truth was that he had done something.

In fact, he was always doing the exact thing that had just tipped you over the edge.

“Fine, Jess,” you drew in a sharp breath, “I just— I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

“Have I missed something or was that movie just so dull that it corroded your brain?” Jess kicked a stone as he watched the frown on your face, “‘Cause I don’t remember playing any games. Not even footsie. What are you talking about?”

You scoffed, “That, Jess. Exactly that!”

“Woah, woah, c’mon Y/N. You’re going to have to give me more than just snapping at me. What the hell have I done?” Jess was growing increasingly frustrated now, but so were you.

You pressed a palm to your forehead, “I’m— What was that in there?”

“I was asking the same question,” Jess’ perplexed expression made your own angered one soften a little.

“What is this? Me and you?” you looked down at the floor as you posed this question, not wanting to argue any longer and too afraid wanting to see his reaction, “Because I’m sick of playing games and not knowing. You put your arm around me at the cinema, you share your popcorn with me when you’d like—literally snarl at anyone else if they asked, we kind of flirt like all of the time but we’re just friends.”

“Just friends, huh?”

You almost felt silly when you looked up at him and saw a smug smile on his face — almost.

But you were trying to open up to him and he was being just as irritating about your relationship as he always was.

“Jess…”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, taking your hand and pulling you around the corner to a park bench where he tugged you to sit down beside him.

“Do you seriously think we’re just friends, Y/N?” he was so close to you that you were sure he could hear your heart palpitations and see the goosebumps springing up on your skin.

“Well we’re not enemies, we spent a fuck ton of time together, and we’re not dating. So yeah, I’d like to think we’re friends,” you huffed, still avoiding his gaze.

He shook his head, “Why the hell do you think I invited you to see a fuckin’ romcom I’d never want to watch? Why do you think I asked to share popcorn? I know I’m the intellectually superior one here,” he paused to nudge your side as if to ensure you understood he was teasing, “But I didn’t think you were dumb enough to miss that I was obviously trying to make this a date.”

You bit your lip, finally returning his eye contact as his soft eyes stared intently into yours.

You drew in another deep breath, “Sure. Jess Mariano, Mr. Always Speaks His Mind, failed to tell me it was apparently a date so I’m dumb for not reading his mind?”

Neither of you had noticed that he was still holding your hand until that moment, and so he pulled it to the corner of his mouth and gave the back of your hand a gentle kiss.

Despite the unfamiliarity of this small but romantic gesture, your heart swelled in your chest and it almost felt natural.

“Y/N, I’ve liked you for fuckin’ ages. Everyone knows that. We flirt and we act like there’s nothing going on when people ask, but I thought at the very least you knew how I really felt,” Jess shrugged, not releasing your hand and instead now rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

You didn’t retreat from his touch, but used your interlocked hands to shove his chest gently, “You’re an asshole, you know that right?”

The small smile tugging at your lips eased the anxiety that had begun to set in. He’d almost started to fear that you didn’t actually feel the same, but your unsteady breathing and the glint in your eye confirmed the opposite.

“I know, I know,” he rolled his eyes, “But that’s all just part of the elusive charm that made you fall madly in love with me, isn’t it?”

You shook your head, “Cocky, aren’t you?”

“Well in my defence, the prettiest girl in Stars Hollow has, like, totally got the hots for me,” your heart fluttered at the smirk still gracing his features, “Hard not to have an ego.”

You just chuckled softly in reply, your heartbeat still racing as he watched you carefully. His own gaze softened now, and he reached his free hand up to cup your cheek.

“Look, in all seriousness I’m sorry this has been so— well, just that I haven’t been more direct about this stuff. But you know me, you know I’m bad at—,”

You squeezed the hand that was still in yours, “I know, Jess. It’s alright. I really like you, and to be honest I’ve been happy enough with any excuse to be close to you.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning forward a little, “Can I kiss you, then? Make up for a shitty first date?”

You blushed crimson at the fact he’d asked, your cheek growing hot beneath his touch, “Of course.”

His lips met yours gently, as though testing the waters. You met his kiss with the same softness at first, but quickly the kiss grew more urgent — as though making up for lost time.

When you finally pulled away, your face was still bright red, and you felt almost embarrassed by how overcome with emotions you were.

“So, uh, about the film?”

He laughed, the loud affectionate laugh he reserved only for you, warming your heart as he sent you a teasing grin and licked his lips.

“And here I was thinking I’d be the one to ruin the moment, huh?”

———

thanks sooo much for reading — i hope this was okay! sorry for the radio silence for a while, i’ve had a lot going on and a LOT of unfinished drafts.

if you wanna read more of my stuff — here’s my masterlist!

#jess mariano #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano x you #jess mariano x y/n #gilmore girls #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore girls imagines

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 3 months

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Let's Talk About That Chapter 2

Psychiatrist!Avenger!fem!reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: The compound has been built, and training has begun. With the two of you living together now stolen moments are bound to happen.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: legal age gap r is 19 and w is 25, talks of depression, bit of angst, bit of fluff, talk of vo*it (once towards the end)

A/N: The moment between R and W is taken from the moment in WandaVision where they go through Wanda's memories so R is taking the place of Vision and says his lines in that moment.

June 21st 2015

The new Compound was finally built and all of the Avengers moved there to live and to train. You got a new office looking similar to your old one and before you could start moving your things in it was time to start training the new recruits.

Captain America and Black Widow prepare to train the new roster of Avengers, consisting of Falcon, Wanda, War Machine, and Vision.

You stand just off to the side of Cap and Tasha. "You ready to finally show off your powers?" Cap asks you as you smirk, cracking your neck to either side.

"Oh Cap, you know I was born ready.” you tell him as your eyes glow purple.

"Alright, line up!" You call out. The new recruits line up. "I have a simple task for you four, move me from this spot." You tell them and you hear Sam chuckle.

"You deal with our emotions, how hard could it be to move you?" He asks.

"Thank you for volunteering to be my first victim Sam!" You smile. "Please front and center. The other watch as Sam tries to move you in any way, but can't. Even using his wings he can't. Then Rhodey tries and still nothing, Vision attempts and you don't budge. You look at Wanda. "Well?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow up at her. She has this soft look in her eyes almost like a baby deer.

"I don't want to hurt you." Wanda says her being the only magic user besides you currently on the team.

"Oh sweetie. You could never hurt me. Go on, hit me with your best shot." You tell her, her eyes and hands glow red as she unleashes attacks on you as you swipe your hand up, a purple force field looking much like Wanda's own magic comes to protect you. They all look at you in shock.

"Oh did we forget to mention something?" You hear Natasha's condescending tone ring out behind you making you chuckle, catching the attention of the newest members.

"I think we did Tasha." You say pulling the collar of your shirt down, showing off the glowing purple stone in your chest, looking similar to the mind stone in Vision's head. "I have the power stone in my chest. Really I'm the best of both worlds. Brains and brawns. The stone gives me psychic energy manipulation, force field generation, disintegration of objects I touch, energy absorption, magic empowerment, and of course superhuman strength and durability.

The new Avengers stood in awe as you revealed the Power Stone embedded in your chest, their expressions a mix of shock and admiration. You could feel the weight of their gaze on you, but you stood tall, unyielding, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Wow," Sam exclaimed, breaking the silence. "That's... impressive."

You chuckled, feeling a surge of pride at their reaction. "Thank you, Sam. But let's not get too distracted. We have work to do."

With that, you motioned for them to regroup, eager to put their newfound knowledge to the test. "Alright, let's try this again," you announced, positioning yourself in the center of the training area. "This time, I want you to work together to try and move me."

The recruits exchanged glances before nodding in determination. Sam and Rhodey took to the skies, while Vision and Wanda focused their powers, creating a coordinated assault.

As they unleashed their combined efforts, you could feel the energy swirling around you, pushing against the force field generated by the Power Stone. But despite their best efforts, you remained rooted to the spot, a testament to the strength of the stone's power.

"Keep going!" You encouraged them, a grin spreading across your face as you felt the thrill of the challenge. "You're doing great!"

For several minutes, they continued their assault, each attack more powerful than the last. But no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't overcome the barrier protecting you.

Finally, with a triumphant shout, they ceased their assault, panting and exhausted but exhilarated by the challenge. "I... I can't believe it," Sam gasped, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Believe it," you replied, your voice tinged with pride. "With teamwork and determination, there's nothing we can't overcome. You guys are new to being a team. I'm sure you'll be able to take me on properly soon."

As the others caught their breath, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement for the future. With this new team of Avengers and the power of the Stone at your disposal, there was no telling what this new team could accomplish together. And as you looked around at your teammates, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them head-on, united as one.

=============================================================

The Next Day June 22nd 2015

It's late evening after you had roused yourself to get a snack you notice Wanda's door cracked slightly as you forgo getting a snack and decide to knock on her door. "Open." She says similar to you when the two of you first met. You open the door fully and smile at her, but she doesn't have a smile to give you back.

She has Malcom in the Middle playing as she is sat on her bed, a grey tank top, mostly covered by a black sweater hanging off her shoulder and tight black leggings. She's sitting with her legs crossed, a pillow in her lap that's she's leaning on. "If now isn't a good time I can..." you trail off. She pats the bed next to her, still no smile, but you can read her well enough that she wants company, she just doesn't always know how to ask for it.

She looks away, pulling her sleeves over her hands and even though they're covered she still keeps tugging at them with anxiety. You sit next to her mimicking her posture as you grab one of her pillows from behind us and crossing your legs. She finally attempts a smile at you for half a second once you've settled. Then turns her attention back to the TV where Hal gets hurt and you chuckle.

"I only watched Malcom in the Middle when it was on TV, but I tended to find Full House, Fresh Prince, and The Nanny playing when I'd go looking for late night TV." You tell her.

"You like sitcoms?" She asks and you look at her with a warm smile.

"Yeah I do. Never got the chance to tell you though." A smile creeps onto her lips without her knowledge. You unconsciously lick your lips as you stare at hers. She always somehow managed to look perfect and maybe it's the repressed emo girl that you used to be, but her in all black, and her black nail polish she just so happened to be your type.

"Y/N?" You're pulled back to reality by her voice.

"Hmm?" You ask.

"I asked what's your favorite sitcom?" She repeats and you think a moment, you end up letting yourself fall back against her bed, staring at her ceiling.

"That's honestly hard for me to answer. I'm not good with picking favorites." You look over at her. "I always feel bad when I pick a favorite anything as if the others aren't good enough or something." You confess to Wanda.

"What about like top 3 or top 5?"

"Hmmm…” You think for a few moments, going through the list of sitcoms you've grown up with, contemplating about each for no more than a moment. “Full House, That 70s Show, Seinfeld, Friends, Golden Girls, and The Office is probably my newest obsession." She smiles before letting a laugh pass her lips. You smile, biting your bottom lip as you do so because she's just so, "Beautiful." I end up saying out loud. She stops and you can see her face redden. You scramble up off her bed. "Shit sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry I'll leave!" You ramble and as you turn to run you feel her grip on your wrist. You look back at her, eyes glowing.

"If we're being honest with each other Doctor I'd like to let you know I think you're quiet beautiful yourself." She admits to you and something about her calling you doctor sends your brain into a frenzy and you can tell she's hearing every thought going through your head and you can't find yourself to even be mad about it right now as you step back to her, grabbing her face and kissing her.

The moment your lips met, it was as if time stood still. All the worries, the doubts, the fears melted away, leaving only the warmth of her touch and the sweet taste of her lips against yours. In that fleeting moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, lost in the intensity of the connection we shared.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of emotions coursing through you, a mixture of desire, longing, and something deeper, something you couldn't quite put into words. It was as if your souls were reaching out to each other, seeking solace and understanding in the midst of chaos.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you found yourself gazing into Wanda's eyes, searching for any sign of regret or hesitation. But all you saw was warmth and affection, mirrored in her gaze.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have—"

But before you could finish your sentence, Wanda silenced you with a gentle touch of her finger against your lips. "Don't apologize," she said softly, her eyes sparkling with emotion. "That was... unexpected, but not unwelcome."

You felt a rush of relief flood through you at her words, a weight lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for something more between the two of you.

As we sat there in silence, the glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room, you realized that this was just the beginning of your journey together. There would be challenges ahead, obstacles to overcome, but as long as you faced them together, you knew the two of you could conquer anything.

With a smile, you reached out and took Wanda's hand in yours, intertwining your fingers as if to seal the unspoken promise between the two of you. As the two of you sat there, bathed in the soft light of the TV, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together, side by side, as partners, as friends, and perhaps, if we were lucky, as something more.

Wanda pulls you onto her lap after moving the pillow away. She pulls you into a tight hug and whispers, "I've been so tired recently. It's just...it's like this wave washing over me again and again. It knocks me down and when I try to stand up it just comes for me again and I can't-" you hear her voice cracking, her emotion shifting along with her aura as you rub her back. "It's just going to drown me." She confesses.

"No...no it's not..." you tell her.

"Yeah..." She lets out a dry chuckle and you pull back, letting your hands find her cheeks again. You stare into those deep green eyes full of sorrow and hope there comes a point where you can see them full of joy. You’ve only gotten small glimpses of happiness from Wanda and all you wanted was for those glimpses to last longer until there was no sorrow left.

"No it won't, I won't let it. Not now. Not ever. Do you hear me Wanda?" You're searching her tear filled eyes to see if on any level she believes you because you could only hope that your words offered some solace to her feelings. All you wanted to do was take some of it away, even just a little so she wasn’t drowning anymore.

"How do you know?" Her voice is cracking and soft, it breaks you to hear her like this.

"Well it can't all be sorrow, can it?" She's searching your Y/E/C eyes now, your thoughts even. "Tell me. What is grief if not love persevering?" You ask, a small tilt to your head. Her dam finally breaks as she cries and you shush her, helping her through it. "I've got you Wanda. Always. I'll hold you above the waves. I'd let myself drown before I let it take you." You tell her softly. “I can help take some of it away, would you like that?” You ask her, her tear filled eyes looking up at you and nods ever so slightly, but still asks,

“Will it hurt?” Her voice cracks as you rub her cheeks with your thumbs, wiping the tears away.

“No darling it won’t it’ll make you feel lighter. I don’t do it often. Bad emotions are disgusting. I have to take them out of you and eat them which I’m sure sounds weird and I guess in a way it is, but for you I’ll do it.” She nods once again, clinging to you as you move your hand to her back, rubbing a gentle circle. You can feel the physical manifestation of the emotions pulling them apart from one another, only taking out the pain and grief, not all just enough.

A black oobleck is pulled out threatening to slip through your fingers as Wanda pulls back to look. You use both your hands to keep it contained as you bring it to your mouth. You open your mouth as wide as you can, tongue sticking out as you let the gooey orb fall into your mouth and swallow. Your face contorts and a shiver goes through your body like when you take medicine you can’t stand. It tastes like vomit in the worst way possible and the main reason you tended not to do this.

You feel Wanda cup your cheeks and murmur, “You’re okay.” and “Thank you.” As much as you hated it, you knew you’d do it as much as she needed. You lean in, placing your forehead against her own, nuzzling your faces together as you feel your cheeks dampen from her tears.

“No more tears darling.” You whisper, feeling her smile against you.

The two of you eventually make it up her bed, laying against her pillows, small soft kisses are peppered in between things. There are no more tears from Wanda through the night as the show continues playing as she falls asleep on your chest.

As Wanda rested against you, her breathing steady and her grip on you relaxed, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Despite the turmoil and uncertainty that surrounded you two, in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the rhythm of her breaths lulling you into a state of calm.

You gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face, marveling at the serenity that seemed to radiate from her even in sleep. She had been through so much, faced unimaginable challenges and losses, yet here she was, still fighting, still clinging to hope.

And in that moment, you made a silent vow to yourself, to always be there for her, to be her anchor in the storm, to hold her above the waves no matter how fierce they may rage. Because Wanda was more than just a teammate or a friend—she was someone you cared deeply for, someone you would do anything to protect.

As the soft glow of the TV bathed the room in a gentle light, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, knowing that no matter what tomorrow may bring, the two of you would face it together, united in our strength and our love. And as you held Wanda in your arms, you knew that as long as the two of you had each other, you could weather any storm that came your way.

#ley speaks #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #ley writes #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x you #wanda maximoff angst

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my-castles-crumbling · 4 months

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lock - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 394 - NSFW, EXPLICIT

It was not James's fault that they were in this situation.

He wasn't made of stone, after all.

What was he supposed to do when Regulus walked up to him, with eyes like that, and an arse like that, trailing his fingers slowly up and down his arm like that?

And then, to top it all off?

He'd pushed himself against James. Whispered in his ear, "Take me home, James. I want you inside me. Now."

James was not in a position to argue with that.

They'd made it about ten feet into James's small flat, shedding clothes as they went, past the kitchen, into the living room, before need consumed them, both of collapsing onto the couch.

And how was James supposed to remember anything when Regulus was on top of him, sinking onto him and moaning wantonly, balancing himself with his hands on James's chest, rocking so slowly James could cry with the intensity of it.

How was James supposed to think of anything else when Regulus threw his head back like that, clenching his knees around James's sides, pushing down and riding him like he was born for this and only this.

And how was James supposed to have one single coherent thought when Regulus leaned forward and ordered raggedly, "Come inside of me, Jamie," causing James to cant his hips upwards roughly just as Regulus moved down. The resulting way their bodies connected, the depth to which James was able to bury his cock inside Regulus, made both of them shudder and curse, both so close to the edge.

And then.

The door opened.

And the world stilled.

"D'you think he's home yet?" a voice slurred from the kitchen. "Hope he made it home!"

And James's high came crashing around him. Never, ever, had he gone from so incredibly hard to so soft, so quickly.

"Potter." Regulus muttered, frozen on top of James, tone terrifyingly smooth. "Did you lock the door?"

"Erm. No," James managed to choke out.

He caught a look at Regulus's deeply annoyed and- slightly amused?- expression, before he heard Sirius yell out drunkenly, "Why the fuck are Prongsie's pants on the counter? What-?"

And Remus smoothly interrupted, "Y'know- I think we should go to mine. Let's go to mine, yeah?"

James had never been more thankful for a drunkenly excitable Sirius, or a very intuitive Remus.

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the-modern-typewriter · 5 months

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And so they all lived happily ever after.[1]

Theodore could finally breathe.

The two of them had bought the quiet, peaceful cottage that they had always talked about[2] and filled it with things[3] because they were allowed to do more than simply need now.[4] They were allowed to want, and build a home because home no longer had to be wherever the resistance had camped up for the night. Honestly, Theo had thought he’d be dead before that ever happened. Being born the chosen one, nobody had ever expected him to survive fate long enough for the aftermath, least of all him. [5]

Didn’t that mean he had the earned the right to be happy, now?[6]

“Theo.” She sat opposite him at the kitchen table, and took his hand, and looked at him like the world still needed saving, like he hadn’t done enough. “This isn’t working,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

It came out of nowhere.[7]

***

“I don’t have nightmares,” he said.[8] “We won. I killed the Shadow King, if anyone should have nightmares-”

He forced his expression to ease. He shouldn’t resent Adina her nightmares, if she had them. He knew the battlefield they had met upon. In a world of blood and conquest and power that made him feel like he was going to sizzle from the inside out, she had been a cooling balm. She had made him a man, instead of something out of legend.

“I know you were there too,” he continued, because she was acting like he’d somehow forgotten that. “But it’s over.” Didn’t she see that it was over? “Whatever nightmares you have, we’ll get through it together, yeah? They’re only dreams.”

“Memories.”

His jaw clenched. “They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”[9]

Her mouth clicked shut and she swallowed hard. At some point, during the argument, they’d both surged to their feet. Her arms were crossed against her chest, defensive, like either of them should have any need for defences anymore. They were safe with each other. She knew that! Before she started this conversation, they had been fine. Hadn’t they been fine?

“If there was a button that could make me feel differently,” she managed. “I would hit it in a heartbeat. God. I’m not – I know this isn’t your fault. I’m not saying that. I know you’ve gone through enough. I know this isn’t fair, but I—”

“You just need time.”[10]

They had time now, didn’t they? Walking through the woods filled him with a calm he’d never known before. The green trees, dappled by sunlight, made it impossible to dwell on the cold feeling of bloodied stone against broken bones. Everything was light, and air, and the freedom to run.

There were no people to be responsible for, no important envoys to encroach upon the time they managed to snatch together, always wrenching them apart. It was him, and her, and they didn’t have to live in a stolen moment anymore. Wasn’t that enough?[11]

“How can you be so okay?” Adina’s voice crumpled on the question, so small, and it felt like a knife between his ribs because it sounded like an honest question too. “After everything…” Her eyes were big and desperate - he recoiled. He could finally breathe, and she would have him drown.

After everything, he was allowed to be okay. Was he supposed to live forever feeling guilty for everything he could have done better? Was he supposed to have died too?[12]

Maybe, yes, in her story he should have.

It was easier to love a legend than a man. It was easy to make promises to someone who wouldn’t live to hold you to them. For a second, he hated her, more than he’d ever hated the Shadow King. He didn’t want to be a thing of hate anymore. He didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Everything?” He repeated, oh so softly. His fists curled, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood and he didn’t want to ever draw blood again either. He stopped. He relearned how to breathe. “You do not get to hold ‘everything’ against me, Adina. I did everything you asked of me. That all of you asked of me. For you. For this.”

“Theo…”

“We love each other.” He turned away because he couldn’t look at her. “That’s all that matters. We’ll get through this. Happily ever after.”

She flinched in the corner of his vision.

“Please.” He closed his eyes. “You want to talk about everything? After everything, let me have this. Give me this. It is the only thing I ever asked of you.”[13]

She exhaled a shaky breath. The silence stretched. Then, she kissed him sweetly, gently, like everything was okay. She whispered the words against his lips:

“I’ll try.”

***

It was better again, after that. Their fight became another battle of the past to be buried with their dead and forgotten.

In the mornings, they would paint the sunrise that they had once spent hours trying to picture, when the endless night of the Shadow King’s reign felt like it never might never break. The first time Theo had seen that the sky could truly be pink he thought maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t made it through after all. But he had. In the afternoons, they would walk hand in hand through the woods and he would tell her about all of the new growth he was learning about. He liked the names. The colours. The hope.

It wasn’t perfect. Now that she’d pointed it out, he stirred sometimes in the night to find her awake still. When he caressed her face in the dark his hand would come away wet with silent tears.[14] On those nights, he would kiss her honeyed and slow because he didn’t have to kiss her like she was oxygen anymore, until she melted in his arms and smiled again. [15]

The weeks turned into months, which turned into years.

She stopped crying, with time. She healed.[16]

The shadows were gone.

And so, they all lived happily ever after.[17]

----

[1] Happily ever after! It was just another bloody thing to fail at, wasn’t it?

[2] He’d always talked about it. He was happy. The cottage was perched in the middle of the woods, far enough away from civilisation that she could pass days without seeing another person. Sometimes, it felt like they must have lost, because the world that she knew wasn’t there anymore.

[3] She shouldn’t resent him his clutter. He deserved clutter. She knew he deserved clutter, his houseful of little wooden figurines he carved, after everything.

[4] She hated the clutter.

[5] It was a terrible thing to want happiness, but not know what to do with peace; she’d learned to love him fighting. But now, he loved gently, sword forgotten, armour laid to rest, and that was not the version of him that she’d fallen love with.

[6] She missed the man she’d fallen for.

[7] She couldn’t do this anymore.

[8] Because he was the only one who had truly suffered.

[9] Was it so simple? Had she got it wrong? Was she merely not trying hard enough to move on? His expression told her that, yes, she needed to try harder. They were supposed to be a team but, to his mind, when it came down to it…he’d been the one alone against the Shadow King, hadn’t he? So, if he could heal then why couldn’t she? She hadn’t been the one buckling under the weight of prophecy. She had no right.

[10] That was the other thing everyone always said, along with happily ever after. Time healed all wounds. She just needed time. But how much time was that? Too much, it seemed. There had been a woman she met in the aftermath of the battle at Sunburst fields. She had lost her lover. Adina couldn’t remember the woman’s name, only what she had confessed when no one else was there to hear her.

[11] The woman said, “I’m not allowed to mourn her. No one knew we were together, you see. She had a husband. But she loved me, and I… no one will ever know now, and I must mourn her like she wasn’t mine to mourn. Like I might mourn a stranger.’ The woman’s voice dropped barely audible. "And I think it might just kill me. How do you heal a hurt when you have to pretend it’s not there? Like it’s a papercut instead of a bullet wound?"

[12] He fought to protect her. To protect all of them. In his story, she was the victory he came home to. She was his happy ending. She was not supposed to be broken.

[13] He had fallen in love with her when she was selfish. A good, selfless girl did not love in a stolen moment, after all. Stolen moments had to be taken from someone. But he didn’t want selfish now. He didn’t want someone who had done battle, who had hurt, and been hurt. He didn’t want a woman with a shadow in her heart.

[14] And, so, he fell out of love with her in the way that a person forgets their wallet on the train – with that stabbing sense of panic, of leaving something vital behind, without yet being able to place what was gone.

[15] Instead, he fumbled and groped for the debris, the receipts, the bits of change and dust at the bottom of the bag of them that had meant something important once. He began to look at her like a stranger when she reminded him that she was sharp. That he had loved something sharp, once.

[16] He looked for clues for what was missing.

[17] He would never find her.

#Not sure the footnotes work for tumblr but here goes #but another story of mine I don't think I've shared on here #happily ever after #short story #writeblr #fiction #creative writing #original fiction #fantasy

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calypso707 · 6 months

Note

hey i adore your writing!

i was wondering how astarion would take care of his s/o who suffers from migraines and severe photosensitivity. my friends always call me a vampire because of it so i thought it’d be a funny dynamic 😆

this one is actually funny because i suffer from migraines as well, so here we are! I don't know if I'm proud of what I've written, but it was fun to do! enjoy! ❤

OS - Astarion x gn drow reader : Simple things.

Living on the surface had proved more complicated than the Underdark. Being born, growing up and spending a significant part of your life in the darkness had certainly had its advantages, but now that you were living on the surface, you realised just how different things were. Whether it was people's lifestyles or all those bright colours. So yes, there were bright colours in the Underdark, but they were often signs of danger, such as explosive mushrooms or plants releasing deadly spores.

You may have been used to the dark and could see in the night better than your companions, but constant exposure to the sun had its drawbacks. So, sure, it was nice to feel the light warming your skin, you could now appreciate things like the colour of the sky, listen to birdsong or even hear the sound of the wind, but your eyes still couldn't handle so much brightness. And on top of that, you had a tadpole in your skull that was not only making its own little nest but was also giving you migraines on a regular basis.

But you still tried to stay positive, because thanks to all the adventures you'd been through, however farfetched, you'd met your current companions, who had turned out to be loyal allies and faithful friends.

And above all, you had met Astarion.

A magnificient two-century-old vampire.

It was almost poetic, two beings of darkness who found themselves having to survive under the sun. So what was it between you two? It was a tricky question, but you cared about him as much as he cared about you, and knowing that was more than enough. Though, Astarion was handling the conditions and opportunities this adventure offered him better than you were. He had always loved sunbathing as soon as the first lights appeared. You enjoyed them too, but in small doses.

While you were enjoying a moment's respite from this chaotic and probably deadly mission, you had given yourselves a break and were strolling through the alleys of Baldur's Gate. Astarion was describing the things his former master, Cazador Szarr, had made him do, a certain bitterness in his voice. You tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but the sun was at its zenith, there were no clouds in the sky to dim its brightness and you felt as if your eyes were burning and your skull was splitting in two.

"Are you even listening when I am talking to you?", grumbled Astarion.

"Sorry… Can we take a short break?" you asked, using your hand to shade your eyes as you looked at him.

"My dear, are you sure that you are not a vampire?" said Astarion with a smirk.

"Hilarious" you sighed.

You took a few steps into the shadow under a stall on the main street leading to the Wyrm's Rock fortress. Astarion was looking at you with a slightly concerned expression; he seemed to be thinking.

"Hm.. I think I have an idea. Stay put." It was almost an order.

Before you could reply, he was heading off into "Carm's Garm" shop. You wondered what had gone through his mind. You decided to wait for him and you leaned against the stone wall behind you, watching the passers-by go about their business, carefree. You listened the trout seller shouting about how fresh his fish were and the wholesaler who was delighted with his harvest.

Long minutes passed, during which you examined everyone who passed in the street. You didn't hear Astarion come back, and you were startled when he cleared his throat once he was beside you. You looked at him and noticed that he was holding several hats under his arms. You tried to hide your smile but it was complicated.

"Let's see…" He put the pile of accessories at his feet and picked up a first hat and placed it on your head. It was a sort of pointy wizard's hat with hideous embroidery that went all the way around, and before you could even give your opinion, Astarion took it off, shaking his head and frowning. "Awful"

He then picked up a sort of adjustable steel helmet, and didn't even take the time to let you try it on before he tossed it aside, doing the same with a brightly coloured top hat. Finally, he took a simple brown hat with silver wings embroidered on the stiff leather and placed it on your head as gently as possible. The brim of the hat was wide enough to keep your face in the shade.

He stood back and examined you for a few seconds, his index finger resting on his chin: "Hm.. I think this one will do, darling. Of course, I still am the fashion icon of our group, but I can assure you you are not far from it now."

You readjusted your hat slightly and took a long look at him, biting your lower lip to hold back your smile. You were pleasantly surprised by his gesture and his words made you chuckle. Astarion moved closer to you and put his hands on your shoulders, pressing them lightly as you put yours against his chest.

"I am impressed, so you are able to do sweet things." you said.

"Sweet? What an idea" He grinned before tilting his head to the side, a thin smile on his lips. "It just should not be so unbearable to enjoy the simple things of life."

And he was right.

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thanks for reading this OS, i hope you liked it!

don't hesitate to read my other writings on Astarion! ❤

Astarion x gn druid tav : On your skin.

Astarion x gn tav : No place for love.

Astarion x gn tav : A thousand thanks.

Fiction - Astation x fem!tav bard : Fruit of The Poisonned Tree

#romance #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion vampire #baldur's gate iii #astarion x gn reader #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion my beloved #astarion ancunin #astarion x gn!tav

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quitealotofsodapop · 1 month

Note

That's not forgetting the fact MK was also in big trouble.

Wukong: 1300 years, Macaque! We have been married, officially, for over 1300 years! What in Newa's name would compelling you to look me in the eye and lie to my face about this!? For over a year!

Macaque: I-I know, but Peaches this was important! I promise, I promise I was only trying to protect you and our cubs!

Wukong: FAT LOAD OF GOOD THAT DID! We all got dragged into it anyway, Liu'er! Xiaotian was searching for you every day, getting into fights with demons and celestials alike to figure out where you went! Our powers are gone, we're being chased across all of China and beyond while our home is a literal icicle, and the Lady Bone Demon has Ringu Jingu Bang! How is this protecting us!?

Tang, whispering to MK: Is... is this the famous temper that once gave Sun Wukong the reputation of being capable of cowing even the great Li Jing!?

MK nods mutely: I heard the story. Apparently, I was there, just not born yet.

Small cute headcanon, but I headcanon that Tripitaka had officiated Wukong and Macaque's official wedding in JTTW Stone Egg au

referencing. Hehe I love all of this

Macaque: "Are son was getting into fights!?... did he win?" Wukong: "OF COURSE HE WON! HE'S OUR SON! DON'T CHANGE THE SUBJECT!" The Noodle Shop Gang: (*keeping a safe distance*) Tang, whispering jokingly: "Oh my gosh. Flashback to the Golden Pouch Mountain, am I right?" Nezha, with a thousand-yard stare: "Yeah, Macaque is not in Sun Wukong's good graces at the moment. I stll remember having to hoist him up so that he could look my father in the eye while he screamed." Tang, fascinated: "I... I was just joking but omg. He had you lift him up? Thats so cute!" Nezha: "Yeah, I wasn't about to argue with a hormonal expectant monkey. The only reason that anger wasn't directed at me was because he saw me as a cub to protect. My father crumbled like a stone pillar after the first five minutes." MK, laughing nervously: "I was there! Just an Egg though." The Noodle Shop Gang: (*realising just how old MK is*) "wut"

And oh gosh the legendary "Shouting at General Li Jing for the Rhino King incident". I love the idea of historians jotting that down and forgetting the context of why Sun Wukong was so furious at the Pagoda King.

I feel like Macaque deliberately struck himself out of many records to keep his and MK's presence a secret from mortal eyes and ears. But some people (esp demon historians) still wrote down that the Monkey King had a super-protective-adoring mate during his Journey to the West.

Basically most of Macaque's reunion + MK's reveal to his mom/baba that he's been secretly a superhero is Wukong yelling at them for hours from worry.

#post jttw stone egged au #jttw stone egged au #stone egg talk #shadowpeach #sun wukong #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #lmk mk #qi xiaotian #lmk tang #lmk nezha #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk aus #pregnancy tw

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im-a-wonderling · 2 months

Text

Survival Mechanisms ~ George Weasley

This is part three, so make sure you read Is It Still Punishment if It's Worth It? and Clumsy, Clumsy first!

Warnings: none

Word count: 4k

The N.E.W.T. preparatory witch was absolute rubbish.

With the exams looming, Umbridge had allowed for a dodgy witch from the Ministry to host an exam study session of sorts on the Patronus Charm. It was hard to believe that Umbridge could hate so many things and yet endorse a witch that wore a hat with green shamrocks and orange balloons.

A load of the Gryffindors were lounging around on the seats that had been pushed against the walls, having produced a fully corporeal Patronus. They cracked jokes and laughed with each other. Every so often, one of them would lazily sweep their gaze across the room at the students still struggling with the spell. Their palpable arrogance seemed to bounce against the stone walls, weighing down the room.

I gripped my wand tightly enough to feel every ridge of it against my skin.

Why were they still here? If they’d successfully completed the exercise, they could take their boisterousness somewhere else, preferably over the balcony of the Astronomy Tower.

“Expecto Patronum!” I said firmly, circling my wand. The most pathetic stream of silver yet flowed from the tip of my wand, disappearing in an instant. I grit my teeth, circling my wand again. “Expecto Patronum!”

“No, dear,” said the supervising witch, waddling over to me. “The wand movement must flow. Like this.” She demonstrated, and the silver form of a dog burst forth, running through the air in the classroom with its tongue hanging out.

I ducked my head in thanks, and she walked away to help a Hufflepuff. I glared after her, imagining transfiguring her stupid hat into a flower pot of marigolds. When I turned back to the fake dementor, it wasn’t the only dummy standing there.

George leaned an elbow on the dementor’s shoulder, looking at me with his grin reeking with complications. “All right?”

I extended my wand towards the fake dementor, waiting for George to get out of the way. But he remained squarely where he was. “What?” I asked tersely.

“Nothing.” His tone was far too smug for that to be true. “You’re just cute when you’re frustrated.”

Just then, George Weasley should’ve thanked every star in the sky that I wasn’t born a Welsh Green, otherwise he’d be a pile of cinders. Gritting my teeth, I flicked my wand at him, trying to scare him away, but George didn’t so much as flinch. “Go away,” I finally said. “I’m busy.”

George stood up straight, his arm leaving the dummy. But instead of going to join his housemates, he ambled closer. He had such a funny and easygoing way of walking. He put one foot in front of the other like it didn’t even matter where his feet ended up, because he was content wherever he was. “Struggling, are we?”

“Expecto Patronum!”

George side-stepped the spurt of silver that left my wand, and when it faded, he looked back at me. “Do you want help?”

“George, I’m not in the mood,” I warned.

“What’s your memory?”

I shot him a withering glare. “I’m not telling you.”

George brought both his hands to his chest, sticking out his lower lip. “You wound me.”

“I will if you don’t get out of the way,” I seethed.

George tilted his head to the side in the way he always did when he seemed to be sizing me up. Then he bent down and leaned in, and I prepared my wand, ready to cast the Revulsion Jinx if he so much as laid a finger on me. “Meet me on the sixth floor,” he said quietly, his words tickling my ear, “by the portrait of Edgar Stroulger.”

“So you and your Gryffindor pals can ambush me?” I bit back, turning my head to look him directly in the eye. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you never trust anybody?” George’s soft question paired with his unassuming eyes almost made me feel guilty.

“If you want trust,” I replied, “go bestow your relentless charms on a Hufflepuff.”

George straightened, looking down on me with furrowed brows. For a moment, we simply stood there, staring at each other. Had I finally gone too far? Was he going to throw in the towel? Would he take the advice I wasn’t sure I meant and go find someone easier to talk to?

Then his face split into a grin. “You think I’m charming?”

How could he do that? I’d never known someone who could receive such acidic words from someone and spin them as if they’d been given a compliment. “Why would you help me?”

“Because we’re friends now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” George’s eyes flicked over to the witch who’d just finished demonstrating how her own patronus walked on all fours, “you said you don’t snog your friends. We’ve never snogged, therefore we’re friends.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the flipping of my stomach. “I don’t think that’s how logic works.”

“Innit?” George straightened. “If you want help, you know where I’ll be.” And with that, he walked in his unhurried way out of the room.

The dark eyes of the dementor dummy bored into mine as I considered my options: staying and hoping the witch somehow became more helpful or taking a chance on George. I glanced at the witch, who was leading one of the other Slytherins in what appeared to be a breathing exercise.

Okay, clearly George could offer as much, if not more than, the witch. But the humiliation of failing in front of the witch meant nothing compared to how I would feel if George laughed at me.

Could I take that risk for the benefit of learning this charm?

I looked out the door George had just walked out of.

Stopping at the entrance of the Study of Ancient Runes classroom, I glanced around the corner, waiting for any sign of danger. Seeing none and walking slowly, I rounded the corner, coming face to face with the portrait.

Edgar Stroulger, the inventor of the Sneakoscope, looked warily down at me as he reached into his wrinkled purple robes to pull out the Dark Detector. It didn’t light up, spin, or whistle, which meant no one was doing anything untrustworthy nearby.

Did George pick this portrait to make sure that I wasn’t planning anything sinister? Or did he pick it so that I could be sure he wasn’t planning anything sinister?

Suddenly, the portrait swung outward.

My wand slid into my hand in an instant, and I pointed it, ready for action. “Calm down, it’s only me,” George said lightly, stepping out and closing the portrait behind him.

I waited a beat, just to see if George would start squirming, but he didn’t look the least bit concerned by having the tip of my wand an inch away from the tip of his freckled nose.

“Another make-out spot?” I asked, finally lowering my arm.

“Not yet, but there’s always time,” George replied with a cheeky grin. I waited for him to lead me somewhere, but he just stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at me.

“What?” I finally asked.

“You came.”

Were the words born of surprise? Excitement? Disappointment? I was unnerved by the fact that I couldn’t tell. “I don’t like failing.”

“Everyone knows that,” George chuckled. He gave a grand bow, indicating the hallway I’d just come through. “Shall we?”

I eyed George. Were we going to the Ancient Runes classroom? Or did he have somewhere else in mind? Was he bringing me to a second location? Wasn’t it common knowledge that one was never supposed to let a kidnapper take them to a second location?

“Well, we can’t practice charms in the hallway, can we?” he said, correctly interpreting my silence.

I sighed. “I’ll follow you then.”

George smiled and swept down the hallway, walking straight towards an empty stone wall. Was George about to walk right into it? And if so, did I have time to get snacks to watch? Just as I started to debate this, before my very eyes grew a large door, as if it’d just pooled out of the wall like melted chocolate.

“How did you–” I started to ask, a bit breathless. “How did that door just…appear?

George looked pleased at my response. “Hogwarts is full of surprises.”

I shook my head. If anyone would know about a secret door in Hogwarts, my money was on the nosy Weasley twins, but still.

George opened the door and made a little bow. “After you.”

My curiosity winning over my paranoia, I walked inside, glancing all about the room.

There was no furniture, only a wide-open space with a fire burning in the hearth across from the entrance. A few training dummies, similar to the ones the witch had been using, lined the walls. There lay an inherent conflict in the room between the cool, blue light from the windows which bounced off the mirrors and the yellow light of the glowing chandelier.

“Alright,” George said, rolling the sleeves of his uniform above his elbow as he brushed past me to stand in the very center of the room. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I followed him, dutifully pulling out my wand and keeping my eyes focused on one of the training dummies and not George. “Expecto Patronum.”

“You’re spiraling too big,” George said.

I tried again.

“No, not like–here.” The next thing I knew, George was at my back, his hand moving down my arm to encase my wand hand. “Smaller, softer.” My lips parted as his warm breath skittered across my cheek. His wrist moved, guiding my wand through the motions. “It’s not meant to be harsh.”

I glanced at the mirror across from us to see that George’s eyes weren’t focused on my hand, but on my face, which was steadily turning crimson.

If bringing me to this room was some sort of romantic move, I was determined that it would fail. The portrait of Edgar Stroulger would not become another make-out spot, and neither would this room. At least not with me. I kept my eyes studiously forward, waving my wand as instructed.

“Brilliant.” He spoke in a whisper, but it felt as though he were shouting.

"Expecto Patronum!" Silver mist flowed from my wand, more than before, and it didn’t fade as quickly.

“Better,” George said encouragingly. “Again.”

“Expecto Patronum!” Same result.

“Try again.”

I repeated the action, and the silver mist was gone in a moment. “Augh, this bloody charm is impossible!”

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and the appraising manner with which he looked at me made me nervous. “What are you picturing when you’re trying to conjure it?”

“Not–”

“Y/L/N.”

I lapsed into silence, keeping my lips stubbornly closed. Under no circumstances was I going to give him ammunition.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” George said softly. “I’m not harboring some secret plan to humiliate you. I’m trying to help, so will you please let those walls of yours down and let me?”

I just glared back at him, folding my arms tightly.

George sighed, moving to stand between the dummy and I. “Mine is a food fight with my family.”

The admission made me blink. Why would his response to my closed doors be to open his own? In spite of myself, I was interested. “Not some prank?”

George ducked his head, and I suddenly missed his smile. “No, not some prank. We were sitting down to dinner, and my dad leaned over to give my mum a kiss and he accidentally knocked over the cauldron, spilling pea soup everywhere.” George wrinkled his nose, as if he could smell it still. “My brothers and I were covered in it, and the whole dining room was dead silent…and then Fred threw his soggy roll at Bill, and next thing you know,” George smiled broadly, “we were all throwing food, even Mum, and Mum never willingly creates a mess.”

Even though I hadn’t been there, his memory was captivating enough that I could picture the large family laughing and slipping as they reveled in each others’ company.

George lifted his wand, and a burst of fear shot through me.

But before I could hurl a spell in his direction, he whispered his own: “Expecto Patronum.”

A magpie flew forth, soaring about the room with minimal flapping of its patterned wings. If patronuses could make noise, I had a feeling this one would sing the most beautiful song. Not because it was trying to compete with or impress anyone, but for itself, to represent the sheer joy that kept it aloft.

Then, it veered towards me, flying so close that I could’ve sworn I felt the brush of feathers on my leg as it began to circle. It flew higher and higher with every rotation until a silver cloud of mist surrounded me. Then, it shot away again, flying about the room.

“The Patronus is an outpouring,” George said quietly. “It’s the happiness that can’t be contained, therefore it must leap forward.”

I’d never been much good at outpouring. Everything I held dear was held behind my walls, for sharing things was the fastest way to spoil them.

But I wanted to learn this charm. How could I protect Clem if there was a gap in my magical prowess?

“What are you picturing?” George asked again.

I folded my arms. “I’m not telling you.”

“C’mon, Y/L/N, your wand movement’s good, you’re saying the incantation right. There’s only one thing that could be keeping you from casting it.”

I grit my teeth. If there was anything more insufferable than George Weasley, it was George Weasley when he was right. “I was…thinking of…getting my Hogwarts acceptance letter.”

George didn’t burst into laughter or devolve into mocking like I expected. “Why’s that a powerful happy memory for you?”

I looked away, staring at the door and stifling the wish to run through it. “My parents were going to send me to Durmstrang.”

“Oh.” George rubbed his neck. “Well. That would’ve been a shame.” There was a silence before I finally nodded, not wanting to say anything else on the subject. “Maybe try a different image?” he suggested.

“Like what?” I said hopelessly. “Hippogriffs tap dancing?”

George’s eyes gleamed, and the magpie landed on top of his head. “Now that’s a good one.”

“George,” I said warningly.

George rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. The longer the silence extended, the more I wished I could simply use George’s memory of his family food fight. Finally, George blew out his cheeks, imitating a frog’s vocal sac extending with a croak. “Don’t curse me for asking this–”

“No promises.”

“–but why do you protect Clem so strongly?”

I stared at George, confused. Not by his actions, but by the small part of me that actually wanted to answer his question and share about the biggest love of my life. But I couldn’t shake the deep-seated fear that this information would somehow be the key to bringing me down.

“I swear to you,” George said softly as the magpie ruffled its wings, “Clem’s safer from me than my own siblings, because I won’t turn his teddy bear into a giant spider.”

I debated inquiring about the story that clearly lingered behind his oddly specific word choice, but decided not to. Letting out a long breath, I looked away.

“I was six when Clem was born,” I told the floor. It was much easier to speak to the stone floor than to the intently listening redhead. “I’d always wanted a sibling, but my parents struggled with having kids. Even when my mom was pregnant, the healers at St. Mungo warned her that she might lose the baby at any point, but my father…” I sighed. “He wanted a son. You know, carry on the family name and all that.”

Mercifully, George stayed silent, as if he knew one word from him would make me clam up and one joke right now would earn him a trip to the Hospital Wing with a pair of permanent elephant ears.

“They let me hold him, and he was so much heavier than I thought he was going to be.” I smiled softly. “I’d never seen a baby before. I thought babies were just…small people, but they’re not, they’re chubby and wrinkly and they’re red all over.” I glanced at the mirror and George’s unmoving reflection staring intently at mine, willing me to finish.

“I don’t think six-year-olds know much about anything. I definitely didn’t, but when I held my brother…” My courage quailed. I shook my head, raising my wand to attempt the charm again.

Suddenly, the magpie flew past me and then George was in front of me, his hand holding mine still as he looked down at me with something I couldn’t name or deny. “Finish it,” he said softly, but earnestly. “Finish the story.”

I couldn’t form the right words at first, but George didn’t say anything to break the silence as I struggled. “When I held my brother,” the image of my baby brother started almost glowing in my mind, “I knew what love was.”

George’s slight, answering smile was quite possibly the most genuine thing I’d ever laid eyes on. He released my hand but didn’t step away. “Try it now.”

I didn’t look away, not wanting to puncture the peace of the room with the incantation. I looked deeply into George’s brown eyes and whispered it. “Expecto Patronum.”

The room lit up with the silver mist that poured forth from my wand, more than before. At first the mist pooled beneath my wand, and then, rising up from the pool, rose a large but graceful four-legged creature that ran around the room.

A lioness.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled, but there was little heat behind the words. I couldn’t be ungrateful for the creature, not when it moved so freely about the room, as if it were as glad as I was that it existed. “Don’t laugh,” I warned George as the patronus walked a circle around him. “And if you make a joke about me being in Gryffindor, I’ll turn you into a toad.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” George followed the lioness with his eyes as she trotted closer to me, leaving trails of mist behind her. “Makes sense though.”

I studied the markings by the lioness’s noble face. “How?”

“Strength. Ferocity.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “Beauty.”

I blushed, and the lioness started running again, as if energized by the heat in my cheeks. The magpie swooped to join the lioness, who playfully swatted at it before leaping into the air to join it.

“So…what other spells are you and your friends mastering in this room?”

George’s glance cut quickly towards me, and the magpie dissipated. “What?”

I allowed the lioness to dissolve as well. “There are multiple training dummies, and whatever spell you have on that door, clearly you don’t want people inside.” I tilted my head at him. “And you’re brilliant, George, but Defense Against the Dark Arts has never been your strongest subject, and considering Umbridge’s educational skills…I can't believe you're doing it on your own."

George looked scared, and as much as I enjoyed finally seeing a bit of fear on his face, I couldn’t let it remain there for long. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret as long as you keep mine.”

George furrowed his brow. “Your secret?”

I stared at him, tongue-tied with disbelief. Did he really have no idea that he held a vulnerable secret? Had he not recognized that the knowledge of how deeply I loved Clem was a valuable piece of information? A vulnerability that could be easily exploited?

Too late, it seemed to dawn on him, and the sheer delight in his demeanor made me quickly walk for the door. “Wait–” he said.

“Time to leave, isn’t it?” I said shortly, but George caught up with me, blocking my way.

“You’re trying to blackmail me?”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. “Can we forget about it?” George burst out laughing, doubling over. I shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m…sorry,” George wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You’re just so cute!”

“Excuse me?” I shrieked.

“What do you think you are,” he said, gasping for air, “MI6?”

“It’s a survival mechanism,” I mumbled, and his laughter started anew. Heat rushed into my cheeks.

George only laughed all the harder.

My goodwill evaporating, I shoved him. Hard.

The aggression in the gesture didn’t move George that far, but his laughter stopped as I stormed out the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, jogging after me, still looking amused. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry.”

I turned to look at him and saw the door melting away again.

“Besides,” George leaned against a pillar, “friends keep each other's secrets.” He looked so comfortable, so unbothered. I didn’t know many Gryffindors who would willingly share the same room with a Slytherin, and here was one of the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors, staring down at me without a hint of a long-suffering sigh.

“George?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you want to be my friend?”

George rolled his eyes, pushing off from the pillar. “Enough with the paranoia, Y/L/N.”

“No, I’m not paranoid, I just…I’m confused.”

George looked at me suspiciously for a moment before the suspicion dropped. “Well…why wouldn’t I?” he asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re smart, and I happen to think your survival mechanisms are extremely endearing.”

“I’m also a Slytherin.”

George groaned. “Not this again.”

I stepped forward, craning my neck to look up at George. “You’re goofy, but you’re not naive. And I can’t believe that you haven’t been given any grief about your interest in me.”

George pursed his lips, clearly unable to disagree and wishing he could.

“So why are you risking it?”

His brown eyes searched my face as he seemed to gather and ponder his response. “Maybe I was curious,” he said at last. “About the terrifying, mysterious Slytherin that never lifted a finger to harm anyone.”

“I’m not compassionate, George,” I replied. “I never lift a finger to help anyone either, and that’s just as bad.”

“No, I know you’re not, that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied.

“Well, then what are you saying?”

“It’s…it just…it seems like…” He trailed off, and while the suspense wouldn’t kill me, I was considering killing him.

“It seems like what?”

“It’s like you try not to exist.” George’s face took on an expression of deep perplexity. “You don’t make yourself smaller, not like some people do, you just…float through this castle like the ghosts, leaving no trace and only the occasional word.”

He stepped closer, and it took everything in me to remain still and allow him close enough to easily step on my toes if he wanted to. “You’re more than just a Slytherin, Y/N. Just like I’m more than just a Gryffindor.”

“Are you sure about that?” I replied, more breathlessly than I’d anticipated in my head.

“If I wasn’t more,” he smirked, “we wouldn’t be such good friends.”

I blinked at him. He really was curious. And his curiosity was, in turn, making me curious as to what kind of man stood in front of me. “George?”

“Hmm?” he said.

I gnawed on my lip. “Thank you.”

George’s face went slack.

“For helping me,” I added, hoping confusion was the only reason he was looking at me like that. “I…appreciate it.”

There was a beat while George stared at me like my breakfast pumpkin juice had been spiked with Nose-Grow potion and my nose was starting to resemble Professor Snape’s.

Then, a bright, dazzling smile spread across his face. “Cheers, Y/N.”

I lingered for another moment before giving George a sharp nod and quickly descending the stairs, silently asking the universe why my heart felt like it was swelling.

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #george #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #room of requirement #hogwarts #slytherin!reader

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kckt88 · 6 months

Text

Take My Breath Away V.

Summary:

Vaeryna and Aemond realise their feelings for one another.

Warning(s): Swearing, Angst, Threats, Improper Use of the Sept, Oral Sex - F Receiving, P in V Sex, Jokes, Regret, Vulnerability.

Word Count: 2793

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

GREENS WIN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

Tag List - @a-beaverhausen, @ammo23, @immyowndefender, @watercolorskyy, @toodlesxcuddles

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

‘Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen’

“It should say Queen” sniped Vaeryna as she stared at the remembrance plaque that had been dedicated to her mother.

“Oh, come now ābrazȳrys. You know that’s not true” said Aemond (Wife).

“Of course, it is my mother was the rightful Queen” replied Vaeryna.

“My father named a new heir before he died” said Aemond.

“According to who?” asked Vaeryna.

“My mother. She claimed that my father wished for Aegon to rule”.

“You mean to tell me that a man who had steadfastly upheld my mother’s status as heir to the Iron Throne for almost twenty years suddenly had a change of heart? The same man who also dragged himself out of his sick bed to defend the honour of his favourite child. In front of multiple witnesses” said Vaeryna firmly.

“Viserys was entitled to change his mind” replied Aemond.

“All very convenient is it not? That he just happened to change his mind and only your mother was there to hear him. Do me a favour” said Vaeryna rolling her eyes.

“Are you saying that my mother is a liar?” asked Aemond.

“I didn’t exactly use those words. But if the shoe fits” shrugged Vaeryna.

“It matters not what you or anyone else believes, Aegon was the Kings first born son, the crown fell to him”.

“A wastrel who hasn’t taken half an interest in his alleged birth right, yet you on the other hand-“ said Vaeryna as she turned to face her husband.

“-What about me?” asked Aemond.

“It must be hard devoting your life to being the perfect son, only for your brother to be handed something that he clearly doesn’t deserve” said Vaeryna biting her lip.

“Hm” muttered Aemond.

“Tell me, what it’s like to want something and not have it?”

“I have you, don’t I?” exclaimed Aemond smirking.

“You know that’s not what I was referring too”.

“I’m well aware of what you were referring to wife, and do not forget that I served as Regent for a time” replied Aemond.

“Still had to give it back though, didn’t you? tell me husband, did the crown really look better on you than it did him?” asked Vaeryna smiling.

Aemond didn’t answer, he simply seized his wife and pulled her body closer to his.

“What are you after husband?” whispered Vaeryna shuddering as Aemond ran his nose up her cheek, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“You know what I’m after wife” muttered Aemond, his hands reaching for Vaeryna’s skirts, slowly lifting the silken material upwards.

“W-Were in a place of worship” gasped Vaeryna as she felt Aemond’s finger’s slip into her small clothes and begin sliding through her folds.

“So we are, I guess I should get on my knees and worship-you” muttered Aemond as he directed Vaeryna to sit down on the stone dais.

“Your mother would have a heart attack if she knew about-OH” gasped Vaeryna as Aemond dropped to his knees and pressed himself between her open legs.

“Don’t talk about my mother when I’m about to feast on your sweet tasting cunny” mumbled Aemond as he bunched Vaeryna’s small clothes in his fist and tore them from her body.

“So that’s not the reason you were into to Alys then? I mean some latent mother -OUCH, that hurt” squealed Vaeryna as Aemond bit her thigh.

“Don’t talk about her, she’s in the past” said Aemond his mouth descending on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into his wife’s core with his tongue, in and out, much faster than his cock ever could. Still gasping, Vaeryna clutched at his head with one hand, her other hand scrabbled for purchase edge of the dais.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Vaeryna ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Aemond growled, deep in his throat; a sound that she didn’t hear very often. The vibration of his vocal cords rippled through to his tongue and Vaeryna gasped; she felt every vibration keenly. Her body tensed for her peak–

But Aemond pulled away from her and smirked, his chin shining with her slick.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaeryna desperately.

“Turn around” ordered Aemond his fingers quickly untying the laches of his breeches.

Vaeryna obeyed and spun around, staring at the wall of the sept while she bent over, supporting her weight on her arms. She couldn't see him, but she heard Aemond move behind her.

Her heart began to pound with anticipation.

“Be a good little wife and take what your husband gives you” said Aemond, as he smacked her luscious buttocks with an open hand.

The sting of his hand on her flesh took Vaeryna by surprise, and she gasped before yelping. Heat bloomed over her assaulted backside.

Ignoring her, Aemond delivered spank after spank to her bottom, never landing on the same place twice.

“Want me to stop?” asked Aemond, still not letting up.

“NO” cried Vaeryna, trying to stimulate her neglected clitoris between the top of her thighs.

Instantly, his lips were at her ear.

“Liking it are you” taunted Aemond.

“Please fuck me” whispered Vaeryna against the bath.

“Oh, like this?” asked Aemond, and a second later his hard length filled her cunny in one smooth stroke.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Vaeryna.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

Slowly thrusting back and forth. Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her warm wet entrance. He marvelled at her body. Such a beautiful, succulent thing his wife was. Allowing him entry into the most sacred parts of her body.

Aemond began to fuck her in earnest, plunging his cock into her cunny over and over, thrilling to hear Vaeryna’s moans of need echoing around the stony candle lit sept.

Bracing her arms, she pushed against him so he could shove his cock in. Harder and faster.

Aemond felt his stones draw in; his peak was approaching. He snaked a hand around Vaeryna’s body and played with her clitoris, plucking it with his fingers.

“Oh gods” moaned Vaeryna as her whole-body shook.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond, his thrusts starting to jerk.

He was close. So close.

Vaeryna screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Aemond’s own peak nearly took him off his feet. The sensation took over his body as he spilled rope after rope of his seed, he had no recollection of what he did or said for the good minute it took for his peak to crest, then subside.

He had never come so hard in his life.

Breathing hard, Aemond gently pulled out and enveloped his wife’s shaking limbs into a tight hug.

“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Not at all” replied Vaeryna quietly.

“Do you not wonder where she disappears to for hours on end?” asked Aegon as the Cannibal flew over the Red Keep, his roar vibrating through the air.

“The thought had crossed my mind, but it’s easy enough to lose yourself amongst the clouds, I’ve done it countless times myself” replied Aemond bracing his weight on his arms as he leant over the edge of the balcony.

“It still amazes me that she rides Cannibal without a saddle, I mean she must be hanging on for dear life back there” said Aegon.

“Either that or she trusts him unconditionally” muttered Aemond.

“The Cannibal though, hell of a claim-sorry brother but it is. We all knew of his reputation, never before had he accepted a rider, he killed all those that tried. Then just like that he accepts Vaeryna, so there must be something special about her” mused Aegon.

“Mayhaps there is” replied Aemond wistfully.

“So, any news for me?” asked Aegon.

“Not yet-” said Aemond rolling his eyes.

“Are you sure your-“

“For gods sake Aegon, give it a fucking rest will you” snapped Aemond.

“Oh, someone’s grouchy this morning” mocked Aegon.

“It’s afternoon you moron and I’m not grouchy” retorted Aemond.

“Yes, you are, what’s the matter, come on tell your big brother all about it”.

After some hesitation, Aemond relented, for all Aegon was a cunt, he was still his brother and sometimes he could be decent, depending on which day of the week it was.

“I-This conversation goes no further, otherwise I will slit your throat” threated Aemond.

“I swear” replied Aegon smirking.

“I-I’m falling in love with Vaeryna” said Aemond.

“-Well that much is obvious, but seriously what’s the issue?”

“I don’t know if she loves me in return” replied Aemond.

“She takes your cock every night-I’ve seen what you’ve got going on down there and I’m impressed, how could she not love you” laughed Aegon as he took a sip of wine.

“Well, she-I mean it Aegon do not repeat what I’m about to tell you”.

“I said I wouldn’t” muttered Aegon.

“She used to have a thing going with Jacaerys” whispered Aemond.

“Jace, seriously-Wait when you say had a thing going, what do you mean?”

“They were married” said Aemond.

“NO FUCKING WAY” exclaimed Aegon.

“Technically it wasn’t officially recognised, but they had a Valyrian ceremony in the Vale”.

“Wait-I thought she was a maid when you bedded her, I saw the sheets” replied Aegon.

“She was, they did not lay together, something about wanting to wait and-“

“So, the strong bastard died without experiencing the pleasures of a woman’s flesh-I almost feel bad for him-almost” muttered Aegon.

“Will you be serious for a moment. She’s my wife and whilst I may bed her every night, how do I know that I’m not just some substitute for the one she can’t have” said Aemond.

“Oh my god your such a loser” quipped Aegon.

“I confess my deepest feelings and you mock me, thanks Aegon-you know you really are a right cunt” snarled Aemond.

“Don’t you think your thinking about this way too much, why don’t you just talk to Vaeryna, you seem to get along quite well” said Aegon as he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp.

“Aside from her japes about Alys, yeah we get along great” muttered Aemond burying his head in his hands.

“Is she still torturing you over that? I mean it’s actually quite funny-shame I didn’t get to meet the old whore, could have had a two for one, absolute bargain” joked Aegon.

“Go fuck yourself” raged Aemond as he turned on his heel and stormed out of Aegon’s chambers.

“Oh, come now brother. She wasn’t that old, well I mean she was but-“

Aemond did not hear the rest of his brother’s jest as he marched down the corridor as fast as he could.

“Unbelievable” seethed Aemond as he barged into his own chambers, the wooden door bouncing off the wall.

“Good afternoon to you too husband” said Vaeryna.

“Wife-what?” asked Aemond as he noticed Maester Munkun bent over Vaeryna with his hand pressed to her forehead.

“When I was out with Cannibal, I started to feel unwell, so I came back and sought the Maester’s council” replied Vaeryna.

“I-Is everything ok?” asked Aemond, his anger towards Aegon quickly evaporating.

“I do believe that the Princess is with child. Congratulations My Prince”.

“A-Aemond?” questioned Vaeryna, her voice laced with concern as she observed her husband placing a hand over his mouth and staggering backwards until he collided heavily with the stone wall.

“A-A child?”

“Yes, My Prince, it is still early in the pregnancy, but I want the Princess to eat more, so as her husband it is your duty to ensure she eats enough for herself and the babe” said Maester Munkun.

“Y-Yes. I can do that” nodded Aemond.

“Thank you Maester, I believe that will all for today” said Vaeryna still eyeing Aemond with concern.

“Take care Princess and remember to call on me should you require anything else”.

Vaeryna nodded as she watched the Maester gathering his things before he left the chambers.

“Aemond. Are you ok?” asked Vaeryna.

“Y-Your with child”

“Yes, I carry your child inside of me. Wasn’t that what all the fucking was for?” replied Vaeryna smiling.

Aemond who had gone even paler than usual, slowly started to come back to himself.

“I-Is that the only reason we were-“ muttered Aemond.

“-What. Fucking? asked Vaeryna.

“Y-Yes” mumbled Aemond.

“What other reason was there?”.

“Never mind” whispered Aemond his shoulders slumping.

“I thought this is what you wanted?” asked Vaeryna cocking her head to the side.

“It was-is, I-I just thought that-“

“Aemond, what’s wrong?” whispered Vaeryna as she reached out and took hold of his hand.

“I-I love you” exclaimed Aemond.

“Oh” exclaimed Vaeryna as she let go of Aemond’s hand and turned away from him.

“Is that all you can say?”

“What-?” replied Vaeryna softly.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter” snapped Aemond.

“But you killed my brother and my father”.

“So, you married me, and you’ve been taking my cock every night, and you feel nothing for me?” asked Aemond, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

“Should I?”.

“You tell me, your carrying my child” said Aemond.

“Is that enough?”

“Will you stop being cryptic and just talk to me” snarled Aemond angrily.

“I-I’m not sure -“ muttered Vaeryna.

“Like I said it doesn’t matter” said Aemond sharply.

“Aemond” whispered Vaeryna.

“I must have been crazy to let myself believe that-you know what, just forget what I said, you clearly don’t have any care for me at all” stated Aemond furiously wiping away a tear that rolled down his cheek.

“Aemond, I-“

“It’s ok really. I understand that you hate me for what I’ve done and believe me I deserve it” said Aemond sadly.

“Please-“

“I-I’ve never truly loved anyone before. I didn’t even know what it meant but these last few weeks with you have been some of the best weeks of my life, I will always be grateful to you for showing me that I can love someone, and that I’m not a total monster after all” muttered Aemond lowering his head.

“We just need to-“

“I’m truly sorry for all the pain that I’ve caused you. I know you wish that you were still married to Jacaerys and that you carried his babe instead of mine but-“ sobbed Aemond

“-Maybe if you let me get a word in before you keep interrupting” sniped Vaeryna.

“O-Ok” muttered Aemond.

“Part of me will always love Jacaerys and yes sometimes I do wish that I was still married to him, I also wish that this war did not happen, that mayhaps we could have been together as a family as we should have been from the very beginning, non of this Greens against Blacks business, but House Targaryen fully united at last” replied Vaeryna sadly.

Aemond wiped away another tear that had slipped down his cheek before he furiously ripped off his eyepatch and threw it across the room.

“But this is the life we live. We have to make the best of it and maybe if you gave me even a moment to truly process what you had told me, instead of assuming the worst then you would know that I do care for you” said Vaeryna firmly.

“Y-You do?” asked Aemond his eye wide with surprise.

“I’m not made out of stone Aemond, despite what you may have done, I do have feelings for you. As my husband and the father of my child” said Vaeryna as she placed a hand on her stomach.

“Vaeryna, do not toy with me. Not now” begged Aemond.

“On this occasion issa prūmia. I’m totally genuine-shocking I know” said Vaeryna (my heart).

“W-What did you say?” asked Aemond.

“Issa prūmia” whispered Vaeryna (My heart).

Aemond practically threw himself at Vaeryna as he engulfed her in his arms and held her warm body against his.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me” exclaimed Aemond.

“What about our child?” asked Vaeryna.

“I cannot wait to see you grow round with my babe, and for everyone to know who’s seed has taken root” gasped Aemond.

“I guess such a prospect excites you husband” muttered Vaeryna as she felt Aemond’s hardness pressed against her.

“Oh, my wife, you have no idea how much I want you right now” moaned Aemond as Vaeryna palmed his cock.

“Then show me Issa prūmia. Let us properly celebrate the news of our babe. Together”

“Together” replied Aemond as he lifted Vaeryna into his arms and carried her to bed.

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