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aliendes · 4 years

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BTS Reaction to Cock Warming NSFW

gif owner unknown (all gifs on this post are from Google)

BTS reaction to trying cockwarming (M) 18+ NSFW

Warnings: cockwarming (duh?), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), fingering, a little oral?, over stim, dom!tae (oops), squirting, kind of subby JK if you squint.

A/N: This was self-indulgent. I’m a slut for cockwarming and I can never find enough of it. If you have recommendations send them my way. 🥵🥵🥵 Some of these got long (all of them?) and some were really soft and others were…. Not at all hehe. I enjoyed writing Hoseok and Jimin for the first time, both in very different ways!

If you have a request, send me an ask!

Seokjin would probably be unsure at first, but would be willing to try it if it made you happy. He would want to do it at night when you were both tired and cuddling to fall asleep. He would want you to slowly jack him off to get him hard and would probably whine when you stopped, missing the warmth of your hand, but that’s not the point tonight! You would wear only panties to bed, and he would be naked, as per usual. He would turn you both on your sides so he was spooning you from behind and slide your panties to the side so he could slowly finger you until he felt you were wet enough for him to slip in. You would both gasp at the feeling of his thick cock entering you with little preparation, and he would probably have a hard time staying still. A few minutes would go by of you both adjusting your bodies slightly to find a comfortable position to sleep in, letting out soft moans at the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you.

Eventually you would fall asleep, loving the feeling of Seokjin’s warm length filling you up. Sometime throughout the night, Jin would wake up and wouldn’t be able to take the feeling of your walls around him anymore. “YN?” He would try to rouse you gently, “Love?” His whispers sounded strained as you opened one eye, worrying something was wrong, until you felt his member twitch in your dripping pussy. You let out a moan at the movement.

“Mmm,” Seokjin mumbled, slowly starting to move his hips back and forth, fucking into you slowly, “I can’t take it anymore YN, I have to fuck you.”

Yoongi was working on something in his studio, distracted by whatever was on his screen. You sat behind him on his small leather couch, enjoying his presence, as you worked on your own laptop. You had been horny all day and had been waiting for him to finish for the last few hours. You were starting to get frustrated, in more ways than one, and decided to do something about it.

“Yoongi,” you whined in a sweet voice, getting up from your spot on the couch and circling his chair. You trailed your fingertips over the back of his exposed neck, bringing goose bumps to the surface of his skin. “Baby,” you whined again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter babe?” He gave you a bored look, lips pursed into that straight smile he liked to give you. You smiled sweetly at him. Making sure there were no wires or cords around you, you swung one leg over his lap and straddled him in his chair. Without missing a beat, he leaned back in the chair causing it to bounce backward with the weight and brought both hands up to rest on your hips. He raised an eyebrow at you as you leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“I want you,” you whispered in his ear, “I can’t wait any longer, I’ve been wet all day.” The whine in your voice was apparent and it made Yoongi chuckle a bit.

“Dirty girl,” he mumbled, running his hands along your thighs and ass, “just a little longer baby, I promise.”

“Yoongi,” you drew out his name, pulling back to pout at him, making him laugh again, “can I just sit on it? I won't even move, I promise I’ll let you finish.”

His laugh got caught in his throat as he let out a short cough, trying to process what you just said. “Like - like cockwarming?”

“Sure, if that’s what it takes to get you inside me.”

Yoongi looked unsure for a second, before desire flashed in his eyes. Removing one hand from your hips he slid his grey sweats and boxers down a bit, letting his semi-hard length spring out. Your pussy was drooling at the sight of it. “Pants off baby,” he said.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You stood up and unbuttoned your jeans, sliding them and your panties off at the same time. Excitement was bubbling in your stomach at the thought of finally getting to feel him. You tossed your clothes on the couch and by the time you were standing in front of him again he was languidly jerking his now fully hard member. You immediately sank to your knees and licked a stripe up his length from the base to the tip. “YN,” he groaned, head falling back against the chair, “you’re distracting me.”

You smirked and stood back up, straddling him again, one leg on either side of his body. Yoongi held his dick against your entrance as you slowly sank down onto him. Once he was fully sheathed in your warmth, you leaned on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. “You feel amazing,” he mumbled into your hair as he sat forward in his chair to better reach his computer. You moaned at the feeling of his cock moving inside you, but stayed still like you promised. “If you’re a good girl and stay there til I’m finished, maybe I’ll let you cum on this cock.”

Your boyfriend, Hoseok, was a freak, to put it lightly. He was always up for experimenting in the bedroom. You were usually the more timid one of the two of you. That’s why it took him by surprise when you shyly brought up cockwarming during dinner one night. That was a week ago. Now, you both had the day off tomorrow and Hoseok invited you over to stay the night at his place. You both knew tonight you were going to give cockwarming a try and to say you were both excited was a huge understatement.

Hoseok had picked out a few movies to watch and brought blankets and pillows out to the living room to get cozy. After you had finished your takeout for dinner, you changed into panties and a large t-shirt, Hoseok changing into basketball shorts for easy access.

Once the movie was on, Hoseok situated you so you were both laying on your side, him behind you against the back of the couch. Both your heads were resting on a pile of pillows, a large fluffy blanket draped over the top of you both. You were incredibly comfy and could definitely fall asleep like this.

Throughout the first movie, Hoseok was warming you up by licking and nibbling at your neck and ear, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your clit through your panties. It was slow, almost like a massage, definitely not to get you off, but to make you soaking wet and ready for his cock.

“Ready, baby?” He asked, voice low and hoarse from not using his voice for a while.

You nodded your head, turning back slightly to place a chaste kiss on his lips. He smiled down at you and moved your panties to the side, slipping two fingers into your glistening cunt. “God baby, you’re dripping all over my hand,” his dirty words only made you grow wetter. You moaned at the feeling of his fingers scissoring you open, prepping you for his cock. Once he felt you were ready, he slipped his shorts down and brought the tip of his dick to your entrance, gathering up your slick for an easy slide. He slid inside you with a practiced ease, both of you groaning at the feeling. He wasn’t lying, you were really wet. You didn’t think this would turn you on this much.

“Good?” He whispered into your ear. The sweetness in his voice contrasting his lewd actions.

You nodded again, biting your lip to keep the moans from escaping. He was filling you up so well, the feeling of his throbbing cock almost too much for you. You both went back to watching the movie, but neither of you could really focus on the screen, relishing in eachother’s warmth.

Halfway through the second movie, Hoseok’s hands started to wander, one of them resting on your bare thigh. He was drawing small circles on the skin, heightening your pleasure even more. He adjusted his body slightly behind you and a whine involuntarily slipped out of your mouth. “Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his tone as the hand on your thigh snaked around your front and dipped into your panties, pointer finger immediately finding your incredibly swollen clit, “Damn baby, did having my cock in you turn you on this much?”

You nodded, face flushing at his dirty words. “It’s ok,” he kissed your cheek sweetly when his words were anything but, “I’ll fuck this pretty little pussy til you’re screaming.”

He kept his promise that night, that’s for sure.

You and Namjoon had amazing sexual chemistry, it’s one of the reasons your relationship worked so well. You were both open to trying new things and you hardly ever found a kink of the others that you didn’t enjoy. You just meshed well together. So when you asked Namjoon if he would want to try cockwarming he was totally onboard. You had just finished a romp in the sheets and were cuddling in your shared bed, about to fall asleep when you brought it up.

“You want me to just, put it in? And leave it there?” He wasn’t judging, just honestly curious, ready to please you.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s cockwarming,” you giggled, straddling his lap, cock already standing at attention again, “we can just like, lay here I guess?” To be honest, you weren’t sure how you were going to feel about it, but you wanted to at least try it.

“Ok, are you sore? Do you need me to prep you?” You rolled your eyes, though you very much appreciated the kind nature of your boyfriend.

“I’m fine Joonie,” you murmured as you leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on his lips, “love you.”

“I love you too baby,” he smiled that beautiful dimpled smile you love so much. You smiled at him sweetly as you reached your hand down between your bodies and grabbed his thick length. Namjoon had one of the biggest dicks you’ve ever seen and this man knew how to use it. Just thinking about it made you wet. You lined him up with your entrance and teased your clit a few times with the tip, pulling a low groan from his lips. You smirked as you sank down on his length slowly, relishing in the way he stretched your tight walls.

“Mmm,” you moaned, sitting straight up, speared on Namjoon’s cock.

“Now what?” Your sweet boyfriend asked as you leaned down to rest on his firm chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his nose.

“This is it,” you said, pecking his cheeks and forehead, “we can fall asleep like this.”

“Fall asleep?” You chuckled at the wide eyed expression he was giving you, “I don’t think I can last more than 10 minutes like this.” He brought one hand up to push his still sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Just relax, baby,” you soothed, right in his ear. Your breath was was tickling his ear and it was taking all of his restraint to keep from fucking up into your heat. You placed light kisses right behind his ear and down his neck, loving the soft mewls coming from his mouth. You knew what you were doing was teasing him, but you wanted to drive him crazy. This was no longer about cockwarming for you. The moment he entered you, you knew neither of you would last.

He growled lowly and cupped both of your ass cheeks in his large hands. “I can’t hold back anymore baby,” you pulled back from his neck to look at him as he pulled back from your clenching pussy and slammed his hips back up into you, “Want me to fill you up again?”

Jimin, your sweet, sweet boyfriend, was actually the one to bring up cockwarming. He had a long day at work, exhausted from all the extra work his boss asked of him today. When he got home he asked if you would take a bath with him, something the two of you did occasionally to relax. You agreed without hesitation, wanting to help Jimin calm down and unwind.

You filled up the tub and added in his favorite bath bomb that smelled like roses and even had some pieces of dried rose petals in it. The water was a pretty pink color when you poured in some champagne scented bubbles, your favorite. Once you were satisfied, you grabbed two big, white fluffy towels and deposited them on the closed toilet seat, awaiting the two of you for after your bath.

“Jimin!” You called downstairs, “Bath is ready!”

“Coming!” You heard him yell. You heard some shuffling in the kitchen and the clink of a dish being set in the stainless steel sink. You quickly undressed yourself, tossing your clothes in the laundry hamper just as Jimin walked in, eyeing your body. He looked tired, but you could still see the lust in his eyes at the sight of your nakedness. “You look incredible, baby,” his voice was soft as he wrapped his arms around your middle and smiled down at you, “thank you.” His plush lips met yours briefly before he was pulling away to shed his own clothes.

You smiled giddily at him and you climbed over the side of the tub, waiting patiently for him to get in. You leaned over the side of the tub, arms crossed, as you admired the toned body of your boyfriend. He really did have a beautiful body, rock solid abs and thick thighs that you often daydreamed about. “Like what you see?” Your eyes snapped up to his smirking face as he caught you ogling. You blushed slightly before nodding, causing him to playfully shake his head. “Scoot over.”

Jimin climbed over the tub, slotting himself behind you, wrapping both arms around your chest. He leaned back pulling you with him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Let me wash your hair,” you tried to turn around but Jimin’s grasp on you tightened.

“Noooo, please baby, just let me relax,” you giggled at the whine in his voice, turning around slightly to see his eyes closed, face already a good deal more relaxed than before. The crease in his forehead is slowly going away. Jimin let out a heavy sigh before opening his eyes and looking at you lovingly, causing you to smile at him. When you did, you felt something twitch behind your back.

“Jimin!” You gasped, mock offense written on your face, “You’re supposed to be relaxing!”

“I am! I swear! It’s a love boner,” he smirked at you.

You rolled your eyes. “A love boner?”

“Yeah, you know when you love someone so much you get turned on? I swear I don’t want to have sex right now, I’m too tired.” You believed him, you could see how tired he was.

You rubbed a soothing hand along the top of his thigh and nodded at him, turning back around. After a couple of minutes of laying together, you could feel Jimin’s cock hardening against you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel aroused at the feeling of his dick on your lower back, so close to your core. “Would you think I was weird if I asked you to cockwarm me?”

You were a little taken aback by the question, but you immediately felt arousal shoot straight to your clit at the thought of having him inside you right now. “Seriously? You want to?” You asked, no judgement in your voice, honestly excited at the possibility.

“I mean, yeah - i- if it’s not too weird. I think it sounds kind of nice. Might help me relax”

You turned around and were quick to shake your head, “It’s not weird,” you smiled at him, “let’s try it.”

He let out a breath at your optimism, worried you’d say no. You turned around fully in his arms, straddling his lap, his hard member brushing against your slit as you settled yourself on him. You grabbed his cock in your hand and lined him up with your hole, looking him in the eye briefly to get his permission. He nodded once, giving you the go ahead, and you sunk down onto him slowly. You both let out a contented sigh at the feeling. It was a tight fit, not having any prep beforehand, but it felt good, the water helping with the glide. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to have sex. He really just wanted to feel you, be close to you.

“This feels really nice, YN,” he whispered, head falling back onto the porcelain of the tub, “I love you, kitten.”

“I love you too, Jimin,” you mumbled, leaning your forehead against his shoulder, both arms wrapping around his middle in a bear hug.

“Mmm,” he murmured into your hair, “thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

You felt another rough slap to your ass cheek, the skin jiggling at the impact. “You’ve been a bad girl, doll,” Taehyung’s deep voice sounded behind you, “do you think you deserve to cum tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” you whined, “please.”

You and Taehyung had been watching TV on the couch when you decided you were going to tease him by sitting on his lap and grinding into his crotch. You had been horny all night and you knew it would rile him up, which is exactly what you wanted.

“Hmm, I don’t think you do,” he growled, landing another slap to your already read ass, “teasing me, knowing what would happen. You dirty girl.” Tae currently had you nude, both feet planted on the hardwood floor, front bent over the arm of the couch. It was a rather exposing position. You could feel the cool air hitting your dripping pussy, begging to be touched in any way.

Another slap. You jolted as two of Taehyung’s fingers dragged through your slit, spreading your lips to lewdly display your cunt to him. “So wet,” he drawled, “my doll loves to be punished, doesn’t she?”

“Yes - yes I do, sir!” You yelped as he gently slapped your pussy with his two fingers.

“Then I’m more than happy to punish you,” you heard the sound of a zipper, jeans falling to the ground, “all you had to do was ask.” You gasped at the sudden intrusion of his thick cock into your folds. Without warning Taehyung sheathed his full length inside of you, his long dick hitting your cervix in the best way possible.

“Taehyung!”

Another slap, “Uh-uh doll. You wanted this,” he said with a false sweetness, “now stay,” he growled darkly.

“Wh-what?” What did he mean, stay?

“You wanted cock so badly, now you’ve got it. What? Not what you wanted?” He slapped your ass again, soothingly rubbing the burning skin after, “Too bad, doll.”

Was he cockwarming? You let out a low moan at the thought. You’ve never tried this before, but you could feel the gush of wetness that surged through your pussy at the idea of sitting here with his long, hard cock stretching your walls for God knows how long.

“Yeah? You like that? Dirty, dirty girl. Gonna use you as my cocksleeve as I see fit.”

You moaned again at his nasty words. “Please sir, please use me!” You sobbed into the couch. One of his hands snaked around your front, thumb lightly pushing into your swollen, neglected clit. You screamed into the leather at the feeling.

“Can you cum like this?” His words were dripping in lust, you could tell he was gone. He wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. He’s stayed stark still this entire time. “Cream my cock like this and I’ll fuck you into tomorrow.”

You whined into the couch again at the mere thought of his cock slamming into you over and over again. You concentrated on the feeling of his thumb putting pressure on your bud. He slowly added more pressure, and then released. He continued this pattern, putting heavy pressure on your clit and then removing it completely. It was such a weird feeling of stimulation and it was clouding your mind completely. You could feel the rubber band feeling tightening in your core every time his fingertip would push into your bud. It was too much, the pleasure was searing hot in your pussy as you clenched around his cock, letting the band snap.

“Ah! T-Tae!” You screamed, louder than he expected, causing him to jump slightly. The extra pressure on your g-spot caused your pussy to release all over Taehyung’s cock. The sight below him had his eyes glazing over as he watched you squirt all over him. The way your pussy lips were clenching around his dick sporadically as the liquid squirted onto his abdomen sent him into a frenzy as he pulled his cock out of you until you could just feel the tip, and slammed his hips back into you as hard as he could, “Taehyung!”

“You are so,” he slammed into you again, “fucking,” and again, “hot, doll.”

Your boyfriend was currently sitting on the couch of your shared apartment, playing Overwatch with Seokjin, his best friend. He had his headset on and was so hyper focused on the TV that he didn’t see you come into the room. Which means he also didn’t see your attire. Or lack thereof.

You slowly walked around the back of the couch, hand trailing over the soft suede fabric. You had just woken up, it was past midnight and you didn’t know Jungkook had gotten home. He didn’t like to wake you up since he usually got home from his job super late. You were a little upset that his loud yelling had woken you from your dream. Not because it woke you up, per se, but because the dream you were having was an incredible sex dream about the very boyfriend who woke you.

You woke up with a light sheen of sweat on your body, pussy dripping wet and needing to be filled. So, you threw on a silk robe, nothing else, and ventured to find something to fill you up.

As you rounded the couch you stood in front of Jungkook enough that he would notice you, but not enough to block the TV screen from his view. You didn’t want him to get upset with you when you were so horny. You’d save that for a time when you wanted to be punished.

“Hey babe,” he uttered, monotone, still focused on his game, “sorry, did I wake you?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, not offering a response. After a moment Jungkook looked up at you, expecting to find you upset, but instead he was met with a look of pure lust. His eyes widened for a second before Seokjin was yelling in his ear, causing his eyes to snap back to the game.

Now that he knew you were there, you decided to have a little fun. You let the robe slip from your shoulders, knowing he could see you from the corner of his eye. You walked over to him and sunk to your knees in front of him. He looked at you in shock, confused at your behavior, but not pushing you away. You looked at him for permission and he nodded quickly, making you giggle silently. You pulled his sweatpants and boxers down until they were around his ankles and grabbed his semi-hard cock, smirking to yourself. He was still playing, but his conversation with Jin had abruptly come to a halt. You languidly jerked his cock for a moment before leaning over and letting a glob of saliva fall from your lips onto his red tip. You spread the lubricant around for a moment, looking up to see Jungkook biting into his lip to keep his noises from reaching his friends ears. He looked down at you for just a moment and you held your finger up to your lips, reminding him to be quiet.

You stood up slowly, turned around so you were facing the TV and grabbed your boyfriend's weeping cock, lining it up with your core, before sitting down on it. You could hear the grunt come from Jungkook behind you, but chose to ignore it as you leaned back into his firm chest. You let out a sigh at the feeling of being filled. This is exactly what you needed. You were still tired enough from sleep that you didn’t need more stimulation than this. The feeling of his cock twitching inside you was enough to satisfy you until he was done playing.

To say Jungkook was confused was an understatement. Were you really cockwarming him right now? He’s always wanted to try this with you, and actually had a fantasy where you did this while he was playing video games. He thought he was dreaming for a second until you leaned back into him and your signature cherry blossom scent surrounded him. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a second, collecting himself before continuing to play his game. In his fantasy, he would be able to keep himself quiet and play while you sat obediently in his lap. He was going to take advantage of the situation that had quite literally fallen into his lap.

He continued to play his game, at the end quickly telling Jin that he would see him tomorrow and ripped his headset off, tossing it on the other end of the couch.

“Baby?” He placed both hands on your sides, rubbing soothingly up and down, “Is everything ok?” He was honestly a little worried about you, you weren’t usually this assertive.

“You woke me up from a sex dream,” you uttered, eyes closed, “fix it.”

He chuckled at your admission, kissing up your shoulders and neck. “It better have been about me.” He growled playfully.

“Of course it was. Now fuck me, please.”

“Gladly.”

#bts smut #ot7 smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #hoseok smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #cypherwritersnet

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fandoms-x-reader · 3 years

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Roman Reigns x Reader {1}

Summary: You are a member of the SHIELD and have a crush on Roman. You aren't able to tell if he has feelings for you until one day you get hurt badly during a match. (2500)

(A/N: If you would like to, you can find more of my writing on Wattpad @FandomsxReader and @Sammy_Dean_Cas)

You watched the T.V. screen that was in the gorilla cautiously, while you played with the bulletproof vest that you were wearing. You messed with one of the buckles that were on it before fiddling with the blue "Hounds of Justice" badge that was embroidered into your black shorts. Your hair was tied back, ready for a fight, but not looking for one.

"We're going to go out there tonight," Seth Rollins told you, coming up behind you with Dean Ambrose by his side. The three of you were dressed in your "SHIELD" outfits. You were a part of one of the most dominant groups in WWE, alongside Seth, Dean, and Roman Reigns.

"To do what?" you asked Seth. "Braun Strowman tried to cash in his "Money in the Bank" contract at SummerSlam, but he wasn't able to. He's looking to cash it in again tonight after Roman beats Finn Balor. We're going to stop him again, and give Roman the chance for a fair match with Strowman for the championship," Dean explained.

"So, get ready. As soon as Finn goes down, the SHIELD is going to go out," Seth told you, amping himself up for the fight that was ahead. You nodded your head, fixing your outfit, as you continued to watch the screen that was currently displaying the fight between Roman and Finn.

Braun Strowman was standing outside the ring, watching like a hawk, waiting for Finn or Roman to make a pin. "Now," Seth stated, as Finn hit the ground. The SHIELD's music began playing as the three of you rushed out from the gorilla. Roman had a smile on his face, loving the camaraderie that you and the two boys next to you always provided him.

Seth and Dean began attacking Braun Strowman outside the ring while you climbed inside the ring where Roman was standing. He gave you a smile and you gladly gave one back before he rolled out of the ring.

Dean and Seth cleared the announcer's table as you climbed the turnbuckle. The three men then worked together to pick Braun up and you lined yourself up with them before jumping from the turnbuckle and stomping Braun into the announcer's desk. You tumbled to the ground, but Roman quickly helped you up while the crowd began cheering.

The four of you left a few moments later, and as you entered the gorilla, Roman said, "Thanks for coming out there." Seth nodded and Dean replied, "We always have your back." "Can we talk about how much distance you flew through the air though, Y/N? That was insane!" Seth stated excitedly. You laughed but brushed the compliment off by telling him, "It wasn't that far."

The boys looked at each other before laughing and rolling their eyes, knowing that you were just being humble. The move you did was awesome and you knew it. "Alright, well Dean and I have some unfinished business, so we'll catch up with you guys later?" Seth said, giving Roman a handshake.

He nodded his head and Dean winked at you before the two of them walked away. You felt a bit nervous now that those two were gone and you were alone with Roman. Of the three boys, you've always had a crush on Roman, and Seth and Dean sure knew it.

Whenever they could embarrass you in front of him, they took the opportunity. You hated them for it, but you loved them too much to stay mad at them for too long. Despite their best efforts though, Roman was still oblivious to your feelings. Part of you wanted him to know, but the larger part of you didn't, refusing to let your feelings ruin your friendship with Roman.

"You wanna have a movie night?" Roman asked, avoiding eye contact with you as the two of you continued to walk. "I would love to," you replied with a smile. Roman's eyes lit up as you questioned, "Your room or mine?"

"We can hang out at yours tonight, let me just shower and I'll meet you there?" he said. You nodded your head and told him, "Sounds like a plan, I'll leave the door unlocked for you." Roman smiled before parting ways with you and going to his room. Since he was showering, you decided to do the same.

You got into your room and left it the slightest bit propped open so that Roman could get in and then you hopped in the shower. After getting out of the shower, you realized you had forgotten your clothes.

Your mentally face-palmed and cracked the bathroom door open before asking, "Roman? Are you here yet?" When there was no answer, you carefully walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your body to make sure no one was there. Thankfully, the room was empty, so you dropped the towel and pulled on your bra and panties, first.

Once you were done, you began looking for other clothes to put on when the door opened and you heard Roman's voice. "Hey Y/N...oh...I'm sorry!" he said, quickly turning around with a blush coating his cheeks as he saw you were only in your underwear.

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you quickly grabbed some shorts and a tank top. You put them on before saying, "Sorry, Roman, I forgot my clothes when I got into the shower. You can turn around now." Roman hesitated before turning around, relaxing when he saw that you were dressed.

"Sorry, I should have knocked first," he muttered, looking down at the ground instead of at you. "It's okay, I'm the one who left the door open," you replied. He made eye contact with you and the two of you just sat there in awkward silence for a moment, not sure what to say,

"At least Seth and Dean weren't with me tonight," Roman joked, trying to alleviate the tension You laughed and nodded your head, agreeing before asking, "What movies are we watching tonight?" Roman shrugged his shoulders before telling you, "We'll both choose one." You agreed with his decision, letting him pick first as you climbed into the bed that was facing the T.V.

You got under the covers before motioning for Roman to come sit next to you, and he did, getting under the covers too. You put on the movie as Roman pulled out some snacks that he brought. "You know me so well," you teased with a smile as you took the snacks from Roman.

The two of you sat comfortably together as you watched the movie. It was one of Roman's favorites and you couldn't help but smile at him when he would quote the movie lines with the actor on-screen. "What?" he asked you, catching you smiling one time. "Nothing, it's just cute how well you know the movie," you replied. He couldn't help but smile at your words, but he tried to hide it.

When his movie was over, it was pretty late, but you still insisted on watching your choice of movie next. You moved from your sitting position in the bed to lay down, and Roman did the same, getting cozy.

About halfway through the movie, you felt yourself begin to drift off and noticed that Roman had already fallen asleep. Luckily, it was a movie you had already shown him, or you would have teased him about it the next day. You turned off the movie and decided to let Roman stay in your room that night, not wanting to wake him.

The next morning, you woke up and Roman was still asleep next to you. You blushed when you noticed that his arm was draped across you, and you tried not to move too much. He woke up a couple of minutes later, and when he realized he was holding you, he quickly moved his arm, apologizing. You reassured him that there was no need to apologize before rolling out of the bed and getting ready for the day.

"Hey, thanks for letting me stay the night," he told you, leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom as you were doing your hair. "Of course," you replied with a smile. "See you later?" he asked with a hopeful looking. You nodded your head and he went to his own room to change his clothes.

_________

You and Roman hadn't hung out since that night, and now it was the end of the next week's Smackdown. Braun had confronted Roman about what the SHIELD did to him the previous week and told Roman that he was going to cash in his "Money in the Bank" contract at the Hell in a Cell pay-per-view. Acting General Manager Baron Corbin then came out and approved the Hell in a Cell match before stating that Braun and Roman would be in a tag-team match against Dolph Ziggler and Drew McIntyre later that night.

You were watching the match a bit away from the gorilla. Roman started off strong, taking out both Dolph and Drew, but they quickly came back, wearing Roman out. They refused to let him make a tag to Braun, as they continuously beat him up.

Finally, Roman got away and made a tag to Braun, but instead of helping him, Braun crushed Roman's hope of having a partner as the three of them began to beat Roman up. Your heart dropped at the sight as Dean Ambrose suddenly rushed in by himself. You had to help too. You began making your way to the ring as the three of them attacked Dean.

Seth was the next to come out, but it was another three-on-one attack. Right as they knocked Seth down, you snuck up behind them. You were able to use your weight to pull Braun over the top rope, jumping up and grabbing him by his head before letting your body hit the ground hard.

He fell out of the ring and smacked the ground and you jumped in side-sweeping Dolph's legs. As Dolph hit the floor of the ring, you stood up, and Drew immediately hit a claymore on you, sending you out of the ring. You hit your head on the steel steps, hard, and you watched as the three men stood victorious over you and your boys before everything started to fade to black.

You were going in and out of consciousness as you watched the three heels leave the ring. Seth and Dean were still down, while Roman was slowly making his way over to you. You were still on the steel stairs.

"Y/N?" Roman asked, gently cupping your cheeks before officials pulled him away so that the medics could get to you. They gently pulled you off the steel steps and you felt something wet drip down your face. You touched your forehead and realized that you were bleeding from your head, bad. You must have hit the edge of the steps.

The medics rolled you onto the stretcher that they had brought out, reassuring you that you were going to be fine. By now, Seth and Dean had gotten to their feet and were standing next to Roman, all three of them clearly hurt.

They looked at you with sadness in their eyes as the medics began to carry you away. You felt your body go limp as your eyelids were getting too heavy to keep them open anymore and you let yourself drift off.

You woke up a few hours later with a horrible headache. You blinked a few times trying to figure out where you were and you realized that you were in a hospital room. You looked to your right and saw Roman there asleep, sitting in a chair he pulled up next to your bed as your hand was in his. Next to him on the table was a vase with flowers and a card from Seth and Dean. You smiled at the gesture before gently shaking Roman to wake him.

He woke up with a startle and sighed a big breath of relief when he realized you were awake. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Like I have the worst hangover of my life," you joked. Roman was concerned with your answer as he quickly stood up, saying, "Let me go get the nurse real quick."

You shook your head no, motioning for him to sit down before you told him, "I'm okay, really. I just have a headache. What did the doctors say?" "That you have a pretty bad concussion, but no other injuries. Once your concussion heals, you should be cleared to wrestle again," he responded. You could tell something was off by the way he spoke and looked anywhere else but you.

"Roman? What's wrong?" you asked him. "I'm so sorry Y/N, this is all my fault," he told you, sadness filling his expression. "What do you mean?" you questioned. "This was my rivalry with Braun. You shouldn't have gotten hurt," he explained.

"Roman, it was my decision to go out there. Just like it was my decision to go out there a week ago. We're all in this together and you know that if three girls teamed up on me, you would be out there to defend me too," you replied. He nodded his head knowing that he would have done the same in a heartbeat, but he still was off.

"Roman, there's something you're not telling me," you stated, reading him like a book. He looked into your eyes when you said that and crashed his lips onto yours, tangling his hand in your hair before deepening the kiss.

He pulled away a moment later and you were shocked. "I don't ever want to lose you," he said, barely above a whisper. You gave him a soft smile before cupping his face and gently placing your lips on his. "You won't," you replied, before moving over in the bed and patting the spot next to you.

Roman climbed into the bed with you, holding you in his arms as you laid against his chest. You flipped through the channels on the hospital T.V. until you found a movie you would enjoy. You watched the movie with Roman, both of you enjoying every moment.

When you were discharged from the hospital, Roman stayed with you everywhere you went. When your concussion healed, he helped you train so that you could return to WWE. Seth and Dean were there, of course, offering every bit of support they could; and, when you finally healed, they made sure to tease you and Roman badly.

You were annoyed at first but then you and Roman embraced it, officially telling him that the two of you were together. Dean and Seth were stunned but happy for the two of you, and you and Roman couldn't have been happier.

#wwe network #roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns imagine #the shield #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe superstars

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

blossoms and blood I — jjk

Plot: Two lovers are ripped apart in the name of duty.

Pairing(s): Prince/King!Jungkook x Princess/Queen!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 6k

Genre: Royal | Angst | Smut

Tags & Warnings: violence, angst, explicit smut, blood

Authors Note: I know a couple of you wanted this so I hope you like!

In a world where peach blossoms grow and blood runs through the sandstone walls, monarchs of a young kingdom rode through dewy plains to reach their partner regions’ territory in order for a momentous and happy reunion after a hefty battle. Belle opted to sit on the back of the horse during most of the ride, light pink veil hovering over her and flowing into the soft spring breeze, an extra piece covering most of her face except her eyes. The king and queen as per usual preferred the chariot as a more comfortable transport for napping but the girl could not find herself relaxed enough to sleep.

Months passed since she was able to see him in person again. Nothing but handwritten letters with pressed roses and cedar wood scent from their stationery shared between them. Now that the small parade drew closer to their destination, her heart continued to do leaps like a performer in a banquet.

“How far along, Namjoon?” Belle asked unsure of how much she could take the tension building.

A smirk immediately graced the mans’ lips, tiny little craters appearing on his cheek. “We’re at the gates, your Highness.”

Tingles rushed through her entire form as she saw the majestic red gates getting closer and closer making her feel suffocated. She could hear his voice forming the words on his letters so clearly in her mind that dizziness started to swirl. All the things he wanted to say in person…all the things he wanted to do but could never write on letters which were possibly being read during commute for security.

What if he was the complete opposite in real life? What if he didn’t even write the letters himself and Belle just lived in a fantasy shared with a scribe? What if he did like her but grew disappointed with her in real life?

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” Namjoon teased, pulling the princess back to her reality.

Her horse seemed to already catch the hint by moving forward as the gates opened seeing the familiar flags and banners. “I can’t help it.” Belle whispered trying to keep the conversation to themselves as they slowly entered the age old kingdom. “We haven’t seen each other in months, he could’ve taken in a concubine by now.”

The older male chuckled, watching all the people staring in awe at the ethereal veiled princess riding in. “I think you place Jungkook a little too closely with the other princes.” His gaze was more focused on everything around him knowing there had to be extra care when Belle chose to be exposed in the open like this.

“It’s hard not to right now.” Her eyes moved to the majestic gates of the palace thudding open in front of them.

“Mommy, it’s a fairy!” A toddler resting on a womans’ shoulder pointed to her just as they left the towns.

Belle couldn’t help but smile and give the little one a small wave before she disappeared into the main palace courtyard.

Across the sandstone path adorned with small rose bushes stood a great flight of stairs leading up to the a line of three thrones. Except all the royals stood for their allies; the king in the middle with his golden crown, queen on his left and young prince on his right. Each figure exuding an aura of ultimate ancient power even in front of their equals. Though her gaze had fixated mostly on the male standing leftward of the king. Prince Jungkook.

Brunette fringe just a tad lower than his eyebrows, silver earrings twinkling in the sunlight and a faint smirk already visible even from a distance.

Their horses were halted just at the end of the first line of stairs. Namjoon got off his horse as Belle moved her leg so they both hung on one side. If she had her proper horse riding attire, it would have taken seconds to get off but with forty layers of fabric made the simple task tedious. So as per any other public event Namjoon securely held onto her waist and helped her down on the ground.

Jungkooks fingers twitched a little seeing the princess’ guard hold onto her. Of course he knew only the guard was truly ever allowed to touch her in times of need. Princesses could never be touched for pleasure or claim unless a marriage proposal was finalized. His smirk widened a little too much knowing that rule was already a little broken unbeknownst to both their parents.

Days leading up to his time in battle, the young couple grew impatient and weary of the results. Whether Jungkook would come back or if Belle would be married off to some other prince for extra protection. Of course both things were not entirely under their control except for their own secretive desires. Eventually it led to one long night of breaking a few little rules as they explored each other and gently ripped the layer of innocence dividing them.

Belle’s parents were the first to begin walking up the stairs to the space in between where Jungkooks parents also proceeded to walk down in order to meet halfway. A usual custom to symbolize equality amongst the two kingdoms.

“My congrats on the victory, King Jeon.” Belle’s father gave his ally a bright but formal smile which was received in the same enthusiasm.

She tried to focus on the elders and their conversation but her eyes flickered over to a pair of round orbs staring right at her. Quickly the girl lowered her gaze before focusing on their parents not able to stop her cheeks from burning.

“If it weren’t for your troops, my son would not have been standing here with me. I should be thanking you for giving aid.” King Jeon patted the young princes’ back making him smile politely. “Our kingdoms were meant to be joined as one to fight against the Sun Queen.”

More words were muffled as Jungkook brought his gaze back to the heavily covered princess. He could still mentally trace out her beautiful lips always curled up in a smile and her adorable nose that twitched when she was teasing him about something. His hands yearned to pull away her veil and just catch a seconds glimpse of her face but he had to keep a formal demeanor.

Sun peeked through clouds and her face glowed even under the pink veil while the two kings embraced one another with a light laugh under their breath.

“I hope you’re not too tired from your journey we’ve prepared a small banquet for your liking.” King Jeon smiled before glancing over at Belle who Jungkook could notice her eyes squinting into a gorgeous smile.

The young prince almost let out a sigh of awe looking at how her eyes brightened while gracefully nodding her head in acknowledgement.

“Jungkook will escort you to your chambers.” He glanced over at his son.

Immediately he could feel a flutter in his heart, a more genuine smile tugging at his lips as he met the princess’ gaze again. “Of course.”

Down the golden hallways the prince opened the door for the king and queen into their temporary chambers, giving them a kind smile as they were fully acquainted. He struggled to keep a sense of formality whenever any of their parents’ were around knowing a relationship between their children was not exactly the goal. Most traditional alliances did rely on marriages but this rare time, they opted to ‘save’ their children for expansion purposes to the other kingdoms so they could build to a big enough land against the Sun Queen.

Wrong tradition at the wrong time, Jungkook thought. One of the rare occasions where two children from ally kingdoms actually love each other but the kingdoms don’t want an arranged marriage. His eyes now moved onto Belle and his heart almost skipped a beat for a second realizing they were finally both alone. “This way, your Highness.” He gestured down to his left and the princess walked, holding all the grace in the world in each movement. “How was your journey?” Jungkook tried to keep a formal tone while they walked as slowly as possible to her chambers.

“It was lovely, the forest leading up to the palace is so beautiful. I insisted on riding outside of the chariot. Except now I’m aching a little.” Belle giggled under her breath, feeling the light cramping on her inner thighs from having sit on the horse for so long. “So did you forget about me?” She moved straight to the point now that they were in a rare lonesome with no one to bother them.

“Not the best at memory.” Jungkook shrugged playfully. “Even at the war grounds, I only had to remember who wasn’t going to kill me and the pros—” He cleared his throat immediately.

Belle rolled her eyes a little even though her heart dropped realizing a lot of prostitutes must have been present in the war camps. She should not be surprised if plenty wanted to please the prince himself during his time of need but it wasn’t surprise that clenched her chest.

“The ladies in waiting will be here in a few minutes.” Jungkook muttered as Belle walked through the doors of her chambers. Before he could take a step back, something held onto his hand pulling him inside.

Silence plunged between the young couple as the prince closed the door behind him not needing any sort of explanation. It was a dance they got used to in the years they stood under the same roof. Something burst inside him in seconds as he turned her around and pulled off her sunhat. Without another thought, his lips pressed against the soft fabric of her mask making her giggle at his impatience.

“You’re a very friendly host, your Highness.” She teasing smiling as he continued to peck her covered lips.

“Don’t play with me it’s been too long.” He growled lightly through his words, hands caressing the curve of her waist to her hips.

“What about your prostitutes? Seems like you had help during that long time.” She pouted a little slithering away from him. “Did you write the letters sent to me?”

Jungkook held onto the fabric of her dress and continued to walk closer so there was no distance between them. “I wrote them after training. If it were a scribe, the handwriting would be a hundred times better.”

“And a lot of the words wouldn’t be smudged.” Belle smiled knowing the little details that easily showed that an experienced scribe would not have written their sacred document. “So all those things you said…”

“Every word I meant.” He murmured, their faces now a breath apart. His fingers hovered over her mask stopping himself from just ripping it off like the poor sunhat lain on the floor. “I’d be a fool to accept them when I have a princess waiting for me.” Jungkook fixated on the way her lips curled up into smile through the slightly transparent cloth. “Let me see you.” He whispered nudging his nose against her covered one.

Belle rubbed his clothed chest softly wanting to tease him a little more just to feel the heat radiating from him grow stronger. But she grew just as impatient as him at this point. “Take it off.” Sparkling eyes searched his expression before watching his cute lips curl up into a toothy smirk.

His hands slid up from her hips, hovered ever so slightly over her breasts before moving behind her hair and untied the knot. Pulling off the cloth his breath caught in his throat for a moment seeing finally being able to see her pink tinted lips again. It shouldn’t be healthy how he was so infatuated by her whole being that it ached in his chest a little.

“Disappointed?” She grinned, tracing a finger down his neck.

“In love.” He whispered brushing away the wispy strands of her hair that flew to her face after he took off her mask. Not another second wasted, Jungkook held onto her cheeks and pressed a warm kiss on her lips, tongue desperately pushing through her teeth to explore every inch of her mouth.

Belle almost could not gather herself feeling a burning behind his eyes at his words before the familiar warmth on her lips. Knees grew weak at the flurry of emotions that she almost lost balance but Jungkook had a firm grip around her waist. Few stumbling steps and the prince carried her to the edge of the bed before letting her fall on her back. A light squeal followed by the tiniest giggle, her fingers gripped Jungkooks’ clothing as he hovered over her, lips locked once again in a heated synced pattern.

He pushed the thick layers of her dress up until his rough fingers were graced with her soft slightly cool skin, body tingling at the familiar feeling.

Most of her dress rested right up on Belle’s chest as she relished in his hands lightly revisiting her body after so many of being untouched. Just as her lips parted to let a small moan flow out, Jungkook caught them between his again taking every miniscule remnant of the memory of her, he could salvage in the time they were together.

“Is it sore here?” He asked watching her suck in her plump bottom lip when his fingers softly massaged her bare inner thighs.

Belle nodded, letting out a shaky breath as she gripped at his clothes. Her core pooled at the lightest brush attempting to make out any words to let him know just how much she craved even a second’s touch.

Four knocks on the door shattered their wall of privacy, a meek voice speaking through the wood. “Princess, we’re here to tend to you.”

Jungkook groaned against her lips, nails digging slightly into her thighs before reluctantly pulling away.

Smiling faintly, she pressed a quick kiss on his cheek before making herself decent while trying to catch her breath. “Come in!” Belle bit down her bottom lip to hide any wide grin that was escaping.

The door opened to a line of women in white rushing inside with large bowls, clothing and trunks to get ready for the banquet tonight. Immediately the group bowed down to the two young royals before Jungkook gave a quick smirk to the beautiful princess, walking out of the room and awaiting the next rare time he would be alone with his favourite person.

Red drapes adorned the sandstone walls, golden light reflected against the silk and admired Jungkooks’ glowing skin even while wearing a deep blue and black outfit. Both kings sat with their queens whispering stories of another time. His eyes wandered around to find a familiar figure. As expected when the double doors opened, the whole court had to take a moment of silence to see the grace of purple walk into the hall.

Belle wore a beautiful dress, hair tied up half way with twinkling accessories glimmering in the light like her earring and necklace. Beauty completely radiated onto the eyes of the amazed court. Though Jungkook knew in the deep night who got the blessing of seeing her at her purest, rawest form in a time of day when no one knows what’s happening behind closed doors.

Expression softened watching her smile graced her ethereal features as she padded towards the large tables and gave their parents a bow. One cheeky glance towards Jungkook had his heart skipping five beats before she walked off to entertain a few nobles.

It was like a hand popping out of his chest trying to pull the girl towards him instead of the nobles who could never appreciate her for who she was. All they saw was a pretty princess ready to be married off to the most eligible bachelor. He could see the light bruises she hid on her thighs from horse riding all day and the fading scars on her hand from swinging a sword for hours in the night. That was the part no one could see. Some of them didn’t want to see. A future ruler with a stone fist and warm heart.

Eventually Jungkook was also forced to slither into the crowd of high brows mingling into conversations and possible marriage proposals. As he was trained for so many years, a smile and maybe a little laugh if jokes were thrown around. It had all become a redundant pattern of climbing the golden ladder to ultimate power. Unfortunately the key to all that power had his gaze set on one particular princess who seemed to call out to him with her eyes.

He noticed the girl excuse herself from the crowd before giving him a look he could recognize from kingdoms away.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Jungkook grinned, giving them a slight bow before walking out of the warm huddle and into the cool air of something more exciting.

Down the beautifully lit hallway he watched her walk with a skip in her step and a cheeky smile on her face purposely not waiting for him to catch up. Jungkook felt a surge of nostalgia, when the walls felt much taller and they would chase each other around the palace until finally one of them were pinned against the wall. As they got older, other things would happen once the person was caught.

She wanted to play a game. More teasing to remind him of just exactly what he missed in his time during the battle. All the nights in the tent after refusing the third round of lightly clothed ladies, he would re-read her letters over and over again until he had to take care of himself just to sleep somewhat at ease.

Belle’s giggles echoed through the hallways as she turned a corner not forgetting to give him a grin brighter than all the candles tonight. Once the girl disappeared, the young prince stepped into a jog not wanting to miss a single second of his favourite view in the world.

Her heart pounded against her ribcages in the best way possible knowing Jungkook was following her every step and movement. The rush of it all could have her quaking in her knees but she continued to move. Excitement flurried out of her in light giggles and heavy breathing not knowing how to contain herself now that the game started.

Quickly Belle shifted into a line of pillars to hide for a moment. Jeweled chest rose and fell, a smile tugging at her lips so wide her cheeks ached a little. When her bearing became clearer she tried to focus on the footsteps but heard no sound. Smile fading away ever so slightly, the princess took a few strides to slide out of the pillar peeking through the hallways but finding them empty.

Brows furrowed she walked backwards trying to slide back into her position and her heart jumped, something pulling her back and pinning her against the wall.

“You know I can always catch you.” Jungkook leaned in and whispered, smirk playing on his lips as his hands now secured on her waist to keep her from escaping his clutches. “You’re mine now, princess.”

“What if I let you win?” Belle raised her chin a little. “I was only brisk walking.”

“I could hear your breathing.” Lips hovered over her jawline to her neck feeling the warmth radiating onto his face. “I can recognize your heavy breathing anywhere, princess. That little hitch when you get excited.” Nose nudged against her pounding pulse while her hands slid up his arms. “The way it shakes when you can’t handle all the nerves and your heart pounding.” Jungkook moved back, lips hovering her parted ones now relishing in the tiny shaky sighs coming out of them.

Belle tapped her nose against his, feeling her breathing grow ragged once again as his hands on her waist shot sparks right up to her head making it hard to focus on anything. “Seems you know a lot about me, my prince.” She murmured. “You know what your telling point is? Your eyes…” Her arms wrapped his neck. “It goes all round and doe when you’re happy.” She giggled softly but it quickly faded away into a small smirk. “Then that dark, blown out look glints…tells me you’re hungry for something.” She whispered before sucking in her bottom lip.

Moving her arms away from his neck, she moved his hands down to the skirt of her dress. Immediately his fingers fisted at the fabric and pulled it up to continue from where they were rudely interrupted earlier in the day.

Jungkook sneaked under the skirt and found his stomach doing a leap when he felt nothing but bare skin underneath. “You wanted to lose, didn’t you, princess?” He grinned.

“Maybe a little.” Belle whispered before gasping lightly when his fingers brushed against her already soaked core.

As soon as her lips parted the prince devoured them as his own, tongue dancing with tongue forgetting about the plain exposure they were in for any guards that patrolled by. They couldn’t care less anymore. It had been too long. Too much distance. Jungkook moved his hands away for a moment to cup her cheeks. One of his riskier fingers hooked at the hem of her sleeves pushing them down to expose more of her shoulder so he could bite into it like his favourite snack.

Wet kisses trailed down to her chest, both hands kneading her tender breasts making Belle’s head spin with light surges of excitement.

Dropping down on his knees for the princess Jungkook pushed the soft fabric up her legs and buried himself under it. Tongue immediately caught throbbing nub between his lips, hands gripping at her bare thighs as her body jerked into his mouth.

Belle raised a leg to rest on the window sill in front of her while her head was thrown back against the rough surface. Moving her dress up, she finally watched Jungkook suckling on her clit as she gripped at his neatly done hair.

Letting go of her sensitive nub with a kiss, he jumped back onto his feet and undid his pants sloppily before the princess helped him out letting out a breathy giggle. Once his member sprung free, arms wrapped around the girl before slowly sliding into her snug walls in wet ease. Both their moans flowed together as Belle wrapped her arms around his neck and both her legs now rested on the window sill while Jungkook held her up.

Biting down a much louder moan, she buried her face into his shoulder as he wasted no time in thrusting into her. Slow, rough and deep wanting to make up for all the lost minutes pining for one another in such a distance under uncontrollable circumstances.

Light groans caught in his throat the heat around them spread like a wildfire. “I missed you.” He whispered in her ear before pressing his lips against her neck.

“I missed you too.” She whimpered out, nails scratching down his clothing as a slight ache mixed in with the pleasure from how rough he was after so long. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

Jungkook pulled away from her now reddened neck so they meet each other’s hazy gaze. He watched her eyes grow glossy while every thrust grew deeper as the cliff they were hurdling came closer. “I’ll never leave you again.” He shook his head before pressing another heated kiss, her light moan vibrating into it.

His thrusts grew brutal now, patches of her bare skin rubbing roughly against the wooden surface of the pillar while her leg aching from the position. But none of it compared to the fire building up in her lower belly getting stronger at every slopping pound into her core, fingers gripping at his hair and clothing. “Jungkook—” She whispered, heaving as her body melted away.

Then that long awaited surge exploded through every inch of their bodies, movements getting sloppier desperate to make it last longer and take whatever was given. Arms tightly held onto each other tightly, warmth added to the flames swirling inside channeling out of their shaking forms.

Light, breathy chuckles shared between them followed by a kiss as Jungkook gently let Belle down on her feet while her knees still trembled.

“I love you.” She smiled as he pressed his forehead against hers, hoping he could feel the weight of those words when it was spoken.

“I love you too.” He kissed her nose lightly feeling his heart grow far too big for his ribcages.

Once they were mostly their decent selves, Jungkook fished through his pockets for a moment they sat on the window sill admiring the night view. Eventually with a light smile he pulled out something that glimmered under the moonlight. A silver ring with a delicate peach blossom designed in the middle. “You like it?”

Belle sat up straight now grinning down at the piece of jewelry. “It’s beautiful.” She murmured. “Where’d you get it?”

The prince shrugged. “I saw it in a market while travelling. I know you like the blossoms in our forests so I thought you might want one to hold onto all the time.” He spoke a slight shyness ringing in his tone that Belle couldn’t help but giggle at. “It’s simple—”

“But it’s my favourite.”

Jungkook chuckled feeling his cheeks burn as he slowly took her hand and slid it onto her ring finger. “Think of it as a promise. No matter where I go or where you go…the blossoms always keep us together.”

“That was a…fine attempt at poetry, my prince.” She giggled.

“I was trying to be like the books.” He pouted mockingly but immediately when the princess leaned to give him warm kiss on the lips.

“I’ll keep it forever.” She knew in her swelling heart that promise would never be broken.

A smile had been permanently engraved onto his face after that night even as King Jeon had called him for an urgent meeting. Through the hallways Jungkook could only keep his thoughts on that gorgeous smile and how she so proudly wore the jeweled band around her finger in these couple of days.

Eventually the young prince reached the empty throne room where there were no court members present save for the guards who immediately walked out as they closed the door behind him.

“You called me, father.” Hands behind his back, he watched his parents’ features grow grim even in the comfortable warm light and luxurious clothing. Gaze flickered from his father and mother as they shared a stony glance towards one another before facing their son again.

King Jeon took a breath to speak. “Son, there is another reason why we called our allies here.” He spoke with confidence but care knowing this would be a delicate matter for the young prince. “We have been given evidence that the King and Queen were planning to eradicate us from the throne.”

Elated heart took a steep jump into an endless abyss. “Why?” His tone was meeker than he wanted it to be but he kept his head held high.

“Because if we all perished then they would get all our financial assets and every bit of power that comes with ruling both kingdoms.” King Jeon replied simply. Separately the kingdoms were average especially to the likes of the Sun Queen but combining two would make a decent match. Except of course one would expect power struggles between two monarch who have always had ultimate and unmatchable authority.

Whatever veil of hope he had before his eyes now ripped apart at the news of the betrayal. For months, Jungkook saw death beyond imagining and pain never felt before only to be faced with the possibility of assassination by their own friends. “What about the princess?” He hated how weak his voice sounded but his mother merely gave him a sympathetic look.

“We don’t know what her part is in this yet. So be ready tomorrow.” The queen always knew how to be the soft hand in these discussions but right now nothing was going to reassure him.

The prince trained to protect his kingdom at all costs. He risked his life for months in war grounds to prevent anything bad happening to both their lands. Maybe he could keep Belle safe. She wouldn’t been a part of this mess, she loved the people and keeping them happy was the only thing ever on her mind. He knew this. He would lay down his life for this belief.

Duty came first. Duty always comes first. He was the future king.

“You know what you need to do, don’t you, son?” His father spoke the heaviest question, letting it linger in the air and create a weight on his shoulders.

Of course he knew what to do. What he always had to do.

“Whatever it takes, father.” He recited. A common mantra marked into his brain since childhood.

“Good. Prepare yourself.”

Tightening his jaw and pushing the memory of her beautiful laugh, Jungkook merely bowed and did as he was told.

In the cold morning, the allied King and Queen stood at the same area in between the flight of stairs except now Jungkooks’ parents stood near their thrones. Separation. The immediate shatter of their tradition in representing equality. The young prince stood in the middle in his normal stance except no smirk played on his lips. He once again became the solider standing on the blood ridden soil protecting any more pain…by causing pain.

The two figures stood relaxed and happy with bright smiles that hauntingly reminded him of Belle.

“What’s this gathering for, my boy?” The King asked giving him a kind smile.

Taking a deep breath, Jungkook looked over his shoulder and saw his father give him a sturdy but reassuring nod. This was the right thing to do. It had to be done for his people. For the kingdom. ‘I love you’ She smiled through her glossy eyes. The corner of his lips twitched and he heard his father speaking.

“We are deeply saddened to say that you have not been keeping our sacred promise of friendship.” He sighed. “Evidence has been found of you committing a breach of our peace contract in the name of greed…and power. Those are not the values our kingdom was built on.”

“How—” Belle’s mother stammered looking at her husband but he was already frozen on the spot.

“Our kingdoms punishes those who break peace for greed. Therefore according to our laws and customs, you will be sentenced to death.” The calm nature of his voice contrasted greatly against the frantic protests of the royals.

All the guards who came with the visiting King and Queen now raised their swords for attack but were overpowered by the archers and half their army.

“My boy…” The queen sobbed. “You don’t want to do—”

In two quick swings of his dagger, he slit the throats of the royals and watched them fall to the ground tainting the area of equality they so happily created. Jungkook knew if he heard another word his movements would not have been that quick. Though the rush of pride for saving his kingdom quickly dwindled.

As soon they fell to the ground Jungkook saw a figure wearing white standing at the first flight of stairs.

Wide eyes reddened as her beautiful face contorted into nothing but pure pain. Belle ran over to her mother, falling to her knees with a thud right onto the puddle of her blood. Shoulders shook and fingers trembled as the realization tightened her chest. All the life she used to see in her mothers’ eyes now empty. “Mama…” She whispered pressing onto her neck as if it was going to save whatever remnant of her soul that was still left.

“Your parents were going to betray us, child. Did you know about this?” The queen asked and the princess felt a warmth inside her except it was different kind of fire.

Watery eyes flickered up to meet the royals before shaking her head, letting out a sharp sigh as she glanced over at her father and her fingers curled around her mothers clothing. All those years of training herself to be stronger than ever now rendered useless as she sat here in the pool of her parent’s blood flowing across a strangers’ kingdom. “I didn’t know about any betrayal.” She replied simply even though her mind conjured up much less composed decisions.

A tear droplet threatening to fall down his cheek as Jungkook looked over his shoulder at his parents in hope. She didn’t know about the betrayal. That meant she was innocent. She could be safe with him. But they did not look convinced at all.

Jungkook’s mother lightly patted her husband’s arm and he merely nodded before taking a breath. “You are hereby exiled from our kingdom.”

The announcement smashed through him like a hammer as he let out a shaky sigh. “Father…”

“This is my decision.” His tone grew firmer now forcing him to turn back and watch his actions bring its own consequences.

Belle struggled to stand up, knees still shaking causing Jungkook to curls his fingers into fists to stop himself from moving any closer. “I want my parents’ buried in our kingdom.” She spoke in a breathy tone to keep her calm, looking past the prince and not sharing a single glance his way.

After a moment of silence and the clanging of armor finally silenced, the King gave a curt nod. “Very well.” He gestured towards a few guards.

Stretchers were brought to take the bodies away while the princess was left to watch her parents blood run down the stairs and stain her white dress. Her form stood still and firm in front of the prince, lashes adorned with her tears. She attempted to wipe off her tears leaving little blood splotches on her face before her eyes moved to the shining silver band around her finger.

Belle’s promise replayed in her mind over and over again. It was almost funny how quickly the seasons could change in a world of duty and power. Naïve. She was naïve to think anything real could come of something that had no destination. They were never going to be together and he probably knew it. That’s why it was easy to rip her parents away from her as soon as the situation called. The girl spent too much time floating through the blossoms thinking the world was beautiful when it wasn’t. She could see the blood on his hands. Blood of her loved ones. It was all a lie.

Jungkook took a small step forward, wanting to break the rules again, to hold her right in front of everyone. Except he was forced to freeze when he watched her pull off the ring from her finger and drop it right into the puddle of her mothers’ blood. Red splattered onto the delicate pink blossom, tainting its beauty with the memory of his actions. His mistake. “Belle…” He whispered.

“Don’t talk to me.” She murmured, bottom lip trembling as she shook her head. “I don’t ever want to see your face again. Ever.”

The tear escaped down his cheek just as Namjoon carefully walked up the stairs and held onto Belle’s arm gently.

She didn’t hesitate despite the heavy ache in her chest, turning on her heel and walking down the stairs. Not a single look over her shoulder. For the first time she had no intention of him catching her.

Duty always gets placed first, Belle thought as she walked through the gates stanching of her parent’s blood. No matter how much love or how much care you had. You must put duty before everything. That was Jungkook did.

That was exactly what she was going to do.

next chap >>

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook royal au #bts royal au #tw: smut #tw: violence

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

fate matrix

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #05 (free) - fate ]

[ alphinaud/wol & cameos and mentions of some friend ocs, you’re gonna have to read to find out who :) ] ★ [ 5,241 words (oof) ] ★ [ fate matrix au ]

fate: be destined to happen, turn out, or act in a particular way

in a world where the hands of destiny are ones and zeros, at the center of the matrix was a little goddess who would soon find out that she too, isn’t immune to the pull of fate

Day ???? | 07:07am | Day of Destined Meetings

An alarm rings, beeping in an increasingly loud volume as the monitors begin booting up. As light from the screens flood the room, the sound of cotton ruffling can be heard, followed by a soft little yawn.

The girl stirs, clutching at her duvet for warmth before her eyelids flutter open. Bright violet eyes stare up at the ceiling, where the patches of glow up star stickers have lost their radiance in the midst of the fluorescent bulb lighting up. Blinded momentarily, she grimaces, before rolling onto her side and sitting up.

“Good morning, alpha.” A melodic voice chirps out merrily from her parted lips, and she raises a hand to pet the head of the stuffed chocobo that she had been laying beside. “It’s time for work again, huh?”

Stretching her arms high above her head with a final, long yawn, the girl shuffles over to the minibar that was tucked under the table, pulling the door open before grabbing a small tub of yoghurt and peeling it open to peer inside curiously.

Oh, it’s strawberry today, how wonderful! Whoever or whatever magical force is behind stocking up the minibar seems to be in her favor this morning.

Grateful now for her breakfast, the girl slides over to the front of the bed, and places her hand on the mouse after taking a spoonful of the yoghurt into her mouth.

System booting... Please enter password. >illyaskawi03112 Log in successful. Fatematrix.exe starting. Welcome, Alice.

The monitors that surround her begin loading up window tabs after window tabs - and at the center on her main monitor, a sizeable grid of glowing icons pop up, along with a smaller, more discreet window showing a map tucked away at the corner of the screen.

Visual stimuli overload aside, the girl seemed to be completely unphased as she bites into yet another scoopful of yoghurt before setting the tub next to her white keyboard, as if this were a scene she’s had to see countless times now.

It’s a routine, a well rehearsed routine that the girl effortlessly goes through the motions of daily. The fate matrix is ever in need of use and she, the center of it all, was more than happy to take control.

That is, after all, the will of her late mother... the previous Alice and goddess of the fate matrix. It is simply her duty to carry on in her legacy. And as per her duty, she begins to spin the wheel of fate, clicking on the very first icon that boots up the fate matrix’s tool assistant. A bright blue pop up appears that the girl drags to the side, and text begins to appear.

Good morning, Alice. Today is a day of destined meetings. I would suggest working on getting soul mates together for the day.

Internally, Illya is delighted. Soul mates were one of her favorite types of work to focus on... and though they were rarely ever more urgent than other types of assignments like accident prevention, weather management or economic balance, it was one that often brought her a great amount of joy.

After all, what was sweeter than nudging two souls who were meant for each other closer? It was the very concept of soul mates, and the tales of the red thread of fate after all, that drew her mother into the concept of fate and caused her to develop the fate matrix.

A soft smile graces her features, and she moves her cursor to click on the second icon, which loads for a second before breaking apart into smaller, glowing dots that scatter across the map - with two dots that indicated soul mates being linked by a dotted line.

Time to get to work!

01:46pm

When Illya clicked on the glowing two red dots upon the map, she hadn’t expected to be shown live footage of the two targets in the very same room.

It’s not uncommon for soul mates to have already met each other, or even be familiar with one another already despite not having made their feelings for each other known yet... but they were cases that were, in Illya’s experience, a little more difficult to work on.

It was easy to nudge two strangers in the same direction or plant small, innocuous thoughts that would help draw two acquaintances into wanting to spend more time with their soul mate. It was far more difficult to convince stubborn people who have, despite many fateful circumstances, refused to confess their feelings to the object of their confession.

After all, the fate matrix was capable of many things - but controlling or taking over the will of people was not one of them.

Illya has convinced two stubborn souls to finally open up in the past though, she was certain she could do so again - she did so with the likes of the two childhood friends, Moth’ir and Thancred... a case which she would never in a million years soon forget... or the infuriatingly obstinate refusal of a pink haired miqo’te girl to confess to her close friend and personal trainer, Haurchefant Greystone... who had been more than obvious with his flirtations for years.

Alice, you have yet to eat your lunch. A quick break is highly suggested.

The tool assistant sends a reminder through a text in it’s window, which Illya is swift to ignore. She can eat once she’s done with this case.

She watched through the monitor as the pair sat on the couch, a girl with straight cut bangs and piercing red eyes lounging lazily with her back propped against the arm rest and her legs laid over her taller, lankier male friend, who seemed to be frustrated at the girl’s refusal to pay him any attention.

“Why invite me over if you’re just going to play your game?”

“Hmph! Says the guy who invited me over to his place only to kick me out halfway through because some of his friends were going to pay him a surprise visit!”

The man lets out a hefty sigh.

“I already apologized for that. And that was over a week ago. Are you seriously still-”

“Yes, yes I am!” Without even looking up from her smartphone, the girl lets out a dramatic huff while admonishing her friend. “I don’t get why you’re so adamant about me not meeting your friends. Why, are you scared they’ll misunderstand and think I’m your girlfriend?”

“That’s- That’s not-”

From the heartrate monitor, Illya can tell that was only part of the reason for his behavior. The true reason, and an explanation that the girl understood full well why he would refuse to tell his friend was written in text in a separate window next to his heartrate monitor.

The girl, Totomi Tomi, or better known by her stage name as Mint, was something of a minor celebrity on the internet. Known for her jovial personality and the many covers of vocaloid songs she posted on her well known eorzeatube page, it wouldn’t be a stretch to call her an idol - even if she wasn’t officially acknowledged or employed as one by some idol management company. Her friend, Estinien, and the object of her very strong feelings towards, had friends who were apparently fans of hers.

It was for that very reason that, for her protection and to spare her the oogling of strangers, that he’d kept his friendship with the young idol a secret from others.

In his eyes, perhaps dating her would be the quickest way to convince his friends to back off... but that would only come after they’d confessed their feelings - which they haven’t.

“That’s not important.” Estinien finally retorts after stumbling after his words for a moment, and Illya has to resist the urge to slam her head against the keyboard.

“Ohhhh... Kay.” Mint rolls her eyes, Illya mirrors the action.

What Illya doesn’t anticipate however, is Estinien’s next words, for as bold and uncharacteristic for an emotionally closed off man such as him.

“Why? Are you disappointed? You almost sound like you want to be known as my girlfriend.”

Mint chokes on her spit, sputtering and gurgling out incomprehensible words until she recovers - but only barely... and now with a dark red blush plastered over her freckled cheeks.

“I-In your dreams, maybe!” Her blatant lie is apparent to all but... the ones who are present in the room. “Besides, I already have someone I like!”

“Oh?” Illya can hear the sheer contempt from her headphones, and she grimaces at the man’s deep frown. “Do tell, who is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, dunderhead!”

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

“Nope nope nope nope nope noppetty nope! Why’d you think I would ever tell you, huh??”

Mint sticks her tongue out at the man, who scowls deeper and nudges the woman’s legs off of his lap.

“Fine. How about a bet then.”

“What bet?”

The man points to the phone she has in her hands.

“Since you’re so fond of your gacha games, and you’re always bragging about how good your luck is, why don’t we make a bet using your game?”

Snatching the phone out of Mint’s hand despite her protests, Estinien taps on the settings button before clicking on the gacha button, the screen switching to the current limited rate up banner of a popular event character.

“If you get a character of the highest rarity within 50 draws, you have to tell me who your crush is.”

“W-why would I even agree to that?? I’ve been saving my primos for Xi-Ao you know?!”

“I’ll pay for your pulls. It’s a win-win for you that way, no? You get free pulls from the game, I get to know who your crush is if you get a shiny new character.”

Mint pulls back, hesitant and suspicion clear in her eyes, but still enough to hint at consideration.

“And what’s in it for me? What if I do pull a 5 star character?”

After much consideration, Estinien responds once more.

“I’ll let you whale for whatever character you want next on my credit card. And I’ll cosplay with you at the next convention.”

At the condition of his loss set, Mint’s face lights up with pure elation, as she snatches her phone back from her friend with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Deal! You’re so going to lose, long bean! My luck in Genshin Impact’s second to none! I can’t wait to make you cosplay sailor moon!!”

An equally devious smile spreads across the face of Alice, whose hands are swift to pull up another window tab reserved specifically for video game and gambling luck.

She has always admittedly been favorable and gracious in giving out good draws to people who deserve it - the program she has running in the background is testament to that... And she has no doubt in her mind that the fate matrix has been generous in it’s givings to Mint, if her boastings are anything to go by.

Mint must thusly, be a good person.... and she deserves a fate more fulfilling than virtual characters on a screen.

The girl must truly feel confident in herself, as she hits the draw x10 button without a single hesitation.

Illya begins typing the code into the new window, and sympathy wells in her heart as she hears Mint huff in minor disappointment.

“Only one 4 star? Eh, it’s just a fluke, I have 40 more pulls and I’m close to soft pity too!”

“Good luck.” Estinien chuckles mockingly, and Mint lets out a growl before pressing on the draw x10 button again.

Nothing. The third ten pull is no better - with nothing but a single 4 star weapon to show for her efforts. Mint is evidently getting more nervous as her finger shakes, pressing down on the button that will decide her fate for the fourth time.

She was so certain she’d get a 5 star by now - she normally gets what she wants within the first thirsty pulls, and it’s a normal occurrence to even pull multiple 5 stars within the same roll... So... why?

Her 40th pull ends with two 4 star characters, a sight better than the ones before... a sign of Illya’s pity on her... but still not a condition for her win.

“Oh, someone’s getting nervous.” Estinien smirks, “You’re on your last pull away from telling me who you have a crush on.”

“H-hah! That’s where you’re wrong!” Mint exclaims, jabbing a finger at him. “The chances of getting a 5 star increases with each pull, so i’m almost a hundred percent certain I’ll get one this time!”

Mint’s heartrate monitor is going off the charts, and Illya has to intervene by lowering her vitals enough so she wouldn’t pass out from sheer nervousness. It does little to hide it from Estinien, however, who could only relish every second of Mint’s rapidly darkening blush as she finally taps on the draw x10 button one final time.

The shooting star across the screen flickers, before bursting into a shade of pink that has Mint leaning back with mouth agape, a mixture of sheer shock and terror on her expression.

Hopelessness is all she feels as she taps, taps and taps, and the roll summary page shows naught but a single Benny - the unluckiest character in the game, grinning widely at her.

“Well, well, well. Looks like I won.” Estinien sounds way too casual and smug, unaware of the monumentally immense amount of bad fortune that had just befallen his friends. “As per our deal, you’re going to have to tell me who your crush is.”

Illya feels sorry for her meddling, and she makes a mental note to herself to bless Mint’s future rolls with as many of the highest rarity characters she could possibly afford to give without breaking the laws of probability too much... but when Mint finally breaks out of her stutter and sets her phone down on her lap, hands grasping so tightly at the hem of her skirt that her knuckles turned white, the girl knew that she’d dealt the woman a hand far kinder than if she had not.

“I-It’s...... It’s you, okay?”

07:32pm

Alice it is time for dinner. The curry will get cold if you leave it out for too long.

Illya’s tendency to ignore the tool assistant in regards to her own wellbeing was concerning, but not an anomaly. In fact, it was far more rare for the text in the pop up to be spared more than a single second’s glance from her.

Whether it was reminders for her to eat, for her to sleep early, to hydrate or to stretch after hours hunched over her keyboard in front of glaringly bright monitors for a good whole of her day, the tool assistant’s well meaning messages would always go ignored.

It’s a natural part of it’s program, Illya tells herself, as she filters through lists of finished cases before moving on to pending ones. Much like the fate matrix, that ran on a code that was, in admittance, far more complex than even she could fully comprehend... the tool assistant ran on code. It was an artificial intelligence her mother had created during her last few months of life, something that, according to the note left in the hard drive of the fate matrix, would help Illya better slip into her role as adjudicator of fate.

She’d remembered when she first awoke in this room and on the bed, not having any recollection of how she’d even arrived in the first place. The momentary panic and confusion had been replaced with a sense of obligation... of duty and honor when she booted up the computer for the first time to be greeted with the words from the tool assistant - as well as a lengthy message from her late mother.

We who do not belong to the realm of mortals... we who possess the blood of fate. We bear the burden of watching over the world and making sure that it is a safer, happier, better place for everyone. Only you alone can take possession of the fate matrix in my stead, and I pray you’ll forgive me for not being able to say goodbye to you in person.

Family meant the world to Illya, it has ever been that way. She spent a good amount of her childhood in the company of her parents, with little understanding of the world beneath. She had no concept of the idea of fate, of how destiny was dealt... only that her mother had a significant role to play, and that her time with her family was soon to be cut short by a crippling, unkind illness that not even the fate matrix could undo.

Illya’s never tried stepping out of her room before. She has always assumed that it exists in some kind of void or overworld that overlooked the mortal realm. It mattered not, really... The only thing important was that mother had left this place behind, and wanted her only daughter to inherit her role as Alice.

It was with that responsibility in mind that drove Illya to stay seated in front of the monitors for as long as she has.

Time is no longer being a concept, the rising and falling of the sun no longer visible to her eyes aside from a arbitrary number on the clock that served more as a timer for how long she has left to work until exhaustion would consume her.

Do you not wonder what it’s like to have friends, Alice?

Recently, however the tool assistant has been sending her more and more pointless questions... questions that went far beyond the daily self-maintenance reminders that she could understand her mother programming in for her wellbeing, questions aimed to be poignant and was targeted to making her feel more isolated and alone than it did help. It was bordering on annoyance.

You could leave this room any time you wanted.

And why would she do that? She murmured to herself as she typed in code to program a heavy storm, forcing a raven haired lalafellin man to offer his umbrella to his soul mate who had been stranded under a lone busstop - a pink haired woman with olive green eyes who seemed utterly smitten with him upon first sight.

Her purpose was here, to take control of the fate matrix, to grant happy memories, to save lives, to fulfill wishes and dreams. There can be no greater and heavier responsibility to bear in the world.

Truthfully, the reason why Illya stayed at first had solely because of her mother’s wishes... But now, it was more than that.

Because the idea of separating herself from the fate matrix... and not being able to grant the kindness of fate that so many people in the world deserved... it was a pain that was worth her own sense of self.

Are you not lonely? Do you not want someone to love you?

Why did it matter if she was lonely? The envy and curiosity she feels upon watching a group of friends hanging out together is nothing in comparison to the pain mortals felt from a love unrequited, or a loved one losing their life.

She taps furiously on a historian with bright red hair and eyes, forcing him to get a wardrobe malfunction that would push him to visit a tailor where an impish lalafellin fashion designer with snow white freckles awaited him with choice words of ridicule. She tips over a telephone pole that causes two surf shop co-owners who were on a road trip to park by the roadside so that they may witness a falling star, wishes made leading to their confession. She painstakingly guides a woman with silver hair and golden yellow eyes towards a drycleaner, where she initiates easy banter with a man who she later finds out was her old schoolmate.

Juno and Ysayle, Bianca and Varis, Niqesse and Zenos, Nowi and June. She remembers the soul mates she pushes together by name, and treasures the happiness they are sure to feel from their memories as if they were her own.

Detached from their world she may be, it is through the fate matrix that she can experience a sliver of their joy and love... even if it is for a fleeting moment before she must move on to the next.

11:17pm

One more assignment, she tells herself, eyes bloodshot and fingers sore from typing. One more case and she’ll eat before going to bed. She has done much for the day as it is... but she cannot rest until she’s closed one particular case that has her vexed for the entire day.

A pair of glowing purple dots that has been plastered on the map since morning has her thoroughly vexed... because for some reason or another, she cannot seem to gather information on one half of the pair.

She’s able to view the other half just fine - a dashing young man who seemed to be a senior in university despite his age, having skipped two grades due to his academic prowess. He is incredibly gifted, possessing not only of superior intellect but also an artistic hand and charismatic demeanor that makes him quite popular at his school.

But no matter how much she clicked on the other purple dot, or made futile attempts to manually search for data on his other half, nothing would show up. No windows, no tabs... What was even more perplexing was that the dot hadn’t moved on the map at all.

Illya had paid especially close attention to the purple dots ever since she’d found this anomaly in the fate matrix... she was certain she would have noted movement if there had been any at all.

But whereas the icon of the boy had understandably been moving throughout the city of Sharlayan, the icon of his mysterious other half hadn’t, laying stagnant on a singular point of the map in the middle of what appeared to be an old apartment complex.

It was as if his soul mate just... didn’t exist at all.

The boy didn’t have any romantic feelings for anyone, nor did it seem like there was anyone at his school that would have an attachment to him that extended beyond admiration or a short-term attraction, which she’s long learned to tell apart from genuine love. If the tool assistant had a text saying that her target simply did not have a soul mate at all, she’d have been inclined to believe it.

But the other purple dot that connected to his does not lie. If he didn’t have a soul mate, his icon wouldn’t be connected to the other. Her tool assistant wouldn’t have told her, very deliberately she may add, that he did in fact have a soul mate and that it was imperative for her to unite them.

But how was she to make two people meet when she could not even tell who the other was? It was the first time Illya’s wondered if there was even any point to her efforts.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, then. It may be unnatural for a piece of note to fall from the sky, but it was perhaps her final chance to get the boy to meet his soul mate before the opportunity would be lost forever.

Assignments from her pending window are known to disappear all of a sudden, and soul mates who were attached and at their prime for a fated meeting for the moment often times disappear from the map entirely... a tragedy as a result to the slipping of time that the fate matrix cannot rectify... and she’d be damned if she let it happen to this case just because of a simple glitch.

The boy, Alphinaud Leveilleur, star student of the nation’s most prestigious academy, had been walking home from his late night seminars. His position was unnervingly close to where his soul mate is, and since she could not think of any way she could naturally nudge him in the direction of the apartment complex, she writes a note posing as his soul mate and drops it from the sky.

“W-what in the twelve?”

The boy catches it in mid-air, looking at the haphazardly scribbled words on the paper.

PLEASE HELP ME. I’M BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL. I’M BEING TRAPPED AT _______________

She made the handwriting disorderly intentionally... just to sell the idea of a person being trapped better, of course. She’d even slathered on a small smudge of blood on the corner of the note to make it more convincing... and it seemed to have done the trick as the boy widens his navy blue eyes in alarm, head turned up in the direction of the apartment complex he stood next to.

Illya can tell he has his doubts, and she doesn’t blame him... It’s suspicious enough that the call for help would just so conveniently fall towards him as he was walking past... but he’s never known any criminal activity to have taken place in that apartment complex - Sharlayan is relatively safe compared to it’s neighbor, Mor Dhona.

A few simple thoughts however, might just do the trick into getting him to spring into action.

Injecting into his mind, Illya types out frantically into the text box for thought processing.

What if this is real? What if there really is someone in need of rescuing and I just walked by without helping them? What if they appeared on the news tomorrow? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. What if... what if this note really is fate?

She’s preying on his upright and morally upstanding character, she knows that... and it never feels good to take advantage of a objectively good person’s kindness... But her determination to grant him lifelong happiness wins as she watches through the live feed the as the boy clutches onto the note close to his chest and begins to run into the carpark of the apartment complex before heading inside.

Zooming into the map, she sees that her target is taking the lift up to the highest floor, his heartrate skyrocketing at an alarming pace as she panics for a moment and has to manually adjust it back down. He’s nervous... and she must admit that she is too.

When he leaves the lift, his footsteps are unsteady and hesitant... But a few more encouraging thoughts was enough to get him to push forward until he’s standing in front of a door - the only door on the last floor of the complex, as it would happen.

Illya tries to look into the room, but the window that pops up is but a single black screen that has her sighing. No matter. The fact that there even was a window in the first place is progress.

She’s gotten this far into leading him here... all he has to do is open the door where his other half is sure to be on the other side.

The boy tries to twist open the door knob, the metal rattlingly noisily in Illya’s headphones. But it doesn’t budge or give way.

Figures that it’d be locked. How is she supposed to lead him inside? She can’t ring the doorbell because, for as odd as it is, there is none... and she cannot pull up any information on his soul mate, let alone inject into thoughts into their head to open the door. It’s far too suspicious to drop the key to the door right in front of him.

With each second that passes, it seemed like the boy was letting his doubts begin to sway his decision to stay more and more... and Illya’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach when she sees the boy begin to step away from the door and reaching into his bag for his phone, a thought bubble popping up above him.

I should call the police, instead...

“No! You mustn’t!” Illya yells out by instinct.

“Huh???” the boy’s eyes widen once more, and to Illya’s utter confusion, he bolts forward and is now banging his fist against the door. “Hello?! Are you okay?! If you’re in there and you need help, please say something again!”

He must’ve heard a voice.... Illya mused, eyes glistening with intrigue... her voice. Did her mic turn on by accident? Or perhaps she’d projected her voice onto the door out of instinct. She wouldn’t be surprised if she did... but the most important thing is that it worked, and it got the boy to stay.

“Y-yes! I’m... I’m in here!” Illya responds, intentionally letting out sobs into her microphone this time, “p-please help me... I-I’m really hurt and I don’t know when they’ll get back!”

Alphinaud’s heartrate is beating faster than it’s ever had before... and Illya makes no attempts to lower it as she watches the boy grit his teeth and set his bookbag down.

“A-alright! Stand back! I’ll try to knock the door down!”

Good thinking, Illya hums to herself in silence. The door seems old and rickety on its own... unless his soul mate has very deliberately barricaded the inside, there shouldn’t be any reason why he’d not be able to knock it down.

The boy begins to slam his torso into the door, pulling himself back before once more rushing into the door, and the sound of banging fills Illya’s headphones. It’s oddly loud and deafening... but she makes no attempts to lower her volume as she grips the edge of her keyboard in anticipation.

“Don’t worry miss! Just a bit more! I’ll get you out, I promise!”

His sincerity touches her... and though it is wholly unnecessary, Illya is moved to speak into the mic once more... and her words causes a surge of renewed energy to flow through him.

“Yes! I believe in you! I’m waiting!”

Illya has never known what the outside of her room looked like... nor the time or space that occupied it. It was never necessary, she’d convinced herself... She was simply content with watching the outside world through the lens of the fate matrix while playing the ultimate puppet master.

She has never smelled the outside air, never seen the light of the sun, never once touched the hands of another... not since she arrived here.

When the door to her room clattered noisily onto the ground, so loudly that she could not chalk it up to being a result of the projection in her headphone, the girl spun around... and stared with wide, bewildered and confused eyes at the boy in front of her - clear without the pixels of the screen obscuring him... clear and oh so very real.

Beads of sweat trickling down his brows from exertion... his usually neat fitting uniform disheveled from strain...

And in his clear blue eyes was the reflection of herself, staring back at her as if they were a window to her future.

“Y-you.... you are....?”

The tool assistant of the fate matrix sends another text, which goes unread and ignored by Alice once again.

You watch over the fate of others. But even you aren’t immune to the hands of fate.

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #illya skawi #we've come so far #fanfic #mine #lots of cameos and mentions of friends but i'm not gonna list em all out here kek #holy fuck this turned out longer than i expected #and i already had to cut down a lot of this fic!!!#Like... i planned to expand each friend ship into their own dedicated segment but #it got too detailed and bleh

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

Morning Coffee - [Reid x Reader]

Request: hello, i was thinking if you could write the fluffiest fluff possible about spencer x reader (i’m a girl but it can of course be gender neutral), i’m okay with anything you desire. the only thing is i’d like the reader to be a little shy, just a little :) thank you so much!!!!

Summary: Reader has just moved to their new neighborhood and finds more at their local coffee shop than they had expected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Gender Neutral!Reader (no pronouns used)

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Fluff

Rating: G af.

Content Warning: None that I can think of.

A/n: I’m sorry this took me so long, anon. I wasn’t feeling very fluffy. This is truly the best I can do, I’m sorry. I’ve also never written a character that was more like me before. I hope y’all are okay with that.

-- Morning Coffee --

My first order of business once I moved into my new neighborhood was to find a coffee shop that could become my coffee shop.

I didn’t stop to pick up coffee every day, but I liked having a set place to go. I liked to know the menu so I wasn’t nervous whenever I had to order. My friends didn’t understand why I felt that way, but the thought of ordering something during a crowded morning and then not knowing what I wanted and holding up people’s morning because I wasn’t prepared?

It made me never want to stop for coffee ever again.

I had always gotten anxiety about the strangest things. I was perfectly comfortable giving presentations at work, but I couldn’t approach one person in a coffee shop and introduce myself.

On my third morning in my new neighborhood, I found a smaller coffee shop about a block away from my apartment. I had walked by a few times, and I looked them up online. I felt relatively confident in my decision.

I always got up earlier than I technically needed to. I liked to allow time for something to go wrong. My mother had engrained punctuality into my very soul.

On that crisp morning in late September, at 7:37 am, I was walking towards the coffee shop from the east end of the street, and there was a man walking from the west. I could tell from our pace that we were going to arrive at the same time, and now I was trying to decide if I wanted to speed up and beat him, slow down and go in after him, or just let events unfold.

Like I said, anxiety about the silliest things.

I sped up, which turned out to be a mistake. I had underestimated how long the man's legs were. He was a head taller than me, wearing gray suit pants and a black coat. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck and it looked like he hadn't brushed his curly hair in at least a week.

He was slim with angular features. His cheekbones and jaw were both well defined. He was beautiful.

None of that is what really drew my attention.

He looked sad. Not outwardly sad. It was the sort of sad that seeped into your bones and promised to be your companion for much longer than you wanted.

The beautiful man got to the door a second before I did; he gave me a tight-lipped awkward smile when he opened the door, waving me inside.

I muttered my thanks and slipped through the door right before he did.

“You go ahead,” I said to the man. “I don’t know what I want yet.”

A complete lie. I knew that menu better than the baristas probably did.

He had brown eyes, but it was almost an insult to call them brown. They looked like caramel with little flecks of gold.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

Another terrible thing about me is how I romanticize people in my mind. I recognized a sadness in this beautiful man and suddenly found myself fascinated by him.

Which is why I made getting coffee every morning around 7:37 am a part of my routine.

This went on for weeks; somedays I would see that man, and my days were always a bit darker when I didn’t. I couldn’t discern any sort of pattern about the days he came in, but I kept searching for one.

My best friend laughed at me every day but in a sweet, teasing way. I learned most of the baristas' names and they learned mine. I liked June the best; she was in her 20's and had curly black hair. She had a piercing in her left nostril and she always laughed politely at everyone's jokes.

I always tipped my baristas, but I tipped her best.

It was the third week of October now. I was making my daily trip to the coffee shop, my headphones in my ears, my gaze sweeping over the changing fall leaves. I couldn’t even begin to describe how much I loved autumn.

I hadn’t expected to see him today; he hadn’t been there for the past two days, and he was usually gone for at least 4 days at a time. So, I wasn’t paying attention. I was watching the orange and gold leaves sway in the breeze, my hands shoved in my coat pockets.

When I looked up, he was holding the door open, waiting for me.

I felt my cheeks heat. “Oh my god,” I mumbled. “You didn’t have to hold this for me. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention!”

The man just chuckled, and smiled down at me, revealing his straight white teeth. “I haven’t been holding it long,” he offered, waving me through the door.

Once we were both inside, I waved him ahead of me.

He smiled at me again. “Is this a habit with you?” I raised my eyebrows at him, indicating my confusion. “Letting people who hold the door open for you get in line first?”

I gave an awkward laugh. “You remember that?”

We walked over to the line, standing side by side. “I sort of remember everything.”

“That must come in handy.”

That same sadness appeared in his eyes for a moment before it washed away. “Sometimes,” he mumbled.

When we both got up to the counter, June was working the counter. “Hey, y/n!” she called out, a huge smile on her face. “Usual?”

I nodded.

"You must come here a lot," the man said.

“More often than I should.”

"I've seen you every morning I've come in here since September 27th.”

My head snapped up to look at him. “What? You remember the day?”

“I have an eidetic memory,” he answered sheepishly. “I can also read 20,000 words per minute, and I have an IQ of 187.”

I couldn’t stop my eyes from going wide. “Wow.”

He just offered a slightly awkward chuckle.

June came back over with my drink, telling me my total. The man interrupted. “I’ve got it.”

June’s dark eyes went comically wide.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I began.

“I know,” he said. “But I want to.”

I might have imagined it, but I could have sworn I heard June let out a squeak.

“Well…thank you.”

Nobody ever bought me coffee. Nobody ever really bought me anything, come to think of it.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

I shook my head. “No, not really. I’m just…not used to people doing that.”

He looked confused. “You’re not used to people buying you coffee?”

I felt my cheeks heat again. “No, not really.”

June rushed back over with his drink before taking his money. "Keep the change," he said, turning and walking away from the counter with me. He looked down at his watch…which he was wearing over top of his shirt sleeve. Odd. “I have to go,” he muttered, almost sounding sad.

“Oh, okay.” I went over to the door, holding it open for him. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”

The man smiled at me again, a real smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It was nice to meet you too, y/n.”

With a wave, we turned and walked in opposite directions.

I was halfway to the train station when I realized I hadn’t asked him his name.

He wasn’t at the coffee shop the following morning.

But June was.

“So, what was that?!” She had whisper hissed the second she saw me.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

I just shrugged, grateful for the lack of customers. “I had never talked to him before. I didn’t even ask his name.”

She pressed her fingers against her forehead. “A cute guy buys you coffee and you don’t get his name? Or number?”

I nodded, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “I got nervous,” I defended.

June huffed out a sigh. “I know he’s told me his name before.” She pondered for a moment before she turned and called out over her shoulder. “Steven! Who was that guy who bought y/n’s coffee yesterday?”

Steven just blinked at her. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Yes, you do! He’s skinny, he has curly brown hair, dresses like a professor but he isn’t old enough? Cute, got a jawbone that could cut glass?”

“Spencer,” a voice supplied from behind me.

I froze, my eyes fixed on June's face. She turned back to look at me and gave a bright smile to whoever was behind me. "His name is Spencer….?" She trailed off.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” the man in question supplied.

My eyes just shut tight. Maybe if he couldn’t see me this wouldn’t happen.

Of course, my luck was never that good. He stepped up to the counter beside me. "About 2 minutes after I walked away yesterday, I realized I hadn't told you my name."

I pulled my lips between my teeth, letting out a deep sigh before I turned my head to look up at him. He had the same coat on today, his hair was in similar disarray, but his eyes didn't seem quite so sad. They were sparkling today, and the tips of his ears were red like maybe he was embarrassed too.

“It took 2 minutes?” I asked at last.

Dr. Spencer Reid just nodded. “It probably would have taken less, but I was busy mentally kicking myself for not asking for your number.”

I dug my teeth into my bottom lip, but even that couldn’t suppress my smile at his words.

“We can probably fix that,” I teased.

"That's a relief," he confessed. "Then I just have to ask you out. That shouldn't be too hard." He let out a self-deprecating laugh like that wasn't the sweetest thing I had ever heard.

I knew for certain I heard June let out an excited squeak that time.

Permeant Taglist : @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @andiebeaword @imjusthereformggcontent @rainsong01 @violentvulgarvolatile @mys2425 @al3xmnd @imfalling-inlove @cielo1984 @shadyladyperfection @kissingvalentino

@spncersreid

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid fic #Dr. Spencer Reid #Dr. Reid #Dr. Spencer Reid fluff

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willowbird · 4 years

Note

Can I do the honours of sending in the first request? Honestly anything you'll write will definitely make my day, but for a specific request, how about andreil getting their cats? Congrats on 100 again 💛💛

Omg omg omg!! Of course! <3 <3

-----

“All I’m saying is that if someone really wanted to live in a Walmart, it’s entirely possible to do so without being caught. Especially one of those huge ass Super Walmarts. The staff is underpaid, the place is a disorganized mess, there are multiple bathrooms, plenty of food and other supplies, and if you choose the right location you can get one that isn’t 24-hour.”

Andrew looked over at Neil with narrowed eyes, not even bothering to hide his affectionate contempt. “I am not sure what’s more wrong with that statement - your assumption that you can find a Super Walmart that isn’t 24-hour or the implication that a Walmart with closing hours would somehow be better than one that was open all the time, letting you come and go as you please with people less likely to be suspicious of you.”

“Drew.”

“Neil.”

Neil gestured to the large superstore they were just leaving, the plastic bag hanging from his wrist swinging with enough force to knock him in the hip on its return, though the starting striker for the Denver Jaguars didn’t seem to notice. “Look,” he was saying as they walked around the side of the building, heading for the apartment complex behind it where they shared a two-bedroom, “first of all -- there are Super Walmarts out there that are not 24-hour. It depends on the township. Secondly, with a store that closes, that guarantees you a set number of hours per day where you could actually sleep or do anything else you wouldn’t want to risk being discovered during. Maintain a membership at a hole-in-the-wall gym nearby that lets you pay in cash, and you’ve got a place to shower and a place with a locker to stash a few things, and you’re set. I’m not saying it’s a permanent sort of setup, but if you’re living in a Walmart of all things, you probably are specifically trying not to be permanent, so, there.”

Andrew rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’s smug smirk. “You are a nuisance.”

“Yeah, but I’m your nuisance.”

This time Andrew didn’t bother rolling his eyes, he just lifted a hand, pressed it flat to the side of Neil’s arm, and shoved.

Neil stumbled sideways with a laugh that turned into a yelp and then a crash as he tripped over his own feet and ended up slamming into the side of the building and the bag on his wrist kissed the unforgiving stone. Andrew winced at the sound, but considering most of what was in Neil’s bag was pasta and canned goods he didn’t think any of the food was damaged.

“One would think a professional striker would have a little bit more coordination off the court,” Andrew drawled as Neil righted himself. If he scanned his gaze over the other man in a covert flick of the eyes just to make sure he wasn’t actually injured, no one was around to know.

“Fuck y-- what’s that?” Neil’s venom vanished halfway through the second syllable, replaced with a lighter curiosity that had Andrew following the other’s gaze down the line of the building to the partially enclosed alcove where the dumpsters were. Andrew was just about to point out that it looked very much like a bunch of trash when what he’d thought was a bunch of soiled newspapers moved in a very alive sort of way.

“Probably a raccoon,” Andrew said, even as Neil moved forward. He frowned and followed him. “If you get bit, I’m not taking you to get your rabies sh--”

This time, Andrew was the one who stopped mid-syllable.

As they came up to the dumpsters, the crumpled dirty newspapers moved again, this time to reveal the truth of what they were:

Two tiny, emaciated, shivering little black and white kittens. One was almost entirely white with black little ears and a thin tail with an extra tuft of black fur weirdly sticking out about halfway down. The slightly bigger one was a more mottled black and white and it was the one that gave the tiniest hiss as the two men approached.

Andrew blinked at the kittens. The mottled one hissed again. The little white one squeaked.

Without really thinking about it, Andrew crouched down and shrugged out of his hoodie, ignoring the bite of mid-autumn as the wind rustled the much thinner fabric of his black t-shirt. He set down the sweatshirt on the ground right in front of the kittens and watched, silently, as they sniffed it and then wobbled onto the softer, warmer spot. The black and white one hissed again, climbing on top of the little white squeaky one and beginning to lick its ears. The little whitish one squeaked again.

Andrew looked up at Neil. Neil looked back at Andrew. For a moment they just stared at each other. Then, without any other verbal decision needing to be made, Neil switched his bag to the other hand so he could pull out his wallet and double-check how much cash he still had on him. “I’ll meet you at home then?”

Andrew nodded, turning back to the kittens and carefully folding the sweatshirt around them to keep them warm without smooshing them or covering their faces. “Remember Josten, kitten food - not regular cat food.”

“There’s a difference?” There was no mockery in Neil’s voice, just curiosity and the question for confirmation.

Andrew nodded, lifting the little bundle into his arms, then reaching out to grab Neil’s bag with his other hand. “Higher in fat and other nutrients.”

“Got it. Alright, I’ll see you at home.”

“See you.” Then, as Neil headed back around the building to pick up the supplies, Andrew carefully carried the two kittens to their new home.

#asks #of-stars-and-moon #100 followers #andreil #andreil and the cats!#aftg #aftg prompts

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cyndecreativity · 3 years

Text

Day 1 - Competitive? Me?

Journey – Winning a teddy for the other – “I need you”

Set in the Zodiac Chronicles world.

Alden and Idania head to the Scorpio Festival. Idania asks him to win a prize for her and he obliges, but it’s not the biggest prize. He can’t let that slide.

~2400 words

---

Festivals happened in every month in Lotuserna, for every Patron or Matron Spirit of whatever Constellation. Alden had to make an appearance at the Scorpio festival, of course, and he grew tired of the annual event. Loud, smelly, made his chest hurt, there were too many people, and any number of other issues. The only saving grace for him lie with the foods. He loved fried and handheld foods, the kind served in abundance at the festivals. Most Scorpio knew this and every year the number of stalls with a new fried food opened to try to set themselves up until next year with the patronage of the Scorpio prince.

For Idania, she loved the festivals every month, allowed to go to every one at the orphanage to celebrate the Spirits of abandoned children, to allow them time to have fun and feel like kids for at least one night. The festivals usually lasted a weekend, but the orphanage could only afford the one night. Being able to experience the joy with each new child that rolled through the orphanage gave Idania a lifelong appreciation for the festivals. The games changed, the festivals updated, the prizes stayed with some kids long after they left for forever homes. Idania racked up quite a few that she gave away to those leaving. She’d get one next year, she told them.

Many years had passed since she last said those words. Many years filled with uncertainty and harm, hope and love, damage and scars. Antares lit up with torches and candle lamps, streams of flags and wings and lizard tails, stalls selling fried foods, portable foods, toys and trinkets. It almost made her forget the pain as Alden led her through the courtyard, his right arm in a fancy leather sling that covered the entire necrotic limb. He had to maintain the façade of royal perfection. Sylvain hadn’t been allowed to leave the palace in months as the Capricorn struggled to return him to normal. The scars left on him by the years persisted, much to the Empress’s tremendous disappointment.

Idania kept to Alden’s left side, more used to the sight of her own failure on his right, but the constant reminder of what she’d done haunted her quietly every day. He jostled her slightly when he excitedly pointed to the menu of a food stall, asking if she had interest in fried potatoes or some new flavor of beer. She hated alcohol, but she loved food just as much. They would grab a waxed paper container and he held it as they wandered further.

At one stall, she stopped in the middle of the promenade, a stick of grilled meat halfway to her mouth. He took several steps before recognizing her absence and stopped to turn around.

He made his way back to her and grabbed another fried potato with his left hand. “You okay?”

She gestured with the stick of meat to a stall across from her. “There’s prizes there.”

He turned around to follow her stick of meat. “There sure are.”

She hesitated. With his right arm, the dominant arm, in a sling, he would have difficulty attempting the game. But part of her, a childish part, an irrational part, she knew, wanted him to win it for her. Her lips pressed together and she nodded slightly. She took a few steps away.

“Whoa, hey, waitaminute.” He swept his left arm forward at her. She stopped and retraced her steps immediately. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Did you want one?”

He would tell her later that her face lit up brighter than any star in the sky, her eyes filled with firelight, her tail shot up to allow her muzzle to jingle behind her head. But she simply smiled and nodded. “If you think you can. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Or your mother to get upset if you use your… other arm.”

He pulled a face and wiped his hand on his thigh. “Fuck her. You’re my kelara. You want me to win you something? I’ll win you something.”

Crimson crept over her cheeks as she followed him over to the stall. He stood back and watched a few other patrons attempt the game, a dagger-throw. The operator rotated a disk that sent a set of targets shifting back and forth. The difficult and highest scoring targets lie in the back, obscured by two rows of lower scoring targets. With a high enough score, the winner chose a prize among what the stall had to offer.

After several moments, Alden pulled the strap of his sling off and looked to her. His brow furrowed and he dropped the fancy leather to the ground. “Evening! How much for a try?”

The stall owner started at the blackened flesh of Alden’s right arm, lined by veins of blue magic, then drew back in recognition of his prince. His tail, muzzled simply, quivered behind his head. “Your Highness! Ah- For you-“

Alden lifted his right arm, it being dominant, and shook his head. “You have to make a living too. Now, how much?”

The man furrowed his brow and looked to the other operator. His friend shrugged and continued encouraging his customers. “Uh, 2 Lotus per try. You get 6 daggers. And each score tier earns you a different prize. They’re all organized by shelf up here.” He turned slightly and gestured. “Lowest scores on the bottom, highest are hanging up there.”

Her prince reached into his money pouch and dropped 3 Lotus on the bar. “6 daggers, and a tip for you folks.”

The man started to protest again, but Alden shook his head. The 6 daggers were set in front of him. The other customers still had 4 daggers to use, which meant they had to wait. The Scorpio behind the counter apologized profusely, but the prince shrugged. His tail curled a bit as he picked them up, weighed them, and rotated his shoulders with gentle pops. He tested them out a bit, held them by the point and the pommel, going through the motions of throwing without release.

Idania beamed, her nose tickled, eyes watering. A strange kind of warm joy filled her, an overwhelming of emotions that left her wanting to cry. She sniffled and slid a bit of meat off the stick. Kelara. She wondered if she would ever get used to him calling her that. He did it with such reverence, such affection, such absolute certainty.

The other operator rang the bell and pulled a prize off one of the lower shelves for the other customer. The man tending them nodded and moved to the gear at his end and gestured to Alden. The prince moved into position at the center and nodded his readiness.

Alden held up a dagger, ready to throw. The targets started to move ever so slowly. After a moment or two, the Scorpio prince straightened up. He shot a look to the man turning the gear. His face scrunched in an awkward smile and he turned faster, his tail shaking behind him. Idania’s muzzle jingled slightly as Alden leaned forward, his tail lifted for balance.

THUNK

The first one hit a target in the middle. Alden swore quietly.

“Oh! Good opening shot, sir! Good try!” The other operator clapped for a moment, going through the motion of hype for a customer.

Idania quietly congratulated her prince.

THUNK

The next landed in another in the front. Alden swore again, louder this time.

“Oooo! Too bad! Still points though!” No claps this time, their voice still deadpan.

THUNK

“Ay! Big Lotus!” The other operator clapped again, more genuine with their praise. “Can he do it again?”

Idania squealed.

THUNK

“Another good hit, sir!” The one turning the wheel congratulated his customer as Alden hit another target in the final row.

Idania looked at the prizes. At least 2 backline targets had to be worth something good.

THUNK

Whud

A very loud curse erupted from the prince, startling all parties around him, including a few festival-goers as they wandered by.

“That’s 3 backlines, a mid, a front, and a fall! Good job, sir! You have your choice of any on the lower shelves.” The operator at the front gestured lazily to the lower shelves.

Alden furrowed his brow. “Lowest? Why the lower shelves?”

The first operator rushed over to them and waved his hands. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness! Three backlines gets you the highest shelf-“

The other operator, brow furrowed, tilted their head. “But they lose points when the dagger falls.”

Jittery, as Alden would call him later, slapped his colleague on the arm. “But not for The Prince.”

The colleague, whom Alden dubbed Themby, furrowed their brow.

Alden dug into his pocket and pulled out three more Lotus coins. “Idania, go ahead and pick a prize while I try again.”

She shook her head. “Highness, it’s not necessa-“

He slapped the coins down. “6 more daggers please.”

Hours later, Idania stood next to a small pile of toys and dolls, the leather sling resting on the stall’s counter beside her, the trash from the portable food balled up behind the counter, having fallen there when Alden slammed coins down. She knew she should be worried, try to force him to stop, but she also knew he wouldn’t until he reached some conclusion for himself. Either failing enough to reach a critical point of frustration, or winning at least once. Either way, the pile of toys and dolls could be given away by the prince, a donation to an orphanage of choice, goodwill to the people, something he was already known for. And she could keep one or two to remember.

A small crowd of people had gathered to watch the commotion, Alden forced to stand by and watch another patron try their hand to varying success. Sometimes Idania would even offer one of the dolls to someone that lost, a consolation for a loss. The children frequently skipped away with a thank you and the parents would smile their thanks with that exhausted grateful desperation she recognized from the exhausted orphan matrons.

THUNK!

Idania lifted her gaze from one of the toys and looked up for the result. The other three gawped at all the daggers in the backline. A cheer rose from the crowd.

Alden narrowed his eyes. “That’s got to be worth something good, right?”

Themby looked between the prince and Jittery. “There’s no rules for a full win.”

Jittery laughed once and gestured above. “How about two grand prizes, then?”

Idania giggled as Alden lifted his mouth in such a way to make his facial hair stick straight out. He gestured to one large soft-looking doll. “That one.”

Jittery pulled his chair over and climbed up to cut the doll down. He handed it to Themby who placed it on the counter. “What else, Your Highness?”

He furrowed his brow and looked to Idania. “Anything specific you want?”

She looked at his vibrant red eyes, still fired up from his long struggle to win any big prize for her, and she smiled. “Just you.”

His eyes narrowed, his mind still in the competition. He nodded slightly. “I love you, too. But which one do you want?”

She sighed and scanned over the dolls that hung. She eventually settled on one particularly iridescent serpent. “That one.”

The others all followed her finger. “That one?” She nodded. Jittery cut it down and handed it to Themby, as before. Jittery hopped down from the chair and smiled to the prince. “Once again, congratulations, Your Highness. Would you like to play again?”

Before Alden could think too hard about it, Idania swept in to scoop the serpent and the tiger off the bar. “Thank you so much for your hard work.” She tugged Alden by the arm to the pile of things he had won, away from the temptation of more dagger throwing.

Jittery followed them over to the edge of the stall. “Oh, I didn’t even notice you had won so many things! We… We didn’t really anticipate this situation. Would you like me to go find a bag?”

Alden looked at the pile of stuffed things and then to the sling. He squinted. “Maybe not.”

He picked up the sling and started to shove and cram all the smaller toys and dolls into it. After a few moments, the leather sling with elegant embossments hung at his side, filled to the brim with all manner of child toys and dolls. Idania stood beside him, holding the two grand prizes.

Jittery raised his eyebrows. “Well! You two look all set.”

Idania thanked him and Alden raised his left hand as they turned away. A few more steps down the lane and Alden heaved a heavy sigh. His shoulders released a bit of tension and he shook his head. “By Scorpius, I’m tired.”

She chuckled. “I daresay we should get you back to the palace. If for no other reason than your arm is exposed.”

He pressed his lips together. “I don’t know what my mother is so worried about. It may not look pretty, but it works just fine.”

She shrugged as they wandered through the festival stalls. “I think that’s exactly what she’s worried about, the not pretty part. You’re still royalty and in order to maintain power, she has to maintain the appearance of strength and authority. And if you look like that,” she gestured toward his necrotic arm, “then others may view that as a sign of weakness.”

He groaned. “I hate this. I hate the posturing and the politics. I almost wish I had just… stayed lost.”

Idania stiffened. Memories of those years tickled at the edges of her mind, the journey she had been forced to go through after the incident. “But you don’t, do you?”

The gentle crunch of rocks against sand stopped. She turned around to him, attempting and failing to school her features into a gentle smile of a mask. He searched her eyes and lifted his hand, the veins of magic glowing a brighter purple as they moved to brush her cheek. The skin felt cold against hers, but she moved into his hand despite this.

“Of course I don’t. I’m sorry I said that.” He moved to press a kiss to her forehead. “As much as I hate the court, I love you more. I need you.”

She beamed.

“But, I also need to relieve myself-“

She groaned. “Again?”

#promptober #promptober 2021 #zodiac #original work #alden #idania #zodiac chronicles

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desiraypark · 4 years

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The Weight (Pt. I)

Clyde x Sherri (Non-Linear Series) This entry is in response to @aloneandsleepless‘ prompt request! The message reads: Hey Desi darling! Can we have a little drama with Clyde and Sherri? Requesting "being physically/emotionally vulnerable" from the Non Sexual Forms of Intimacy list! You're so incredibly creative, I'm sure you'll come up with something amazing! ❤️ First of all, thank you *cries*. Second, I hope this meets your expectations! :) Content: Angsty? | Sadness/depression (denial of depression); impostor’s syndrome; ageism (imposed on self because it’s imposed by society, tbh lol); couple’s spat; spouse approaching the other but the appropriateness and effectiveness of the method might be debatable. A lil’ bit o’sap. Word Count: 2,402

“The llllittle...boy licks to...likes to b...ah...ck...” “Vroom, vroom...!” Sherri looked away from her pan and glanced in the dining room at the children. Chris’ face was inches away from their homework, and Sid had turned the dining table into a freeway for their toy car.

“What are your ‘a’ sounds?” Sherri asked. “Ah, ah...” Chris said. “And the other one?” “Ay...” “Did you try the other sound?” Chris looked back down at the worksheet. “B-ay-kuh...bake...” Sherri looked back at the pan. “Good job. Start it from the beginning.” “The little boy likes to bake...” “Vroooooooooom...” “...he licks...likes...” “Sid?” Sherri called. “Yes?” “Can you play quietly so Chris can concentrate?” “Yes, Mommy. Sorry.” “It’s alright. Thank you.” Sid turned the vocal engine off and drove the car in silence. Suddenly, there was a rumble at the front door. The lock turned and the kids hopped up from the table and ran through the living room.

“Daddy!” they shouted.

Clyde opened the door and scooped both of the little ones up in his arms. “Arrrgh!” he growled, holding them up. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked. He planted kisses on both of their foreheads and put them back down. “Ms. Daniels gave us homework today!” Chris exclaimed. “Oh yeah?” “Long sentences!” “Well, alright, my lil’ Einstein,” Clyde said. The trio made their way into the dining room, but the kids sat back at the table. Clyde walked straight for the kitchen and Sherri gave him her cheek to kiss. “Mmm...” he hummed. “Those lips taste as good?” Sherri smirked and faced Clyde so he could give her a peck on the lips. Then another. And another. “Eww!!!” the children said. “Eww?!” Clyde mocked them. “What y’all mean eww?” Sherri and the kids laughed. Then, Clyde rested his hands on Sherri’s protruding belly. He gave it a rub. “Now what you got to say about it, Littlest One?” “It said, please don’t keep mommy up tonight...” Sherri mumbled. “Well, I can’t make no promises on that...” Clyde whispered in her ear, before giving the lobe a nibble. “Leave my kitchen, Clyde,” Sherri said giggling. Clyde gave her butt a tap and walked into the dining room. “What’s this homework about?” he asked, sitting beside Chris. “Different stuff,” the oldest responded. Clyde adjusted his glasses by the hinge and looked over the homework--a sheet full of short sentences.

“You or Mommy are supposed to draw lines under the stuff I said wrong,” Chris added. “Is that so?” Clyde read the instructions and realized that either he or Sherri had to underline any words Chris had gotten wrong, or didn’t self-correct. So far, only the word “fluffy” had a line under it. Clyde smiled at the sight. “Underline bake, Baby.” Sherri said. Clyde searched the table and noticed the red ink pen resting against the table’s centerpiece. He underlined “bake”. “Hey, Babygirl...?” Clyde called over his shoulder. “Mm-hmm?” Sherri responded. “A man came into the restaurant this afternoon. He started a non-profit education center. Supposed to help kids with all kinds of needs. I uh...I got his card for you.” Sherri froze for a second, then kept cooking. “For what?” “He’s lookin’ for people to join his team. It’s very new. He wants people from different backgrounds helpin’ him out...” Sherri didn’t say anything. She turned off the stove and reached into the cupboard for plates. “Okay.” _____________________ Later “What’s this you were telling me about? About this man?” Sherri asked, walking into the bedroom.

Clyde was already in bed with a book. Sherri grabbed a bottle of cocoa butter lotion from her dresser and sat on the bed. “He started a non-profit company for kids with special needs. Behavioral, academic. Kids with problems at home, anything. He said he wanted to hire a few reading tutors...” Sherri began to rub the lotion on her belly. The circular motions soothing her emotionally, as well as physically. “He said you didn’t need a formal education. It wouldn’t pay much now, but it would be a great experience.” Sherri let out a wry laugh. “So, you told a stranger in a restaurant that your dropout wife was looking for a low-paying job?” Clyde stared at the back of Sherri’s head with furrowed brows. “No, I said I would tell my wife about it, and see if she’s interested.” Sherri closed the lotion’s cap and put it back on her dresser. “Well, thank you for thinking of me, Baby. But I’m good...” She yanked back her covers and climbed into the bed. “But are you, though, Baby?” Clyde asked. Sherri was just about to turn on her side before she glared back at him. “What do you mean?” she asked. “It ain’t no secret that you regret not settin’ out to be in education, Babygirl. I thought this would be a good way to get you back on track. But I guess I was wrong,” Clyde said. Sherri turned on her side and laid down. “Yeah, you were. I don’t need you job huntin’ for me.” Clyde looked down at his book. He tried to keep reading, but Sherri’s response was eating away at him. He took in a deep breath. “So, you just wanna be a receptionist for the rest of your life, Sherri?” He didn’t have to see her face to know what it looked like. Slowly, Sherri turned on her back and sat completely up. “What is this about, Clyde? Are you ashamed of me all of a sudden?” she asked. Clyde huffed, then closed his book. “No...” he answered. “But I know when you’re feeling sad, Baby. And I know you’ve been real sad these last few months.” “First of all, don’t tell me when I’m sad. I’m not sad. I’m not depressed or any of that. And even if I was, that doesn’t have shit to do with my job...”

“Sherri...” Clyde said patiently. “You can deny it all you want to. But you know and I know that you ain’t happy where you are.” “I am happy!” Sherri snapped. “What are you talking about?!” “You like your job, Sherri. But you ain’t happy,” Clyde continued on. “You regret not finishin’ school, Baby. It’s all over your face. You think you’re hidin’ it from me, but you’re not. You never have. And denyin’ it hasn’t made it better.” Sherri scoffed. “Please, Clyde. You don’t know what I’m hidin’ and what I’m not. Whatever the case may be, I’m halfway through my life, now. I’m damn near 40 years old, I’ve got two kids--almost got three. I’ve got to run around after three kids--” “Stop usin’ our kids as a crutch, Sherri.” Sherri’s eyebrows lifted. She was speechless. Clyde wasn’t as mild and meek as people assumed he was, but he’d never drilled into anyone like this before. Especially Sherri. He had the patience of a saint, and Sherri could tell that the patience had suddenly started wearing thin. But so was hers. “You my therapist now, Clyde?” Clyde drew in a deep breath. “No, I’m not. But I am your husband. And I know you better than I know the back of my own hand.”

“And look here. I don’t appreciate you sittin’ up here talkin’ like you the only one takin’ care of our kids...” “That’s not what I said. And it’s not what I meant, either,” Sherri responded.

“Whatever you meant, there ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ you from goin’ back to school, but you. I tell you about a potential job in your field, and you up in here actin’ like I stole somethin’ from you,” Clyde fussed. “I just don’t understand where this is comin’ from. Our life is just fine right now. Since when did you start feelin’ like it wasn’t good enough? Suddenly it’s so bad that you need to go job scoutin’ for me?” “Ain’t nobody say all that, Sherri. Yes, our life is just fine. It’s real nice. But you ain’t no “just fine” kinda girl. You ain’t never been,” Clyde said.

“Everything about you is excellent, but when it comes to stuff like this--your dream, you start actin’ real cowardly.”

Sherri stared at Clyde and huffed. “Look. Whatever the case, Clyde. I don’t need you bein’ my reference. I don’t need you recommendin’ jobs for me. You worry about what you’ve got goin’ on, and I’ll take care of what I’ve got goin’ on.” Clyde nodded. “Alright.” He put his book on the nightstand and took off his bionic arm. He put the arm on his dresser, climbed back in bed, and turned off the lamp on his nightstand. Then, he slid down and pulled the covers over him.

“You ain’t got to worry about me sayin’ another thing,” he added. “Gon’ and pass that impostor’s syndrome down to our baby.” Sherri didn’t give his statement a chance to marinate in the air.

“I think you should sleep on the couch,” she said without hesitation, or a even a thought. And Clyde didn’t argue. He climbed out of the bed, grabbed his pillows, and walked out of the room with them. He dug through the linen closet for a blanket, and curled into a ball on the little chaise of their sectional. ____________________ The Next Day As she did every weekday morning, Sherri got up at 4:30AM. The scent of oatmeal soap still strong from last night’s shower, she gave herself a quick wipe down at the sink, then got Sid up. She helped Sid take care of their personal needs, and got them dressed. Per usual, mother and future middle child got a quick bite and made their way to the Busy Bees Daycare. Every week day, Sherri oversaw the front desk of the daycare and helped to keep an eye on all of the children, including her own. Every week day--even on Mondays when he didn’t work--Clyde woke up and got Chris and himself ready. They too, sat at the table for a quick bite--cereal, usually. Then, Clyde would walk Chris to school. Today was a work day, so he hung out at home for about for about 45 minutes before making the seamless fifteen (or twenty, depending on his mood) minute drive to Strafford’s Kitchen. Today was definitely a “twenty minute drive to work” kind of day. Sherri always got off at 2 o’clock. Her and Sid would head home and hang out until it was time to pick Chris up. They’d walk to the school, chat with Chris’ teacher, and make their way back home to start homework and dinner. When Clyde was off, he would start dinner while Sherri and Sid walked to get the eldest Logan child. Sherri had spent her day snatching every chance at mental solitude she could find. Clyde didn’t know what he was talking about. She was happy at Busy Bees. Had been for seven years. And more importantly, it was too late for her to consider going back to school. Especially with the cost of tuition nowadays.

“What’s on your mind, Sherri Pie?” Mrs. Barbara asked. She’d snatched Sherri out of a daze. “Hmm?” Sherri asked. “Everything alright?” Sherri forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, everything is fine.” Mrs. Barbara raised an eyebrow at her and Sherri laughed. “Me and the husband had a little spat, that’s all.” “Hmm,” Mrs. Barbara said with a nod. “And you know what Mrs. Barbara?” Sherri asked. “What?” she responded. She peeped into the commons space to get a look at the children, then back at Sherri. “I just might owe that man an apology.” Mrs. Barbara laughed. “Well, wives can be wrong sometimes, believe it or not. What was the argument about? If you don’t mind me asking...” Sherri shook her head and rolled her eyes--at herself, of course. “He started talking to me about going back to school, and things like that...and I got really defensive, I think.” “You think?” Sherri sighed again. “I did.” “Do you want to go back to school?” Mrs. Barbara asked. “It would be nice, but it would just be too much right now. With Sid and Chris, and this one...” “Well, I’m gonna stop you right there, Sherri,” Mrs. Barbara said. “It would be nice sounds like you want to go...” “...yeah, well...” “You’ve got us. You’ve got your neighbors. And from what I know of Clyde, that man would put the world on his shoulders for you if he could. You’ve got more support than a lot of people in this world...” Sherri chuckled to herself. “Clyde said something along those lines.” “Well...” Mrs. Barbara said, peeping into the commons space again. “If Clyde and I mirror each other’s thoughts, then he must be right.” Mrs. Barbara winked and walked back into the commons area. Sherri just smiled to herself. ____________________ Sherri and Sid returned home at about 2:30. “Can I watch TV, Mommy?” Sid asked. “Sure, baby,” Sherri said. She put her purse on the coffee table, turned on the television and flipped straight to PBS. Then, she made her way to the kitchen to hang her keys on the HOME hook. A familiar greeting card was sitting on the counter. On the front, it said “For You, Just Because. Blood rushed to Sherri’s cheeks, and she opened the card.

Her handwriting was on the right side, and read: Honeybunch, I love you and I appreciate you. Thank you for loving me and taking care of me. I know you’re feeling down now, but I want you to know that I’m always here, and I want to take care of you just as much as you do me. Love You, Sherri New handwriting was on the left side of it: 10/12/2027 Babygirl, I love you with ever fiber of my being. And I’ll never stop taking care you. No matter how much you take on, be it a little or a lot, I’m always going to carry it all with you. I just want you to be happy. And I want you to believe in yourself just as much as I do. If not more. Love You More, Honeybunch Butterflies fluttered in Sherri’s belly. She gave her little bump a rub and read Clyde’s message one more time before closing the card. Then, she walked into the living room, joined Sid on the sofa, and pulled the raven-haired middle child into her arms. “Goodness, I can’t believe Arthur is still comin’ on...” she said. ____________________ TAG LIST @aloneandsleepless @direnightshade @finn-ray-nal-beads @a-true-janian-reply @thegreenmatt @sister-winter73 @loewsy55 @mariesackler @clydes-hole @sydneyssmut @kirah36 @lovelyyandtired @morby @tsarinastorm @clydes-hole Tag List request post

#clyde x sherri #The Distant Future #the weight

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bostoniangirl85 · 3 years

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Inspector Gadget (80s verse) fanfic preview

This follows directly from this scene. Penny is 16, a few days shy of 17, and finally gives Quimby and the other Powers-That-Be a piece of her mind.^^

Note: No incest here, just a lot of strong family-feels involving a cyborg who can’t experience human touch the same way other people can, and one very protective, pissed-off niece. ;)

When Quimby knocked on their hotel room door later that night and received no answer, he cautiously opened the door, somewhat surprised to find it unlocked. Gadget had been ferociously protective of Penny since they had been reunited and the fact that he had forgotten to lock the door spoke to how exhausted the man must be.

There was a lamp still on in the far corner of the room, casting a soft, golden glow in the small, dingy room. Penny was stirring in the bed, blinking in confusion at the chief. Quimby was somewhat startled to see Gadget curled up next to her on top of the covers, one arm draped over Penny as he snored softly, utterly exhausted.

Not wanting to wake an over-protective cyborg, Quimby silently gestured to the girl that he wanted a word with her in private. Penny nodded and he watched, bemused and a bit disconcerted, as the girl wiggled out from underneath her uncle’s arm.

Gadget mumbled something in his sleep, stirring. Quimby tensed but before he could say or do anything Penny leaned down and stroked Gadget’s mussed hair, stilling him. He watched as the girl kissed her uncle’s brow before following Quimby out into the hallway.

“What do you want, Chief Quimby?” said Penny, her expression unreadable. Her face was pale and drawn and she looked very frail in the oversized bathrobe, t-shirt, and shorts she was wearing.

Quimby sighed. “Penny, listen. I’m glad you’re safe but I have to agree with Fred on this. You need to get some space from your uncle.” Penny stared at him for a moment before speaking.

“How dare you,” she said, her voice low and furious. “How dare you.”

“Penny,” sighed Quimby, taking his pipe out of his mouth as he frowned at the furious teenager. “You’ve been through a lot, and we think...” She cut him off before he could finish. “You have no right to judge my uncle, or my relationship with him. None.” “Penny, listen...” “No, you listen, Chief Quimby.”

Quimby stared in surprise. Penny had never been so rude to him before. But then, she wasn’t ten years old anymore either, he reminded himself.

“I’m not a little child anymore, and I am done with letting you, Fred, Interpol, and everyone else play games with my uncle’s life, and mine too. He’s a human being, not a machine or toy that you can use and toss away once you’ve finished with it!”

Quimby was starting to look more than a little intimidated and it would have been almost funny if Penny hadn’t been halfway to tears. “And furthermore,” she continued, her voice shaking with emotion, “he is the best man I know. He’s not perfect but at least he’s honest, which is more than can be said for you, the Metro PD, Interpol, and whoever else was in on this!” “Now see here, Penny-” “No! I’m almost seventeen and I’ll be damned if I let you take away my only family, or keep hurting him.”

“Listen, Penny, all they were suggesting was that you and Gadget get some space from each other, given everything that’s happened these past few months...” “Which never would have happened if his memories and mental functions hadn’t been suppressed in the first place!”

“He’s too dependent on you! You’re too close to each other! It’s not healthy, not nor-”

Quimby stopped, knowing he was toeing a very thin line.

“Not normal?” Penny finished in a soft, sad voice, the anger gone. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

Quimby couldn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on his cold pipe. Penny was silent for a moment before speaking again.

“Do you know he can barely feel anything with his hands?” The chief looked up, stunned. “I-I didn’t...he never mentioned...” “No, he wouldn’t have. But did you even bother to ask?” Quimby looked away, flushing with shame.

“You think I haven’t heard some of the ugly things people have said about him over the years? And about me?” Quimby looked up at that, shock in his face. He hadn’t known... Penny sagged, suddenly looking small and very vulnerable. “It’s gotten better over the past few years - that’s why he always wears gloves, you know - but I had always wondered as a child why he never really held me.” Quimby was stunned. He had no idea.

“Uncle Gadget’s never said so outright, but I know he’s afraid of hurting me. Do you know he actually once calculated how many pounds per square inch of force he can exert with just his hands?” “Penny...”

“That’s why it’s easier for him to show physical affection in other ways...he still has most of his nerve endings in his face...at least they didn’t take all feeling away from him,” Penny added bitterly, swiping a tear away as she spoke.

Quimby had heard enough. This was getting far too personal. “Alright, Penny, now just calm down...” “Don’t talk to me like I’m still a child, Chief Quimby. I’ve heard enough of that from Fred. I don’t need to hear it from you.” Quimby closed his mouth, stunned.

“I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. Imagine if you couldn’t experience touch like other people could - that you could never be certain if you were holding your wife or son too tightly. That’s what my uncle feels. He’s never said so out loud but I know him.” Penny paused and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

“My uncle has always treated me with kindness and respect. He’s never once done anything to make me uncomfortable, even when his memories were still locked down.

“He’s cared for me when I was sick, comforted me when I had nightmares, made sure I ate well, did well in school, everything a parent should do. And all without any help from anyone.” Quimby was now feeling thoroughly ashamed. “I...Penny...” “And after all of that, the least I can do is let him show me physical affection the only way he knows how - the only way he feels safe doing so. I know he worries about hurting me and he’d rather kiss me on the head or hand than hold me, and that is more than fine with me.”

She stopped, breathing hard. Quimby couldn’t think of a single thing to say in his defense.

“And you have the nerve to stand there and repeat those...those ugly...” Penny paused and swallowed hard. “Insinuations,” was the only word she could think of.

“Penny, no one meant...” “Oh, they meant it, Chief Quimby, and I think you did too. I saw the look on your face earlier.” The chief sighed. “You’re right, Penny. But I still think you need some space from him.”

“If that’s the case, then I’m too dependent on him as well.

“Uncle Gadget, Brain, and I may not be a ‘normal’ family, but we’re all three outcasts in some way. I wouldn’t trade that for anything, but if we’re too dependent on each it’s because everyone else has shunned us in some way.”

“I’m not sure I can let this go, Penny.” “You can and you will.” “Are you threatening me, young lady?” Quimby snapped back, trying to regain control of the conversation. “No, I’m actually blackmailing you,” she quipped back, smiling grimly as he jaw dropped open.

“When I was thirteen I was nearly taken away from my uncle. I’m not going to let that happen again. I’m not sure what Uncle Gadget plans to do now that he’s resigned, but we’ll take it one day at a time.” Quimby shook his head. “You’re just as stubborn as your uncle.” “Yes, and I learned other things from him as well - things like honesty, duty, and always standing up for other people, even if doing so makes you unpopular.”

She turned on her heel to go back to the warmth and safety of her uncle’s arms, Quimby’s tired voice trailing behind her.

“For what it’s worth, I was trying to protect you both,” said Quimby quietly. Penny nodded.

“I do understand that, truly, Chief. And I am grateful for that.” “Penny.” She stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I know this probably won’t mean much now, but...Gadget did a fine job raising you.”

She turned around at that. Quimby looked old and tired but he managed to give her a small smile.

“Yes, he did.”

#inspector gadget #inspector gadget 80s #penny gadget #chief quimby #gadget finds out #protective inspector gadget #inspector gadget fanfic #fanfic preview #A Man's Worth

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lumosinlove · 5 years

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Sweater Weather

part iii

Remus didn’t always have too much time for it, but there was nothing he liked more than sitting on the bench and watching Gryffindor City’s Hogwarts Stadium fill up with red and gold. The waves of chatter got louder and the seats filled, and it was a nice balance to the energy in the locker room as he walked back down the tunnel and through the doors, leaning against the wall with Moody. There, in case they were needed, but out of the way.

Even more than watching the fans, he liked watching the boys get ready. Kasey was down on all fours in a butterfly squat, full-pads making his body look huge and his head look tiny. Leo was down the hall some, throwing two balls against the wall and catching them quickly. Remus’ eyes blurred after watching for a minute and he looked away. Which turned out to be a mistake in itself.

Sirius was sitting in his stall, shirtless and knees spread to accommodate the stick he was taping between them. He didn’t have any of his pads on yet, typical Sirius, who always had to get ready at the last minute because he spent so much time on his stretches and sticks. He was just in his underarmour, the tight material leaving absolutely nothing to imagination. He had a Lions’ hat on backwards and stray strands of hair were sticking out of the front, casting shadows on his cheeks. He stuck his tongue out and wound the tape carefully around the blade of his stick, checking for wrinkles and creases every other turn. James was saying something to him with broad hand gestures, probably a play he wanted to get perfect tonight.

They all wanted to get everything perfect tonight. It was the home opener. The crowd would be wild, and the pressure would be on. Remus loved every second of it and he knew the boys did, too.

James let out a loud whoop then, clapping his hands together and and throwing his helmet on even though his pads were still hanging in his stall. “Let’s fucking go, tonight, eh boys? Durmstrang fuckers won’t know what hit them.”

He was met with a series answering shouts of approval, all of which amplified when Coach Weasley appeared through the locker room doors with the large lion on it. He grinned and held up a little slip of paper, tonight’s line up.

“Pots, since you’re already standing, why don’t you do the honors?” Arthur said, handing James the paper.

James hit his helmet on his head. “Alright, let’s see. Starting tonight,” the boys yelled and James dropped down a little, knees bent and voice low like the commentators, “in the cage,” there was another round of shouts and James wound up his arm and then bounded over to Kasey, “we have the man named for the sport of hockey itself, Kasey Winter.”

There were a series of “Yeah, Kase!” and “Be the fucking blizzard!” before James could continue.

“Next we have…on your left, Harzy!”

Harzy looked up from where he was lacing his skates with a little salute to the cheers.

“On your right,” James smiled around at them all, so wide that Remus could see where one of his outer bottom teeth was still missing, just out of sight. He pressed a hand to his own chest, “yours truly.”

“Alright, Potty-mouth!” Kasey shouted the nickname James had earned himself for his relentless chirping on the ice, name-calling and poking fun until the refs eventually had to call him on it.

“Your favorite D-man pairing, Kaner and our resident Finland-man, Olli!”

Timmy Kane and Olli Halla did some strange, complicated handshake.

“And your center tonight…the man, the myth, the one who holds the record for most marriage proposals by teenage girls at the glass,” Remus laughed at that and James ran back over to Sirius, pretending to take his stick just to see him flinch back, and taking his hat instead and placing it on top of his own helmet, “oh captain, my captain, Sirius mother-fucking Black!”

Everyone clapped a little, Arthur shaking his head fondly and Moody letting James run over and touch his leg for good luck, per tradition, and then it was really business time. There was some calmer chatter as everyone got into their gear and laced up, getting into the right headspace for a game.

Remus rifled through his own inventory in his head, making sure he would be prepared on the bench. He had extra blades for everyone, laces, sterile gauze, and a little box for teeth which he’d learned to keep the hard way (Olli Halla spitting a few directly into his open palm). He took one last look around the locker room before heading back to the mouth of the tunnel at the bench where the guys would pass on their way out for their lap-around introductions under the lights and warm ups. He could see some of the Durmstrang equipment guys over on their bench, and they exchanged nods that were friendly enough. Eagles games were always odd, not just for the competition—they had nothing compared to Lion and Snake games—but because their colors were nearly identical, and so the away-team always had to wear their more solid colored third-jerseys. Remus was glad they were on home-ice, so the Eagles would be the ones stuck in their nearly all goldish-yellow uniform, not the Lions.

Remus looked up at the stands, figuring his parents were out there somewhere, trying to keep Julian at bay, who was no doubt in his BLACK jersey and bouncing out of his shoes with excitement. At nine years old, Remus sometimes wondered if his little brother was a bigger Lions fan than even him, despite living halfway across the country from them.

He had a sudden fantasy of bringing Jules back to the locker room and Sirius being there, maybe James, too, and Sirius would give Jules a hockey stick maybe, and then smile at Remus—

“What’s with the face?”

Remus started, looking at Moody who had brought out the fresh bottles of gatorade and water.

“What? What face? Nothing.” Remus reached forward and started to help him line the bench with them. “I wasn’t making a face.”

“Alright, at ease.” Moody laughed a little. “Jeez, Lupin.”

Remus desperately tried to change the subject, “How’s the lucky leg?”

Moody scoffed, giving it a stomp. “It’s been kissed by Harzy, that’s what. Fucking crazy-ass.”

Remus laughed and sat down on the bench, looking up towards the jumbo-screen where they were showing a video of a few of the guys saying what they did that summer. James was on, giving a typically sarcastic answer. Something about hamburgers. When Sirius’ faces came on next there was a positive roar from the crowd and Remus felt flushed with their enthusiasm. Gryffindor loved their Captain, and they were just as eager to avenge him as the team was. It was pretty fucking thrilling to sit and watch it all, but if he could, Remus would be out there on the ice, fighting to get Sirius ever goal and point he could. He pushed that thought down just as the lights shut off and the music stopped, signaling the beginning of the Lions’ entry onto the ice, their first of the season. Remus’ heart pounded.

“Gryffindor!” boomed Frank Longbottom’s voice, one of their beloved announcer. Frank came with the team on the road, along with Marlene McKinnon. Butts and Kinzy were well loved by the team, and, maybe unfortunately for them, the subjects of many pranks, but Remus was sure they loved the boys’ attention as much as he himself did. The crowed boomed back in response and then the jumbo-screen bloomed to life, along with the lights and the lasers that streaked across the crowd and ice.

“Are you ready?” Frank asked the stadium, and then the jumbo-screen started counting down from ten with loud booms that quickly developed into a bass-heavy song.

“Ten…nine…” Remus found himself smiling, mumbling the numbers under his breath.

“Your Gryffindor Lions!” Frank drew out the words and the lights went crazy as the boys appeared down the tunnel.

Kasey came first, goalie mask propped on top of his head as he skated out onto the ice. Then Timmy, Finn, Leo…Olli, Brady, Evgeni, Kris, Tyler…

They all looped around the rink, warming up and pounding on the glass, laughing when the crowd pounded back. Remus liked watching the rookies the most, their eyes alight with the attention and praise.

And finally James, always second to last, and then Sirius, always last. Remus watched him come all the way down the tunnel, just in time for his name to be read out by Frank. Sirius raised his glove and knocked it into a few of the kid’s fists who had made it down by the glass, before scampering back up to their parents, delighted with having received a fist-bump.

Remus didn’t expect Sirius to look back at him, but for the split second between him being beside the bench and him being on the ice, their eyes met. And Sirius dropped a wink. And he was gliding away, dropping to one knee as he went and raising his stick a little, drawing screams from the crowd. They were happy to have him back. Sirius was cocky, and Remus didn’t like to admit that he loved that, but he did.

Sirius belonged on the ice, that much had always been clear, and when he wasn’t there, something was out of gear. Everything felt settled now, ready.

The lights came up after a bit and then Eagles filtered on, too, taking shots at their goalie. Victor Krum crossed center ice and met Sirius where he was talking to James, offering a somewhat stiff hand. Sirius smiled, so Remus guessed he had welcomed him back. The Eagles were good like the Snakes, but they weren’t assholes like they were. Remus watched Sirius pluck at Krum’s shoulder, no doubt chirping him for the bright yellow color, and Krum laughed, nudging him back and skating away.

Kasey was busy nesting his goal, scraping up the crease with his long goalie skate blades and catching the boys’ practice shots. Remus watched him for a minute, always enjoying how specific and protective Kasey was of his goal (he patted his posts whenever a puck got knocked askew by one, for god’s sake), but soon his attention was—predictably—dragged away by Sirius. Sirius had a routine, a strict routine, and there was few things Remus loved more than watching him go through it. Remus wasn’t sure he even knew about all of it, but he wanted to. He knew Sirius had to tape his own sticks, do specific stretches in a specific order, had to put his left skate on first, and during warm-ups he had to trace the Lions logo with a puck. He knew Sirius liked to have two pieces of toast with butter and honey an hour before games. Remus wished he knew more, secretly. He wanted to know how long Sirius’ pre-game nap was and what he looked like when he woke up from it—

“Earth to Remus Lupin.”

Remus’ slowly spiraling fantasy was abruptly cut off by James waving a glove in his face.

“What?” Remus stood up. “Sorry, what’s up, what do you need? James, face-off’s in like two seconds, you’re on first shift.”

“I just want some gatorade and it’s all red.” James practically pouted.

Remus huffed out a laugh and handed him a blue, shifting to the side as the other team members shuffled down the bench, coach Weasley slapping a few of them on the back. “There, now go!”

James whooped and skated off to take his position. Sirius was at center ice, eye to eye with Krum, the ref between them with the puck. They crouched, eyes on the puck, and Remus said a soft prayer to whatever god anyone could believe in.

The ref dropped the puck, and the game began.

Remus was on his feet the entire time. He was meant to be watching for any trip-ups, any hard hits, anything that might need to be looked at. Instead, he kept catching himself just enjoying the game, standing behind the bench. Sirius came careening over the boards, tapping Brady’s butt as he jumped onto the ice to replace him, and sat down heavily in front of Remus. He turned, sweat dripping down his temples.

“iPad,” he said, and one of the assistant coaches held it out to him. Sirius stayed turned, brow intense as he watched a replay of his latest shift, and so Remus got to study his profile. He loved Sirius in the heat of a game, loved how fast he talked. He leaned over to explain something to Olli, who leaned in like if he didn’t catch every word, he’d parish. Everyone on the team tended to listen to Sirius like that, like he was their leader through thick and thin.

“How’m I doing?” Sirius said as he handed the iPad back. Remus assumed he was talking to the coaches until Sirius’ eyes fell on him.

“Me?” Remus asked—stupidly.

Sirius smiled, “You.”

“You look great out there. You know you look great out there.”

James laughed, whacking Remus lightly in the stomach with his glove. “Way to call him on it, Loops.” Then the whole bench leaned back as Brady shoved an Eagles player nearly over the boards and into the bench. The crowd loved it, and James banged his stick on the boards after them. “Way to go, Shady-Brady!”

They were gone shortly after that, Coach calling for short shifts for the end of the first period.

“Keep ‘em coming boys, keep this lead!” he was shouting.

The Lions were up 3-1, and the atmosphere was electric. Remus loved this. It was the closest thing to being on top of the world there was, he thought. Suddenly, Sirius was on a breakaway up the ice off of a clean pass from Harzy. He skirted around number 16, number 3, with hard edges, and then he was nearly at the net—

Krum came out of nowhere, slamming Sirius into the boards.

Remus was on his feet in a second, pressing up behind Tyler and Evgeni on the bench.

It was a clean hit, but it felt like ages before Sirius got up. Remus didn’t even watch Krum take the puck, didn’t watch Kasey miss it, didn’t watch their goal-horn light up, didn’t watch the scoreboard change to read 3-2. He didn’t watch the Eagles celebrate.

He watched Sirius skate towards the bench. It was just for a shift change, but Remus looked over every part of him, checking for a limp, a wince, anything. He looked okay. James was on him in a second, skating shoulder to shoulder and talking to him. Sirius was nodded, even smiling a little, but Remus could tell he was shaken. To have something like that happen in the first game, and when he’d just gotten back…

The stadium filled with booing that felt like it shook the walls.

Sirius took his seat on the bench, but before Remus could get through his teammates and to him, the buzzer signaling the end of the first period was sounding and everyone was filing off the ice and back into the locker room. Good, Remus thought. He’d ask to see Sirius, he’d check him out fully, just to be safe.

Marlene was waiting for Coach at the end of the tunnel.

“Hey Arthur, who can we have for media?” she asked.

“Not Black,” Remus stepped in, “I want to check that hit.”

Coach nodded, “right. You can have Pots, or Kasey, I think.”

Marlene nodded and shot Remus a smile, which he returned tightly as he pushed between them and into the locker room. Sirius looked up at him almost immediately, like he had been waiting.

Remus only had to jerk his head towards the quiet and training rooms, before Sirius was getting up and following him. Remus held the door open to the quiet room. It was technically for concussion testing and protocol, and Remus hadn’t seen Sirius hit his head, but better safe than sorry. Sirius stepped inside and Remus closed the door.

“How do you feel?” Remus asked, then pointed to the padded observation table. “Sit there. I’m going to check your ankle and your head.”

“Loops—”

“Does anything else hurt?”

“Remus.”

Remus looked up.

Sirius loomed over him anyway, but he practically towered over him while wearing skates. Remus nearly had to crane his neck.

“What?” Remus asked, a little breathlessly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t a bad hit.”

“I know. But given your recent history I want to make sure everything’s fine.”

Sirius sat down on the bench and took his helmet off, laying it to the side along with his gloves while Remus bent to start unlacing his skates. Remus’ heart was still pounding, and Sirius’ gray desperate eyes filled his head. He wouldn’t be helpless this time. He’d fixed Sirius’ broken bone, and he wouldn’t let anything go amiss, not now.

“Durmstrang’s always a tough one to call, eh? Sometimes they’re brilliant and sometimes they’re…”

“Angry?” Remus supplied, carefully sliding Sirius’ skates off of his feet before rising.

Sirius laughed a little, “Yeah. For sure, yeah.”

“Look here.” Remus held up a small flashlight and a finger. Sirius looked, but right at Remus, not his finger. A small smile was still lingering on his face. “My finger, Black.”

Sirius laughed again but obeyed this time.

“When’s your birthday?”

“November third.” Sirius supplied easily.

“When is Pots’ birthday?”

“March twenty-seventh. When’s your birthday, Re?”

Remus chest fluttered a little. He clicked off the flashlight, satisfied. “March tenth.”

“Hey, you and James are birthday-buddies.”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Raise your arms. Touch your—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Sirius obediently brought his fingers to his nose and back out again a few times, then, without prompt, got up and walked in a straight line, toe to heel, and turned and looked at Remus expectantly.

Remus narrowed his eyes at him. “And your ankle? Tell me the truth.”

“Fine.” Sirius smiled and sat down in one of the chairs in the room to start getting his skates back on. “Really, Loops, I’m alright. It probably looked worse than it was.”

“It took you a bit to get up.”

Sirius shrugged down at his laces, digging his heel in to pull them tight, “I’ll admit, I was a little surprised. It’s the first real time I got hit since…you know. Since Snape. But you said it yourself,” He looked up at Remus then, sweat damp hair falling into his eyes a little, cheeks flushed, “can’t let the fear get to me, can I?”

Remus swallowed dryly. “Right. Yeah.” He watched Sirius until he was standing again and pulling his gloves back on, tucking his helmet beneath his arm. “Right, right. Sorry.” He opened the door, “Have a good second period, okay?”

Sirius paused beside him in the doorway, tall as ever with his skates back on and looking down at Remus. “Hey.”

Remus looked up at him. Sirius had a funny expression on his face, something soft and determined.

“Don’t ever say sorry for helping me,” Sirius’ voice was low when he said the words.

Remus caught one last glimpse of the odd expression, and then Sirius was gone, enveloped back into the energetic mass of the team.

They won 5-3, Sirius with three points, two goals and one assist, in the second and third period.

The locker room was ecstatic afterwards, and Remus was kneeling to tape up Kasey’s thigh for him when Arthur came out with the lion head. The lion head was this seasons team token, of sorts, an object that got past around the locker room after every game, depending on who played best that night. For the first game of the season, Coach was the one who handed it out. After that it would go from player to player. This year, the object looked like an overly-furry lion-mane and nose, maybe from some poor, cotton stuffed animal, sewed onto a baseball cap. Remus grimaced just looking at it. He didn’t want to think about how sweaty and disgusting that thing was going to become by the end of the season.

“Great game, boys. Great start to the beginning of the season.” There were some cheering and Arthur smiled, waving his hand, “As you know, it is my pride and joy making our season tokens.”

“What section of the wall is last year’s going on?” James said, making everyone laugh. Arthur’s creation last year had been a monstrous blend between a gladiator helmet that had a yarn lion tale glued to the back of it.

“Front and center, thanks for asking.” Coach said. “This year, we have…”

Kasey started a drumroll which the entire locker room eventually joined in on.

“Lion-cap. Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Arthur held it up. “And tonight…I’ve got to give it to the captain, don’t I?”

“Yeah you do!” James pounded the wall of his stall with his fist.

“Quite a hit, and beauties of goals. Sirius.”

Sirius laughed as he walked forward, just his underarmour on again, and put the hat on, crouching into a ridiculous pose so that James could take a picture. He looked hilarious in it, the mane fluffing out around his ears and the nose resting on the brim.

“Thanks, Coach.” He said, and then handed it off to Remus for safe keeping, per tradition. Remus was always put in charge of bring the token on roadies, and keeping track of who got it when.

Remus felt his phone buzz in his pocket and was pulled abruptly from the bubble of the team when he saw his mom’s name flash up. He slapped a hand to Kasey’s shoulder, telling him he was done, and slipped out of the locker room to answer.

“Hey, mum.”

“Hi, baby. Great game!”

“It was,” Remus smiled. “I’ll be right out to get you guys and we can get ice cream or something. I just have to—”

“Remus?”

Remus pressed the phone to his shoulder, turning on his heel back to the locker room. Sirius was standing there, head poking out and smiling a smile that looked almost—shy.

“Yeah? Hold on, mum—Sorry, can I help?”

“Bring them back,” Sirius said.

“Huh?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Your family. Bring them back, show them the locker room and stuff.”

“Oh.” Remus’ heart beat. He would love that. Julian would freak out. “Oh, I don’t want—”

“C’mon, the boys would love it. We can sign a jersey and stuff, or a stick.”

Remus’ mouth hung open for a minute before he heard himself say, “okay,” and Sirius grinned before retreating. Remus didn’t move until he heard his mom’s voice in his ear. He blinked a few times and raised his phone back up. “Hey, mum, do you want to…would you guys want to come back to the locker room?”

And so here Remus was, his parents and Jules in toe, walking down the all too familiar hallway.

Julian bounced up beside Remus, both hands around his arm. “Are we going to meet Sirius?”

Remus smiled, “probably.”

“Are we going to meet Pots?”

“Yep, him too.”

“Blizzard?”

Remus laughed, “I think you could meet Kasey, sure.”

“Can I take a picture with them?”

“If you say please,” Remus said, because it was definitely what his mom would say. Once they reach the locker room doors, he looked back at his parents. Both were wearing BLACK jerseys, which Remus found unbearably endearing and also slightly embarrassing now that Sirius knew how Remus felt about him as a hockey player. There was no doubt he was going to think Remus had had sway over his parents’ jersey choice. His dad was clutching his phone excitedly to his chest, and Remus couldn’t think why he hadn’t asked to do this sooner. He was glad Sirius had said something, and he’d make sure to tell him thank you later.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready, ready, open the doors!” Julian whisper-yelled.

The sound wave once Remus did hit them like a wall, and Remus heard Jules quiet down a little, maybe with nerves as the reality that this was actually happening set in, and Remus turned around to put a comforting hand on his back. He could see that the media was just leaving out the press door, which Remus was thankful for because it meant that none of the players would be surrounded by cameras. He didn’t want this to look like a photo-op.

He made eye contact with Sirius almost immediately, and tried to smile in a way that didn’t look like he expected Sirius to come over or anything. Sirius had a routine, and that included winding down. He looked like he was about to leave for his twenty minute cool down on one of the stationary bikes, and Remus didn’t want to interrupt that. But then Sirius was grinning and motioning them over.

“Oh.” Julian said softly from beside Remus, and Remus patted his head softly and motioned for his parents to follow him over to Sirius’ stall.

Sirius stood when they got there, grinning warmly.

“Who’s this?” Sirius asked, holding his fist out for a dumbstruck Julian to bump.

“These are my parents, Hope and Lyall, and this is Julian, my brother.” Remus said, smiling a little at Jules’ expression. His heart was pounding. “Say hi, Jules.”

“Hi Padfoot. I mean—” Julian flushed.

Sirius laughed. “You can call me Padfoot if I can call you Jules. You play hockey, bud?”

Julian nodded frantically, “yeah, I’m a center, too.”

“Nice.” Sirius raised his eyes briefly to Remus’ parents and held out his hand for them to shake, “Hi, I’m Sirius.” As if they didn’t know, as if they weren’t wearing his last name on their backs, “Did you all enjoy the game?”

“That was such a nasty hit on you.” Julian said, eyes going from Sirius’ face to his locker to his pads to his stick.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, we hope you’re alright.” Hope said with a very motherly disapproving frown.

Sirius nodded and, to Remus’ surprise, threw an arm around Remus’ shoulder. “Your son took care of me. Remus takes the best care of us, right James?”

James had come over with a protein bar hanging out of his mouth, but took a bite and chewed quickly when he put together who he was speaking to.

“Jesus f—” He looked at Julian whose eyes were practically hearts. “Hi,” James said again, laughing a little at himself, “you must be Loops’ parents.” James looked down at Julian again, “And older brother, I presume? What’s up, man? Here to try out?”

“Yeah.” Julian said softly, clearly barely able to think, and they all laughed.

Remus, on the other hand, was much to pre-occupied with Sirius’ arm which, having slid away from his shoulders, was now briefly a warm, pressing weight between his shoulder blades, before it disappeared completely as he slapped the seat of his stall.

“Well I’m certainly not going to have a spot on this team if you’re playing, so you might as well take a seat. Let’s see, what will he need to be a Lion, Pots?”

James crossed his arms, pretending to think hard. “Jersey, definitely.”

“Oh, two, I’d say.” Sirius added, “And a couple sticks, don’t you think?”

Julian, now seated snuggly in Sirius’ stall, was red-cheeked with happiness.

“On it.” James said, and winked at Remus as he left to get a few of his and Sirius’ jerseys and sticks to sign.

Sirius on the other hand, crouched down to Julian’s level. “Hey, Jules, do you know how awesome your brother is?”

Julian grinned up at Remus, then back at Sirius. “Yeah.”

Sirius nodded back, “He does practically everything for us. Gets us new skate blades, makes sure we have what we need on the road, keeps us healthy.” Then Sirius looked at him with a similarly fond and happy expression that Julian was wearing, and Remus felt a little like he might cry which would be completely and utterly embarrassing. “He’s pretty great.”

Remus felt his own cheeks flush. “Okay, okay, thanks.”

Hope laughed from beside him, squeezing him in a one armed hug. “Never could take a compliment, could you, Re?”

“That was a lot of compliments.” Remus laughed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stop looking at Sirius and Sirius wasn’t looking away.

Remus felt like he was back in Sirius’ car, unsure what it all meant.

“Hey, did you know I’m your brother’s favorite player?” Sirius asked Jules.

“You’re mine, too! We both have your jersey!”

Remus flushed and had to look away from Sirius and his raised eyebrows then, pretending to watch James come back across the locker room with the gear. He didn’t want to hear what Sirius had to say about that.

James and Sirius were both at Julian’s level for a good fifteen minutes, signing things, taking pictures, and talking hockey. Kasey even came over before leaving to sign the jerseys and offer one of his own sticks. Remus didn’t know how Julian was going to carry it all.

His parents eventually left for their hotel with promises to meet him for breakfast the next morning and their favorite pancake spot—really everyone’s favorite pancake spot—in Gryffindor. Remus watched them walk back to their car until they turned out of view, smiling to himself at Jules’ insistence that he carry all three sticks and wear both jerseys at once.

Remus stopped by the exercise room on his way back to lock up the office for the night and, as expected, Sirius was there. He looked fresh off the bike and was on one of the mats, stressing his fingers towards his toes. Remus knocked lightly.

“Hey,” Sirius said with a grin.

“Hi.” Remus walked in a few more paces and leaned against one of the treadmills, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor softly. “I don’t want to interrupt you or anything, but I just wanted to thank you. For earlier. You—You really made my little brother’s life, there. He loves you guys.”

Sirius stood, dusting off his leggings and picked up his water bottle from the floor. “I hope he’s not the only one.”

Remus bit back a smile, and his heart clenched. If only Sirius knew what he was saying.

“Of course,” was all Remus could think of to reply.

“You’re family seems great, Re. Really.”

“They are,” Remus replied before he thought about what that statement probably meant, coming from Sirius. Sirius who didn’t have a family like that. Remus felt guilt and the want to strangle anyone who didn’t love Sirius properly swirl in his chest. Sirius deserved so much. Look what he would do for just one kid who he never even met, for Remus, who he barely knew outside of his work.

“I’m headed out soon.” Sirius said. “Do you need a ride?”

Remus shook his head, “Moody said he’d drive me.”

Even though everything in him was screaming at him to lie and say yes, he didn’t want to explain that to Moody.

“Ah.” Sirius said, nodding. He looked, if not disappointed, something like it. “Okay. Well, let me know, eh? Any time.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” Remus was aware of how soft his voice sounded, but there wasn’t much he could do about it with Sirius’ gray eyes on him.

Sirius smiled, a soft and lopsided thing, and Remus’ heart flipped in his chest. As Sirius left for the showers, Remus got back to his desk. On it, was a hat.

It was a Lions hat, red with gold piping and the gold lion. On the bill, in the gold sharpie that the team used for signing, was a messily scrawled message and a signature. Sirius’ signature, complete with the number twelve.

I’m glad I’m your favorite, it read.

(A/N: Ah, slowly but surely....:)

#sweater weather #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #the marauders era #wolfstar au #harry potter au #lumosinlove #writing #hockey au #hockey player!sirius #trainer!remus #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar angst #wolfstar slow burn #slow burn #ahhhh

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and-justice-for-zoisite · 4 years

Text

𝓣𝔀𝓸 𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓲𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓼 (𝑅𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝑜𝓍 𝓍 𝑀𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈! 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇)

Another Wattpad teaser! I’ll give you the full first chapter for this one, since it’s hard to grasp the story without it. I do hope you all end up enjoying it!

Summary: Being the daughter to a demon butler came with many restrictions to (Y/n) Michaelis's life, but none that affected her as much as when she came into contact with the Grim Reaper Ronald Knox. At first, she promised herself that she wouldn't be fooled by his charming demeanor. But any lady who comes across him is bound to fall into his web, and what is she to do when demon's and grim reaper's are sworn enemies?

What a day the two gardeners of the Phantomhive Manor had had. What a painfully long and tiresome day.

Their orders for the day were to plant the knew shipping of flowers that had been brought into the estate from the other side of the country, and for some strange reason there was close to a thousand separate flowers. What motive Lord Phantomhive had for having so many flowers in his estate's garden was left a mystery, and his two gardeners were to suffer in the English heat as they worked against their will.

Now that it was sundown, they'd decided to take a break, considering they had so little energy and so little flowers left to plant. Who was 'they', you ask? Their names were Finnian and (Y/n).

With an unnecessarily loud sigh shared between the two of them, they flopped onto a nearby bench, and took a moment to gather themselves. They rested even though they knew that they weren't supposed to on account of the consequences that would follow for taking an unscheduled break. These consequences would be provided by the Head Butler, (Y/n)'s father, Sebastian Michaelis. And (Y/n) knew that just because she was his daughter, he wouldn't go any easier on her.

"Man...I'm beat. And we're not even done yet," Finny whined in his thick british accent as he wiped the sweat from his forehead in a single swift movement. "I'm still baffled as to why the Young Master had so many flowers shipped to the manor, it's almost as if he has a death wish to us," (Y/n) sighed in her slightly more formal accent as she slowly stretched her arms out in front of herself before letting them simply fall onto the wooden table before her, "While they are a rather beautiful touch to the garden, they are also much too much work in my opinion." "Yeah...and just think about the maintenance as well. We'll get halfway through watering them all and we'll drop dead," Finny joked in a worn out voice, leaning back against the table as he let his hand fall over his face.

(Y/n) thought about that statement. While she knew it was simply a joke, she couldn't help but think about how ironic that was, considering the fact that she was a demon and demon's simply couldn't just 'drop dead'. But you'd also think that if she's a demon, she'd be more than capable of taking care of a garden as large as the one they were in the process of making. That was incorrect. (Y/n) was only young, and was still trying to get a hold of her own powers. While she was graceful, and talented, like her father, big projects such as the garden were a bit overwhelming for her powers.

"Well, we better get back to work. If father catches us, he'll give us hell-"

"And it is hell you are about to receive."

(Y/n) and Finnian whipped their heads around violently upon hearing a voice with a statement that they wish they hadn't. Standing by one of the doors to the Manor was the Head Butler, Sebastian Michaelis, looking as if he hadn't done a single second of work. But (Y/n) knew he had, he was just efficient that way. Upon his face was a rather stern look, he very much disliked seeing servants slack off, especially when it was his daughter, whom he had very high expectations of. But what he didn't understand was that they had done honest work, and very much deserved a break.

"You're supposed to be planting the last of the new shipment of flowers, yet what I've come to find is that the two of you have skived off that last duty and it seems that you seek to circumvent it," He said in a serious tone as he approached the two, slowly, intimidatingly, before he stopped in front of them and crossed his arms, "I do wish for an explanation if you have one."

(Y/n) would be lying if she said she wasn't intimidated by her father. Just because she, herself was a demon, it didn't mean she didn't feel threatened whenever he gave her that closed eyed smirk, or when he glared daggers at her. Because not only was he superior in terms of status, but he was also superior in terms of power.

"M-my apologies Father...we were taking a short break, considering the fact that we've worked the entire day without a single break, and..." She held up her bare hands. They were cut up from the thorns of the roses, bruised from the tools she used and dirty for reasons that are obvious, "...I forgot to hang out my gloves after washing them yesterday, a-and my hands have taken quite the toll." Sebastian's tone softened slightly, and he uncrossed his arms. "That was rather imprudent of you, my dear," He sighed, a small smile coming to his lips as he approached his daughter, placing an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him tiredly, and he found it in him to not reproach the two of them for the day. They were weary, and he knew better than to work his fellow servants beyond their capabilities. "Alright then, I suppose I can spare you both the lecture," He decided as he drew short circles on (Y/n)'s shoulder with his hand, "It's best you two come inside, it is getting dark after all. Your evening chores await you."

"Yes sir," The two gardeners sighed as they hopped up from off the bench and began inside, alongside Sebastian.

They were relieved to know that their big day was nearly over. All that was left to do was a few small chores about the Manor and they'd finally be able to take a bath and go to bed. And luckily enough for (Y/n), she had a caring father who was willing to clean up the small injuries that her hands bared from the hard day of work, even though it was her fault that they were even present in the first place. But then again, what kind of a butler would he be if he couldn't fix his own daughter's simple injuries up?

"You really should learn to be a little less impetuous, (Y/n)," Sebastian sighed as he ran a warm, wet cloth over the said, (Y/n)'s, hands, sat beside her at a table in the servants quarters with his chair facing hers. "I wouldn't call it being impetuous, father. I'm just...a little neglectful, maybe," She debated in a soft, tired voice, staring down at her hands as Sebastian worked on fixing them. "In saying that, there's a fine line between being impetuous and being neglectful. In my opinion, it'd be best if you were neither," He demurred as he placed the cloth on the table before picking up a pair of silver tweezers and letting the girl's hands rest in his lap, now looking to pull out any splinters he could find, "But you know that I love you no matter what, don't you?" (Y/n) let a small smile grace her lips as her eyes moved from her hands to her father. "Of course, I probably wouldn't be here if you didn't, considering the young master didn't seem to like me very much in the beginning."

That was no lie. The Earl Ciel Phantomhive didn't at all like the idea of a second demon in the household, he found it far too troublesome and nearly forced Sebastian to disown his daughter. But when (Y/n) presented him with her elegance and skill, he became less reluctant, and now seemed to favor her of all servants. Strange but...she didn't mind the perks that came of being the favorite.

"Yet now he seems to favor you of all of us. Children can be so indecisive, it certainly makes my life rather difficult," Sebastian sighed, having finished pulling all of the little splinters he could find from the girl's skin, now cleaning it once more before beginning to apply band-aids. "That's what you get for making a contract with a brat, father," (Y/n) teased, the man chuckling softly as he continued to wrap band-aids around her fingers. "Don't let him hear you say that, or next thing you know you'll have a few darts and a tea cup hurtling toward you," Sebastian jested as he applied the last band-aid, the father and daughter sharing a short burst of laughter before he packed up the small amount of medical equipment.

"Now, you best begin your evening chores, dear. Help Mey-rin with the washing, and remember to hang your gloves out this time," He said as he pushed the hair away from (Y/n)'s forehead before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to the space above her eyes, "Daddy loves you, kitten. Now off you go." (Y/n) smiled sweetly as she stood up, kissed her hand and then placed it upon her father's head, letting it 'sink in' before she took her hand back and began out, ready to begin her evening chores as per usual.

(Y/n) let out a long, drawn out sigh as she allowed herself to sink into the warm waters that the bath in the servant's quarter's held, enjoying the way the heat loosened up her tense joints and muscles. It was always the warm bath at the end of the day that the she-demon looked forward to the most, it was her chance to think while she was in a relaxed state of mind. But today, it seemed a little less relaxing. Since Sebastian had covered her hands in band-aids, courtesy of the cuts the roses provided, she had to keep her hands out of the water. And if that wasn't bad enough, a sort of demon 'growing pain' was starting to cause her grief.

Present upon the back of (Y/n)'s left hand was what appeared to be a splotchy red sort of rash type thing. But upon further inspection, it seemed to be in the shape of a pentagram, one that would soon match the one present on Sebastian's left hand. Since she was nearly old enough to have the ability to form contracts with humans, her Faustian symbol was beginning to show through her skin. It was a painful process, but Sebastian assured her that it wouldn't last too long. Once it fully appeared, she was told she'd have to wear gloves constantly, which wouldn't be too much of an issue considering she is one of the two gardeners of the Phantomhive Estate.

Her eyes glowed crimson as they wandered over the appearing mark upon (Y/n)'s hand. Sometimes she saw it as a blessing, sometimes she saw it as a curse. Why? Well, sometimes she liked to imagine what it would've been like if she was born into a human family. She'd have been able to enjoy the simpler things in life, like wearing pretty dresses and owning pretty items. But it wasn't like that at all. She had a sadistic father who enjoyed watching human's go corrupt and tear each other's throats out, and that's what her 190 000 years of living was subjected to. Watching humans start wars and kill each other over the most petty things. But that was where (Y/n) saw it as a blessing. Being a demon meant that she had proper control over her emotions and thoughts, unlike humans who are too complex for their own good. She didn't have to worry about going corrupt, because no demon ever had, and no demon ever would.

"(Y/n), are you done in there yet? I'm still covered in dirt."

(Y/n)'s thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voice of her fellow gardener, Finny, who was present on the other side of the bathroom door, clearly eager to have a bath as well. She realized that she must've lost track of time, she did that a lot when it came to her thoughts. "Oh-I'm sorry Finny, I'll be out in just a second," She apologised as she stood up in the bath, the water splashing slightly as she stepped out and grabbed her towel. Once she had dried herself, (Y/n) realized that she had forgotten her clothes. It seemed that her absent-mindedness was getting worse by the minute, and she quietly scolded herself before she tended to the door and met Finny on the other side. When he noticed that she didn't have any clothes, he laughed. "Forget your clothes again, huh?" He teased, the girl blushing in embarrassment as she tightened the towel. "Just another bad habit I need to drop. Anyways," She got around him and began pushing him into the bathroom, "get in there. You sir, are stinky." Quickly closing the door behind Finny, (Y/n) sighed before she began making her way toward the room she shared with Mey-rin, hoping to get there without bumping into anyone so she could at least keep a little bit of her dignity.

Luckily for her, (Y/n) managed to get to her room without the embarrassment of meeting someone else on her way, and as fast as she could, she got dressed into her white silk night gown, purely because she wanted to get into bed as soon as possible. But not all she wanted to achieve that night was sleep. No, not at all. Her plans were a little more complex than that...

2:34 am.

Now was her chance.

Her chance for what?

(Y/n)'s chance to sneak out of the manor and stretch her wings.

The girl had gained the ability of flight not too long ago, when she had to endure another lot of demon growing pains that were much worse than her contract pains, as her wings grew and spouted from her back. They were beautiful black feathered wings, much like a raven's wings, and she could pull them in and out of her back at will. She was yet to gain the ability of full transformation into a raven, like her father could, but she was content with simply the wings for now.

(Y/n) looked across the room at Mey-rin's bed and checked for signs of life. The red haired woman seemed to be out cold, a good thing on (Y/n)'s part as she carefully slid her blanket off and turned so that her feet were now dangling off her bed. Slowly, she let her feet down to the wooden floor, making sure to avoid any squeaky spots as she took to her feet and began tip-toeing as quickly and quietly as she could out the door. Once she had made it out of her room successfully, she stood still for a moment, listening out for any movement that would give her away. Demon's have extremely sharp hearing, and that was both an advantage and a disadvantage for (Y/n) in that moment, considering that if she made even the smallest noise then her father would catch her sneaking out. And if that happened, then she'd be in more trouble than she could ever imagine.

When she didn't hear anything, (Y/n) continued down the hallways of the servants quarters, and within a few good minutes, made it to one of the exits. She let herself wonder out into the garden to give herself some space, and once she was in the very center of it all, she knelt down so that she was closer to the ground. Reaching behind herself, her hands found the buttons to her nightgown and were now unbuttoning it, leaving it at halfway before they returned to in front of her and rested palms down on the grassy ground. She knew the next bit would hurt, but only a little bit. So, (Y/n) closed her eyes, and gave her mind entirely to the thought of flight. Within only a few seconds did she feel the dull pain of her wings beginning to push through her skin. They were slow to surface, but as soon as they had, they burst out magnificently, a few black feathers flying about as the two beautiful wings curled around the woman who they belonged to. Immediately did the pain go away, and immediately was she ready to take to the skies.

And so she did. (Y/n) shot into the sky like a spear in thrown in battle with sheer force, her feathered wings flapping majestically against the wind as she gained height. And eventually, she found herself high enough to see the town she lived near, and that was where she was currently headed. She liked watching over the town at night - or rather, early in the morning. It was interesting to see who was still awake, what they were doing, what their lives consisted of. And she liked to make sure that everyone who wondered around at such a dangerous hour was safe, even though she was raised to be sadistic and to enjoy the suffering of humans. She didn't know why she felt the need to protect any humans in danger, especially since that job already belonged to angels. She thought that maybe she was bored, and took it as a hobby. But there was definitely something deeper to it...

(Y/n) took her landing on the roof of a large building, one she came to recognize as a doctor's surgery that specialized in ophthalmology and ocular treatment. She walked past it every time she was ordered to run errands for the Young Master, errands such as buying groceries and the local newspaper. And every time she did, she always saw the same young man leaving for what she assumed was his lunch break. She'd also see him leaving at this time in the morning, because of his late shift. Whenever she saw him, he always looked the same. Disheveled, tired, and in need of a decent rest, something she figured he hadn't had in a while. To others, he appeared very average, very ordinary. But to (Y/n), he was quite handsome, quite interesting. His hair was a cocoa shade of brown, his eyes a light hazel, and his skin was pale, and almost like porcelain.

Ah, speak of the devil...

From within the entrance of the building came the very man she had been thinking of. She could see this because she was sat at the very edge, looking over and down to the front of the large structure. At first, she could only see him from a birds-eye view. But within a few moments, she could make out his entire body with his back turned to her. She wondered, what did this man do outside of work? Did he have any hobbies? Any dreams? A family? She didn't know his name either. While all of this information would be useless to her, she was simply curious, and she knew that once she found out this information, she'd simply find another human that caught her eye.

The brunette man had turned a corner, and moved onto the next street, so naturally she followed. As quietly as she possible could, (Y/n) leaped from building to building, graceful, elegant, charming, like a raven. She didn't let him out of her sight, determined to make sure he made it home, safe and unharmed. He was doing well at that, but what he hadn't noticed was the two vagrant men in one of the alleyways he was about to walk by. And unfortunately for him, one of them had a knife.

"Look who we 'ave here," Said one of the slimy old vagabonds as he and his friend crept out from their dark hideaway, his shiny bald head greased with the remaining grey hair that circled around his head and his clothes torn and stained with blood and beer. The second lad looked to be a tad younger than the first one, possibly even younger than the man they were about to mug, considering there were no wrinkles present on his face and his head was thronged with dirty brown hair that went down to just above his shoulders. It was unfortunate that someone so young was subjected to live such a life, being forced to steal from others off the streets just to survive. And while it was unfortunate, there was little that could be done about it. "What's a pathetic little poofter like you doin' walkin' round this late at night?" The young lad asked, the two men backing the brunette into the exterior of the shop they had just been hiding beside. "P-please...I don't want any trouble..." He begged in a quivering voice, having finally met the shop wall with his back. He had a small Irish lilt to his otherwise traditionally british accent, and his voice seemed kind and gentle. "We don't want any trouble either," The older man stated as he reached a hand into his disheveled coat, pulling out an item that made the victim's blood run cold, "so why don't you just hand us a bit of cash and we'll be on our way, hey?" The brunette could see his own reflection in the knife, gulping down a build up of his own saliva as he clawed at his sides for his wallet. However, he found that it wasn't on him. He must've left it in his office, this wouldn't be the first time for such a scenario to occur, but it was unfortunate that these were the circumstances in which it happened again. "I...I'm sorry, I don't have my wallet on me...I must've left it at work..." He apologised, the two other men looking between each other before their eyes landed back on their victim. "Well, that just won't do then," the older one sighed as he cleaned his knife with his shirt, "Jimmy, what do we do with people who won't cooperate?" "We beat em' in and stab the bloody hell out of em'!!" The younger man screamed as they began chasing the brunette down the street.

He ran for his life, faster than (Y/n) had ever seen him before. She wanted to help but she needed a little more space between the two groups before she could jump in and save him. However, that wasn't happening any time soon, since the homeless men were catching up to the ophthalmologist quick. No matter how loud he screamed for help, no one heard him, no one lived on the street he was running down, it was all just shops. The hope he had that someone would also be on their late shift quickly burnt out as he found himself cornered in an alleyway, much like the one the two men had come out of, but closer to his work place. They were creeping up to him like a pair of hungry lions who hadn't eaten in days, although (Y/n) wouldn't doubt that as a possibility.

She couldn't take it, he was about to die, and she'd gotten way too invested in his life to just see him disappear just like that. So, she stretched her wings out and dived down, planting her feet in front of the man and immediately bringing shock to all three of them. Their eyes were widened with fear, their jaws were dropped as far down as they go, and that's all she saw before the sound of a chainsaw and another garden appliance became evident and suddenly everything went black.

"Oh dear, Sebastian's going to kill me!"

(Y/n) was woken to the sound of a familiar voice, but when she opened her eyes, that voice didn't match the face that she was met with. There was a man, dark roots with blonde hair and thick black framed glasses. He was clad in a suit as far as she could see, but what was familiar about him was the color of his eyes. A fluorescent yellow-green. She'd seen the same color of eye on a friend of hers, Grell Sutcliffe, and that could mean only one thing.

He was a Grim Reaper.

"You 'right, love?" The man asked in his thick British accent, (Y/n)'s eyes moving to take in whatever other surroundings that happened to be sitting by her.

She found that she was lying on the ground in the very same alley she'd saved the brunette man in. However, there was no sign of him, only the unfamiliar grim reaper, and Grell who had joined the man in kneeling on the ground and staring at the girl, making sure she was okay.

"...w-what...happened?" She managed to croak, the blonde taking to grabbing her hands gently as he helped her into a sitting position. "I was about to reap that man's soul, he was to be stabbed by those other two men. But you beat us to them, and also took my death scythe to your head, which I'm surprised didn't kill you," he explained, (Y/n) rubbing her head as she groaned softly. "She is a demon, Ronald," Grell pointed out as he placed a comforting hand on her back and rubbed gentle circles against her nightgown. Her hands moved from her forehead to her eyes, and she rubbed them back to a more aware state, but not before a realization came to mind. "You guys were going to...kill him?" She asked, the so called Ronald shaking his head as he flicked his cowlick out of his eyes. "No, they were going to kill him. We were only here to reap his soul," he clarified, pushing the hair out of her face in an awfully friendly manner as he examined the large bruise that bordered over her hairline, "I daresay, Mr Spears is gonna be giving us a hefty pile of overtime for this one, Mr Sutcliffe. Especially for letting a demon interfere." "We won't tell him. He won't go as hard on us if we don't mention (Y/n). We should've been more careful anyways, she's only young," Grell decided, wrapping his arm around the lady and giving her a loving squeeze, "we'll just say that someone was passing by and was able to save him just in time, it's not like that's an impossible scenario." "You really think he'll believe us?" Ronald asked his superior, the red-haired man shrugging as he let (Y/n) rest her head on his shoulder. "Why not? It's worth a try," he said, Ronald sighing as he noticed the way the lady present looked quite out of it. "Yeah, okay. But we best get this little lady home, she doesn't look too well," he suggested, Grell nodding as he scooped her up into his arms and the two men stood.

(Y/n) was very well out of it. It may have seemed unusual for a demon to be affected by something as insignificant as a concussion, but she was only young, and after all, it was a death scythe that induced the sensation. She simply let her eyes rest as she felt occasional bumps and the small fishes of the icy night breeze. It all seemed like a flash before she found herself in bed once again, forgetting the events of that night but only while she slept.

Ronald found himself deep in thought when he and his superior left the Phantomhive manor, intending on heading back to the Grim Reaper Dispatch Center. He'd seen plenty of good looking women in his lifetime, human and reaper, but he had never seen a woman as memorably beautiful as her. But, heaven forbid he would be attracted to a demon. I mean, Grell was, but that man was quite the nut case, and Ronald wasn't sure that he wanted to live up to that example. However, those thoughts didn't stop him from acting on curious urges.

"What did you say her name was?" Ronald asked, his hands gripped tight on the handles of his lawnmower as he pushed it to allow Grell to keep up with him. "(Y/n) Michaelis, she's Bassy's daughter. We're good friends although her father doesn't approve," the redhead explained, flicking a long strand of blood red hair from his face. "Hm, a lovely bird she was. Quite the looker. Too bad she's demon," Ronald sighed, almost disappointingly which was very much unlike him. "I don't think that should be an issue," Grell suggested, the blonde giving him a strange look before they simply continued on their way in silence.

If you did end up enjoying the first chapter, you can find my profile at @/sodapop_ramen and the story here.

#ronald knox x reader #ronald knox #black butler #kuroshitsuji #ronald knox imagine #ronald knox black butler

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jaehotbuns · 5 years

Text

coffee

rating: pg

word count: 3050

characters: you x jaemin

genre: university!au, fluff

summary: your first year of university had been taking its toll on you until one day a fresh can of your favourite coffee is placed there, marking the first out of many days to come of one on your desk waiting for you every single morning. you look around to find your secret admirer and meet eyes with someone behind you.

Day 1

Your clammy hands suctioned to the heavy wooden lecture hall door when you pushed it to reveal dozens of rows of seats being quickly filled by an ensemble of students varying in ages. As your shaking legs made it difficult to walk up to a relatively middle row directly in front of the speaker’s stage, you sat down in a nervous pile of first year sweat. You rubbed your palms onto your jeans after setting your backpack down in front of your seat, causing heat to well up in your hands due to the friction. You had arrived early on your first day of university classes but you were already trembling in a bundle of nerves and the incoming influx of more students was not going to put you at ease.

As there were 15 minutes until the professor would arrive, you pulled out your laptop and opened a new document in case you had to take any notes down; which was unlikely as it was the first day probably reserved for introductions.

Most of the moisture from your body was perspired out from the summer heat and from your worry so you took out your water bottle and drew a big swig, your mouth quickly filling up with water like a chipmunk. As you were about to swallow your mouth full, you met eyes with a handsome stranger walking up the stairs to find a seat. His large and charming eyes turned into half moons as he chuckled to himself as he saw your expression. You nearly spit out the contents over yourself as you choked, swallowing it instead.

Although you couldn’t see yourself, you could feel your face heat up in embarrassment as he passed you. It’s okay, you thought, I probably won’t even see him much, there’s like 200 people in this class. You tried to convince yourself until you felt him put down a chair and sit directly behind you.

For the rest of the class, you could hardly pay attention; which was not a problem as your predictions were correction and all the professor did was hand out the syllabus and introduce herself. You looked aimlessly at your screen and typed your emotions out in your blank document instead of texting your friends as they had classes too and you needed an outlet to release to.

Week 2

The new environment was definitely taking a toll on you; physically and mentally. You hadn’t slept in about 34 hours as you had two 8 page papers due yesterday and a quiz to study for tomorrow, creating purple hues and lines to accumulate under your eyes. All the effort in looking nice your first week was sacrificed for 45 extra minutes of sleep and the only joy you had now was buying a cheap cup of convenience store coffee to keep your stress eating in check and to give a boost of energy. You forgot to buy one this morning since the busses were later than usual so the little joy out of your routine was gone.

Everyone had essentially chosen their unassigned assigned seating and yours was the one that you chose on the first day; smack in the middle. You wanted to be close enough to hear and see but far enough to not make awkward eye contact with the lecturer. As you were dragging your feet to your seat, you saw a fresh can of your favourite Mr. Nana Hazelnut Coffee on your desk, with circles of perspiration marking the desk.

You sat down suspiciously and looked at your surroundings. There was no one in front of you for around 3 rows and the only person in the row behind you was the cute guy that essentially laughed at your water filled face on the first day. You turned around nervously, this was the only class that you hadn’t made friends in. “Hey, is someone sitting in this seat?”

The glare of the bright lights shined on his gold rimmed glasses as he turned to look at you. He tilted his head to the side and his bottom lip protruded in thought, “no. It’s been yours.”

You grasped the wet and cold can, whoever left it had gotten it straight from the school cafeteria instead of your convenient store as it was almost frozen to the touch. You held up the can to him, “do you know who left this here then?”

He shook his head and leaned forward slightly as if to tell you a secret. His tone was hushed as he spoke, “no idea. But if I were you I’d drink it before it creates a sweat ring on the desk; those bad boys are as out of shape already.” He leaned back on his chair and nodded while a small smile on his face.

You turned back to the front warrily before cracking the can open and taking a sip. An instant smile appeared on your face at your sudden luck. Whether someone had accidentally left it or had placed it there for you, you didn’t care.

“By the way,” the guy called out from behind making you whip your head around to face him. “My name’s Na Jaemin.” He held his hand out for you to shake with a warm smile accompanying it.

You extended your hand that wasn’t damp with the can’s sweat and shook his hand firmly before introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you Jaemin.”

His eyes turned into half moons like the first day you met him, “likewise.”

Week 6

“You know it’s odd, the only person I talk to is you and yet I keep getting my favourite coffee every morning,” you said with your face turned towards Jaemin as you packed your bag as the class ended. “It isn’t you is it?” Your eyes squinted at him. Your heart nearly stopped as you asked the question, hoping it was him. But you were probably getting your hopes up as you weren’t the only person that had been eyeing him.

Jaemin zipped his backpack up after neatly placing his notebooks and pencil case in their designated places. “I wish I had the time for that,” he chuckled as he swung the backpack arms around his shoulders before standing up. You stood up after him and began walking to your usual Taiwanese snack bar for a quick lunch before heading your separate ways to your other tutorials. Of course it wasn’t him, you felt stupid for even thinking there was a possibility that it was him. After the first month, he had always showed up 5 minutes later than class started. So it was logical that it was someone else as you came before him and would already have a can waiting for you.

Before you were halfway to the snack bar, a girl had run up from behind and gave Jaemin a friendly slap across his back. He jumped away in surprise before recognizing who she was. “Oh Luna! What’s up?”

She pouted and grabbed a hold of his toned arm, wiggling her shoulders as she pouted closer to him. “You promised that you would help me study for my economics test!”

His eyes darted from her to you before an expression of realization dawned across his face. “Oh, I totally forgot.” Jaemin turned back to you, paying no mind to his arm swinging to the opposite side. “I’m sorry, next time?”

You nodded and gave a reassuring smile, “I need to cut down on bubble tea anyways.” You turned to face Luna, a cute girl who was surprisingly much shorter than you were, giving her a cute aura. “Good luck on your test!”

She gave an almost fake smile as she brushed off your comment with a brief, “mhm, thanks,” before pulling Jaemin towards the library and away from your daily lunch spot. He turned around and gave you a wave and face of sorry. You waved back and mouthed, “don’t worry.”

Once they were out of sight you noticed a sheet of paper lying on the gravel in front of you. It was a receipt with only the purchase of one item on it; Mr. NaNa Hazelnut Coffee. You checked the purchase time and it was half an hour before class, today. Your eyebrows twisted in confusion, if it wasn’t Jaemin then why had he bought it?

Week 9

You sipped on your fresh green tea latte that you had bought from a cafe nearby your university building as you waiting for class to start pondering on why your daily free coffee was missing. Granted it had been nearly 2 months now and you had started to buy different variety of drinks but you wondered what had caused it to stop. Either way, you felt slightly guilty receiving free things without anyone to thank for.

Jaemin was surprisingly early today as he walked up to a seat beside you and set down his things before unzipping his bag to pull out a can of your usual coffee. “I’ve noticed your secret admirer has started to become more erratic.” You held the coffee can, still wondering if he was the one although you never brought the receipt up as he had already denied it once.

“Thanks, you really didn’t have to,” you said putting the can into your bag. “You’re awfully early today, and a free coffee too? What’s up?”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck nervously. You asked the question to tease him but it looked as though he really did have something important to tell you. Your stomach dropped as soon as you heard the words leave him mouth hesitantly. “I’m actually dropping the class.”

It was the only class you had with him. Usually you two would hang out in between your tutorials and lectures but ever since he started tutoring Luna, you’ve never really gotten the chance to talk other than your one class per week and through texts and the occasional phone call. You hadn’t realized that you’ve fallen for his kind nature and goofy jokes until your only guaranteed chance to see him now was taken away from you.

“I would’ve dropped the 3rd week if I didn’t have you in this class.” His smile was only making your heart heavier although he had said that to cheer you up.

You tried to hide your sadness; it would’ve been embarrassing to let him see your emotions so soon. “So why are you dropping?”

He rested his head on the curve of the wooden chair and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Hmm, while I was tutoring Luna I realized that I actually have a knack for economics and it fit perfectly in my schedule to switch.” Jaemin moved his eyes from the overhead lights to you without moving the position of his head, “I’ll miss you though seat buddy.” His hand ruffled the hair on top of your head with a smile. “How about we grab something after class?”

You nodded and tried to keep up your smile.

After class, Jaemin decided to go to a new place to eat since you two have only alternated between 3 spots so far and he wanted a slightly fancier brunch to commemorate your short time together as seat buddies. As the weather was getting colder as it transitioned from summer to fall, you got hungrier due to your body using most of your energy to generate heat. You usually only got a drink and something small like fries after first period but this time you were ready for heavy Italian food. You could hardly wait.

You followed Jaemin’s lead as he followed the directions of Google Maps on his phone until out of the corner of your eye you saw a small figure moving towards you. “Jaemin! Look at my pop quiz!” A familiar voice rang out as the body quickly slid in front of you and directly to Jaemin. Of course it was Luna. She held her economics quiz out in front of her with two hands to show him excitedly but she was visibly irritated when he looked back down at his phone after giving her a quick, “oh yeah, congrats.” She grabbed his hand that was gripping his phone and swung it back and forth, “c’mon let’s get congratulatory food!”

Jaemin usually didn’t mind her energetic energy and excessive skinship but now he looked annoyed as he spoke to her. “Maybe next time, I have plans,” his head cocked to the side to indicate that he was going with you. He stepped out to move out of her grasp but she was relentless, “I really can’t-”

Last time she had interrupted you and you refused to let her walk all over you again, whether you had romantic feelings for Jaemin or not this wasn’t about his attention, it was about her failing to address your existence. “If he doesn’t want to go, then he doesn’t want to go.”

She instantly dropped her arms from Jaemin and turned towards you with her arms folded across her chest while leaning on one foot, the other tapping on the pavement. “Who are you to talk to me like that? Are you his girlfriend? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t have to be, but he said no and you should respect that.” You were already hungry and she wasn’t exactly making you less sensitive.

Her big eyes rolled so much that you thought that they were going to make their way to the back of her head. “Did you know that he only stayed in your class because he felt bad for you? Why did he stay that long, hm? You were lonely and he felt bad. Stop trying to hold onto him. Have you noticed when he met me that he stopped hanging out with you?”

You weren’t sure to believe what she was saying but you couldn’t stand for her to berate you for accepting Jaemin’s lunch invite when you weren’t even interested in fighting for his affection. “I feel bad for you.” You didn’t know who you were directing that comment to but it seemed like it could apply to both of them before you turned on your heel to leave.

“Wait!” Jaemin said exasperated as he tried to grab your hand but you continued to walk as Luna once again held him back.

You walked until you reached the cafeteria’s rooftop which was thankfully empty as it was the awkward period between a coffee break and lunchtime. You plopped down on a wooden bench, cool to the touch due to the chilly autumn wind. With the can of coffee Jaemin gave you this morning in your hand, you looked up to the sky sentimentally and took small sips as the clouds passed by.

You weren’t upset by the things Luna had said, she wasn’t a reliable source anyways and you trusted Jaemin to not be badmouthing you behind your back but you couldn’t help but feel an unsettling feeling in your stomach. But then again, being caught in a cat fight for a guy that you didn’t want to be involved in was not a good feeling in the first place.

When you were one sip away from finishing your drink you turned around at the sound of the heavy rusted door of the rooftop opening to reveal Jaemin. “Hey,” he said plainly.

“Hey.”

“Can I sit down?”

You scooted over to the left side of the bench and pat the empty place beside you, “of course.”

He awkwardly sat beside you and leaned forward to rest his elbows onto his spread knees as he couldn’t find the courage to face you. “Sorry about what happened.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Not your fault.” You took the last sip of your coffee and set it on the ground in front of you, catching the eye of Jaemin.

“99 cents for a cup of coffee is hard to come by these days huh?” He asked nodding his head towards the can.

“How do you kn-”

“I’m the secret admirer,” he confessed with an almost sad smile on his face. “I was going to reveal it at lunch but we saw how that went.”

“But I you always came later than when the coffee was there and why would you?”

His eyes scanned the clear blue sky lined with soft wafting clouds like you had before dragging out a long breath. “I’d go buy it in the cafeteria, place it on your desk before you came, and go to the washroom.”

You couldn’t believe it, “but why?”

He chuckled remembering the reason why. “I only planned to do it once as a kind of apology for laughing at you on the first day but after seeing how it put a smile on your face when you were stressed just gave me a reason to do it everyday.”

“That so much of a hassle and those 99 cents add up. I mean my reaction is nothing special.” You looked directly at his head and hoped that he would turn around and make eye contact with you because you couldn’t tell if he was being genuine.

“I like your smile… I think I like you too.” He turned out and looked into your eyes, causing you to flinch a little with the amount of sincerity and love that was pouring out of his eyes.

His hand softly brushed your check as he leaned closer to your lips before he stopped 5 centimeters away. “Can I?” You nodded before his lips touched yours carefully before letting his supple lips press harder. His other free hand cupped your face before pulling away to get a closer look at you. “Do you feel the same way?”

“I do, but what about Luna?” You definitely did not want to bring her up at such a time but you couldn’t help but feel wary.

“I only tutor her but I can’t reciprocate her feelings, it’s been tough having to hang out with her thinking that I could be using that time to take you out,” he laughed shyly.

“Let’s make up the time then,” you proposed. “Just you and me.”

He repeated after you, infatuated with the idea. “Just you and me.”

#nct #jaemin #kpop #nct scenarios #jaemin scenarios #kpop scenarios #nct imagines #jaemin imagines #kpop imagines #nct oneshots #kpop oneshots #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream #na jaemin #nct jaemin scenarios #nct fluff #kpop fluff #nct jaemin

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salmonthestoryteller · 5 years

Text

Afraid

Animal Kingdom Fanfic

(Fair warning! I’m only halfway through season 2. This is set in S1, but I probably still have errors because I don’t know about things referenced in the later seasons)

The thing was, Adrian had never been afraid of Deran. He’d known what he did - what his family did - to maintain their lifestyles. No details, of course. No one outside the family had details. People whispered about the possibilities behind their palms. Each guess more outlandish than the next if the drinks and drugs were flowing. But nobody actually knew anything. That was pretty much the point.

Adrian had fallen in with Deran and Craig in school and in those days the three of them had gotten into all sorts of trouble. When they were younger Deran used to say that Adrian had one of those smiles that made all the women coo and made the cops say, "Are you lost, son?" instead of, "Clear out, you punks!"

He'd been scared of Pope since they were young. Pope was always a little off, and he spooked him. "He sees everything, you know." Julia remarked one day. That had him looking over his shoulder for weeks afterwards until Deran finally asked him what was wrong. When he'd finished laughing, he'd told him Julia had been messing with him. These days he wondered if Julia hadn't been right.

Baz he hadn't been scared of when they were kids. Baz had always seemed careful with all of the younger kids. Gentle even. Then puberty had hit and Baz was both less gentle and more attentive to what they were doing. Puberty was a mess for every kid, but Adrian spent his figuring out that his friends slowly hardening physiques were much more attractive to him than any of the skin mags Craig kept shoving at him. He'd asked Deran about the skin mags, and when he'd admitted they didn't do anything for him either it had given him a false sense of security. Hindsight had 20/20 vision.

Craig had shot up like a beanpole - no muscles at first and clumsy in his new height. It made him stick out; drew attention. Made it harder for them to be covert about pulling stunts and shoplifting. Deran didn't gain height as fast but was slowly gaining muscle in a way that Adrian thought was both unfair by comparison and distractingly attractive.

Deran was the one who thought to use Craig's new height to distract the cashier while he himself did the five finger discount. Adrian had never stolen anything before - he'd always been lookout and distraction. Having his best friend shove his hand down his pants to hide their shoplift goods had made him a nervous wreck in more than one way.

Having to confess to Baz what they'd done didn't help. Baz had started pushing back against Pope's until then unquestioned authority. One of the ways he did it was by grilling them about their mischief and giving them a hard time for it.

Having a sexuality crisis over your best friend in front of said best friend's elder brother? Baz had kept glancing at him, and his cheeks had flared red in shame every time. There was no polite way to explain he'd popped a boner over having Deran put his hand down his pants. He kept saying he'd never actually participated before. Being jeered for being scared was better than what Baz might do to him if he knew the truth.

Baz and Pope's rivalry made him see him in a new light and it wasn't pretty. So, yah, he'd been afraid of Baz before.

Craig made him nervous when he got too high, but the only time he'd probably actually been scared of Craig was in high school. He hadn't come out, but there had been plenty of whispers. Then he'd lost his virginity to a foreign exchange student and Craig had found out. Craig had grown into his height in high school. No longer clumsy, and with new muscles to match. Being friends with him and Deran made people think twice about laying into him despite the rumors. A part of him figured once Craig knew the truth that would change. That he may even target him the way he picked on some of the other students when he needed to make it clear he wasn't someone to mess with.

When Craig had cornered him on the beach to ask about the rumors he honestly thought he might beat him up, and he'd been scared. He still looked him in the eye and admitted to fucking the guy. Craig's response had been so anticlimactic to his fears.

"So you're like gay?"

"Yah."

"Huh."

"That a problem?"

"Well, I don't dig guys so I don't know the guy's number. I mean, should I be riding you for giving up your V card to a dog or congratulating you for losing it to someone hot?"

If his laugh was slightly hysterical he decided he couldn't be blamed. This was not the conversation he'd expected. "He was hot."

"Well, alright, man, way to go." He'd pulled him into a headlock to noogie his head hard. He'd given a shout, and struggled despite knowing he was no match for Craig's new muscles.

His throw away comment at the end was, "Hey, see if you can get my baby brother to finally lose his virginity. He's so damn frigid."

He'd thought at the time he meant to encourage him to hook up with one of the girls that were always at Smurf's parties. Years later he wondered if Craig hadn't been suggesting something else entirely.

Deran and he had fought over the foreign exchange student. They were on the outs for over a week about it and he didn't understand how it was his best friend who had the issue with his sexuality and not Craig. Then Deran had cornered him late one night in the showers on the beach and stuck his tongue down his throat. Apparently they'd been having two different fights.

Despite the kiss, they didn't hook up in high school. Deran refused to talk about the kiss and things between them grew tense. Then a group of homophobic assholes had decided to try to corner him at school. Deran had broke in - fists flying and together they'd taken them down. They'd both gotten weeks of detention for fighting, but it was better than suspension and it had resolidified their friendship.

If "just friends" was something he wasn't sure he wanted from Deran now that he'd kissed him, he'd pushed it down. Deran never came out and continued to hit on girls. Given Craig's reaction and Deran's "Fuck Baz. Fuck Pope." attitude he didn't think it was his brothers' opinions holding him back. It was Smurf's.

Smurf terrified him. Not when he was younger - when it came to kids Smurf knew how to make them love her. As he got older, though, and understood things better, that changed. As did the way she looked at him. He wondered if she suspected his feelings for her son. If she secretly knew Deran's orientation and either blamed him or considered him a security risk. Someone Deran might dare to care for more than the family. More than her. He knew what could happen if you made Smurf an enemy. Julia and her falling out made it clear even her own family wasn’t immune to her wrath.

He’d run into Julia one day by chance years later. High as a kite by the bridge late at night. “Still staying on Smurf’s good side by not fucking my brother?” She’d asked him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’d replied, because Deran wasn’t out and had made it clear he never intended to be.

“LIke hell you don’t. Our baby boy Deran always looking at you like he wants to eat you. Smurf always glaring at you like it’s your fault.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words made him nervous.

“You can fuck him, you know. She doesn’t care about fucking.” She had waved her hand as if dismissing the idea. “And you can even love him. You’re not family, so it’s okay if you love him.” She’d leaned in close then, as if sharing a secret. “The problem is if he loves you. Cuz family isn’t allowed to love anyone but Smurf.”

There had been something manic in her eyes that night. Something that reminded him suddenly that she was Pope’s twin. “I have to go.”

Julia had stepped in front of him, blocking his way, an unpleasant grin stretching her face. “Holy shit, he loves you - doesn’t he? That’s why you aren’t fucking.”

Belize was years in the future, and he had shaken his head at her words. “You’re wrong. About everything.”

Julia shook her head. “Nope. See it wasn’t the drugs - Craig can be as bad as me. It wasn’t the stealing - her baby boy - ha! - your baby boy skims the top sometimes. It was the love. I was supposed to be like her. They were supposed to love me, but I wasn’t supposed to love them. I wasn’t supposed to have favorites. Everyone was supposed to think they were the favorite. That’s how you keep them in line. If you can’t do that.” She shrugged.

“You’re high. You should sleep it off.” He’d try to get around her, and she’d grabbed his arm - leaning into his space to whisper in his ear.

“Baby bro always got mad when he saw you with one of your boys. Glaring like he wanted to fuck you right in front of everyone. Maybe you’re right to not let him. Maybe you should be careful. Codys don’t like to share. If you let him fuck you, that’s it. You’re his. Never forget that.”

Julia scared him that night.

But Deran? Deran didn’t scare him.

Even when he had J help beat him because J had caught them together and Deran was desperate to cover it up. He wasn’t scared of Deran for that. He was furious with him. Then he’d had the gall to ask for the rent? Fuck that, and he’d told him so. Deran had backed down. Had covered the rent - must have stolen it from one of Smurf’s hidey holes. He calmed down, but he knew things couldn’t be the same.

Belize had been a dream, but everyone has to wake up from a dream sooner or later. He’d been caught in a haze since. Sneaking around with him. Weeks between seeing him. Watching him make out with numerous girls in front of his brothers to maintain his facade. Somehow the dreamy feeling of Belize hung on his peripherals, blinding him the moment Deran touched him. But the beating was a wake up call.

They didn’t want the same things. Deran would never make a life with him, and he wanted that. So while Deran stayed away as he healed up, he’d run into Dave. He was far from perfect. Couldn’t surf worth shit. He was a good guy, though. He was also out. There was a chance for a life there. Then Deran had started coming around again. Not for sex at first - just a check in. To see if he’d broken their friendship when he’d broken his ribs. He’d cared for Deran too long to stay angry.

Then Deran met Dave and things went south fast. He’d been scared before he knew it was Deran that night. The moment he’d seen his face, though, he wasn’t afraid anymore. Apparently having Deran break into his house in a jealous fit over him seeing another guy was a turn on. Who knew? He’d been as angry at himself as Deran for the lapse. He was supposed to be moving on with Dave, not falling back into things with Deran.

And the way Deran spoke pissed him off. Reminded him of why this couldn’t work. He wanted someone to have a life with. Deran didn’t want that. Was too ashamed - too scared - to try for it. So he’d lashed out. Dragged up the spectre of Smurf between them, where it had probably always been but never been spoken of. He’d thought when Deran left, that would be it. That would be the end.

Then he’d gotten a call from Dave who was at the hospital. He didn’t even need the whole story to know who was to blame, but he’d listened anyway. He’d also hated himself a little for thinking - you barely made it two miles? Because he knew he could go longer. He reminded himself comparing Dave to himself, or Deran, always Deran, wasn’t fair, but it was there in his head anyway. ‘Deran and I could have gone twice that length.’ They’d done long distance swimming for training in Belize. He’d never forgotten, and he was sure Deran hadn’t either. That was one part of this message - this chump isn’t good enough for you.

One mile most people could have managed with their lives on the line. Farther than two would have been a death sentence for a lot of people. Two was stretching it, and dangerous for someone without practice. If Dave had been a poor swimmer he could be dead and not just shaken. He reminded himself of that. Reminded himself what the other part of the message was. This was Deran saying if Adrian didn’t get Dave out of the picture, he would. That he could. It was easy for him.

Still he hadn’t been afraid of Deran. He’d been angry. Storming to the beach to face him down with what he’d done. Angrier with every mile because Deran had no right. He hadn't even come after him - he’d come after Dave. He’d known him long enough - knew all his weaknesses - he had known that would be a far more effective message to him.

He’d try to act clueless, but Adrian wasn’t buying that shit. Furious, he’d dragged up Smurf again. If he pushed hard enough, he could push him away, right? Make him lash out. Just end things once and for all. ��Fucking him wasn’t more important than him insulting his family. Because to the Codys family was everything. Apparently he’d miscalculated somewhere along the line, because instead of lashing out Deran had been smug. “I’ll see you tonight.”

A part of him was shaken. What the heck was this? They’d been friends since childhood. No matter what sexual tension had threaded that friendship through adulthood, they’d stayed friends until Belize. Belize had felt like a romance, but since returning to California that feeling had curdled. Stolen moments of passion. Nothing more. Nothing deeper. He’d thought at the least their old friendship meant more than their fucking if he ended things. Instead, for the first time, Deran was using his family’s power against him to make him do what he wanted. Making him jump like a puppet on a string.

Julia’s words played in his head on repeat. “Codys don’t like to share. If you let him fuck you, that’s it. You’re his. Never forget that.”

And the crazy thing was, he still wasn’t afraid. He was confused, and hurt, and angry. He didn’t understand why Deran, who was terrified of discovery, would insist on binding them together this way. Why it was more important than their old friendship, even. Deran could find someone else to fuck. To pay off for their silence. Why twist their friendship, their relationship, this way? And how could he think there would be no consequences for trying to twist him into his plaything?

Bringing up the notion he’d use Pope against him had been a knife of his own choosing. A part of him knew that he would never actually send Pope after him like he had with Dave. That hadn’t been the point. He hadn’t wanted him injured, he’d wanted him punished. He wanted him to… to what? Stay with him? Be with only him? But not openly with him. How did everything get so messed up?

Deran hadn’t kissed him since Belize. He hated him for kissing him that night. For his desperate plea for them to be okay after he’d twisted them into such strange ugly knots. How could they be okay in that moment? How could anything be okay?

Julia’s words were in his head again. “You’re not family, so it’s okay if you love him. The problem is if he loves you.”

No, he wasn’t afraid of Deran. But with Julia’s words in his head, the Codys power more evident than ever to him, and his and Deran’s relationship twisted and rotten between them, he realized he was a little afraid of himself.

Because despite all that he still loved Deran. Even as he told him he didn't. Even as he finally found the right words to make him walk away.

Fini

If there was something that struck me about the unhealthy twists and turns Adrian and Deran's relationship took in s1, it was at no point was Adrian afraid of him. Not after he'd beaten him to hide their relationship, not after he had Pope dump his boyfriend in the ocean. Each time he confronted him, and he was angry at him. Never afraid.

I rewatched their final S1 scenes, wondering if he was afraid then, especially since he brings up the possibility of him setting Pope on him, but once again his stance isn't one of fear. Frustration, because Deran refuses to even care about what he did. Hurt that Deran would do this to them. Resentment that he was trying to force him to do what he wanted

But once again he doesn't seem afraid to me. He's not afraid to tell Deran to his face he can order him to do whatever he wants because his family's power, but that power will never make him love him. (Which is essentially what he's saying when he says "you can't make me have feelings I don't.'')

I also think he was lying. He very much had feelings for Deran still. He wouldn't be so hurt if he didn't. I don't blame him for saying he didn't, though. Not with Deran's actions during s1.

I didn’t need to fall into another show, but here I am.

#animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfic #adrian dolan #fanfic

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faveficarchive · 5 years

Text

Coup de Grace: Part 2

Imaginary Consequences

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: From the Author:

The fabulously ill-tempered archaeologist Janice Covington and Southern-Belle-in-Exile Melinda Pappas gradually discover the real truth at the heart of the Xena Scrolls, in a story that darkly plays with time and memory, loss and desire, and the nature of what is real and what is not.

1. Regeneration

This is what we bring to the temple, not prayer or chant or slaughtered rams.

Our offering is language.

—Don DeLillo, The Names

Ravenna, Italy

Autumn, 1950

The archaeologist stood in the pit and held a small object, clumped with dirt.

Her lower lip, already mashed and ragged with worry over something far more important, endured more of a workover as her filthy thumbnail carefully shaved away moist dirt.

The boy who discovered the piece, seventeen and on his first dig, watched her expectantly, nervously shifting his weight from leg to leg. He was eager to impress the beautiful blonde American, and was confident he could do so: He was the only person on site she had not yelled at. Even her friend, the tall woman who usually followed her everywhere, received the brunt of Dr. Covington's anger at one point or another; and thus he had come under the impression that she favored his intellect and his instinct more than anyone else on the dig. He did not know that the real reason she had not yelled at him was because she remembered, all too well, what it was like be too young, too ambitious, and too rash.

In fact, Janice thought as a layer of dirt gave way and revealed a very dull razor circa 1923, she still felt that way surprisingly often.

The boy tensed, awaiting the barrage of English obscenities to fall on his head. Tebaldi, the Italian archaeologist acting as foreman and interpreter, also winced.

Janice drew a deep breath and hoped it would calm her. It did succeed in preventing her from taking the kid's head off, and for that she was grateful. She forced a grim smile, and gently grasped his arm. "Better luck next time," she said in her wretched Italian. As she stalked away, Tebaldi's elephantine shadow followed. The large man walked daintily, as if on eggshells. She slowed her pace, both so that he could match it and that she could better snarl at him. "You, on the other hand, should have known better."

Tebaldi shrugged apologetically. "He wouldn't listen to me. He wanted you to see it."

"Don't waste my goddamn time right now," she snapped. She pulled canvas gloves out of a back pocket and slipped them on. Grabbing the pulley rope, she scampered out of the pit, just like the Harvard-trained monkey she is, he thought angrily. Always has to play tough. Just like her father.

He lumbered over to the makeshift steps leading out of the pit, made from wooden slats and packed clay. When he reached the top of the steps and saw how upset she was, his anger dissipated. She flicked away drops of sweat from her face with the brim of the fedora, then ran a dirty hand through her limp hair. "When will the doctor be here?" she murmured. She would not look at him. Her thumb dragged a line of dust across the ribboned headband of her hat.

"In about an hour," Tebaldi said.

Janice said nothing, but put the fedora back on and walked toward the tent.

He followed, not knowing what else to do.

When they arrived, he stood at the periphery, afraid to get too close to the sick woman, for none of them had any idea the origin of the fever that possessed her. Was it contagious? Tebaldi worried for a moment, and thought that perhaps he should not even be in the tent. But if Covington is not afraid, I won't be either.

Normally, he did not approve of diggers who brought along their women to a site.

Would a surgeon invite his wife into the operating room? Does a chef allow his mistress in the kitchen? But Covington's woman was useful, at least until the onset of her illness: She wasn't afraid of physical labor, she bore the workers' flirtations and vulgarities with humor and good grace, and she spoke beautiful Italian. This last quality being, in Tebaldi's eyes, her true saving grace.

And even now—even in her profoundly sick state—she mesmerized him. A long, bare leg, moored to the floor by the blanket tangled around the foot, hung out of the fragile cot. She wore nothing but a camisole and underwear. A dark edge of pubic hair escaped the white boundary of the cotton briefs and he felt momentarily aroused, then ashamed, then alarmed: Covington possessed a preternatural ability to sense—and expose—baser instincts in men. The last thing he needed was her fist in his face. But fortunately, she was too occupied by the care of her friend—she gathered the blanket off the floor and covered her friend's legs, mopped the sweat from the sick woman's brow, and began to take her pulse.

"Do you need anything?" Tebaldi croaked nervously.

It startled Janice. She had forgotten all about him. "No," she replied curtly. Then, in a gentler tone: "Please bring the doctor here as soon as he arrives."

He nodded and left.

As much as she was relieved to see the Italian go, Janice felt nervous—almost afraid—to be alone with Mel. The hopelessness of the situation sank her when she was by herself; under its deadweight, she had no reason for the pretense of strength. Even though Tebaldi saw right through it all.

The rapid onset of the illness had been particularly alarming to Janice when she realized that, since the day they had met, she had never seen Mel sick in any serious way. The woman had survived severe New England winters with barely a cold to show for it, despite her absentminded tendency to run around without hats during snowstorms. On the other hand, Mel had nursed her through flu, seasickness, airsickness, menstrual cramps, hangovers, and gunshot wounds. It hardly seemed fair.

The strangeness of the fever also unsettled her. For a day now Mel, when conscious, spoke in languages that she did not understand, and one that she could vaguely identify as the language in the scrolls. The words chilled her, even though she did not understand them.

The murmuring began anew. Janice leaned in closer. The translator's eyes were closed; a tangle of incomprehensible words was borne upon a shallow strand of breath. Janice touched her lover's cheek. Before she could even utter the name, Mel had her by the throat. The large, powerful hand pressed against her windpipe. Janice felt the world dim for a second before she was flung almost halfway across the tent.

Jesus Christ. Janice lay gasping, afraid to move. What was that? She swallowed, touched her neck, and sat up slowly. Mel was still prone on the cot, the arm that had effortlessly thrown a grown woman several feet hung limp and weak, knuckles grazing the floor.

She could have killed me. The realization came upon her with ferocity. Janice coughed feebly, then forced herself to stand up. Was this a time of reckoning, of an inevitable reenactment? Absurd. Right? Resentment welled up in her at the ever-persistent undertow of the past—this particular past—which seemed insistent on pre-scripting their lives.

Yet—aside from that—the past few years were an idyll that she never knew was possible. Was there a price for that? Wasn't there always, no matter who you were?

Warily she approached the cot, mindful of that long arm's reach. But the painful, labored breathing scared her, and Janice forsook prudence for love.

Mel was staring up at her. Her eyes, so drained of color, showed some recognition of the woman leaning over her. She spoke slowly in her own accented English. "What's happening to me?"

"I don't know," Janice replied. I wish I did.

* * *

Snowflakes caught in her hair, and on her face. They melted. She could not move.

A sledgehammer blocked the sun.

Mel opened her eyes. And saw nothing. She attempted movement. But could not move a muscle. Everything—arms, chest, legs—was immobile. Oh God, it's true. It's really true. She tried again to move. She struggled in silence, but soon her feral whimpers of frustration escalated into a full-throated scream.

Her cries subsided when she felt hands on her face and a distinct sound emerged from the surrounding chaos of her distress. "Mel!" Despite the soothing touch and the commanding, familiar voice, she could not stop her body from struggling.

The sudden light—even though soft and dim—hurt her eyes. But Janice's face, paler and thinner, was before her, and her hands, cool and comforting, on her cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay. Shhhh. Shhh. Look at me. Look at me, darling. It's okay." Through her words and her caresses, Janice managed to coax her back into a lucid, calmer frame of mind, hysteria melted by this siren song of sanity. She was, however, too exhausted and confused to note the look of wild, desperate relief in Janice's eyes.

"What happened?" Mel rasped.

Janice's own emotions were now threatening to mutiny. "You're in a hospital. You've been sick. Do you remember anything?"

Her legs ached. "I—remember too much."

A nun hovered by the bed, holding a cup of cold water, scrutinizing the sick woman. Janice took it and pressed it to Mel's mouth, and she drank greedily. "Easy now.” Mel drank slower, then stopped.

The water tasted good; she could not remember water that ever tasted so good. It gave Mel the courage to ask the next question. "Why can't I move?" she whispered. Am I paralyzed? A violent surge of helplessness shook her body, and the movement would have encouraged her had not fear and illness clouded her mind.

"They put restraints on you." Janice looked to the Sister. "Per favore, rimovere

questi," she requested in her awkward Italian and pointed to the leather straps. The nun agreed with a quick nod, and left the room to fetch the doctor.

"Restraints?" Mel echoed huskily.

"Meningitis. You have—had—meningitis." Janice took the cup away from her lips.

"It was dangerous for you to move." She turned quickly to camouflage her shaking hand—too quickly. The cup fell to the floor, its clatter dominating the room. She bent to retrieve it, and paused, kneeling on the floor, as if in prayer. Tears surged and she closed her eyes tightly, every muscle scrunched and fighting surrender. Not here. Not now.

"Are you all right?" Mel's voice was hoarse from lack of use, almost unrecognizable.

Just turn around and don't be a fucking baby. Cry later.

She stood up and turned around.

"You're not sick too, are you?" But now Janice was comforted with the familiar:

Mel's face was already set in that usual stubborn, serious way when preoccupied with her companion's health.

You come back from the dead and you worry about me.

Janice burst into laughter. It was far better than crying.

* * *

Even after a week, she could smell the hospital on her skin, clinical and clinging.

Mel thought taking baths—many baths—would help. Enveloped by soft steam, she stretched out in the huge tub—an old-fashioned one with claw feet. It was big enough to accommodate her length; in fact, it almost dominated the small bathroom of the pensione where she and Janice stayed.

Idling in a bathtub, however, gave her more time to recount the sickening fascination the doctors had with her quick and full recovery from a disease that either debilitated or killed its victims. E stupefacente, the doctor from Rome had pronounced, expressing his astonishment. Acting as a medical pied piper, he led his more provincial colleagues on many a merry exploration of her body—she was thoroughly poked and prodded, not to mention violated in a manner that—well, she wasn't certain she would even let Janice touch her like that.

She could lie down in the tub if she wanted to, but shuddered at the thought of entombment in water. Instead, she dunked her head for the briefest of seconds; she sat up, gulped for air, and saw Janice shuffling nervously in the doorway, hands tucked into pockets. "I, uh, had some food sent up. Are you hungry?"

"A little," Mel admitted. The unease between them troubled her. During those awkward medical examinations Janice had always been present, her apprehension indicating a resistance to what she witnessed. You weren't expecting this, were you? To see this legacy in action. To see how my body really works. I was never sick a day in school. Bruises would disappear overnight. A broken arm from an auto accident had healed in two and a half weeks. Self-conscious and 18, Mel had worn the splint and bandages for almost another three weeks, merely to avoid the questions and the stares that she had received from the doctors and nurses at the hospital.

Was it presumptuous of her to think her illness had derailed the dig? If I hadn't gotten sick, would this have turned out better? "Could you do me a favor—"

Eager to be useful, Janice nodded and straightened.

"—er, could you wash my hair?" It was one way of getting physical contact. Like a concierge vying for a huge tip, Janice had been painfully attentive and solicitous—yet almost as detached—since her release from the hospital.

The response was soft. "Sure."

As Janice walked by the tub, Mel reached out and clasped a dry wrist in her wet hand. She felt resistance twitching within those tendons, then slackening into surrender.

"What is it?" Janice knelt down. She looked tired from days spent finishing up business with the excavation—the paperwork and dealing with the local authorities a far more wearying task to her than any manual labor. In addition to this, she was trying to locate a nefarious former contact (a man who sold artifacts for Harry in the Italian black market) who might know the whereabouts of the Venetian family that possessed the scroll they saw at Neuschwanstein.

"I—" It had always been extraordinarily difficult for Mel to ask for affection. Initiating contact was another matter, but this she was unused to. Nonetheless, her head tilted forward, as did Janice's, and they kissed with tentative tenderness. Not even the tepid bath water could deter her enjoyment. It's still there, she thought, as if desire were a pocket watch she could somehow misplace or lose.

Sometimes the best part of kissing Janice was after the fact. Mel would pull back, at first reluctantly, and watch her: eyes closed, body swaying, face divinely peaceful, lips parted in silent sensual prayer. She did this now, and noticed something new. The natural light of the room was powerful enough so that Mel saw a waning bruise, butter colored and round, along the neck, near the carotid artery. "What's this?" she murmured.

The green eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Here." Mel reached out to touch the bruise with damp fingers, but the archaeologist jerked away, like a boxer avoiding a punch. You ruined that moment, Melinda, she chastised herself.

"I dunno. Just got knocked around on site, I guess." Janice stood up quickly, then walked around the tub to fetch the small vial of shampoo, on a stand near the toilet.

Mel craned her neck to see her, but couldn't. "You don't know?" she repeated, incredulous.

"Nope." Janice was cheerfully obtuse.

She was crowned with a puddle of shampoo. Then lank wet hair was scooped off her shoulders and merged into the sticky goo on her head. Her body went limp as strong fingers massaged her temples and scalp. The pleasure continued in silence for a few minutes. "You deserve a tip for this."

"I live for your tips, baby. My favorite one was, 'Never wash silk in hot water.' "

Mel smiled at this, then frowned. She had tried to change the conversation, succeeded, but became undone by compulsion: The bruise remained a niggling question. "Were you in a fight?" she asked quietly.

The massage stopped for a second, then continued at an even slower, gentler pace. "Yeah."

"With one of the workers?"

A pause. "Yeah."

"Not that huge Sicilian!"

"No. Not him."

Mel frowned. It must have been someone strong, someone quick, to catch Janice like that. This reminded her of Tebaldi, who, despite his large size and meandering slowness, possessed lightning fast reflexes when the situation called for it. "It was Tebaldi, wasn't it?" That would explain Janice's reluctance to discuss the matter—the embarrassment of a fight with the dig's other leader.

A longer pause. "Yeah." She rubbed Mel's neck. "Rinse."

Mel did so, ducking her head. When she emerged from the water Janice was once again at the side of the tub, drying her hands briskly with a towel.

"Get outta there before that water gets too cold."

"Janice?"

"Hmm?"

"I—I don't want you to stop this excavation, if it's because of me." She wanted to take Janice's hand again, but hesitated. "I'll be fine...I could go home, if you want me to."

"Do you want to go home?" Janice drawled this out slowly, matching time with the motion of her hands, tangled within the towel.

"I want to be where you are."

"I want that too," Janice replied softly. She sighed and knelt down again. A finger flicked at the water's surface, creating lazy eddies in the water. "It was just a hunch, coming here." This is what she chose to call both the vague, relentless dreams and an equally slim lead, an obscure reference in an equally obscure 19th-century history of the Roman Empire:

In the very last day of his life, Julius Caesar finally avenged himself in a long-standing feud with a renowned Greek warrior. The name is lost to posterity; apparently the emperor so despised and loathed the Greek that he forbid recording the name in official court transcripts. Ironically, as his nemesis was crucified, all of Rome finally avenged themselves upon him.

Mel had scoffed at the obscure text and its secondary sources, its typos, its blatant misstatements of well-known facts. Who could trust a book with such a morbidly pedestrian title as Ruin and Death of the Ancient Empire? And who knew anything about its author, a Romanian scholar called Blavdak Vinomori? Yet simultaneously reports surfaced of an excavation of a Roman fort in the Apennines, and fragments of what were believed to be crucifixes. A coincidence?

It felt as if all the pieces were falling into place. Janice had arranged quickly to join the dig, and due to her affiliation with a major American university became one of its leaders.

Don't you feel it like I do? Janice wondered. You resist it so much at times, I know you do.

Why do you fight it? What are you fighting for?

She looked into those eyes, that familiar blue, and for one rare moment truly believed that she did not know this woman she claimed to love. She swallowed, and in the slithering motion of peristalsis, felt that phantom hand around her throat. She wished it would go away. But until it did—and Janice was certain she could eventually will it into oblivion—she would burrow it away, along with those things that she did not really consider secrets but merely unspoken truths. Whatever you were thinking, whoever you were in that one sick moment, it's not you. So I won't tell you.

Instead she watched as Mel stretched forward in the tub, drawing her legs up, arms wrapping about them, thoughtfully propping her chin on a kneecap. The movement—unconsciously feminine and unknowingly graceful, and in that manner quintessentially Mel—gave her back to Janice, restoring her belief and determination.

There will be no consequences.

"Janice." This was murmured sleepily.

"What, honey?" The endearment slipped out.

"Those dreams that you've had...they were about a crucifixion, weren't they? Their crucifixion."

Why can't I protect you? Why do I always seem to fail? "Yeah."

"So that was how it ended."

"They're just dreams. At this location, the Romans crucified their prisoners. It's—an odd kind of influence."

Mel looked up at her. "And you? Why did you have the dreams?"

"Because." Because I saw so many ugly things during the war, it spoiled sleep for me. Just like Catherine Stoller spoiled flying for me, the bitch. Christ, I can't let another thing be ruined. "I don't have pretty dreams. You know that."

Mel shifted in the tub, the slight agitation sending a whorl of water around her body, the water's turmoil an extension of the unease that churned within her. She stretched her wet arm along the tub, a hand held out toward Janice, almost in supplication. "But I want that for you." She said this solemnly, simply, as if speaking the wish could make it so.

Janice hesitated, then took the hand and helped Mel out of the tub. She then summoned the best of her bravado, a family skill she actually took pride in and deemed useful. "Who needs dreams?" She hesitated playfully in handing Mel a towel. "Reality is looking pretty good about now."

* * *

A day later Tebaldi was at the pensione, with official reports that Janice had to sign off on. He stood at the door of their room, scanning anxiously for Janice, then nearly dissolving into a puddle of relief when Mel informed him that Janice was out. She took a manila envelope from him with brusqueness. "I hope the next time you two work together, you will get along better with one another," she chastised him.

The hulking Italian looked appropriately guilty. "I know we have had some disagreements. I should have been more patient with her, for she was very anxious about you."

"Yes. I know she is not easy to get along with, but there was no need for violence."

He looked puzzled. "Signora?"

"Dottore, do not play the innocent with me. You were in a fight with her. I saw the bruises."

"What?" he yelled. Before she could ask him to lower his voice, he continued. "Signora Pappas, what are you accusing me of? I have never, in my entire life, struck a woman! Did she tell you that?"

Mel now realized why she felt at home in Italy: The resultant melodramas were like the backstage dramatics at a cotillion, or a debutante ball.

"I do not care if Janice Covington works for Harvard or the Vatican! I will not be slandered!"

It made perfect sense for him to deny it—the archaeological community was surprisingly small, rumors spread like venereal diseases (and such diseases were, in themselves, another story all together), reputations and egos were fragile, while memories were long and tougher than an elephant's hide.

Nonetheless, Mel believed him. His outrage felt genuine. And he had always acted with patience, kindness, honesty, and integrity—toward everyone involved in the excavation, including the temperamental Covington. I make him sound like an insurance company, she thought. Time to nip this in the bud. She placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Dottore, please forgive me. I am mistaken then. I must have misunderstood my friend. As you know, I have been very ill, and my mind in great confusion. You have my most sincere apologies."

The tension in his arm softened. He relented. "Thank you, Signora," he replied haughtily.

What a Southern belle you would be, Dr. Tebaldi, she thought, and gave him one of her best disarming smiles.

He blushed. "Eh," he muttered gruffly. "It is forgotten. We will never speak of it again."

The Italian archaeologist accepted a glass of wine—of course—to seal the apology, then departed. He left Mel sitting alone, running a finger along a fragile glass stem, watching the gray sky finally release its burden of rain, and wondering why her lover had lied to her.

Janice appeared an hour later, breathless, exuberant, and shaking water from her jacket. "I found him." She grinned and swiped at her wet, cold face with a shirtsleeve.

"Who?" Mel withdrew a handkerchief from her purse and gently dried the archaeologist's face while she squirmed like a puppy. Her hair, however, was still wet. The translator frowned at her futile hankie. Fetching a towel from the bathroom meant relinquishing her hold on Mad Dog, whom she would have to chase around the room and who would, no doubt, leave her muddy boot prints all over the carpet.

"Falconetto. The guy who has our scroll."

Our scroll? Mel thought, amused. How proprietary we are.

"The old man—the family patriarch—is dead. The son has it." Janice gulped for air. "He was out of the country for awhile. I couldn't understand the exact word my contact used—friggin' pain in the ass language, I know you love Italian, but Jesus, they talk so goddamn fast here—I think Giancarlo called him an ‘entertainer’ or an ‘entrepreneur’ or somethin' like that. Which makes me think he's some kind of male prostitute. But he's back in the Veneto, on Murano."

Mel made a game yet useless effort to dry blonde hair with her handkerchief.

"Stop grooming me, will ya?" Janice laughed at her efforts, and vigorously shook out her tangled hair, sending off both raindrops and coppery glints. If Mad Dog really had a tail, Mel mused, it would be wagging about now.

And she couldn't bear to bring such happiness to a premature end.

* * *

Murano, Italy

Autumn 1950

Neno knew the tall woman was trouble.

He did not notice her until he galloped onto the makeshift stage, her appearance at the corner of his sight made him lose the spring in his step; she towered over almost all the men in the crowd. She was not one of the usual crowd—obviously a turista, but she did not look the type to idle away time watching a third-rate carnival act, he judged, taking in her elegant, expensive clothes. Especially a third-rate carnival act performing in an almost deserted field near a cemetery. He eyed the desultory crowd with barely disguised contempt.

He mindlessly went through the card tricks, the sneering disdain he felt thrown askance by the mysterious woman's presence. Didn't his Corsican grandmother have some saying about tall women? He couldn't remember.

He flicked an ace at the crowd. They oohed.

After ten minutes he was done; the crowd was small, and he saw no need to expend energy performing more complicated tricks—those were for the larger groups. He darted behind the stage to his motorcycle, parked near the tent he shared with the geek and the sword swallower. The crowd grew immersed in plate spinners. He was about to make his escape when he saw the tall woman coming toward him. Another woman, much shorter and dressed in men's clothes, accompanied her. A very odd pair, he decided.

"Signore? Posso parlare con voi?" she asked. She spoke Italian with the formal over-precision of a smart foreigner.

"Je ne parle pas italien," he retorted quickly, in French.

"Je parle francais aussi," she parried.

"Aber mein Deutsches ist viel besser," he shot back. Surely she is not German, he thought, despite her unnerving Reich-blue eyes.

His sense of impending victory was short-lived. "Naturlich," she responded

cheerfully. "Sollen wir fortfahren?"

His jaw stiffened. "I suppose you speak English as well."

"Yes, I do," she purred. This, he realized, was her native tongue, given the languid, sweet flow of the language. "But we can try for Greek or Arabic if you like."

The blonde woman tilted her hat back and chuckled.

"What do you want?" he snapped, spitefully reverting to Italian.

She did not miss a beat. "You are Eugenio Falconetto?"

He nodded. "Everyone calls me Neno."

"My name is Melinda Pappas. My friend is Dr. Janice Covington." She gestured to the blonde woman, who nodded. "We are scholars."

He lit a cigarette. "Studying the circus, maybe?"

She smiled graciously, acknowledging the humor in the situation. "No. We are interested in a scroll. It had been in the possession of your father before the war. Do you know what I am speaking of?"

"Signora, my father owned many things. What he did not sell to the Fascists, they took from him. Do you understand? I have nothing. Why do you think I am working here?" He motioned at his paltry tent with cigarette in hand; for some odd reason, he noticed, the little blonde was staring at his cigarette.

"Signore Falconetto..."

"Call me Neno."

"Neno, this scroll was written in ancient Greek. According to international records, your father sold it to the Germans in 1940. During the war it was in a depository at a Bavarian castle, where Dr. Covington and I first saw it. We have been informed that after the war, it was returned to your father, in Venice."

He shrugged.

His interrogator was patient and persistent. "Your father has passed away, has he not?"

"Si. Papa died. He waited until the war was over." Neno watched as Dr. Covington admired his motorcycle; the woman was circling it, looking at it from all angles. "He always had a very bad sense of timing."

"Does this mean that you have the scroll, Neno?"

"Signora Pappas, what are you asking? You want this thing, eh?"

"We would like to buy it, yes."

"And what if I do not sell?" He slid a hand into his right pocket, and felt the reassuring coolness of switchblade there.

"It seems to me a gentleman in your financial position would be willing to sell."

"The war has left no gentlemen in its wake," he said. "I am no gentleman."

His intent in pulling out the switchblade had only been to scare them away; he truly believed they had nothing to offer him but trouble. But no sooner had the blade sprung out of its sheath then he felt the steel of Dr. Covington's handgun imposing itself upon the soft underside of his jaw, the click of the gun's hammer reverberating along his skin.

Mel did not blink an eye, but sighed. "Neno, you are making my friend very unhappy."

"She is unhappy?" He choked out the words. The small woman was now close enough to him that he finally took notice of her eyes, clear and hard as glass. And if he had paid closer attention to those eyes earlier, he would not have trifled with them.

Covington mumbled something to the tall woman—very quickly and in English—which he did not understand.

Mel, of course, provided the translation for him. "She wants you to drop the knife and kick it over to me."

Reluctantly, he did.

The gun remained in his neck as Mel picked up the blade and, with a look of distaste, closed it. "Why do you do this?" she asked gently, like a schoolteacher disappointed with a prized pupil.

He swallowed. Finally, the doctor backed off, pulling the gun away, but keeping the barrel trained on him. "If it's not the Nazis, it's the Americans," he spat. "You are all buzzards, picking us apart like carcasses. You come in here, thinking that if you cannot buy something, you will take it."

"We never would have taken anything from you," she assured him.

Neno's sneer dropped when he looked at the small woman who playfully twirled the handgun and smirked at him. "I suppose I have no choice. If I do not give it to you, your friend shoots me. Eh?"

"Put the gun away," Mel said quickly, in English, to Janice.

The archaeologist hesitated, but trusted the imploring look in her friend's eyes. She tucked the .38 back in her waistband, under her loose shirt. It comforted Neno only in the slightest manner, for her hard gaze remained fixed upon him.

"We are not going to hurt you, nor force you to do anything," Mel assured him calmly. "But we are willing to pay you quite generously for the scroll."

Janice plucked Neno's cigarette from his hand, and took a long, hungry drag off it. The magician stared at her, stunned. She moved like quicksilver. A fellow thief, he thought. If he were not so afraid of her, he might even like her. Or want her. She was grinning at him now, although the broad smile did not warm those cautious eyes. She walked over to her friend and reached into the tall woman's overcoat, pulling out a substantial wad of lire. The casual toss of the packet hit him, lightly, in the shins.

Yes, we understand each other very well, don't we? We don't even need the translator. He knelt slowly to the ground and retrieved the money, ruffling it with a rough thumb. "Dolce madonna." He whistled, sharp and low. This sum would set him up quite nicely.

Neno looked up to see Mel smiling wryly. "Dr. Covington is feeling very generous today."

* * *

"It was a good day's shopping," Janice quipped happily as they emerged from

Neno's makeshift home. She gripped the metal tube tightly, resisted the almost overwhelming urge to suddenly wield it like a staff. And, even further, fought the strangely compelling, sudden desire to playfully whack Mel on the nose with it.

"So it seems." Mel turned up the collar of her dark coat against the brisk autumn air. She waited for Janice to make another sarcastic comment about looking like a Southern secret agent or an extra from The Third Man, but instead, Janice pounced on the seemingly innocuous—yet terribly loaded—comment.

" 'So it seems,' " the little archaeologist mimicked her to near perfection. "What the hell does that mean?"

It means I didn't really want that damned scroll back in my life, it means I don't want to know how it will end, it means I really hope that this is a forgery and a lie. It means I don't want their darkness. I don't want it foreshadowing us. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up," Mel kept her eyes riveted on the ancient cobblestones street as they walked. "This may not be a genuine artifact."

"Believe me, my hopes aren't up. My hopes are in the goddamn gutter."

Normally—and ironically—Janice was always the one walking faster whenever they were together, but now she found herself scrambling to keep up with her long-legged companion. "Wait a minute." She grabbed Mel's arm, but not roughly. "You're the one who encouraged me to keep searching. All through last year, you kept telling me that we will keep coming back and looking for them, no matter how long it takes."

Because you're the searcher. Because you'll never stop looking, and I know that.

It's what you're meant to do. And my role?

Janice took a deep breath in order to contain her ever-expanding anger. "And

now—"

To hold on and never let go.

"—you're pissing on my parade!" Janice brandished the tube with equal parts triumph and anger. "We found it again. Even if it is one of the fakes, it may point us toward the real ones."

"How?"

"Clues, baby. We're looking for clues. Archaeology is nothing if not detective work for suckers with a romantic streak a mile wide. The Sam Spades of the ancient world."

Mel arched an eyebrow. "I'm pleased you're finally willing to admit the truth to yourself."

Janice ignored this; or tried to, at the very least. "If we take the view that a forger did this for kicks, he might have written something that will lead us to the right place."

“Are you so certain it's a man?” Mel parried.

“Stop being a smart ass.”

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle, dear?”

Again Janice raised the tube for emphasis. "If this is the last fake, we can look at them all together, as a whole. We can look for patterns, for sequences—" Janice's tone softened. "—and that's where you come in. You're good at that kind of thing."

"I'm a linguist, not a puzzle solver."

"They're the same thing sometimes," the archaeologist countered.

"I don't quite know how to match wits with a dead thief."

"You match wits with a live one all the time, baby." Janice grinned and did not wait for her, but continued walking down the street.

Mel watched her for a moment as she strode down the old cobblestones, shoulders hunched, head ducked, hands shoved in her pockets. She always walked like that, no matter her mood—in that defensive way, her body a battering ram against the world, primed for the slightest altercation. Mel knew that walk, and felt its rhythm as deeply as she felt her own. Walking away, why is it you always seem to be walking away from me? The thought startled her. Then she remembered Anton's stroke, and Janice walking away from her in the hospital, and how she had wanted to drop everything, slip the bonds of her responsibilities, and chase after that sad swagger. How she had wanted to give up her world to assuage that hurt.

And I still do. With a just a few long strides she caught up to Janice, who peeked at her, almost suspiciously, from over the upturned lapel of her leather jacket.

"You seem pretty certain about this theory," Mel remarked, in an effort at casualness.

"It's the only one I have," Janice retorted grimly. "Otherwise—I don't know what to think. I wouldn't know where to begin to look for the originals again, except to retrace my father's steps. And that seems almost pointless to me right now. There wasn't a stone left unturned in Amphipolis when he was done with it." Her lips tightened for a moment into a fierce frown, as they frequently did whenever Harry arose as a topic of conversation.

Now there's a subject that sorely needs excavating, Mel thought. Albeit one that required the lightest and most precise of touches, and even after everything they had been through, and everything they meant to each other, Mel wasn't certain she could pull it off. She sighed.

Janice fixed her with a glare. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're thinking, and you know I hate it when you do that."

"I'm surprised you haven't concocted some manner in which to keep me barefoot and pregnant!"

"Believe me, I've been trying to knock you up for years." Janice stopped walking, thus forcing pedestrian traffic—a mishmash of tourists and artisans from the work shops returning to work after lunch—to flow around them. "Now tell me what's bugging you."

"I just—I—" Mel shrugged helplessly. Janice's thumb stroked the black cashmere of her coat.

"—you're afraid of what we'll find."

"And I'm afraid we'll find nothing."

"You'll find something in your translation, Mel. I know you will."

"I don't know why you think I'm good at this."

"You've got to be kidding me," Janice snorted. "Need I bring up Bletchley again?"

After the war, Anton Frobisher, Mel's old friend, let slip that "the boys from Bletchley"—the brilliant team of codebreakers who eventually unraveled the Germans' Enigma code—were interested in having Mel on staff. She had refused, of course, and her repeated rejections grew even more strident once she was reunited with Janice in London.

It was a sore spot—the revelation had caused a considerable row between them.

Janice believed that Mel was a sentimental fool passing up a great opportunity, and Mel thought Janice was an unsentimental fool who clearly did not understand the politics and rivalries among wartime government agencies.

"No, you needn't bring that up again," Mel retorted icily.

"They wouldn't have wanted you if you weren't damned good."

"It wasn't about how good I was, it was about stealing Anton's staff. And yes, it was about staying close to you.” Mel finally yanked her sleeve away from Janice's hand. Why did I fall in love with someone who loves to argue in public?

"Okay, fine, but don't you regret it at all?" Janice spread out her arms.

Regret? Yes. If I went to Bletchley, maybe Catherine Stoller never would have found me, and maybe she wouldn't have almost killed you. "I can't believe you're picking a fight about this again!" she growled through her teeth.

The archaeologist seemed to ponder this apparent insanity. "Yeah, but just think of all the fucking we'll have to do to make up." This time Janice did not claim her sleeve, but her hand. "I don't know about you, but that's what keeps me focused in a fight."

The situation thus diffused, Mel allowed herself to be led through the tourists, the shopkeepers, and the open-air stalls. She smiled. Covington did know how to start a fight, but she also knew how to finish them.

* * *

Back on the mainland, in Venice, Mel stared at the small envelope that the Cavaletto's concierge had handed her before they descended up to the hotel room. Thinking it another dinner invitation from the amorous and persistent Vittorio Frascati, she rolled her eyes and resolutely decided to ignore it. However, as Janice rushed into the bathroom, idle curiosity won out and she tore open the note.

You're a difficult woman to keep track of, my dear.

Meet me at the Rialto Bridge tomorrow morning.

Mark Pendleton.

Mel felt most fortunate that she was sitting when she opened the note. Nonetheless, she almost jumped out of her skin when Janice came up behind her.

"Another love note from Vittorio?" Janice asked sarcastically.

Mel quickly tore up the note and threw it in a wastebasket. "Yes." She was surprised at how quickly the lie came to her.

Janice hummed for a moment. "Will I have to kill him?" The playful threat lost even more of its edge as she placed her chin atop Mel's head.

Mel stared at the torn paper in the wastebasket. "I hope not," she whispered.

* * *

She did not recognize him at first. In civilian clothes he looked less prepossessing, the male equivalent of dowdy, the stern crewcut of his wartime service yielding to a softer hairstyle. His eyes, however, retained their bitter sharpness.

And he remained impressed with her beauty. There was an uneasy silence as he smiled, taking her in.

She said nothing; if she were anxious, it was only at this appalling failure of her relentlessly proper Southern manners.

"You probably wonder how I knew you were here," he began.

Mel's lips moved without sound. Then she found her voice. "Yes, Major. I do."

"You can call me Mark. It's no longer wartime." His reply was almost as soft.

She despised the creeping, implied intimacy of it. "How did you know I was here—" He stepped closer to her. "—Mr. Pendleton?"

His laugh was low. "Ah, let's see. When last I saw you, it was Switzerland, at the end of 1945. From there you went on to London. You—and Dr. Covington—were there until the spring of 1946. April, I believe. I think you took about three trips to Cornwall during that time as well. From London, you returned to the United States. You were in New York for two weeks, then you accompanied Dr. Covington to Cambridge. You were in Cambridge for six weeks approximately. Then you returned to your house in Charlotte, North Carolina—with a little side trip to the ancestral home in Columbia, South Carolina—sold it, and moved your belongings to Cambridge." He paused to take a breath. "A lot of moving about in one year. You really threw in your lot with that guttersnipe, didn't you?" He watched, fascinated to see a crack in her reserve—her eyes darkened, the pupils expanded and flooded with anger. "Do you want me to go on?"

Mel's empty hands ached. How easy it would be, how satisfying to feel the soft crunch of your throat. Bones and veins, unraveled in my grasp. Like pulling apart a chicken carcass. The clenching of her hands neither stilled the voice inside nor the compulsion it produced.

"I make it my business to know these things—to keep track of certain people. You must admit, you are hardly low profile in your circle these days. Being the, ah, sponsor of Dr. Covington's work, you are becoming as well known as she. Perhaps that was not your intention."

Stop it, stop it. She looked down at her shaking hands. "It wasn't," she affirmed.

"It does draw attention to the fact that you live with the woman."

"I'm hardly a stranger to gossip." Obviously, you have never lived in a small, Southern town, where there is nothing to do but talk about your neighbors. As a young woman, living alone with her father, Mel had been subject to every strain of lurid rumor imaginable, the tamest of which was being homosexual. "I've lived with it most of my life."

"So you never wonder or worry about what people think?"

She straightened. "I've gone through too much…to really care anymore what people think about me."

"Ah, my dear, but you do care about what people think of your lover, don't you?" Pendleton smiled, knowing he hit his target.

"What do you want of me?"

"I want your services." He chuckled at the look on her face. "Oh, not that. You're a lovely creature, but—" Pendleton shuddered, as if carnal relations with her would sully him in some fashion. "No, it's not that. Your proximity to Dr. Covington is what interests me."

Mel's hand tightened along the bridge. "I don't quite understand."

"The war is technically over. But the work of the OSS continues—we are still retrieving missing and lost art objects all over Europe." He paused for a moment, to retrieve a pipe from his coat. Casually, he tapped its bowl against the railing. "What is your business with Falconetto?"

"Since you seem to know everything about my life, I think there is no reason for me to tell you."

Pendleton suppressed a smile; he found Melinda Pappas an enjoyable and formidable opponent. "You're right, of course. I know. You have come to retrieve a scroll—one of those tales of that warrior woman. You know, Catherine Stoller paid old Falconetto quite generously the first time around. Almost three times its worth. She kept meticulous records of all her purchases for the Ahnenerbe." He clenched the stem of the pipe between his teeth and fumbled for matches. "She was involved with them from the start, despite what she told you. Quite an expert at playing both ends, I say. A damned genius at subterfuge." He yanked a match free from its book, then stopped and fixed her with his flinty glare. "Did she play you for the fool, Melinda? Is that how your relationship came to an end?"

Darling Melinda, surely you knew this would come. I have a fiancé. Even in the seeming anonymity of a typewritten "Dear Jane" note, Catherine's voice—cool, condescending—had bled through every word and every imagined, rackety keystroke that echoed within Mel's mind.

"She typed up a fucking kiss-off letter?" Janice had exclaimed in disbelief when Mel finally told her the Stoller story in its entirety.

The impersonality—and brevity—of the letter had hurt the most; Mel paid little regard to the part about the fiancé. Those, the Southern beauty knew from experience, were discarded easily enough—she had gone through seven in four years at Vanderbilt.

"You had seven fucking fiancés?" Janice had roared when this slight piece of information inadvertently revealed itself.

Thinking of Janice's reaction—and what she had to do to placate her—brought a serene smile to her face, and provided Pendleton with an erroneous, if puzzling, silent answer to his needling, gratuitous question, one that she felt no need to correct.

Dismayed at her lack of response, he lit a match and sucked the flame into the pipe's brown bowl. "No matter," he said between puffs. "The past is done and Stoller is dead, unfortunately."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, I know you don't mourn her. I mourn what was inside her head. The things she knew—about the SS in general, the Ahnenerbe in particular, even the bloody Werwolf movement she took up with at the end of the war—the woman was a walking font of information about the Nazis. She would have made my task easier."

"I—" Mel began shakily. "I regret that things happened the way they did. It was never my intent for Catherine to die. I didn't know, I didn't imagine—that it would end as it did." So now you're finally feeling remorse?

"Of course not," he retorted coldly. " 'But the wise perceive things about to happen.'" He removed his pipe and stared at it. "You're familiar with the quote?" His sharp eyes returned to her face.

She nodded bleakly. "Philostratos." And also used in a Cavafy poem, she recalled.

They stood quietly, watching the canal. Pendleton smoked his pipe in an almost amiable silence, perhaps trying to disarm her with his casualness, so that his assault would be all the more effective. "Would you really lie to protect her? If she is cut from the same cloth as her father—"

"She's not," Mel shot back vehemently.

"All right then, let's assume that. But she must have information about her father's transactions with the Nazis. Something she is not telling us."

"Why would she withhold information?"

"Her father's reputation. Her own. Yours." He sucked on the pipe. "Find out for me. Get me some documentation."

"This could be resolved in a very simple manner. Go to her, and ask her these questions yourself. Janice will not lie to you."

"My dear, your doctor was interrogated by the OSS, before she was sent on assignment to Neuschwanstein. She refused to answer any questions directly pertaining to her father. Needless to say, suspicion was raised a few notches after that."

Interrogated? Mel was too distracted by this new bit of information to resist the hand placed upon her arm. "We are bound together by the secrets we have, whether you like it or not. Work with me, Melinda. I think you would be of great use to the intelligence community." Oh, what a euphemism. Even in her muddled mindset, she couldn't fail to see the humor in that phrase. "In return....Perhaps I could help you."

She stared at him incredulously.

"I may be able to help you locate the scrolls."

"You know where they are?" Her voice was tinged with menace.

Pendleton raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say that." He tapped out the remains of his pipe bowl into the Grand Canal as she winced. He smirked, amused at her disgust, and nodded at the water. "Don't you know how filthy that canal is already?" He buttoned his coat and turned to her; something remained of his military bearing and he looked as if he were standing at attention, even with his hands tucked in the coat's pockets. "I must go now. Do think about what I've said, will you?"

"Go to hell," she said softly. Then she walked away.

2. Recognition

Does the ancient book instill a quiet fear because its language is dead or

because, on the contrary, it communicates a recognizable voice? Which is more

terrible, death or resurrection?

—Geoffrey O'Brien

Cambridge

Spring 1951

The fountain pen drew a line, a savage gallop over the page, a border of black that glistened until the page drank it in. Once drained of liquid life, it stood there, solid and dull, yet indelible.

Mel had awakened before dawn, an act strangely familiar to her. She blamed an odd dream—she was drowning, literally, when a small rowboat came along. Miss Cantrip, her old high school Latin teacher, was in the boat, and instead of throwing out a life preserver, she threw a huge Latin grammar instead. And Mel was clinging to the book and going under when she woke. The blue shadows of pre-dawn and the murky dream sea were almost indistinguishable at first, and she panicked until realizing that she held in her arms an extra pillow and not a Latin grammar, and that it wasn't an undertow but Janice's legs that pinned her down. We sleep so close together that our skin becomes entwined. The illusion broke with the tickling sharpness of an unshaven leg scraping against her smooth skin. Mel sighed; if only the wartime practice of leg-shaving—a very civilized practice indeed, the translator thought—had caught on with Covington. The little savage.

From there she padded down to the study. The transcription of the scroll in its original Greek (the original too fragile to be handled extensively) lay beside her own vellum notebook—a languishing, laughing tabula rasa, and the fountain pen lying in its crook—an antiquated weapon, charming and useless.

She allowed these instruments to torment her only briefly. You just have to not think about it and do it, as Janice would say to her when confronted with an unpleasant task (and Mel so loved to throw these words back at her when Janice dreaded going in to class). And so she picked up the pen and, as if it needed a warm-up, drew the line at the top of the page.

The pen, guided by her hand, idly copied a few Greek characters just above the thick line. The serifed strokes formed a word.

Waters. I have traveled over many rivers and seas. None I regret more than those I crossed to Britannia.

After uncharacteristically dooming Pendleton to the underworld, Mel had walked through the city—her city, she thought of it so protectively—winding through the narrow streets, along the Riva Degli Schiavoni and into the less crowded Castello district. She had sat at a cafe, staring into the water of the San Marco Canal, fluttering under the soft gold of weak autumn light. Had she made the right decision? Should she tell Janice? She didn't know. All she knew was that the serenity, the bliss she consigned to this city was under threat of implosion from an aspect of her past that, she had hoped, was completely,

utterly dead and buried. Don't taint this place for me, she had silently implored the absent Pendleton, as she sat at the cafe. Because she believed that in Venice she could immerse herself in a history of her own construction, one that she devised with Janice. One that she thought she could control.

What made me think I could control it? Any more than I can control this act, or what it will reveal? She watched, almost detached, as the pen skated over paper. The words came, as they always did, cloaked in that strange garb of a dead language, like ghosts. Then, gradually, they were stripped by her ministrations until the meaning was bare. Any erotic component to this intangible craft fled her mind as she awkwardly cradled the huge Liddell & Scott dictionary in both arms, as if it were a burdensome baby.

Morning had tilted its light along the walls and the bookshelves, and suddenly she felt Janice's presence—sleepy, sweet-smelling, showered, a hand depositing a coffee cup on the desk, damp copper tendrils brushing her cheek in a kiss of their own devising.

When she reached for the coffee, she discovered an oily film of age floating on top of the black liquid and the porcelain mug downright cool. She was about to curse her blonde coffeemaker when she noticed the square of sun from the window had climbed even higher on the wall. Close to noon? She stared at another new object on the desk, cold toast, once slice dark with absorbed butter, the other topped with marmalade, just the way she liked it. Shanghaied once again by her overwhelming sense of propriety, Mel left the study in order to wash up and put on real clothes. When she returned, chewing on a hairpin and still ignoring the cold food on the desk, she could hear children playing outside (did I leave that window open?), the clatter of tools in the driveway (what on Earth is she doing to that car?) and tuneless whistling (isn't she sick of "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" yet?).

But once again the words drew her in, and everything was forgotten.

* * *

The wrench slid out of Janice's grasp. "I give up. I fucking give up."

The Packard's death rattle continued to mock her.

"Turn it off," she called to Paul, who sat behind the wheel of the abysmal vehicle.

He turned the key, and the car convulsed, sputtered, and died. At least for the time being.

"Packard 1, Mad Dog 0," Paul decreed the winner. He opened the door of the car but remained sitting there; the seats were terribly comfortable. He put a foot on the dash, and looked toward the open front window of the house, where the study was located. "Did you chain her to the desk?" he asked Covington.

"No, asshole," she grunted as she tossed tools back into their metal chest.

"Keep sweet talkin' me, Janice. Weave your spell over me."

"Asshole, asshole, asshole." She punctuated this mantra by consigning the wrench to the clutter.

"Come on, spill it. What's wrong?"

“Nothing," she muttered—just as he knew she would. But then, surprisingly, she glanced at the window, and reneged on her stoicism. "I just worry when she gets like this." Janice shut the toolbox.

Paul was surprised at this rare revelation. Oh, so you do worry about her, you do love her, he thought sarcastically. Asshole! he berated himself. You know she does. God, it's been too long. I need a woman. His gaze wondered over Janice's body. Not exactly his type, compact and too muscular, but she certainly had curves in all the right places—

"What the hell at you staring at?" she barked.

"I just realized something," he said.

"What?"

"You have great tits." Unfortunately, the excitement regarding this epiphany had negated any common sense.

Janice could not have looked more stunned if he had hit her. And for a moment he thought she would. Silence dragged, she contemplated his observation, and thus spake Covington: "It's no wonder you can't get a woman. Your social skills are even worse than mine."

"We'll see about that, buster." Paul gave a quick warning whistle. "Geezer at 3 o'clock!"

Janice looked up. "Huh?"

"The Dean," he hissed.

Sure enough, the Dean and his walking stick were meandering in their general direction. Pompous old idiot, she thought. Never trust a man who wears a bow tie.

The wiry old man smiled and tipped his hat as he entered the driveway. "Janice." He nodded to Paul. "Mr Rosenberg! I'm pleased you'll be teaching for us this fall."

Paul jumped out of the car, nervously wiping dirty hands on his trousers. "Yes sir, I'm looking forward to it." They shook hands.

The one social amenity out of the way, the Dean turned his attentions to Janice. She folded arms across her chest, leery of further examination and potential commentary on her breasts. "I don't have to see you for another couple weeks, old man. What brings you to my door?"

"Is it wrong of me to check up on you, Janice? To see how your dig went? How Miss Pappas is feeling?"

"You know how the dig went. I filed the report at your office. And Miss Pappas is fine."

"She went to the Medical School as requested?"

"Yeah." Albeit very reluctantly. The team of Roman physicians was curious to see what their American colleagues thought of Mel's rapid recovery. The Americans were just as impressed, and just as unsuccessful in finding anything that would explain the healing powers of one seemingly unremarkable myopic Southern woman. Janice cleared her throat. "There's a report on that too, you'll just have to bug the damn doctors, and not me."

"Is she about?" The Dean made a show of looking around, as if Mel might have set up office under a hydrangea bush.

"She's working."

"Has she given any further thought to my proposal?"

Paul noticed—with some measure of dread—that Covington's eyes glistened with malice.

"She is giving it thought, and we will discuss it." The words slithered out between clenched teeth.

"Ah, she's a good girl!" the Dean grinned again. "And so are you, Janice, even though you pretend otherwise."

"Who's pretending, old man?"

Paul nibbled at his lip, wondered what Mel did in these situations other than discreetly kick her in the shins with pointy shoes. He also wondered if the Dean was not the most masochistic man within the town limits.

Nonetheless, the old man laughed, shook his head, and tipped his hat once again. "Very well. We shall speak again soon. Good day to you both."

As the Dean walked away, he thought he heard a word—"mother"—followed by a strange, muffled cry of pain. He turned around. Janice was bent over, as if examining something on the ground, and Mr. Rosenberg was tucking a pen into his shirt pocket. "Uh, Janice was just reminding me—to send regards to your mother."

The Dean arched an eyebrow, momentarily amused himself with the thought of what kind of regards Covington might actually send to his mother, then continued on his way.

Once he was well down the block, Janice was on the move, clutching her leg and hopping more frantically than an extra performing an Indian war dance in a bad Hollywood western. Wisely, Paul placed the Packard between himself and the homicidal archaeologist by half-climbing, half-leaping over the car's hood.

"You had to stab me with a pen!" she cried.

"I'm sorry! I wanted to shut you up before you did anything stupid."

"Fine, but why did you have to pick the same spot where that goddamn Nazi bitch nailed me?"

"Oh. It just looked like the chunkiest part of the thigh—"

"Shut up!" She rubbed her leg. "Christ, I think you broke the skin."

"Ya big baby." Nonetheless he jumped in genuine fear as she lunged for him across the Packard's hood. Growling in frustration, she resigned herself to sitting down in the driver's seat. He approached her cautiously. "What's this proposal the Dean was yakkin' about?"

The rubbing slowed considerably. "He wants Mel on faculty."

"Huh," he muttered, impressed. "You mean like the whole nine yards—a professor, and not a part-time hack like me?" She nodded. "I thought you needed an advanced degree to teach on that level."

"She has one. From Cambridge."

"You mean Harvard?"

"No, I mean Cambridge University in friggin' England, knucklehead. Well, she almost has one. Didn't finish all the coursework. But she could do that here in a flash." She glared at the ground. "It's all part of his deal."

"You made a deal with him?"

"Sort of. He'll continue to grant me sabbaticals and fund my research if he gets Mel on his staff."

"Does she want to?"

"I dunno," Janice mumbled.

37 Hours Ago

"No," Mel said firmly.

"But—"

"No."

"You might—"

"No."

"—like it—"

"You said that about baseball."

"You're not still sore about that, are you?"

"I'm still sore, period."

"Not everyone gets hit with a DiMaggio foul ball. It's like getting a Purple Heart. Anyway, this is different. I know you hate—"

"—talking in front of groups, especially adolescent boys—"

"Yeah, I know you hate that, and there is all the bullshit—"

"Academic politics."

"They should just shorten it to a four-letter word, shouldn't they?"

"When I agreed to this arrangement—"

"'Arrangement'? And you bitch about me not being romantic."

"—it was with the understanding that I would serve a supportive role. I would type your lesson plans, update your schedule, make your appointments, wash your stockings, make your lunch, bake cookies—"

"I'm still waiting for the cookies."

"Stop joking. You realize that if this happens, I won't be able to come with you on all your digs. In fact, I would probably be lucky to accompany you on any of them."

A pause. "I know."

"Of course you do. And you're glad of it."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"It means that you still have this foolish idea of protecting me, that I will be safer if I'm not out of the country. If I'm not with you."

There was no response to this.

"It's not your fault that I—got sick. It doesn't mean that something bad will happen every time."

Another long pause.

"Well?"

"All right, dammit, I won't deny it. But...it's not just that." A sigh. "Don't you see it, Mel?"

"See what?"

"You told me once that you left your home to find adventure—and to find yourself. You said you didn't want to end up being some sad small town spinster or some rich man's wife. Well, I'm not rich and I'm not a man, but goddamned if I don't wonder sometimes if you're wasting your talents and your skills. It's not that I don't appreciate all the stuff you do for me. I do. But—"

"What?" This rhetorical prompting was uttered gently.

"I want you to be you," Janice said.

* * *

And it had been left at that: Unresolved and with the promise of cookies still lingering in the air.

How much time do we got? Janice wondered. How many times will we be separated, if you take this gig? Maybe it was time to stop “fixing” the car.

"I'm really sorry about the leg," Paul apologized, fearing that the sudden silence might have something to do with him.

"It's okay, buddy boy." She raised her arm and sniffed. Ah, just the right amount of sweat and motor oil. Top it off with a little bourbon, and voila, we have eau de Covington. She'll be helpless! At my mercy! And she might even do that little trick of unbuckling my belt with her teeth. A cunning linguist, indeed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an obsessive to distract."

* * *

Mel desperately wanted to remove her glasses and rub her tired eyes, but one hand was more or less sat on by Janice, the other fending off the archaeologist's persistent advances.

They were both crammed into the leather chair at the desk. Janice was sitting in her lap, and Janice’s Mouth—indeed, the organ was so talented it warranted capital letters—was at her neck, composing a symphony out of kissing, nipping, and licking. Janice's intrepid hand—oh, all of your body deserves capital letters, and in big bold 72 point type, too!—flicked open two buttons of her blouse, and plunged in, cupping her breast.

Mel momentarily regained her senses, however, and snared the hand by its wrist.

No you don't, buster. Although she had to admit fending off Janice was, without question, the best bad date she'd ever had. She maneuvered the hand away from her breast and placed it on her knee.

It was a tactical error that her ancestor would've despised. Janice's hand shot up her skirt and lodged itself happily between two thighs. Like an Olympic swimmer, the hand was going for the gold.

Mel's vision blurred to such a degree that, for one delirious moment, she thought she was reading ancient Greek again and not her own English translation. She heard a gurgling whimper and recognized it as the sound of her own surrender. Oh, all right, I give up. It's not like I'm getting anywhere here. I don't even think I'm doing it justice, some of it sounds so pedestrian, so pedantic: "I intend to show." Why on earth would she begin a section with such a pompous, self-important phrase? It’s not like Gabrielle as a writer. Of course, we are assuming these are not originals, but a good forger would not tamper with an original unless—Janice, please stop biting my neck—unless there…is…some… significance….

Mel sat forward violently, dislodging the bundle of blonde archaeologist in her lap. Janice landed upon the floor with an undignified thunk. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Stretch," she growled as she sat up, rubbing her back. "Ow."

The translator was frantically flipping through her notebook.

"Ow," Covington restated petulantly, emphatically.

Mel uncapped her fountain pen and began scribbling on a fresh piece of paper.

"Goddamnit, OW!"

The roar caught Mel's attention, but failed to produce an apology. Janice knew something was up when those relentless Southern manners did not engage.

"I-I think I figured out something," Mel stammered breathlessly and, in her excitement, stood up.

The spurious injury was forgotten. Janice too jumped to her feet. "Really?"

"This phrase, i-it's repeated several times in the scroll...." She pointed to the words in her notebook. " 'I intend to show.' At least that was the best possible translation I could come up with. It's very prosaic and sometimes even awkward when it's stuck in the middle of all this purple prose. You might even call it inorganic." Janice raised an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. I think it's foreign, that someone other than the writer inserted it. And I think that's why I had such difficulty with it. If we look at the text surrounding it...."

Mel pointed at a sentence: I intend to show here that the sun was far from rising when Xena set out for Chin.

The pages fluttered wildly, like in a Walt Disney cartoon and Janice felt like the hapless hero of The Sorcerer's Apprentice. "And here's another." The translator pointed at another clumsy beacon within the text: I intend to show that the gate near the northern pass could not be broached.

"You're right, it's not like her usual style," Janice conceded.

Mel's finger struck the page with another triumphant thump. "Here's another." It is my intent to show the moon, glistening beyond the woods, was the only thing illuminating my path. Her eyes skipped the remainder of the painful passage: For it was the only thing that shone for me in that dark time. I wondered if the light she had so loved in me was forever dim.

And then the dignified Melinda Pappas did something she had not done since her

12th birthday, when her father bought her a horse: She clapped her hands and jumped up and down. I've got you now, my pretty!

She grabbed Janice's head with both hands and bestowed a sloppy kiss on messy hair. "My lucky charm," she breathed, and took a moment to mesmerize Janice with blue eyes and a secondary smooch, hard and hungry, right on the lips.

Janice was falling into the kiss—and preparing to drop her pants—when contact was broken, and a large hand gave her a substantial shove.

"Now y'all go away." Mel sat down and resumed copying out Greek sentences.

The archaeologist's hands were frozen on her belt buckle. "What?"

"Go fix the car."

"It's fixed."

"You're lying."

"I'm lying, but shit, baby, I need—"

She was silenced by two fingers thrust in her face—index and thumb, barely touching. "I'm this close," Mel said, with quiet urgency.

"Really?" Janice was slack-jawed.

Mel nodded.

She returned the nod. Helpless, anxious, yet happy, Covington felt like an expectant father as she wandered out of the study. And like generations of expectant fathers before her, she paced in front of a closed door for a while, and when the wait proved too much, she sought the comfort of alcohol at the closest bar. There she discovered anew the agony of waiting, the thrill of possibility, and the fact that her shirttail was peeking out of her unbuttoned fly.

Several hours later she returned home to find the lamp still burning in the study. But Mel was not within the penumbra of light at the desk; she was sprawled on the couch, one hand shading her eyes, the other loosely curled around her glasses. Each breath was a low, crouching rumble, ready for the great leap into full-fledged snoring.

Janice gazed at the open notebook on the desk. What she saw reminded her—unpleasantly—of algebraic equations. Lines of Greek were written on the page, one after another. She was helpless in deciphering their meaning even under the best of circumstances, let alone after two beers and three shots of bourbon. Show your work, Janice's mathematics professor had always chastised her. And in this instance, that was precisely what Mel had done. But the translator had found something. Characters had been underlined and a new Greek phrase scribbled out below the block of text. And below that was a phrase in English: Gate of the Sun, Gate of the Moon.

Unlike other useful homilies, the ever-skeptical Covington never quite believed the hyperbole behind the saying my blood runs cold. But, taking in the words of the notebook, something did freeze within her. She recoiled at first, then extended a hesitant finger to the page, as if to smite the meaning out of the words. But there they remained. Indelible.

Alexandria.

A sigh unfurled from the general direction of the couch. Janice blinked, the corners of her eyes now damp and aching. Fuck.

"You're back," Mel was stretching, catlike, on the sofa.

I've never wanted to go back to Alex. Will I? It figures that this search would take me there again. It just fucking figures. Janice swiped at her eyes. "And you found something." Her shaking voice easily tumbled the attempt at casual retort. She tapped the notebook for emphasis, then walked over to the couch and sat down carefully on its edge.

The translator propped herself up on elbows. The effort, however, proved too taxing and she flopped back down on the couch, delicately pressing the pads of her fingers to her throbbing temples. "I've found that staring at ancient Greek all day can make your head explode." Black-framed glasses slid from their temporary perch on her stomach and headed toward the floor.

Janice intercepted them. "You're so goddamn stubborn. I tried to stop you."

"Hush." Mel groaned. "You know, I don't even know what that means—the Gate of the Sun, the Gate of the Moon."

"How did—"

"It was an acrostic. I wrote out all the sentences that included that phrase—'It is my intent.' or 'My intention is' or any variant on it. And there it was: A character from each sentence, in a simple linear pattern, spelling it out." The translator chuckled. "That's the long story short version of it. I would stare and stare at those lines. Then I'd try something else: I would change the order of the lines, or write them all backward…. Then I would go back to the lines I had originally written. The sentences themselves were like foreshadowing, since they all spoke of the sun and the moon. Sometimes, you just have to go back at look at it from a different angle. " She rubbed her eyes. "Do you remember that painting I once showed you at the National Gallery, in London? 'The Ambassadors,' by Hans Holbein?"

Janice shrugged. "Vaguely."

"The one with the anamorphic skull. When it's viewed at a certain angle, you see the skull depicted at the bottom of the painting."

"Oh, yeah. That was nifty."

"A 'nifty' memento mori. Renaissance painters were fond of doing that—inserting a vanitas skull or something similar—to remind even the richest among their patrons and admirers that they too will die. As do we all."

Silence filled the air between them as the archaeologist took in what Mel, in her usual oblique way, was trying to tell her. "So you're saying you did the same thing—with words?" Janice proffered the theory with caution. "Just kept looking at them in all different kinds of ways, until something clicked?" Translation was a downright spooky practice, she decided. Didn't Mel say she had kin down in New Orleans—the American cradle of voodoo? The skull beneath the flesh, the meaning beneath the words.

Mel was smiling, and staring into some imagined distance. "It's a beautiful thing. I felt—" she trailed off, raising her hand as if the continuation of that phrase—perfectly expressing the beauty and wholeness she felt—rested there tangibly, within her grasp. Sometimes I think it's better than making love. So maybe there is an erotic component to it. Which explains how I could do without a lover for such a long period of time. She looked at Janice—or rather, her pants. "Your fly is unbuttoned."

"Yeah. I know. The boys at Mickey's thought it was funny. Delmar bet me ten bucks I couldn't leave it that way all night." Janice flashed the greenback with pride.

I could certainly do without this boorish behavior. Mel's mortification manifested itself in a groan as she covered her face with a hand. "This isn't helping us figure out—"

"—the Gate of the Sun and the Gate of the Moon? It's in Alexandria," Janice replied. "In the ancient city, along the Canopic Way. There was a gate at its east end—the Gate of the Sun—and one at the west end—the Gate of the Moon."

A bleary blue eye peeked at her from between two fingers. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"Aside from fucking and keeping that stupid car of yours running, you mean."

"It's certainly not your eloquence, or lack thereof." Mel now managed to sit up.

"So you think they may be in Alexandria?"

Janice busied herself with massaging a callus on her palm. "I suppose it's possible. It would explain a lot. The duplicates are dated in the early 1500s. Venice was a major port city at that time, a gateway to the east—including Alexandria. Trade flourished then between the Venetians and the Ottoman Empire. It's possible the originals were traded for something, and ended up in Alexandria."

Mel nodded vigorously. "That's a good theory."

"I need more, though. I need more to back it up."

"I understand. But it might not hurt to do a, er, fact-finding mission."

"Yeah." Janice laughed nervously.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." She shrugged. "I get scared about it sometimes. One day I want it more than anything, the next it's like—it's like a whole other world. It's a little overwhelming." I wonder if it will change me. I wonder if it will change us.

Mel fingers tangled with her own. "I know."

"Somehow I figured you would." Janice's response sounded perfunctory to her own ears and she quickly stared down at the floor. But do you know how afraid I really am?

If she did, Mel opted to change the subject instead. "I've never been to Alexandria," she said, wistfully.

"Let alone Egypt?" Janice retorted.

"Not true. Daddy took me to Cairo once. I was 14. He did keep me entombed in the hotel the entire time, however. I did nothing but swim in the pool and read." A certain fact floated dismally to her consciousness. "The Davies live in Alexandria, don't they?"

"Yeah. Along the seafront, like all the rich bastards. I, uh—" She cleared her throat. "I usually stayed there when I was in Alex. Although before we met them, Harry and I had this lousy flat there."

"Hmmm," said Mel.

“Don't give me 'hmmm.' I hate that. I slept with her. I can't change history. But your jealousy is kind of touching, Mel. A small frailty. It makes me feel better about my shortcomings." Janice blew out a weary breath. "I thought we got over this particular hump, so to speak. I ain't interested in Jenny."

"I know, but she is still interested in you."

A shrug. "There's nothing you can do about that."

"True." Mel conceded this with reluctance.

"Then what are you worried about?" An angry, green-eyed glare fixed itself on Mel like a sniper's rifle. "Do you trust me?"

Mel blinked in surprise. "But—yes. Yes. Of course."

Janice scowled at an innocent Persian rug until her expression softened.

"It's her that I don't trust," Mel continued. "So if we do go to Alexandria, I'll need a new outfit." Save me, Madame Schiaparelli! she prayed to her own personal saint.

"You need a new outfit like London needs more rain."

Mel squared her shoulders. "You don't understand. This is a battle for you, on the field on sartorial elegance. If I show up looking like some ragamuffin—"

"In other words, like me," Janice interjected.

"—she will think me utterly unworthy of you."

"That's absolute bullshit. Besides, I don't give a rat's ass what she thinks—it's not a social occasion. And you could wear a goddamn sack cloth and still look like royalty."

"Your faith is very touching, but nonetheless, I will need new clothes."

Janice took a more common road in appealing to help from a higher power: Jesus help me. "I still didn't say we were going anywhere. The Dean may think we're outta our minds."

"Don't underestimate the man. There are two things in our favor. First and foremost, he admires you. Better yet, he trusts you, and he knows you have good instincts."

Doubtful, Janice grunted and folded her arms. "How do you know all this?"

"I have tea with him every week." The archaeologist looked impressed at this. "The lot of a faculty wife is busier than you think."

"You got my wholehearted respect. So what's the second thing here?"

Mel smiled triumphantly. "He simply adores acrostics."

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