#(“what does that mean?” you nervously ask. i simply :) at you and reveal nothing more.) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jingyismom · 3 years ago

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Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him.

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

#my fic #mdzsnet #the untamed fanfic #theuntameddaily #bottom lan wangji #that tag just...has to go there bc i know people actually find things through it #on tumblr??? you ask #yes my friends evidently #anyway here's...this #angst that morphs suddenly into the MOST indulgent of fix-its #does it have a consistent tone??? is it Good??? who knows. unimportant #is it not enough to simply tweet 9 thousand words in 3 days and then yeet it at your tumblr followers too #this isn't FOR a literary award....it's for melodrmatic wangxian Feels and nothing else #i hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

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fortuositywritings · 3 years ago

Text

Collide pt 2

Wanda x R

Summary: Trying to do the right thing gets very awkward and complicated.

The elevator was taking its sweet time to get to the 87th floor. It’s like it knows you are anxious and annoyed and oh yeah, naked.

“Come on!”

Bruce is annoyed. He’s been running tests on tests and has come up empty.

“It’s okay, Bruce,” Wanda tries to calm him down, seeing the irritation on his face. She knows the feeling all too well. For crying out loud, these tests with no real results are being run on her. She’s grateful to have people who care so much, like Bruce who is simply mad he can’t give her an answer for why her powers basically seem to have vanished.

“It’s not okay, Wanda. We don’t have the slightest idea why this is happening. I mean, your magic gone, just like that. It doesn’t make any sense,” he sighs. Then he straightens out his posture and gives her a determined smile. “But don’t worry. We’ll run more tests and we’ll figure this out. For now, why don’t we take a break. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

She returns his smile but less enthusiastically. Truth be told, she’s been kind of enjoying not having her powers. Don’t get her wrong, of course it is worrying not having them and she needs them to get back to doing her job, but for once in a very long time, she felt relaxed almost.

Her powers are incredible and amazing, but what’s not so amazing is the weight she carried because of them. These last three months, she felt unburdened. She felt lighter, but she couldn’t tell her teammates that, not when they’re doing all they can to help her get them back.

Her powers are important to have for the team. She knows that. It’s why she sucks it up and is doing everything she can to get them back. People count on her.

She hops off the stool and makes her way to the elevator. She notices Bruce isn’t following behind her. “Are you coming?”

“I’m just going to clean up here. I’ll meet you down in a few,” he replies. Wanda goes to press the button for the elevator. The doors open not two seconds after.

“That was fast,” she mumbles. She steps into the cart and waves goodbye to Bruce. “See you.”

The elevator’s doors close. You gulp nervously. This could have worked out better for you but you got what you wanted. You came to see Wanda and here she was in the elevator with you. Maybe you should wait to talk to her when you find some clothes. You hope wherever she’s going has something for you to cover up with.

Happy with your decision to pretend you’re not even there, you stay quiet and keep to the corner. Suddenly the elevator stops.

“Shit,” Wanda says exactly what you were thinking. She begins pressing buttons trying to get the elevator to go but it’s of no use. She uses the emergency call button.

“Hello, this is Wanda Maximoff. The elevator seems to be stuck,” she says into the intercom.

“Yes, Miss Maximoff. The elevators have been stopped for security purposes, but do not worry, they are taking care of the situation. The elevators should be operational in just a few minutes,” the voice over the intercom says.

If you weren’t so nervous, you could laugh at the situation. They’re taking care of the situation all right. Here you are, the situation, in the elevator with Wanda Maximoff. You hope this doesn’t take too long. You’re feeling very uncomfortable in the state you’re in, especially enclosed in such a small space with someone else.

Five minutes go by and nothing happens. Wanda has been playing games on her phone to distract herself. You’ve been standing in the corner, hands covering yourself even though technically you’re invisible. It made you feel more decent in a way.

Wanda’s game chimes and she celebrates winning whatever level of whatever game she’s playing. You smile, finding it cute. She’s been trying to pass that level this whole time.

Before she can get into the next level, her phone rings. Natasha is calling her. She’s been made aware of the situation and is passing the information to Wanda. “There’s been a security breach. Some girl was asking for you saying it was urgent and forcibly made her way into the building. They still haven’t found her. Where are you?”

Wanda frowns. “I’m stuck in the elevator. They stopped them.”

“Okay, I’ll get yours to work. I’ll wait for you on the 71st,” Nat says.

“Okay,” Wanda responds. Nat rushes, “Oh, and Wanda be careful. She seems to have powers like yours.”

Wanda wants to ask about that but Nat hangs up before she has the chance. Wanda chews on her bottom lip as do you. Both of you are anxious. Your heart is beating out of its chest right now. You do your best not to let your breathing get out of control. You couldn’t have Wanda hear you.

The elevator begins to move and you stupidly let out a sigh in relief at the same time Wanda does. You pray she didn’t hear it and thinks it was all her. For a moment you think someone heard your prayers, but you are oh so wrong.

When the elevator stops at the 71st floor, you follow Wanda out the elevator. Unknown to you, she did hear your sigh from before and just needed to reassure herself she wasn’t hearing things. She keeps her ears attentive and when you follow her out, she hears the scuffle of your feet behind her.

In a quick move, she grabs you and flips you over. Suddenly, she’s got you pinned down and in your shock, you don’t realize you let up on the invisibility. You look at Wanda in shock and fear, thinking she’s about to punch you in the face or something. She looks at you in shock, your face suddenly becoming visible. Natasha is in shock as well, wondering what the hell she’s looking at.

“Please don’t hurt me! I can explain!” you beg.

“You! The one from the grocery store,” Wanda recalls.

“Yes! You remember me?” you ask, surprised she would recognize your face after one interaction.

“Who is the naked lady on my floor?” The three of you turn to see Tony Stark walk up to you snacking on some food.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you greet him with an awkward smile and cheeks bright red. “I’m going to turn invisible now. Please don’t freak out.”

Wanda looks down and freaks out. She’s about to get off of you but Nat yells at her to stay put.

“She’s naked!” Wanda argues, but stays on you.

“She’s invisible. We can’t have her leave without us knowing,” Nat reasons.

“I won’t leave,” you promise. “I’ll show myself but I would appreciate some clothes.”

“Stop talking!” Wanda demands, glaring at you. She thinks she’s glaring at you but you are invisible so she can’t know for sure if she’s looking you in the eyes.

“Who are you yelling at?” Bruce makes his way out of the elevator car that no one noticed arrived.

“Me. Hi, I’m Y/N,” you blurt out, making Bruce jump, obviously not having seen you.

“Who said that?” he asks, looking around the room trying to find you.

“Down here. Under Wanda,” your voice appears again. Wanda tightens her grip on you.

“I thought I told you to stop talking. It’s unsettling,” she explains.

“Well, so is being naked in front of all of you, so,” you retort. Bruce looks shocked but he finally pinpoints your voice where you said you were.

“Can someone please get her some clothes?” Wanda asks for you, finally. “This is not a position I thought I’d find myself in today and would really like to get off.”

“Not the first time I heard that,” you joke trying to alleviate the tension. You think you do, making both Tony Stark and the redhead in the room snort. Wanda blushes. Bruce comes to the rescue, taking off his lab coat and laying it next to Wanda, assuming you are there to grab it.

It looks odd, watching the lab coat move seemingly on its own. Wanda gets off of you as you put it on and finally reveal yourself after securing it around your body.

“Who are you?” The redhead asks, narrowing her eyes at you. Her tone means serious business.

Finding her intimidating, you try to reassure her, “I’m no one. I don’t mean any harm. I promise.”

“Who cleared you? Why are you here?” She continues her questions.

“No one. I made my way past security. I really needed to see Wanda. I have something that belongs to you,” you direct the last part at Wanda.

“And this was so important you made your snuck into my building? How did you do that, by the way? Turning invisible. Neat trick,” Tony comments.

“They wouldn’t let me in. I’ve been trying to get someone to let me see her for the past week. I’m sorry for the dramatics but it can’t wait another day,” you explain. “You’re probably having trouble with accessing your abilities, right?”

“How do you know that?” Suddenly everyone is on the offense. You shouldn’t know that, not even the media is guessing that’s what was going on with Wanda and her not being on missions.

“Tony, you have to see this! Someone has abilities like Wanda and they’re in the building,” Captain Steve Rogers rushes into the room with a tablet in his hand. The security tape of you blasting the guard off his feet with red magic plays on the tablet for everyone to see. Steve notices the stranger in the room. “It’s you!”

Everyone turns from looking at the tablet to looking at you in confusion. Everyone but Wanda who looks upset.

“I can explain,” you try but Wanda cuts you off, stepping right in front of you, pointing a finger in your face. “You stole my powers!”

“I didn’t steal your powers. It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain how my powers seemed to have disappeared when we met and now there’s a video of you using my abilities,” Wanda demands.

“I-I mean, may-maybe it is that simple,” you stutter.

She moves forward almost as if to attack you. Steve is on her in a millisecond, holding her back as you put your arms out in defense. You rush to explain, “But I didn’t mean to. It’s just something that happens when I touch people with special abilities.”

“What do you mean? Do you mean to say that you can take anyone’s abilities away? How many abilities do you have? Is there a limit to how many you can hold? If so, how many and can you choose which you keep?” Bruce Banner throws a slew of questions at you that you can’t really process while there is an angry Sokovian ready to throw hands with you.

“I’m just here to return them to you,” you say, trying to calm her down. That trips her anger. Everyone and her look at you confused once more. Wanda asks, “You can do that?”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to do all week, but no one would let me see you,” you sigh in frustration.

Steve feels Wanda relax at the new information and lets her go. He also notices that because you moved your arms up when Wanda was going for you, you released your grip around the lab coat and were now exposed again. He clears his throat and looks away, “Miss, the coat.”

You look at him confused and then realize he’s referring to the lab coat you’re wearing. You and Wanda both look at it and then blush. You quickly wrap yourself up again.

“Oh my god, can someone please get, what’s your name?” the redhead in the room inquires and continues once you stutter out your name, “Wanda can you please lend Y/N some clothes? We’ll wait for you on 87. I’ll inform security that the problem has been dealt with.”

It isn’t really a request, both you and Wanda know this. Wanda tells you to follow her and she leads you to what you assume is her bedroom. It’s pretty nice. You note that she keeps it tidy.

“Here, these will fit.” She leaves you sweats, a hoodie, socks, and some sandals on the bed. “You can change in the restroom.”

She points at a door on the other side of the room. You smile awkwardly in appreciation and head over to change. While Wanda waits for you to come out, she tries to understand everything that has happened and everything that you told her.

If you are to be trusted and it’s true what you said, including not doing this on purpose, then she supposes she owes you an apology. Are you to be trusted though? This would be so much easier if she had her powers. Then she would be able to figure it out in a wink.

Her powers made things so much easier but also they were a pain in the ass. She is grateful for them of course. She knows all the good she does and could do with them, but sometimes they were too much and she didn’t realize this until she was without them.

It was odd being without them. She had grown accustomed to them. They were a part of her now and not having them was weird but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just different and for a moment she felt lighter. The only real stress of not having them was wondering what happened to them, but now here they are.

You have come to return them to her. She should feel relieved, right?

You step out of the restroom in her clothes. You thank her, “I’ll give them back once I get my clothes back. You don’t happen to have a ‘lost and found’ in the building, do you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask Steve or Nat,” she replies. After an awkward moment of standing there, neither of you speaking, you break the silence, “So, should we go now?”

Wanda hesitates to lead you out, so you assume there’s something else she wants to say. You wait. “Before we do, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that when all you were trying to do is help.”

You smile and nod. “Yeah, that was scary, but I understand. It’s a weird situation to be in, but luckily we have everything cleared up and soon you’ll have your powers and you can get back to doing what you do.”

“Yes, lucky me,” she mutters, unconvincingly. She doesn’t know why, but going back to the regular schedule seems daunting.

She finds you staring at her oddly. It makes her uncomfortable so she makes her way towards the door, motioning for you to follow. You make conversation on your way to the lab.

“My friend loved the meal by the way. Thank you for all the helpful tips. It was delicious, if I do say so myself,” you tell her, using her phrasing when she described Sokovian meals. She smiles, catching it as well.

“I told you so,” she says, chuckling as you both wait for the elevator to reach the 87th floor. She thinks back to that day and based on what you said earlier, she asks you, “So is that how it happened? When we touched hands? That was how you got my powers?”

“Yep.”

“And to get them back, we do the same thing?” she ponders. “It’s that simple.”

“Yeah. It’s simple and annoying,” you complain. “I graze anyone’s skin and if by chance they can do something no regular person can, suddenly they can’t and I’m the one who can do it, but the most annoying part is when I don’t know who they come from since I have to touch them again to give their powers back.”

“That does sound frustrating,” Wanda agrees.

“No, what’s frustrating is when they won’t take their powers back,” you whine. “And then I’m stuck with them.”

“What do you mean? Can’t you just touch them and give them back?”

“They have to want their powers back for me to return them. It’s actually how I got the invisibility one. They couldn’t really control it at the time and I guess they got tired of it, so when they had the opportunity, they didn’t want it back. Those were weird first months with that power. Floating clothes spooks a lot of people. Luckily, a little practice and I could do this on command.”

You show her the way you could turn invisible. She looks startled so you appear again and apologize. “Sorry, I guess it’s still scary to people.”

“No, it’s cool. It just surprised me,” she reassures you. You give her a grateful smile in return.

“Why did it take so long for you to find me?” Wanda asks and it is a reasonable question seeing as you can turn on the news station and probably find her easily.

“Sorry about that. Truth is, I don’t follow the Avengers and what they do, so I had no idea who you were. I actually staked out the grocery store for weeks hoping I would catch you there,” you admit.

“They didn’t kick you out for loitering?” Wanda giggles and then lets out a full laugh when you say, “Actually, they almost made me employee of the month, despite not working there.”

A ring in the elevator signals that you have arrived on the 87th floor. Wanda leads the way through the lab.

“There they are,” Bruce announces your presence. He motions both of you front and center of the group. “So, how does this work?”

“I just touch her and give them back,” you shrug. “It’s not too complicated.”

“Okay, then,” Bruce accepts your answer.

You hold out your hand for Wanda to take. “Ready?”

She nods her head and places her hand in yours. You smile, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go.

“That’s it?” Tony asks. You turn to him and nod. “Well, that was anti-climactic.”

“Alright, Wanda. Why don’t you go ahead and try to use your powers now,” Steve inputs more helpfully.

You all direct your attention to Wanda who shakes herself in preparation to show off her powers. She holds her hands up and clenches and unclenches her hands into fists repeatedly.

“Any time now,” the redhead whose name you assume is Nat hurries Wanda along.

Wanda begins to shake her head. “I’m trying. It’s not working.”

“Maybe Y/N still has them,” Steve says. You turn your hand over and sure enough you do still have them, a red energy forming in your hand.

“That doesn’t make any sense. It should be working.” You make the energy dissipate and move towards Wanda again. You grab her hand for longer than before. Then you release her and she tries again without any success. You still have them.

“Are you sure you’re doing it right?” Bruce asks. “Has this ever happened before?”

“Yes, I’m doing it like I always do. There shouldn’t be any reason why it doesn’t work,” you insist. The only reason why it wouldn’t be working is if the other person… You look at Wanda’s face and she wears a guilty expression on her face but something else catches your attention. A very loud thought from the woman in front of you makes its way to your head.

Please don’t say anything.

The thought is followed by her looking right into your eyes, practically begging you to keep quiet. So you do.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. This hasn’t happened before,” you lie for her. You turn your head to look at Bruce and shake your head hoping to convince him. You feel Wanda’s hand on your forearm, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Thank you.

Now what are you supposed to do?

________________________________________________________

taglist: @dandelions4us @sapphic-girl

let me know if i missed anyone in the taglist or if you wish to be on it

thank you for reading :)

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you

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citrusdarling7 · 3 years ago

Text

Kinktober Day 5- Corruption Kink with The Darkling

summary- the leader of Ravka’s Second Army takes a special interest in his innocent new solider, you

cw- kinda manipulative behavior, loss of virginity, use of “y/n” once, use of the word “sir”, and the Darkling himself is a warning lmfao

🗡—————————————————————🗡

Shadows danced across the palace walls in an unnatural rhythm. All of the curtains were drawn and the only sound that could be heard was the occasional clunk of boots. Oprichniki guards were surely patrolling the halls, but they were the least of your worries.

Truthfully, you were unsure of why the Darkling had requested your company tonight. You had been told by a maid that he needed the help of a Corporalki to test some sort of new Fabrikator device. But you had only been in the Little Palace for a mere month, and surely someone with more experience would be of more use to him. Nonetheless, you stood waiting outside of his quarters at exactly midnight, just as you had been requested to do.

Suddenly, the long door slid open, creaking on its hinges. The Darkling stood tall in his dark kefta as a satisfied smile graced his face. You inclined your head slightly to show your respect for the general.

“Y/n. You look lovely, as always. Come in and join me.” He stepped to the side, allowing you room to pass. As you entered the dark quarters, you watched him wave away two nearby Oprichniki.

This was your first time visiting the Darkling’s private rooms, and you were more than impressed. A round table in the war room depicted all of Ravka, along with its neighbouring countries. A variety of little figurines had been placed over certain cities and trade routes. Beside it, there was a smaller table that sat next to a bursting bookshelf. The country’s emblem had been stitched to a large banner which hung from what you assumed to be a window.

“The new kefta suits you. It was a shame that the old one was wrecked beyond repair.” He reached for your sleeve, then stopped for a visual confirmation of consent. Proud to be wearing your Grisha colors, you held your left arm out to him. The Darkling admired the material between his fingers, most likely impressed with the work of one of his loyal Fabrikators.

“Thank you, Sir. Grisha technology is still so new to me, yet incredibly intriguing. Where is the new device I am meant to test?” You had glanced around the room, but seen nothing that looked as if it needed a Corporalki to operate it.

“Ah, about that. Forgive me, but I may have lied a bit to get you here,” he told you with narrowed eyes. You took a step closer, interested in what the general had to say. “The matters I wish to discuss with you tonight are rather confidential.”

Ohh. This was a matter of war and politics. Well, now you understood why he had sent those two guards away. Before you realized your abilities, your studies in Balakirev had been focused on international relations. It made sense that he would come to you.

“Is there a particular issue you wish to seek my counsel on?” The Darkling closed the gap between you, unknowingly pressing your back against the edge of the circular table.

“You’re too innocent for your own good, especially considering your status as a Heartrender,” he laughed, his hand brushing your hair behind your ears. Unsure of how to respond to his sudden, you meekly smiled up at him.

“Since the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that I needed to make you mine.” Cold fingers traced your jawline as he spoke.

“I am yours. I answer to my general, as any good soldier would,” you told him. You had concluded that this was a test of your loyalty, which made sense, seeing as you were still a fairly new recruit to the Second Army. “I would slit my throat before I join forces with the Shu Han or the witch-hunting Fjerdans.” The Darkling let out a deep chuckle as he shook his head.

“Although I admire your undying loyalty to Ravka, that is not what I meant. Saints, you truly are clueless.” You frowned, a bit angry that he would say such a thing. Although the mastery of your Heartrender abilities was still coming along, you considered yourself to be decently intelligent. “Do not fret, pretty girl. I did not summon you here to reprimand you. Your training is coming along wonderfully,” he assured you.

“Then Sir, why am I here?” He chose to non-verbally answer your question by grabbing your face and pulling you in for a rather passionate kiss.

You would never admit it to any of your fellow Grisha, but you had never been kissed before. In that moment, it was everything that you had ever imagined. The Darkling gripped the back of your head with both of his hands as his lips worked against yours, sending waves of euphoria down your spine. His tongue invaded your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

When you finally forced yourself to push him away out of a need for breath, you realized how wrong this was. A reflective surface nearby revealed that your lips were flushed red and your hair was completely askew. Immediately, you headed for the door.

“Wait a moment,” the Darkling requested. His hands snaked around your waist from behind, successfully trapping you in his grip. “I apologize for being so forward with you. But Saints, you have ignored all of my previous advances! I simply wanted to confirm that you were interested.”

“Advances,” you spoke in a shaky breath. “Sir, what advances?”

“Was it not obvious? The flowers delivered to your room, the introduction to the royal family, the new kefta. Why else would I have been so welcoming to a Heartrender who came to my army nearly ten years late, with absolutely no battle skills whatsoever, if not for my clear desire?”

“I thought you saw potential in me,” you admitted. He laughed again, although this time it upset you.

“You are quite beautiful, but not of much use to me or the Second Army. A Heartrender who refuses to kill is like a dog that doesn’t bark.” Your face blossomed with shame at his reminder. He was right; you had made it clear to all of your instructors that you would not take a life. “Do not fret, pretty girl. I would reckon that all you need is a bit of corruption. Some darkness put into you.” The Darkling’s lips met the crook between your collarbone and neck. He nipped at your skin while humming quietly to himself.

“What do you mean?” you asked nervously.

“Let me ruin you; wreck that glowing innocence of yours. I will show you pleasure beyond what you have ever imagined,” he propositioned as one of his hands started to fumble with the fastenings of your kefta. His hot mouth against your skin made it so that the pit of your stomach felt as if it was on fire. “If you ask nicely, I might even be gentle.”

Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, you shrugged your kefta off your shoulders and turned to face the man. Dark eyes met yours as you wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. You silently prayed that the Saints would forgive you for the mistake you were currently making.

This time around, the kiss quickly escalated. Strong arms lifted and positioned you on the table, scattering about dozens of figurines and notes. The Darkling hastily removed his own kefta while you discarded your boots and woolen stockings. Underneath your red Grisha coat was a simple black dress.

“My color looks wonderful on you,” he praised you as his hands slid under your dress. You whimpered in surprise and anticipation as two of his fingers gripped the waistband of your undergarments and pulled them down. He had to manually bend your knees to get the garment completely off of you, seeing as your body was too overwhelmed to do much.

“My pretty girl, has a man ever touched you before?” The Darkling’s fingers grazed against your bare core while he awaited your response.

“N-Never like that, Sir,” you told him, attempting to hang your head to shield your reddening face. He used his free hand to grab your chin and yank it upwards.

“Good. I want you all to myself.” His digits trailed gently across your cunt, collecting your arousal with every swipe. “So wet for me,” he hummed in approval. Two fingers penetrated you suddenly, eliciting your body to lean forward into his. Once again, your lips met his in a fiery kiss.

As his fingers continuously thrusted into your sensitive cunt, it became harder and harder for you to concentrate on the kiss. Small moans left your mouth every few seconds as the pleasure continued to grow.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed in between heavy pants. Your head fell between the crook of his neck as the Darkling added another finger, which increased the sensations you were feeling by ten-fold.

“Does that feel good, pretty girl?” Unable to form a coherent response, you opted to nod your head and whimper. The general’s fingers left you, leaving your cunt aching and clenching over nothing. “I think you’re ready for the real thing.”

Before you could process anything that had just happened, you were lying on black bed sheets in a very dark room as the Darkling attacked your neck with his lips. His bare cock was hard against your thigh. You were so overwhelmed by everything happening that you had yet to notice anything abnormal in his sleeping chambers.

“Give me your hand,” he demanded suddenly. You obeyed, although hesitantly. “It’s going to hurt at first. Dig your nails into my palm if you must.”

Without warning, he lined himself up to your entrance and began to slowly stretch your walls. You bit against your lip and clamped your eyes shut in an attempt to ignore the sharp pain. The Darkling pressed his forehead against yours as he let out a low groan.

“Saints, you’re fucking tight. You take me so well.” You had the sudden urge to claw at his back, which you acted on. As he bottomed out inside of you, your fingernails drew blood from his skin.

At least, they should have. When you retracted your hands, you were surprised to find no trace of blood. Perhaps your Grisha abilities had finally shown up in a most unexpected way. The Darkling came to a similar realization.

“My pretty girl, I am going to have so much fun with you.”

🗡—————————————————————🗡

(tagging some of you hotties even tho idk if you’re a grishaverse fan) (if you’re tired of getting tagged in my kinktober stuff lmk!)

@brriley @b-aobao @ravenriddlewrites @littlemulattokitten

#the darkling #grishaverse #shadown and bone #the darkling smut #kinktober #citrusdarling7kinktober #citrusdarlingkinktober #smuttober #grishaverse smut #six of crows

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 4 years ago

Text

Don't Go (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello!

Double Lizzie!

Um... Once again, brace yourselves. Enjoy! :)

“There’s something you should know.” The feel of Wanda’s hand in your own usually brought you comfort, but the anxiety of revealing your history overpowered the comfort. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to meet her eyes. The beautiful emeralds that had begun to feel like home. You couldn’t lose that. You couldn’t lose her.

You were terrified.

A soft squeeze from Wanda’s hand reassured you. “Okay. What is it?”

Even as the silence stretched into minutes, Wanda didn’t push you as she seemed more than content to move at your pace. You couldn’t have been more grateful for her.

The thoughts in your mind were a blur. You couldn’t even think, let alone try and put your past into words.

Words that wouldn’t end in her leaving at least.

“I want to talk about what happened without mentioning how much it hurt.” Wanda’s brows furrowed in concern at the cryptic nature of your words. “There has to be a way to talk about this without reopening these wounds. To talk about the pain without allowing it back in.” You finished quietly, your gaze fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Y/n, you’re starting to worry me.” Wanda’s words were gentle, but you heard the anxiety that was beginning to creep beneath the surface.

Taking a steadying breath, you turned to face her. You wanted to smack yourself when you saw the worry that you instilled in her. The smile that she easily wore moments before, long gone. “It’s about Leigh.” You finally breathed out.

Wanda’s expression grew curious because Leigh had always been an elusive topic for you. “What about Leigh?”

You began playing with her fingers to distract yourself. “About our past. The long story that I promised I would tell you one day.”

Her brows furrowed at your tone of voice. The blood pounding in your ears made it almost impossible to hear her. “Let’s hear it.”

Dread made your stomach churn as you pushed forward, knowing once the words were out in the open there would be no turning back. “Leigh is my oldest friend… But she was more than that. She always was.” You swallowed past the lump that had formed in your throat, your gaze now locked on your lap. “She was also my first love.” You said simply, knowing it wasn’t enough.

It wasn't enough but it was the beginning of everything.

There was a brief moment of silence, but Wanda’s hand remained steadfast in yours. The fact that she hadn’t tried to pull away yet put your mind at ease. “You dated?”

You drew in a sharp breath, knowing the further you delved into the past the more complicated it got. “Not exactly. I was in love with Leigh since the moment I had known what love was. She was my first love, my first… everything.” You continued somberly. “I was hers too, I think. But we never dated, we did other things but never more. We were always scared of ruining our friendship by turning it into more and by the time I was ready to take the risk, she had already met Matt. I lost my chance to be with her… actually be with her.”

You refused to look up, not sure if you could handle seeing anything but brightness in Wanda’s eyes. “Going through the process of helping her with her wedding destroyed me because I couldn’t help but think that it should have been us. On the day of her wedding…” You took a shaky breath as you recalled the fateful day, feeling tears bubble in your eyes at the thought. The pain came back in waves. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand there and watch her marry someone else without knowing…”

Wanda’s soft fingers gently brushed away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You told her.” She said softly, beginning to piece together the story.

“I did. Sweeping declaration of love. I asked her to choose me. To run away with me... I think you can guess who she chose.” You shut your eyes, still shaking away the feelings that resurfaced when speaking about that night. “I didn’t see her for almost two years after that. Matt… passed away about a year in but I didn’t hear about it because I isolated myself, changed my number and everything. When I found out I felt guilty that I wasn’t there for her, but it took me several months to actually reach out. I didn’t see her until almost a year after he was gone.”

Again, Wanda squeezed your hand in reassurance. “But you reached out again, that’s what matters.”

Nervously you licked your lips. “That’s where it gets complicated.” You could feel Wanda shift slightly. “Because I met you almost immediately after.”

For the first time since you began your confession you looked up. Wanda’s expression was stunned, seemingly overwhelmed by the information. “I know the rest now, right?” The question was hopeful and it made your chest clench even more.

Faintly you shook your head. “I-…” Again, you nervously licked your lips, buying yourself time. “I need you to know everything. You deserve to know everything.”

Wanda nodded slightly. “Go on.”

“Leigh and I slept together shortly after you and I met. That was before the night at your spot and-” Your heart sunk when she pulled her hand back. You quickly folded your hands when you noticed them begin to shake. “Last night Leigh-… She confessed that she loves me and we… kissed.”

When her lips tugged down slightly in a frown your stomach dropped. All you wanted was to see the brightness in her eyes again. “Were you with me because I look like her?” She asked quietly.

The insecurity in her words was heartbreaking.

You recoiled at her question, quickly cupping her face in your hands. “No!” You insisted. “Not at all, Wanda! I fell for you because of who you are.”

There was a vulnerability to her eyes that made your heart ache. “Do you still love her?”

“I-I don’t know, Wanda. But I know how I feel about you.” You tenderly ran your thumb along her cheek. “I lo-”

“Stop.” You heart fell. All you could hope was you hadn’t lost her. “Sorry, I just… I’ll be ready to hear those words when you’re not hurting… When you’re sure you love me and just me… The way I love you.”

The quiet admission made your heart race. “You love me?”

Wanda’s eyes were sad, but she nodded. “I love you.” Tears began building in your eyes because you knew you were entirely at fault for her sadness. For this mess. “Only tell me if and when you’re certain of our love. Of me.”

The heavy silence that followed was unfamiliar and excruciating. Fear seeped into your bones at the thought of losing of her. Of this being your last memory of her.

“Please, don’t leave.” You whispered, feeling your heart fracture at the thought alone.

Her lips turned up in a weak smile. “Oh, Moya lyubov’... I could never.”

Without hesitation, you leaped into her arms. Tears of relief falling down your cheeks when she stayed. “I’m so sorry, Wanda. I never wanted to hurt you.”

The feeling of tears falling onto your skin felt like bullets. Wanda was crying, and it was because of you. All you wanted was to disappear and spare her anymore hurt. You never wanted her to hurt.

“There’s no one else I would rather be hurt by. That’s how I know I love you… because if I didn’t I wouldn’t feel like this.” Her words were quiet, shaky. “There is nothing you can do to lose my love, Y/n. I just hope it’s me and you in the end.”

The tears fell faster from your eyes because you wanted nothing more than to reassure her, to tell her that you loved her too, but that didn’t mean you didn’t love Leigh either. “Can we just pretend that this doesn’t exist for tonight? That it’s just us?” You lifted your head to meet her eyes. “Please.”

Wanda pulled away from the embrace and gently caressed your jaw. “For tonight it’s just us.” She responded, drawing you closer as she connected your lips. The rest of the world fell away when she kissed you like this. All you knew was Wanda.

The next morning you awoke to the cold air against your skin and an empty bed. Through bleary eyes you saw Wanda hurriedly getting dressed. “Are you sneaking out?” You joked groggily.

Wanda looked over at you with wide eyes, obviously surprised to see you awake. “Did I wake you?” She asked quietly, kneeling by the side of the bed once she finished putting her boots on.

You shook your head slightly. “No. It was cold.”

Tenderly Wanda stroked your cheek. “I was going to write you a note.” You leaned into her familiar touch. “I have to leave. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Don’t go.” You mumbled. “You just got back last night.”

“I have to.”

You sat up, pulling the sheets up with you. “Why? Why do you have to leave?” Once again, you came to the realization that you never knew why Wanda was always rushing away. “You never tell me why or where you’re going.”

A heavy sigh fell from Wanda’s lips, her eyes troubled. Pained even. “I can’t…” She stood up and turned away from you. “It’ll change everything.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "It'll change what?" Silence. "Wanda?"

A pained expression crossed her features as she began tugging at the sleeves of your sweater anxiously. "I can't..."

“Please.”

For a moment Wanda lingered by the door. “I’ll be back.” You looked away from her, feeling disappointment in the pit of your stomach. Disappointment that she didn’t trust you. Especially after last night. “Moya lyubov’…”

Your gaze stayed locked on the sheets. “What does that mean?”

“My love.” Wanda replied without hesitation.

You lifted your eyes slowly to meet hers, still feeling the disappointment in your chest, but you couldn’t stop the fluttering of your heart at her words. “Hurry back to me.” You quietly murmured.

Wanda’s lips turned up in a weak smile when you repeated the words you’d once told her back to her. She quickly crossed the room, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “As fast as I can.” She whispered against your lips before leaving.

_________________

On tired feet you trudged up the path to your house, dazedly pulling your keys from your pocket. It had been three days since Wanda had left and you were beginning to worry because she hadn’t checked in which she often did.

The situation with Leigh also didn’t help with the anxiety that was running rampant in your mind. You were just grateful that she was giving you space. Though you couldn’t help but worry about how she was doing just the same.

The only reprieve from the madness in your mind was work. That was over now which meant more sleepless nights as you desperately attempted to unpack the emotions embedded deeply within your heart.

“Y/n.” The sound of her voice made you rub at your temples, the feeling of confusion coming back in full force.

When you finally took in the sight of Leigh standing at your doorstep, your heart thudded heavily against your chest. Beautiful as ever.

Heartbreakingly beautiful.

There were bags under her eyes which concerned you, but the tentative smile on her face eased your mind. You didn’t want to be the source of her pain either. “Leigh, hey.” Your gaze fell to the jacket she was wearing. “That- That’s my jacket.” You mumbled, pointing vaguely to the item in question.

Her lips pressed together in an amused smile. “Yeah. It is. I found it this weekend when I was cleaning out my closet.” She shrugged slightly. “You can have it back, I just thought it was comfortable.”

You waved a hand dismissively, tiredly. “S’okay. You can keep it. It looks better on you.” You said through a yawn, your fingers fiddling with your keys.

“I know this doesn’t change anything, but I got you something. Well, two things technically.” Leigh rambled. Seeing her so flustered was foreign, but entertaining.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help the way your lips quirked up slightly in amusement. “You’re rambling.”

“Right.” She held out a drink container that you hadn’t noticed until that moment. “I know you order green tea when you’re having a good day and herbal tea when you’re having a bad one… I didn’t know how you’d be feeling so I got both.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly and your heart fluttered in your chest. “How did you know that?”

Leigh tucked her lower lip into her teeth for a moment before replying. “I notice everything about you. Even if I act like I don’t.” Her lips quirked up halfheartedly. “Like I know you only started doing this when you spent that one semester abroad and became infuriatingly obnoxious about the quality of tea.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, nodding slightly in agreement. Feeling lighter without even realizing it. “Being abroad did turn me into a bit of a snob.” You took the herbal tea and Leigh’s smile faltered slightly. “Do you want to come inside?”

When she nodded you turned to unlock the door, holding it open for her before stepping in yourself.

Even though you weren’t looking at her, you could feel Leigh’s eyes analyzing you. When you turned to face her, you noticed her smile had faded. “Are you okay?” She asked seriously. You stared back at her, your eyebrows raised slightly. “What?”

“I just- I’m used to being the one asking you that.” You replied honestly. Leigh’s gaze fell to the floor.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips. She looked hurt. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” You shrugged. A tense silence hung in the air. She nodded slightly, her eyes glazed over. “I'm really not a good person anymore.”

You stepped forward in concern, your hand on her arm. “Leigh, it’s fine.” She shook her head. “You’re going through a lot right now. I understand.”

Leigh stepped back slightly. “That’s not an excuse. Stop letting me get away with hurting you, Y/n.” You worriedly watched as her eyes began to glisten. "God, I don't even recognize myself anymore.”

The surprise of her outburst left you dumbfounded, it was like everything over the past few months rushed to the surface for her in that moment. “Where is this coming from?”

“Because I just realized that I’ve been so self-absorbed that the people I love are shocked when I ask how they are! I just hurt them… I just hurt you.” A pained look over came her features as she laughed, though nothing about the sound contained joy. “I want to fight everyone who has ever hurt you, but it was me, wasn’t it? It was me all the time.”

You opened your mouth to speak but she continued on. “I'm sorry that I hurt you.” She rubbed a hand down her face, a quiet groan falling from her lips. “And I did it again. Made this about me.”

“Leigh-”

Her gaze fell to the floor for a moment before lifting to meet with yours once more. “Are you okay?” You hesitated slightly, eyes still worried. Leigh quickly took note of the action. “Don’t worry about me. I'm genuinely asking, Y/n. You look… tired.”

Searching her eyes, all you saw was genuine concern. You sighed. “I’m fine.” Leigh gave you an unimpressed look, so you continued. “I mean, yeah, I’m tired. I’m worried about my clients. I’m worried about you. About-… about Wanda. It’s a lot. But I’m fine.”

Leigh flinched slightly at the mention of her twin but didn’t comment further. The action surprised you. “I know I may not be the ideal person to discuss this with but… You can talk to me.” You shifted uncomfortably. “We all know you’ve been there for me. It’s only fair I return the favor.”

Your heart clenched because this. This Leigh is the one you remember. You almost wished she would be cold again to you just so it’d be easier. You couldn't lose her. You didn't think you could manage a second time. “I appreciate that, Leigh, but I think this is something I have to figure out for myself.”

In response she nodded faintly as silence settled in the air for a moment. You fiddled nervously with the drink still in your hand. “I know this isn’t the best time, but I’m worried there might not be another time.” She paused slightly. “Can I say something?”

“Leigh-” You began, feeling the weight push down even further on your shoulders as you anticipated her next words.

“Please.” She looked at you with pleading eyes and you nodded in resignation. Leigh took a deep breath. “I… I spent so much time pushing you away that I didn’t realize one day I might succeed. That one day I might push you right into the arms of someone else.”

The sincerity of the words made you slump your shoulders. “Leigh.” You began again.

She shook her head, her hands clenching at her sides as she pushed on. “I know my timing is terrible and selfish, but I selfishly want you. All of you. I’m done running. I'm sorry that it took losing you for me to realize that, but I'll never deny it again just... Don't go.”

Tears built up in her eyes, but she sent a weak smile your way. Your heart broke at the sight. All you wanted to do was take her in your arms and reassure her of your feelings but the raging war in your mind rendered you immobile as you helplessly watched the tears begin to stream steadily down her cheeks.

“I can’t- I can’t promise it’ll be easy because that wouldn’t be honest. And I can’t promise I’ll be perfect and not push you away at times but damn it, I’m going to love you as hard as I can for as long as I can... If you let me, I won’t let you go again.”

Your heart thrummed heavily against your ribcage. The vulnerability in her eyes broke your heart.

In that moment you realized that it didn’t matter what decision you came to in the end because you’d be breaking the heart of someone you loved and breaking your own in the process.

Part 6!

So... there's going to have to be 7 parts now. I feel like the more I write the more I confuse myself on what final path this story will be taking lol. And you all make such valid arguments for both sides!

Alright, final Team Leigh vs. Team Wanda, go!

P.S. I hope you all enjoyed! I'm excited to read the comments. As always, thoughts and comments always welcome. :)

Tag list:

@khiaraaa-in-spacee // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @halobaby // @madamevirgo // @aimezvousbrahms // @trikruismybitch // @marvels-writings // @izalesbean // @imdreamingblo //@i-choose-you-cyndaquil // @helloalycia // @scarlets-maximoff // @cantcontroltheirfear // @women-am-i-right // @funnysoldier // @myfavoriteficss // @imapotatao // @imagine-reblog // @blackxwidowsxwife // @purplemeetsblue // @cristin-rjd // @ravens-ss // @legaypandaboi

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x y/n #sorry for your loss #leigh shaw #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw imagine

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something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago

Text

The Years

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: *SMUT* So you embarrass yourself in front of Derek and Spencer, the details of the case are mentioned and are a little intense, and smut. Like, rough, Spencer smut because there is nothing you can say that could convince me that Spencer Reid is a bottom. And swearing.

A/N: AH THE ENDING PROBABLY SUCKS BUT I TRIED REALLY HARD I PROMISE. Also, this is ridiculously long and not all of it is smut. For a hot second this WAS an OC story but I thought you guys would enjoy a self-insert more so I changed it. LOTS AND LOTS OF THANKS TO MY FAV FIC WRITER AND NEW TUMBLR FRIENDS, @reidmorefanfics and @pomsephone Y’all are the best. Also, remember to shower me in reblogs, comments, asks, messages, likes, and anything else you can think of to boost my ego. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!!

___

“Actually, that reminds me of a joke that I know.” At the front of the crowded lecture hall, a young Dr. Spencer Reid looks over at his partner eagerly, a smile already splitting his lips apart. Derek Morgan, however, looks over at his partner with a mixture of fear and secondhand embarrassment.

“Reid, I don’t think-” Morgan tries to save him, he really does, but Reid tucks his hair behind his ears and ignores him by starting the joke.

“Einstein, Heisenberg, Newton, and Pascal are playing hide and seek. Einstein covers his eyes and begins counting. While Heisenberg and Pascal run off and hide, Newton takes out some chalk and marks a square on the ground with a side length of exactly 1 meter, then sits down inside the square. When Einstein is finished counting and sees Newton sitting on the ground, he yells, "Ha, I've found you, Newton!". Newton however replies, "No you haven't! You've found Pascal!’”

A short, surprised laugh joins Spencer’s small chuckles, dragging his eyes to the location the sound had come from. Derek looks too, completely taken aback that anyone other than Reid had actually understood the joke. Yet, lo and behold, a young girl sitting in the front row with her cheeks stoplight red and her hand nervously covering her mouth.

Proudly, Spencer nods for Morgan to end the talk, his chest a little puffed out and a smug smile twitching at his lips. They wrap things up quickly, eager to grab some food after leaving campus and before heading back to the BAU.

When Spencer turns to gather his things, grabbing his bag, he notices the soft shuffle of feet against the hardwood flooring of the stage. A pair of black converse peek into his peripheral vision, attached to a pair of long legs that make Spencer blush for noticing at all. Lifting his eyes further, he meets the shy gaze of the only person who had laughed at his joke. It came as no surprise when he sees that your tee shirt had a picture of a cat with the words ‘Wanted: Dead and Alive’ in block lettering.

“Dr. Reid,” Your left hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair away from your face, a single gold band wrapped around your left index finger, “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I just, uhm, I had a couple questions?”

Looping the strap of his bag over his head and letting the familiar weight of it settle against his hip before he responds, Spencer ignores the way Derek looks at him by pretending he isn’t there at all.

“Of course,” Spencer meets your eyes, which are a beautiful shade of (y/e/c). “I like the shirt by the way. I’m not usually much of a t-shirt person, but I might wear one like that.” You laugh, shifting on your feet and twisting the ring on your finger.

“Thank you, I got it as a Christmas present. Along with ten billion other nerdy t-shirts. But uhm, I was curious how old you were when you joined the FBI?” Morgan holds his tongue, pretending to shuffle papers around and not pay attention to the poor girl’s crush.

“I was twenty-two. I finished two of my doctorates the year prior.”

“I thought you had to be twenty-three? I’ve always wanted to join the FBI as soon as I could but I thought I had a little more time. That’s what I read anyways. I could be wrong, you would know more than I do.” You looked down at your shoes, kicking the toe of one converse into the wood, your hair falling forward over your shoulders.

“No, you’re right. I had an age waiver. You’re eighteen? Nineteen? You’ve still got some time to prepare.”

“I’m seventeen, actually.” Your lips skewed to the side, the confession barely above a whisper as you continued to stare at your feet. Spencer blanched, unable to contain his surprise. He was quick to school his features, though, when you finally looked back at him.

“You’re seventeen and you understood his joke?” Morgan couldn’t help but cut in now, stepping away from the table he’d been pushing papers around on and toward the two younger people left in the room.

“A pascal is a unit of measurement equal to one Newton per square meter. By sitting in a square meter, Newton was being one newton per square meter. Which is, again, equal to a pascal. So he was Pascal.” A smile had worked it’s way past the nerves that jumped around your body. You weren’t very used to talking to young, attractive, intelligent doctors who worked for the FBI.

“Although, even if I hadn’t understood the science behind the joke I might have still laughed. You see, there is this thing called the Halo Effect, which is basically a cognitive bias you might develop based on your initial impression of someone that can change how you feel about their specific traits. Essentially, one example would be that someone you find attractive may seem funnier or more intelligent simply because you find them attractive.”

It takes all of a second for your face to turn beat red as you realizes your nervous ramblings have made you reveal the silly crush you had started to develop on the young doctor. Derek’s lips purse in amusement when he sees the similar shade of red that has colored his partner’s cheeks.

“Not that I’m saying I find you attractive,” Your heart stops cold in your chest and you are quick to retract the statement. “Not to say you’re ugly either, because that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Just that my first impression of you as a nice and attr- I mean, intelligent man could have very well made my amusement slightly biased because I was more willing to like you based solely on my first impression of you. Which was that you are very nice and, and intelligent.”

It takes all the willpower in the world for you not to throw yourself down the stairwell later that day, the embarrassment having barely faded even hours later. The two men had been quick to assure you they knew you weren’t saying you had a crush on Dr. Reid, but they were obviously just trying to protect your feelings. They wouldn’t be FBI Profilers if they couldn’t tell you had a crush on him. The conversation was pretty much over after that, you being suddenly desperate to make an escape and Dr. Reid just as eager to leave the campus grounds.

The whole team teased him about his teenage fan for months after it happened, Derek had been quick to let everyone know when they came back. Reid had tried to hide from them by scrunching down into his seat and covering his face with a book, but it hadn’t helped him at all.

Eventually though, both you and Spencer were able to move on from the embarrassing moment, though neither of you forgot it. Those moments where you’re all alone and the most embarrassing moments of your life come to creep up and embarrass you all over again? The memory always came back during those moments.

The team, however, seemed to forget about it, Gideon and Elle leaving and Rossi and Prentiss replacing them as the years faded the memory for them.

It wasn’t until JJ took her new position at the Pentagon and Ashley left after her brief consultation on the case in New Mexico that the memory came back to truly haunt you both.

The whole team had heard whispers of a ‘probationary agent’ that would be stepping in to assist wherever needed. Hotch was good at keeping quiet and avoiding questions on the matter, somehow keeping Penelope just as much out of the loop as the rest of the team.

No one was even sure when the new agent was supposed to be coming until the glass doors to the BAU opened and in stepped a young woman with (y/h/c) hair and (y/e/c) eyes. Derek squinted his eyes, your face tickling the back of his memory in a way that annoyed him. Spencer tensed, his eidetic memory quick to remind him of the seventeen year old girl that had basically confessed she thought he was cute, and then called him ‘not ugly’ to try and cover her tracks.

“Agent (Y/L/N), nice to finally meet you.” Hotch said, holding the door open as you nodded your thanks and slipped inside his office with a box in your arms.

“That must be the probationary agent.” Prentiss directed the comment at Reid, oblivious to the resurfaced embarrassment that boiled his cheeks to that same shade of red he’d been in that lecture hall seven years ago. He kept his book up in front of his face while he tried to cool his cheeks, looking over the top of the binding and into Hotch’s window.

You’re sitting ram-rod straight in the seat in front of Hotch’s desk that is closest to the door, your box of things clutched tightly in your white-knuckled hands. Your hair is still the same length, swaying at your shoulders. You’ve switched the Schrödinger’s cat shirt for a deep velvet red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled at your elbows.

But even with the obvious nerves displayed in your current body language, it’s easy to see you aren’t the same stuttering seventeen year old Reid remembers. You holds steady eye contact with Hotch, nodding and fluidly responding in such a way that the usually stoic unit chief actually breaks into a grin that dimples his cheeks. When he stretches over his desk for a handshake, your left hand comes up and grips Hotch’s firmly.

“I’m glad it’s a girl, it was starting to feel a little too testosteronie around here with JJ gone.” Garcia had made her way into the bullpen, a cup of tea balanced in her bejeweled fingers as she, and the rest of the team, size up the girl heading for Hotch’s door.

“I don’t think ‘testosteronie’ is a word, baby girl.” Derek teases, trying to ignore the nagging feelings that he knows this girl from somewhere. Maybe they’d met on a case? But no, that doesn’t feel right.

“It is now, Derek. Don’t argue with me or I’ll have to punish you.” She brings the lip of her cup up, sipping at the lukewarm tea still inside and patting Morgan’s cheek with her free hand. Hotch’s door finally opens again and you step out after Aaron.

A hush falls over the room, all eyes trained to the newest and now youngest member of the team.

“We’ll do introductions on the plane, for now I need everyone in the conference room for a case.” Hotch is quick to make eye contact with everyone, his gaze stern and demanding.

Spencer is the last one into the room, practically dragging his feet to one of the chairs around the circle table. Thankfully, you were sitting across the table. Somehow you haven’t seemed to notice him.

“Yesterday Dawes County police found the body of Julia Hastings along a hiking trail in Kladon. This is the second body they have found in the area in two weeks, the first belonging to Heather Greenaway. Both victims are in their early to mid twenties. Hands and feet bound, buried face down. Each victim was struck once in the back of the head, making cause of death blunt force trauma.”

From your spot at the table, you glance up with narrowed eyes as you open the file you’d been given at the beginning of the meeting.

“Where did they disappear from?” Reid asks, a connection forming in his brain as each picture and detail flies up from Garcia’s tablet and onto the projected pictures before them.

“Night clubs around the area, they were working on the night they each went missing. Both girls were bartenders, had been working at their new jobs a week before they were kidnapped.”

“Justin Millers had the same M.O., kidnapping new female bartenders fitting this exact victimology and holding them hostage for a course of five days, beating and raping them before eventually hitting them on the back of the head with a tire iron.” You don’t look up from the file as you speak, flipping through the pictures and quickly noticing the small odd similarities in the victims between this case and Millers’ case.

“Millers has been locked away for a year and a half.” Derek pointed out, using the opportunity to stare at the face of the girl he was sure he knew but still couldn’t place. When you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminds him of Reid and your head tilted just a little to the side, he can feel his brain grab onto the memory just before it slips back through his fingers.

“I’d guess a copycat. Something seems different, I just can’t put my finger on it.” Your gaze slides over the table, looking at faces to get a gauge of their opinions on you. When you make eye contact with Reid, your eyes widen just a little before you duck your head. You should have known he was still here at the BAU, you’d only hoped he’d went to another unit out of desperation for this job.

“We’ll look into that theory, for now I just want a profile as if this unsub is working from his own killing preferences. We’ll discuss more on the way there. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch stands, flipping the cover over the top of his iPad before making his way out of the room. Go bags are grabbed, certain persons avoid bumping into other certain persons, and then the eight hour plane ride to Kladon, Nebraska begins.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Emily tests the name on her lips, having chosen to move by the younger girl after the fourty five minute theory discussion that started the plane ride.

“You can call me (Y/N/N), that’s what my best friend calls me.” You had popped the first two buttons open of your dress shirt and slipped your shoes off to tuck your feet underneath you. Tucked between your thigh and the arm of the seat is a book with a Greek title, in your hands is the open case file.

“Just your best friend?” Rossi asks from across the way, just as curious about the new girl as the rest of them, but a little better at hiding it.

“She’s really my only friend.” You shrug, but not in such a way that you seem bothered by the fact. You reach up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. Reid notices the gold ring that still circles your left index finger, light coming from the window glinting off the metal when you move. It’s the only jewelry you wears.

“A bit of a loner?” Derek joins the conversation, moving up the aisle of the jet with a cup of something hot cradled in his hands. He takes the seat directly in front of you, blowing at the liquid in his cup.

“I was more focused on getting through school than making friends. Emma just happened to be the only person who wouldn’t let me shake her.” There’s a smile on your lips as you talk about your best friend, your eyes soft.

“What did you go to college for?” Derek is fishing, looking for something to tell him where he knows you from. It amuses Reid, who has sequestered himself into a corner a little further away from you than everyone else.

“I have a masters in philosophy, with a focus in Ancient Greek philosophy. I have a bachelor’s in Greek, which is the only other living language I can speak and read outside of English, and I have two doctorates; one in Classic Studies and one in Criminology.” Rossi whistles, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat to express what everyone else is feeling.

“You young people just keep getting smarter and smarter. You know how many doctorates I had at your age? None. You know how many I have now?” You look at him with genuine curiosity, drinking in all the information you can about the people around you like it was a class you were taking to survive.

“None.” The laugh that bubbles from your lips is infectious and carefree, it pulls Reid’s attention away from his book and it drags Hotch from the constant state of worry that he mentally paces in. Emily, Derek, and Rossi all exchange looks before their own laughter fills the air. It’s nice.

The feeling reminds you of that scene in Mary Poppins where Dick Van Dyke and Ed Wynn laugh themselves into the ceiling. So light and carefree that it could lift them into the sky.

“Why all the attention on the Greek?” Prentiss manages when the laughter subsides, reaching down for the book the young doctor has tucked away. Η φόνισσα, it reads with a black and white picture of arms twisted to the side of the bookcover. You make no move to grab for it, letting the other woman flip through the pages.

“My father was a Greek Philosophy professor before he died, I suppose it’s my way of trying to stay close to him.” Prentiss looks up from the pages, a look of sympathy in her eyes.

“And your mother?” The change in your entire demeanor is like cold water on the conversation, freezing the group in their spots. You reach for the book, tucking it back into the space between your thigh and the seat.

“I don’t know.” It’s the only blatant lie you’ve told since they started talking to you, averting your eyes and shifting in your seat. No one presses the topic, giving the new girl the space you need.

You take the case file with you when you go to make a cup of coffee in the small kitchenette situated in the back of the plane. Reid is already back there, pouring a steady stream of sugar into the otherwise black liquid.

“Dr. Reid.” You nod your head in greeting, avoiding his eyes by setting your folder on the counter and pretending to read it. You’ve been going over every detail of the case for so long that you’ve memorized everything there is to know. There are notes and theories scribbled into the margins and little sticky notes with questions scattered around the papers.

“It helps to step away for a little bit, that way when we land you come back to it with fresh eyes.” The utensils drawer clicks shut as Reid grabs a spoon to stir his coffee, risking the chance to finally look at you.

You’re twisting the ring on your finger and chewing the inside of your cheek. Without your shoes on, the top of your head comes to his shoulders.

When you look up at him, (y/e/c) eyes thoughtful and just as curious as the day they met, Reid can’t fight the urge that draws his gaze to your lips. The skin there is so very soft looking, surprising him when the thought of kissing them hits him like a train.

He clears his throat, focusing all of his attention on the coffee cup in front of him. The sugar is completely stirred in at this point, but he kind of wants to stay in the hopes that you’ll strike up a conversation.

“But everyone is different so you don’t have to listen to me, just do whatever helps you.” His shoulders lift in a shrug and he’s glad that nobody is there to see him interact with this girl. They would know how he felt before he could even come to terms with it himself.

As quickly as you are there, you leave. Completely flustered and unsure how to go about navigating a relationship that’s foundation was an unintentional love confession. Maybe, you thought as you leaned into your seat and closed your eyes, if I just ignore him then everything will be fine.

By the time the jet touched down in Nebraska, you had fallen into a dead sleep with your book sitting open in your lap. Emily was the one to reach out and gently shake your shoulder, the smile on her face gentle and motherly. Still blinking away sleep, you quickly scrambled to grab your bag and book before rushing for the exit.

Unfortunately for you, the shoe laces on one of your shoes hadn’t been completely tied. Add that to the speed in which you were trying to separate yourself from Reid, and you managed to trip over your feet and right into the person you were trying to avoid.

Your bag hit the ground, the book following suit as a warm hand grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled. When you collided with someone’s chest, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Reid smelled like old books, laundry detergent, and cinnamon.

“Your shoe is untied.” He said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You didn’t look up, afraid the heat in your cheeks would give you away. You looked down instead, noticing the way your feet were inside the breadth of his stance. One shoe’s laces laid precariously around your foot as if mocking you. Quickly, you took a step away and almost tripped again on your bag. You caught yourself on one of the seats, holding a hand out to keep Reid from grabbing you again.

“Thank you, I’m okay. Really.” You didn’t meet his eyes, every lewd thought you’d had during that stupid lecture about his lips and hands and hair came rushing back at you with every glance. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could see each fantasy written on your face like a lusty, ten-cent romance novel.

Morgan, having stopped to watch the two doctors in your clearly flustered states, suddenly felt it click in his brain. Sure, you were older and not as squirrelly as he remembered, but the way you were looking at his partner was nearly the exact same as you had seven years ago.

Feeling smug for finally figuring it out, he walked up to Spencer with his bag thrown over his shoulder, stopping beside him as they both watched you rush for the exit.

“Can you imagine someone having a crush on you for seven years? Oh, wait.” Bending down to grab his bag, Spencer shook his head in such a way that a few loose curls tangled on his eyelashes. A simple sweep of his hand across his face helped to push it away.

“It took you long enough to figure it out.” Spencer took the lead, dreading the car ride with Derek to the medical examiners. He had been hoping his older partner wouldn’t remember who you were, at least, until the case was solved.

“Oh ho ho, don’t think you can avoid this conversation with insults, pretty boy.” Morgan was hot on his tail, and that was exactly where he stayed for the next three days that the team was in Nebraska.

The killer was, in fact, a massive fan of the infamous Justin Millers. It was just a matter of pinpointing which of the crazy fanatics he was, which might have been easier if the local populace was more open to talking to law enforcement.

It was by a brilliant stroke of luck, or rather misfortune, that the team realized sending you undercover would help on many different levels. Not only did you fit the victimology, (all they needed to do was get you a ‘job’ at one of the local bars) but you would also be able to get information from the civilians that were unwilling to talk to the FBI.

Four days into your undercover mission, you found yourself wiping down the counter after closing. The band was packing up their equipment on stage and your boss had already left. Laily, the only other bartender here tonight, was flirting with the drummer while you closed things up behind the counter.

As was customary, the members of your team had taken turns following you around everyday just in case anything happened. Today just so happened to be Spencer’s turn, you’d managed to slip him into the back room before all the customers had left for the night. It was the only reason you gave Laily the okay when she asked if you would be cool closing by yourself tonight.

“I can’t believe after five years of college, I’m back to bartending.” You grumbled, shouldering the backroom door open with a box full of beer in your hands. Spencer jumped up from the crate he’d been leaning against, holding the back of the door open so you could get in a little easier.

“You were a bartender before?” He asked curiously, trying to ignore the way the low-cut black uniform shirt you were wearing fit against your figure and twisted his insides. Factor in the tight jeans that hung on your hips and the sheen of sweat on your skin from the hot summer night and he could barely focus, let alone protect you from any possible threats.

“The years between my college graduation and my joining the FBI, yeah. I could have done something different, I guess, but I wanted to have a normal young adult job before I spent the rest of my life chasing serial killers and such.” You turned to face him, actually meeting his eyes for the first time this week.

Unlike you, he was wearing his FBI Kevlar. The navy blue tie that he wore was tucked into the top of it, the baby blue sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up around his elbows. You, yourself, were having an awful time trying to keep from getting all kinds of flustered just looking at him.

The young profiler you remember was all wiry and clean cut, the man in front of you is more scraggly. His hair curls around his jawline and his forearms are far more attractive than anybody’s forearms ought to be.

His parents were just showing off, casually bringing a child into the world that looks like that.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He blurted, surprising himself. You could tell by the way his brows dipped down and he took a step back immediately after saying it. Even his cheeks were a little pink.

“What happened between us was like seven years ago and all you did was tell me you had a crush on me. And then take it back. I just don’t want it to affect our work relationship because everyone already likes you a lot and I want to get the chance to like you as well.” For someone who always seems so very shy and awkward, his eyes look directly into yours, narrowing just a little. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and turns all of your bones to jelly underneath you.

He just ages like fine wine and you know that, should you be offered a permanent position at the BAU, that you would have to spend the rest of your working days keeping yourself in check while the man in front of you continued to evolve into a more gorgeous version of himself every year. The Spencer you remember had felt like peak Spencer, now this Spencer felt like peak Spencer, but who is to say that five years from now, when he decides to grow a little stubble and style his hair differently, that he wouldn’t somehow get even more attractive?

You open your mouth to come up with some bullshit answer that you didn’t really mean in order to smooth things over, when the door opens again. Spencer, standing directly infront of said door, looks not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of a truck barreling right at him going way too fast on a backroad.

Time crawls at an unusual pace, the door slowly creaking open and Laily’s voice filtering in the opening. Why did he have to wear that stupid vest? Surely the FBI has bullet proof vests you could wear under your clothing. The only idea you could come up with was, honestly, not a very good one. But it was the only one you had.

Practically launching yourself across the room, you catch Spencer’s lips against your own like the world depends on it. Using your own hands, you position Spencer’s arms around you with one hand on the back of your head and the other grabbing underneath your leg that hooks around his waist. The vest uncomfortably digs into your chest with how close your bodies are against one another, your arms now thrown around his neck, but if he keeps kissing you like this then you’ll be inclined to ignore it.

Just seconds ago he had been begging you to have a normal relationship despite your silly ‘past’ crush, now his tongue was fighting for dominance in your mouth. The irony was not lost on you.

“Oh.” Laily gasps a little when she sees you in such a compromising position. The lights from the bar illuminating every detail so that she could see the way Spencer’s fingers desperately tangled in the strands of your hair or how the muscles in his forearm strained as he hungrily pulled your body even closer than before.

The blush on your cheeks and neck are real when you pull your lips away, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach when Spencer catches your bottom lip in between his teeth for just a second. The look in his eyes is devilish when you tilt your head over your shoulder to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry Laily, this is my boyfriend, Lance. I just- I heard about all those girls that have been going missing and I asked if he would drive me home.” The look in your coworkers eyes is all you need to know that this does not look like just a ride home. Although, it very well could have led to a ride somewhere if she had been just a handful of minutes slower.

“Nice to meet you, Lance. Gwen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Just,” the mischievous twinkle in her eyes does not go unnoticed by the two doctors in the room still tangled around each other, “maybe clock out before things get anymore heated.” She teases, the tone of her voice suggesting that you will be hearing more of this tomorrow.

“Bye, Laily!” The door clicks shut behind her, followed by the chuckles and giggles of Laily and the band as they leave for the night. You relax into Spencer’s arms, moving as if to pull out of them before they tense around you.

“We should be safe now.” You whisper, looking up into his eyes that burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in them before. That damn tongue sweeps across those perfect lips again, drawing your attention and reminding you that you now know what they feel like locked with yours.

“I think I hear somebody coming.” He whispers back, aware that you can both hear the soft bang of the front door closing and locking shut from the outside. Since the killings, the door was always locked if employees were still inside, as a safety precaution. Nobody else was coming in tonight unless they had a key.

Your lips meet his anyways, too tired to pretend that the heat between you wasn’t there. If this was the excuse he needed to kiss you, then you were all the more willing to give it to him. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, causing them to open against his mouth and deepen the kiss.

Both of his wide hands splay against your hips, curling into the soft skin there and pulling you toward him with such force that you nearly trip. The hard edges of his Kevlar vest dig into your ribs and collarbone, the rough material scratching against your exposed skin as you push yourself up on your toes. When he breaks from the kiss, both of you gasping for air not from the length of it by from the passion, it is not to end your tryst.

His lips find the pulse at your neck, sucking a bruise at the soft skin there and pulling a moan from deep within your chest.

“Won’t- Won’t Morgan and Prentiss get worried,” your brain feels like the motherboard of a computer that Spencer has taken into his hands and slammed into a countertop, you can’t think when his teeth nip a love bite to the hickey he’s made on your neck, “if we, uhm, we take too long?”

If you thought the Spencer you met seven years ago was different from the Spencer you knew now, it was only because you’d never seen his bright hazel brown eyes darken with lust from beneath those impossibly long golden lashes. He was a completely different person as he unstrapped himself from the Kevlar, laying it on the floor with a solid thunk before gathering you back into his arms.

“They’ll be okay,” He said in between kisses trailed along your jawline. His movements are confident as he dips a hand down the front of your jeans and into your underwear. Your arms tighten around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck when his fingers find the already wet entrance to your sex. His answering growl does nothing to keep you from coming undone as he presses the pad of his thumb to the bundle of nerves there. “I’m guessing it won’t be long before I have you in the palm of my hands, anyways.”

You rock your hips into him, your eyes fluttering shut with a gasp when he thrusts two long fingers inside of you. His other arm is wrapped around the center of your back, holding you to him because lord knows you can’t be trusted on your own two feet at a moment like this.

“Is this why you planned on ignoring me? Because you wouldn’t be able to handle it if I didn’t give you this?” You whimper a response, too focused on the relentless pace he has set with his fingers to come up with anything coherent. Everything about the moment is raw and animalistic, every fantasy you’d had about him during the fifty minute lecture did not even begin to touch on the feeling of his hand actually inside of you.

“Spencer, please.” You whined, dropping your arms from his shoulders and gripping onto his biceps like it will keep your soul from leaving your body. Yet, as heavenly as this felt, and as much as it exceeded your fantasies, you wanted more. Every part of you craved the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, sticky with sweat and feverish to the touch.

On a tight time constraint, Spencer doesn’t make you beg anymore than that. Instead, he delights in the way you cry out when he pulls his hand out of your pants and up to his lips. Your own lips part with a tiny popping sound when you watch him put those same fingers into his mouth with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Strip.” He commands, licking the taste of you off his lips and leisurely working at the knot of his tie. You don’t waste a second in crossing your arms over your body to pull the black material over your head and drop it at your feet. Next to come off is your shoes, clattering across the wooden floor when you kick them to the side.

By the time you make it to your pants, Spencer has only undone a quarter of the navy blue buttons on his shirt.

“I need you now, Spencer.” The buttons slip through your fingers, your hands shaking with excitement more than nerves. Although, the nerves are definitely apart of it. Never in a million years did you think you would be here; in the backroom of a bar in Nebraska, with Spencer Reid doing salacious things to you. While on your first case with the BAU, nontheless.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his hands come up to cover your own just before the last button comes undone. His touch is gentle and prompts you to look up into his coffee colored eyes. The light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling is no good, and yet somehow he manages to look like a piece of artwork painted by the most skilled hand known to mankind.

“We don’t have to do this here. We don’t have to do this at all, if you don’t want to.” You squint your eyes up at him, using your fingernail to pop the last button through the hole on the other side of the shirt. When you let go, the pieces fall away from his chest like he’s caught in slow motion on a Calvin Klein commercial.

“I said I needed you now, not later.” In response, he scoops you into his arms and wraps your legs around his hips. The electricity that pops and crackles between you is nearly visible in the dimly lit room, the fabric of your bra skimming against his collarbone when you breath.

The little whines and whimpers that fall from your lips are driving Spencer crazy, forcing him to push through the door and lower you to a shorter countertop meant for making drinks. Tonight it would be used for other, more wicked things.

“Someone’s a bit excited.” You breathed. There was no way you could take a full breath in a moment like this. Everything was so heated and yet nothing was really happening.

“Shut the fuck up.” And then he was kissing you, his lips warm against your own. Despite the fact that you didn’t think it was possible, he pulled you closer. You knitted your fingers into his curls and gave them a slight tug. God, you loved these curls.

He began sucking a heated trail down your throat, quite possibly leaving a pathway of hickeys. You would be putting makeup over them for at least thirty minutes before you left your hotel room tomorrow, but for now they were heavenly fire against your skin.

Spencer took away his lips long enough to strip from his remaining clothes and throw them over his shoulder. When he stood in front of you looking like a Roman god, bared to no one but yourself, it made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

“I’m so in love with your body.” He groaned just before his lips found your breast, sucking on your nipple. Your head fell back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fumbled for a moment, patting around the countertop before your brain turned on long enough to get your hand between your legs and down to his naked erection.

He moaned into your breast as you began to move your hand. He let go of your boob and went straight back up to your mouth. His whole body was tensed up but his lips were soft as they parted against against your lips. The whole world felt like it was on fire, and his every touch was another lick of flames.

You move your hand faster, enjoying every groan and grunt and moan that finds it’s way out of his mouth and into yours. He’s already close to orgasm, you can tell by the way he breaks from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and your breath stirring in the small space between your faces. His grip is tight when he grabs your wrist to make you stop.

“No.” Every nerve and thought and feeling was consumed by you and everything else short-circuited. Spencer couldn’t get the words out of his mouth to properly express what he wanted, it wasn’t often that the young genius was rendered speechless.

But you knew, you knew that he wanted to be inside of you. You knew that because you wanted him inside of you just as much, if not more, than he did. You shift your hips around on the counter, getting closer to the edge as you widen your legs.

“I’m on the pill.” You whisper, watching the sudden realization that he hadn’t come prepared widen his eyes for just a small fraction of a second. Just as quickly, the fear turns into that devlish grin you weren’t aware someone so beautifully shy and awkward could possess.

“Thank you, Pincus, Sanger, and McCormick.” You barely have time to question the comment, although later you’ll realize he’s probably talking about three of the minds behind the invention of the birth control pill. No longer taking his time, Spencer positions himself right at your entrance before running the tip of his cock along your wet folds.

“Fuck!” He slams into you, running his entire length into your body, hitting depths you didn’t even realize had never been touched until he was thrusting against them. It sends a wave of pleasure through every cell in your body as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him like you’re running out of oxygen.

He holds onto your hips as he repeatedly rams his hips into yours. He has buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting every curse and moan muffle into your skin. The glasses under the counter jangle with every merciless thrust inside you. The sharp bite of his nails digging into your hips makes you hiss, but it’s more from pleasure than pain.

There’s no dirty talking anymore. Every ounce of pretend you both go through while around one another is shed like seconds skins, leaving two people so hungry for each other that it had been too much to bare.

Your fingers are twisted around the short curls at the nape of his neck and your teeth are biting into the solid muscle at his shoulder. The bar always had whiffs of sex and sweat in the air that mixed with the smell of alcohol and perfume, but now it was the strongest scent in the room.

Even as your orgasm starts to build in your belly, you want more. You want to hold him so close that your brain wouldn’t be able to distinguish where you ended and he began. Letting go of his shoulder, your head lolls back and your own nails draw long lines of red down his neck.

“Spencer!” His name leaves your lips in a mix of a sob and a moan, the ecstasy of just his touch alone driving you higher and higher. The sting of his nails leave your hips, one hand reaching to the place where your connected and the other coming up to grip your jaw in his hand.

His thumb rubs against the little button of pleasure that causes your legs to start to tingle like they’ve been asleep for too long. All the while, he ruthless pace doesn’t falter. Sweat sticks a few of his curls to his temples, providing a beautiful glowing effect across the smooth planes and angles of his shoulders and collarbones.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss that ends much too quickly for your taste, but you can feel the rapid exhalation of his breaths as it fans across your cheek.

“Come.” Usually a man of so many words, you had always assumed it would be the same in his sex life. Maybe it was true in most cases, but right now his desire to see you succumb to the pleasure of him inside of you outweighs the need to taunt and tease you with words.

Meeting his eyes, getting off on the smug look that twists his lips as much as you are getting off on his dick actually inside of you, you let yourself fall into the sweet release of your orgasm. Spencer doesn’t stop as you come around him, instead he quickens the pace as his own release works its way to the edge.

Your legs are still shaking when he buries himself into you with one final thrust, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He chases the sting of his teeth away with the softness of the kiss that follows, loosing himself in the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Neither of you move, although he ends the kiss to gasp for air with your foreheads once again pressed against each other. His eyes are closed, the dark pink on his cheeks and neck making him look so much younger than he was. You keep your eyes open, trying to drink in every second and commit it to your memory the way it would forever be in his.

When he steps away, leaving you feeling much more empty than you’d felt in a really long time, the cocktail of your orgasms spill down the inside of your thighs. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you slip off the counter with your arm wrapped around your bared breasts.

The air seems too cold, the bar too quiet, and your mind was too loud with insecurities as you tried to steady yourself on wobbly knees. Nevertheless, you attempt to make a beeline for the backroom door. If you go and put your clothes back on then maybe you could go back to pretending like he doesn’t exist and everything will be fine.

That is until one of those solidly handsome arms come out to stop you in your pursuit of denial.

He’s still naked, standing next to you like a statue carved by the hands of Michaelangelo himself. Although, you aren’t sure the renissance artist would sculpt nail marks into his skin, the signs of your heated escapade only darkening with time. You can only imagine what your own neck looks like, several spots of sensitive skin still overly stimulated from his wandering mouth.

From your vantage point, you can see his swollen lips open to say something, probably that this had been a mistake, when his phone rings from the pair of pants he’d so carelessly thrown to the floor earlier. A small frown mars his angelic features, the side of his mouth twitching with aggravation.

His lips on yours are a surprise you weren’t expecting, despite the sexual encounter you’d just had. This kiss speaks more words than he could ever possibly say, easing all the post-coital dysphoria that comes with the sudden fall from the high you’d been on. It’s gentle and warm, the hand on your arm squeezes reassuredly before he breaks away with one last peck to your forehead. It nearly tears your beating heart out of your chest.

“Come to my hotel room later.” And then he bends down to snag the phone from his pants with an aggravated growl, turning away from you as he lies through his teeth to a worried Prentiss on the other end.

In the backroom, having shimmied back into your pants and going to put your shirt back over your head, you fingers find your lips. They’re just a little swollen, exactly like his, but you wonder if he can still feel that final kiss against them the way that you could.

Oh boy, were you in trouble.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spence reid #dr spence reid #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds smut #smut

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mandoalorian · 3 years ago

Note

so you have any angsty writings about max raising his voice at u?

my tears ricochet

Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader

Summary: Everyone had warned you that dating your boss would be a bad idea. So when you make a crucial mistake at work, a mistake that leads into your biggest fight yet, you wonder if your relationship with Maxwell Lord will ever be able to recover.

Rating: T

Warnings: ANGST :( a few curses, hurt/comfort with a happy ending, but most of this is very very angst-y. Bruce Wayne makes an appearance (because for some reason, he always does?) and he’s a dickkkkk lmao.

Word count: 2.2k

I haven’t wrote anything in a few weeks, and I haven’t wrote for Maxie in well over a month. Reblogs would be so appreciated because I kinda need the motivation atm ;-;

You never normally messed up, or at least, not like this.

You were a good secretary for the most part, as you’d been working at Black Gold Cooperative for almost three years now. You knew your way around the office, and most importantly, you knew your way around your boss, the dashing and charismatic business mogul, Maxwell Lord.

Everyone had warned you not to mix business with pleasure, and that dating Maxwell Lord was a bad idea because he was your boss. You could get behind that idea; as you’d never really been one to date colleagues or co-workers. But you swore that he was different. They were probably right, you knew that deep down, but you’d made the mistake of falling hopelessly in love with him.

You and Maxwell had been together for half a year now, and things were going good. Things were going better than good. You really believed he could be the one. He seemed happier when he was with you. He smiled more. You gave his life meaning, and a purpose that strived past his failing business.

He treated you different to his other employees. He was softer with you, and more gentle. He never raised his voice or talked down to you. He was a gentleman, and treated you to luxuries on every occasion that he could manage. Work was sometimes difficult, but he was good with you. You had zero complaints, really.

He’d buzzed you into his office, his dark blonde hair a mess and his patterned tie pulled apart. The first three buttons of his white dress shirt were undone and his collar was wonky. You had to refrain from walking over to his side of the oak wood desk and fixing it for him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tan forearms and the golden Rolex that adorned his wrist, and he was staring at you, his dark brows furrowed together.

“I just spoke to Bruce Wayne,” Maxwell started hesitantly, his index finger impatiently tapping away on the telephone.

“Oh?” you hummed. You knew it was coming, but you tried to remain calm.

“He said he didn’t receive the oil distribution report you sent on Friday,” Maxwell said, followed by a wary chuckle. “But I told him you sent it. Because you did send it. Didn’t you?”

You winced, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

“You sent the reports, didn’t you?” Maxwell repeated, this time his voice having dropped an octave and his eyes staring dead at you. There was no love in his expression, no happiness. Just pure anger and disbelief.

“Uhm…” you trailed off, your voice breaking nervously. “Wayne Enterprises didn’t get the report on last month’s oil distribution because uhm— I sent the wrong thing instead.” you fumbled with your fingers, shyly looking away from your Maxwell.

Max blinked, and stifled a laugh. “What?”

You folded your arms across your chest, feeling vulnerable as guilt coarsed through your veins.

“Uhm yeah,” you replied, ducking your head down. “I thought I sent it but I just— I found the reports on the main desk at lunch time. And I was going to tell you. I just— I just—“

You were flustered, and could feel your cheeks burn up as you stumbled over your words.

“You just what?” Maxwell prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“I just—“

“You just thought you’d keep it to yourself? Thought you wouldn’t tell me just because…? Because of what, exactly? You know this means we could potentially lose millions of dollars,” he raised his voice, sliding out of his chair and leaning over his desk, balling his fingers into fists.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “It was a mistake. A one-time mistake—“

“—a mistake that could potentially cost us thousands—“ Maxwell repeated bitterly. Money was a sensitive subject right now, you knew this. He had every right to be mad, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“—It won’t cost thousands.” you finished, your words trying to ease him. But it came out patronising and you immediately regretted it. Maxwell slammed his hand on the desk before pointing his finger at you.

“Don’t interrupt me!” he shouted.

He’d never spoken to you like this. Hell, you didn’t think he’d ever spoken to anyone like this before. Or at least, not that you’d heard of. His cheeks were red with rage and little beads of sweat glazed his hairline.

You flinched are his tone, not used to him raising his voice at you like that. Max noticed the change in your demeanour and his face softened, his brown eyes widening slightly when he realised what he’d done. He slowly sank back into his chair, ripping his gaze from you. You stood there awkwardly, trying to hold back tears.

Maxwell regulated his breathing and pushed his hair out of his face before pointing to the door.

“Leave.” He ordered, his voice shaky and not even bringing himself to look at you.

Your lips were trembling. “What?” you croaked out, your voice merely above a whisper.

“Just— go home.” he waved his hand in a dismissing manner.

You stood there a little longer, lingering on the other side of his desk and praying that he’d have a change of heart. You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. Was it a break-up? Was he firing you? Was he simply just telling you to go home?

“Max…”

Your boyfriend rubbed his temples before picking up the phone and re-dialling what you assumed to be Wayne Enterprises. He had nothing else to say to you, so, you sadly sauntered out of his office, quietly shutting the door behind you.

The entire sales team was staring at you as you walked over to the elevator. No doubt they’d overheard the whole fight. Raquel tapped your shoulder and offered you an apologetic smile. “Are you okay?” she asked.

You nodded and forced a grin, desperate to just get outside and feel the cool evening air. The office felt stuffy and hot and you just had to get out. You opted to take the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. You could feel their eyes burn into you as you left Black Gold Cooperative.

It was raining when you got outside, and you managed to catch a cab just down the street.

After a few rings, Max finally pushed through Bruce Wayne’s receptionist and was waiting to get on the line with the big man himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when Bruce picked up.

“Hi, Bruce, it’s me Max. There’s been a mistake with the reports,” Maxwell said quickly, feigning confidence as he tried to forget about the fight that had just happened. But he couldn’t get it out of his head. He was terrified that you’d leave him. He’d leave him.

“Let me guess— it’s that secretary of yours?” Bruce smirked, twirling the phone wire around his finger as he waited for Max to try and salvage the business deal.

“Wh—what?” Max laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“You know, your arm candy? The one that always accompanies to those charity events and galas? The one you’re fucking on the side?”

Maxwell’s face hardened and his heart dropped in his chest. “Excuse me?”

He hated the way Bruce was talking about you. Bruce was always like that, Maxwell knew that much. He treated everyone like they were lesser than him. Maxwell was able to shrug it off when it happened to him, but he wasn’t going to let it happen to you, too.

“Please, we all know it,” Bruce rolled his eyes. “I learned the hard way about mixing business with pleasure. Never works out, my friend.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, but you know nothing about Y/N and I. So if we could please get back to the topic at hand…”

“You still want to secure the deal?” Bruce quizzed. “I supposed as much.”

Jesus, he was insufferable. Maxwell knew what it took to climb to the top of the business world. You had to be cold and brutal; everything that Bruce Wayne was. That’s why he was so successful, and truthfully, that was the difference between the two men.

It was probably the reason Black Gold was failing too. Ever since you came into Maxwell’s life, the business had been losing more and more money. Maybe it was because Maxwell worked less, always choosing to favour his time and spend it with you. He wasn’t hardened by the business world anymore. He was softened by you.

Max wouldn’t allow the entrepreneur to hurt the ones he loved. At the end of the day, you were infinitely more important than some reports on oil distribution.

“Wait,” Maxwell paused, unable to escape the invasive thoughts that consumed his mind. Thinking about your glossy eyes and your timid voice, and the way you flinched when he yelled at you. You looked terrified. “No.”

“No?” Bruce repeated incredulously.

“No,” Maxwell confirmed. “I have to go.”

“You’re making a big mistake Lord,” Bruce warned. “If you’re thinking about throwing this entire deal away over some nobody secretary—“

And with that, Maxwell tore the phone from his ear and slammed it down on the hook. He rose to his feet and grabbed his pinstripe suit jacket, hastily throwing it over his shoulder before leaving his office in a rush.

When he got home, you were curled up on the sofa, enveloped in a blanket with balled up tissues scattered around you. When he saw you, his heart broke. He dropped his keys on the coffee table, the noise alerting you. The rattling sound made you jump and you looked over at him, your eyes red and puffy.

“Hi,” you said quietly, watching as he sauntered over to you. He offered you a weak smile before sliding down on the sofa next to you.

“Hi,” he said, gazing into your eyes.

You shuffled around and sighed. “I’m sorry.” you both said at the same time.

You giggled gently, always cherishing the way you and him were so in-sync. Maxwell smiled too, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.

“I thought you hated me,” you admitted with a sniffle, and Max frowned, leaning over and cupping your face with his hands.

“No my love, I could never hate you,” he swore, shaking his head. “I— I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. I got so worked up over this deal and—“

“I know,” you cut him short, pressing the palms of your hands flat against his chest. “You don’t have to apologise. I know. It’s been a stressful few weeks.” you said knowingly.

“Still,” you Maxwell sighed. “It can’t be excused.”

“It won’t happen again?” You asked hopefully.

Maxwell smiled. “Never again, honey,” he promised. “Can I hold you?”

You nodded desperately and nuzzled into his warm embrace. He wrapped his strong arms around you and smoothed out your hair, pressing a chaste kiss into your forehead.

“I love you so much, and I won’t ever let anything come between us again,” Maxwell whispered. “No job or business deal is jeopardising what we have together.”

You smiled, squeezing him tight and never wanting to let him go. “I agree.” you replied, pulling yourself up onto his lap and nudging your nose against his.

Maxwell’s smile spoke a thousand words. It wasn’t the forced smile he showed the world when he hyped up his business on the television. It was his real, genuine smile. The smile only you got to see.

Everyone had warned you not to mix business with pleasure, and that dating Maxwell Lord was a bad idea because he was your boss. But in that exact moment, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

—————————

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ww84 #pedro pascal x you

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years ago

Text

Waiting in the Wings

***Happy Birthday Week Luke! This is a fluffy one. I don't get to write Simeon and Luke often, so this was interesting to sort of experiment with. I hope you guys enjoy! *** Summary: A talent show is being held at RAD; knowing the vocal talents of a certain young angel, you encourage Luke to join. Only Luke doesn't seem too fond of the idea. Together, you and Simeon do your best to give Luke the courage to shine.

The doors to Purgatory Hall slammed open as you raced inside with a blue flyer clenched in your hand. You rushed into the kitchen where you knew you would find your target. Luke, as expected, stood there is a light blue apron, whisking some kind of batter in a bowl. You excitedly waved the flyer in Luke's face. "Did you see this?! There's going to be a talent show?"

Luke squeaked at your sudden appearance and almost dropped the bowl. He took a moment to set it on the counter and grumbled something under his breath before taking the paper from your hands. You watched eagerly as his eyes scanned the page. He gasped and looked up at you in excitement. "RAD is hosting a talent show?! That's so cool! I wonder if Simeon's going to enter? He could probably read a poem he wrote, or act out one of his monologues," a tender look of admiration spilled into Luke's expression as he looked at the flyer. He shook his head and looked over at you. "What about you MC? Are you entering?" You chuckled and shook your head. "No. It's not really my thing. But I know someone with an incredible voice that would blow the rest of the competition out of the water!"

You thought that your words made it quite obvious that you were talking about Luke. You had first heard him sing months ago when Asmodeus dragged you to a tea party that he had been invited to by Simeon and Luke had performed for the three of you and Barbatos. His voice was truly the work of angels and was unlike anything you had ever heard before. It was remarkable to think that such a large talent could fit inside his small body.

Evidently, you weren't obvious enough.

Luke's eyes got even wider and he bounced slightly in excitement. "That's amazing! Who is it? You should definitely get them to enter! I'd love to hear them sing. Maybe they could teach me a couple of things." You smirked at his obliviousness and light-heartedly pushed the young angel. "Well, it'll be sort of hard for you to teach yourself what you already know."

Luke blinked at you several times, and you could practically see the math equations floating around his head. As he had his light bulb moment, his face paled and Luke quickly shook his head. "No! Absolutely not! I am not doing it!" "What aren't you doing?" The two of you whipped around to see Simeon watching the two of you in amusement. Your heart fluttered at the mere sight of him.

This, unfortunately, wasn't new. Although your feelings for Simeon weren't something that was apparent right away, they had grown more and more as you spent more time together. There was no denying the angel was handsome, however, there was so much more to him than that. He was intelligent and creative, able to outwit even some of the brothers with ease. He was incredibly compassionate and open-minded about the creatures in the Devildom. In one word, Simeon was bright. He radiated joy and peace where ever he went. You didn't know if it was an effect of being an angel or if it was who he truly was, but regardless, it was slowly but surely winning over your heart. You smiled at him and handed him the flyer. "I was telling Luke how I think that he should sing in the upcoming talent show." Simeon grinned widely at his charge, "Oh, that sounds like a wonderful idea! You have an incredible vo-"

"NO!" You both looked at Luke in shock. He didn't lash out often unless it was at one of the brothers. He most certainly never raised his voice at Simeon. Yet here he stood with his eyes screwed shut and hands balled into fists as they shook; whether they shook with anger or something else, you weren't sure. He scowled at both of you. "I'm not going to sing for a bunch of filthy demons on a stage in f-front of hundreds of students! Are you insane?" Simeon and you exchanged glances of concern. Simeon moved closer to his charge and placed a hand on his shoulder; like a parent trying to soothe their child. "Luke, if you really don't want to do it, that's okay. No one will force you. But I have to ask...Is the reason you don't want to perform because you have stage fright?" Luke blushed and looked away. "N-No! I don't have stage fright! I-I just don't want to waste my celestial talents on these demonic scum!"

He was clearly lying. Yes, he was upset, but behind that anger, you could see a small trace of sadness; as though his mind, which filled him with fear of the audience's judgement, and his heart, which yearned to sing for all to hear, were at war.

If the angel you had come to know as a brother wanted to perform, that god damn it, you were going to make sure he would be able to perform! "Well, what if I was there with you?" You asked in genuine curiosity. His head snapped up to look at you. "B-But you said it's not your thing?" You tried not to smile at his concern for you, and instead casually shrugged it off. "I could stand in the wings and be right there cheering you on. I could also help you practice and get ready; that way you feel more confident about it." Simeon nodded and patted Luke's hat. "You wouldn't be doing this alone. MC and I would be right by your side if this is something that interests you. I'm sure Barbatos would love to see you perform. MC and I would certainly enjoy it." Luke shifted from foot to foot as he thought about it. The room held its breath as you waited for his decision to be revealed. He glanced over at you nervously. "You'll be right there?" Your chest warmed as you were momentarily reminded of just how young Luke really is. You gently squeezed his shoulder and nodded. "I won't leave you for even a second." Luke let out a big breath before a gleam of determination filled his eyes and he balled his fists. "Okay! I'll do it! I'll sing at the show!" You smiled brightly in silent victory as Simeon laughed and hugged Luke. "Wonderful! Looks like the two of us have our work cut for us! When would you like to begin preparing?" "Now!" Luke took off out of the room, "I know the perfect song! I have the sheet music in my room! I'll be right back!" Simeon chuckled as Luke vanished from sight in a white and blue blur and looked over at you. There was a shimmer of fondness and affection in his eyes that caused your breath to catch in your throat.

"Thank you for talking him into this. He truly does enjoy singing, and I think he would've regretted it if he didn't join. He's very fond of you," Simeon's voice was as soft as the clouds that he had descended from. You scratched the back of your neck and awkwardly tried to brush off his thanks. "It's nothing. Luke means a lot to me too. He's like a little brother, you know?" If possible, his expression became even more tender as he looked deep into your eyes and gave you the most gentle smile. "Yes. I suppose I do."

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, before you noticed Simeon shift a little. You wouldn't quite say it was an action of discomfort but there was clearly something on his mind.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You asked with a reassuring smile.

Simeon, much to your surprise, blushed. "I was just thinking. I suppose with you aiding us, you'll be spending more time here at Purgatory Hall, will you not?"

You blinked a couple of times at the question. You supposed it was true. Within the next two weeks leading up to the talent show, you would probably be spending the majority of your time here with Luke, and as a result, with Simeon as well. You nodded in response to the question as you felt your own cheeks grow warm.

Simeon's twinkled as his expression lit up. "It will be lovely getting to spend more time with you. You-"

Before Simeon could say much more, Luke burst back into the room waving a stack of papers.

"S-So this is what I'm thinking. I have options, but I don't know which ones to choose!" He paused as he picked up on the obvious energy change in the room and frowned. "What's going on in here?" Simeon chuckled and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Nothing at all. Now, you mentioned you had options?" Luke took the bait easily and began excitedly explaining each of his song selections. Throughout the next two weeks, you and Simeon worked together to help get Luke in tiptop shape to perform. You ran vocal scales with him as Simeon played the notes on the piano. You helped him memorize the lyrics, while Simeon aided him in getting the melody and key right. Using your influence with Diavolo and the brothers, you were even able to get him into the theatre that the show would be hosted at, and gave him the opportunity to practice on stage while in advance. During this time you found yourself growing closer and closer with Simeon. The two of you would exchange secret smiles with one another when you thought Luke wasn't looking. You found yourself more aware of his presence and his notable attention towards you. You would glance over at him, only to find he was already looking at you. Simeon would frequently put his hand on your shoulder or ruffle your hair. The actions always left you flustered, which simply made him smile even more.

Luke wasn't oblivious to the budding romance between the two of you. He noticed all too easily what was happening and instantly approved. After all, it was much better that you be courted by a gentleman such as Simeon than one of those fiendish brothers.

So he decided to do his part in aiding the matter. He often made up excuses in the middle of practice that would leave the two of you alone in a room. He always made sure you two sat down beside each other. Luke would come up with clever little things that "Simeon needed to do," just after practice ended and would always turn to you immediately after insisting that you help.

If either you or Simeon noticed what he was doing, neither of you mentioned it.

The two of you may have started this as a mission to help Luke feel comfortable on stage, but Luke quickly turned it into a mission to get his two favourite people together.

Time flew by, and before anyone could blink, the day of the show had finally arrived.

The theatre was elegantly decorated with red and gold streamers hanging on the balconies and bouquets of roses lining the aisles.

Backstage, dozens of performers anxiously fretted about, running over their talents one last time before their big moment in the spotlight. Simeon had performed a romantic monologue earlier in the evening. As he spoke, you couldn't help bet notice that his gaze would continuously fall onto you; something that made Luke beam with joy. Since then another handful of performers had gone up, Luke was next. The angel stood between you and Simeon in the wings, as he nervously twisted his hat in his hands. "I-I-I can't do this. I change my mind. I'm not gonna do it," he tried to turn and flee, but you quickly caught him.

"Woah, woah, woah. Easy there, Luke. You worked so hard on this. You can't just back out now!" Your heart broke as you felt just how badly the poor boy was shaking. You knelt down in front of him and placed your hands on his shoulders as you looked deeply into his eyes. "Luke, it's going to be okay. You've practiced day and night for this. You're going to blow the socks off of everyone out there. Simeon and I will be right here with you the entire performance."

Luke sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "Promise? You'll be here when I finish?" Simeon came up behind you and placed a hand on your back as he knelt down beside you. "We aren't going anywhere."

Luke smiled faintly at the sight of the two of you so close and nodded. "O-Okay. I suppose I can do it then."

You pulled Luke into a hug and held him tightly. "You've got this Luke. Go show them all what the Celestial realm is really made of!"

Luke hugged you back as his name was called out by the emcee. With a nervous smile, he put his hat back on and walked out onto the stage. You held your breath as he approached the mic. What if something went wrong? What if the mic didn't work? What if the audience was mean? A hand wrapped around your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. You looked over to see Simeon holding onto your hand. He grinned at you and brought your hand to his lips, delicately kissing your skin. "Have faith, MC. Everything is going to be fine." You weren't sure if it was the heat from the spotlights or the number of people in the room, but you felt like you were going to melt. You nodded and squeezed his hand in return as the music began. Just as expected, Luke was absolutely incredible. He sang with all the glory of the heavens. As his voice filled the theatre, you could've sworn that the lights shone just a little bit brighter. There wasn't a dry eye in sight; no one could deny the beauty in his talent.

Once he took his final bows, he practically sprinted back to the two of you where he was immediately scooped up into the arms of a proud Simeon. "That was incredible Luke! Truly a remarkable performance!"

Luke laughed and hugged his mentor back. "You guys were right! After I started singing, it wasn't scary at all! Thank you so much for helping me do this." You fondly ruffled Luke's hair and beamed at him. "All we did was give you the confidence to go out there. You did everything else yourself."

Luke's chest puffed out in some well-earned pride as he soaked in the praise from the two of you.

Simeon finally let him go and smiled down at him. "Now, what do you say we go celebrate? I have reservations for the three of us at Restaurante Six."

Luke's eyes widened, and you could practically see the scheming thoughts cycle through his brain. The young angel let out a dramatic yawn as he stretched. "You know performing really tired me out. I think I'll head home with Solomon. It'd be a shame for that reservation to go to waste though; you two should go together."

You blinked at Luke in shock, as a knowing smirk climbed onto Simeon's face. He turned to you with coy, yet loving, eyes and held out his hand. "Well, what do you say, MC? Care to accompany me to dinner this evening?"

You gaped at him for a second, as Luke watched the interaction in excitement. You stumbled upon your words for a second before finally getting them out. "I-I, um, yes! Yes. I would l-love that."

"YES!" The two of you quickly looked over at Luke as he jumped around in celebration. Seeing that he was caught, he froze before chuckling nervously and scratching the back of his neck. "I-I mean, bummer that I got join you two. Have a good night!" Just like that, Luke took off to go find Solomon.

You sighed and shook your head. "He's a trouble maker."

Simeon laughed and took your hand into his and he pulled you close to him. "Perhaps, but if the result of his mischief allows me to spend more time with you, then I, for one, am grateful," he kissed the top of your hands once more and offered out his arm to you. "Shall we?"

Your heart fluttered as you took his arm and allowed him to escort you out of the theatre and into what promised to be a memorable evening.

***This was a process for sure, but I think I'm happy with how it turned out! Thank you everyone for reading and supporting me and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SON, LUKE!!!!***

Taglist: @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @pebblesgengar @victoireshaven @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @poly-bi-mf @armycandy10 @burrixino

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cades-outsider · 4 years ago

Text

Older Johnny Lawrence X Reader *SMUT*

Warnings? SMUT! SMUT! Language! And praising!

Praise Me

Walking along the side walk you smile to yourself as Cobra Kai comes into view, one of your good friends Johnny Lawrence had opened up his very own dojo. You knew his past with his sensei Krease, Johnny after much trusting had told you everything that Krease had put in his head and done to him.

Johnny explained that he was not going to put the kids in that situation Krease had done to him and his friends. Pushing open the door the famous bell chimes as you walk in, the door closing behind you.

Johnny comes out of the back drying his hands with a towel, he smiles once he sees that it’s you. "Y/n hey" he greets pulling you into a hug.

You inhale his scent which consisted of fresh green mint, causing you to swoon as you hugged back. "Hey Johnny" you giggle.

Oh how much he loved that pretty giggle of yours, it was music to his ears. "Where’s Miguel" You ask curiously as you both pulled away from the hug.

"His mom called him, she said she needed to speak to him about something" Johnny shrugs throwing the towel on the beating mannequin as you like to call.

"How about we talk in my office" He says smugly, now that he had a office causing you to giggle.

"I’d like that Sensei Lawrence" You play along as he takes your hand and leads you into his office.

He goes to his fridge and pulls out one of his Coors Banquets Beers "want one?" He questions looking at you.

You debate for a moment before shaking your head "sure, why not" you start "-I gotta see what the hype is about these, they must be good if the Johnny Lawrence loves them" You tease as he takes the two beers and places them on his desk.

He sits in his office chair while you sit in the comfortable chair on in front of him "well then-" he stops for a moment to do his famous 'beer opening trick' "-here you go" he says handing it over to you before doing the same with his.

He holds his beer up in the air "to...." he hums as he thinks of nothing to celebrate to causing you to laugh.

"To Johnny Lawrence doing something he loves" You say rising your beer up hitting it with his gently.

Johnny smirks shaking his head before taking a sip, you do the same "Hmm, pretty good Lawrence" you chuckle as you hold the bottle in your hand resting it on your thigh.

"Speaking of love.... have you been seeing anybody?" Johnny asks taking a bigger gulp of his beer this time.

You chuckle "nope, I swear I grew up in the wrong time" You joke.

Johnny raises his brows "why do you say that?" He asks curiously.

You sigh "it’s just the men, well I can’t even say men. Boys, are so not gentlemen like at all" You say shaking your head.

"Why what are they like now?" He asks genuine.

"They are definitely not romantic-" you scoff "-they don’t open doors for me, or the don’t do any romantic gestures" you sigh "-there just not educated" you giggle at the last part causing Johnny to smile.

"Oh and the sex!" You groan throwing your head back "-the sex is just horrible" You finally let loose.

You notice Johnny’s hands grip his beer firmer as his hand starts to turn white before he calms down "seems like you get the young and dumb batch" he chuckles gulping down some more beer.

"Ugh, remember my last relationship?" You question.

"Oh that guy was a dick, I can’t believe he did that to you" Johnny says gritting his teeth.

"Me either" you say remembering the time your ex treated you so badly you ran to Johnny’s at three am at night, but he held you that whole night not complaining once.

"But you were there for me" You hum as a small smile forms onto your lips.

Johnny smiles "always" he says as your eyes connect, his beautiful icy clue ones piercing through yours as if he was reading everything about you in that moment.

"Johnny I need to tell you something" You say breaking the already sexual tension.

He clears his throat "yes?" He asks taking another sip of beer.

'I'm into you' You think "I'm into older men" But you actually say.

Johnny's eye widen, until slowly a small smile appears on his face now feeling confident that he could have a chance with you.

"Let me prove to you that all men aren't like that" He stops for a moment "-let me take you out on a date" he finishes as he slides the unfinished beer in the trash beside him.

You're taken aback but also excited seeing as you have kinda caught feelings for him "alright deal" you smile.

Johnny smiles widely in return "great I'll pick you up at 7" he says with a small smirk.

"In the firebird?" You smirk.

"You know it baby" Johnny winks as you get up, getting ready to leave.

He stands up "give me that, I don't need my gir-" he stops before shaking his head "-I don't need you drinking and driving" he says taking the beer from you and placing it in the trash.

You chuckle at his antics "I wasn’t even going to carry it" you say sticking out your tongue at him playfully.

"Hey. That’s offensive" He says 'seriously' as he leans on the wall.

"Oh I bet Sensei" You joke as you start walking out of the office.

"I’ll see you at seven!" You hear Johnny yell as he runs out of the office.

You turn around "I’ll see you at seven" you repeat as a blush forms over your cheeks.

Johnny rushes over to the door and opens it for you letting you walk out, as he does he kisses your cheek. As you walk out of the building and into your car, your heart races as you could not believe that just happened.

On the way home all you could do was smile, excited for your date with Johnny. Someone who you caught feeling for on the first day of meeting but didn’t know.

You make it home and start rummaging through your dresses trying to pick out something not to like 'desperate' as they call or something to revealing.

You finally just decide on a white well fit thigh high dress and some black heels. You weren’t insecure about your body, but sometimes you would get self cautious.

Deciding to go all out tonight you apply the littlest amount of make up and curl your hair.

Meanwhile, Johnny was throwing almost every piece of clothing he owned around his room, panicking as he couldn’t find anything to wear. With a frustrated sigh he throws all his clothes back in his closet before seeing a white suit catch his eye.

'That’s the one' he thought as he picked it up and slid it on. By the time you both were done it was around 6:50. Johnny was thankful that you only lived five minutes away from him.

He quickly got in his fire bird and made his way to you. You were more excited than anything. I mean how often is it that a guy you like asks you out on a date, and especially a decent guy.

Johnny arrived at your door at exactly 7 o'clock on the dot. Hearing a knock on your front door you walk as fast as you can to the door in heels, letting out a breath of nervousness as you open the door.

Johnny looks up, his mouth gape open as he looks at your beauty "I- wow were matching" you say noticing Johnny's white suit that he looked mighty fine in.

"-wow you look beautiful" Johnny says mind blown, I mean he always admired you and thought you were the most gorgeous girl but now you just looked breath taking.

"Thank you Johnny, you look handsome... as always" you compliment with a sweet smile.

The smallest blush falls onto his face, so faint you almost missed it. Johnny holds out his hand gesturing for you to take it "shall we go?" He asks as you take his hand.

"We shall" You comment with a side smile.

He leads you to his well cleaned up fire bird, rushing to your side to open the door for you "my lady" he jokes, you giggle as you slide into the passengers seat.

"Thank you may gentlemen" You blush, as Johnny runs over to his side entering the car and cranking it up.

The drive was silent, comfortable silence of course. You both were just simply enjoying each other's company as you finally made it to your destination.

A small fancy Italian restaurant, Johnny gets out of his side and rushes to your side opening the door before you could even put your hand on the handle to get out.

You smile as your heart swells with joy and love, "thank you" you comment politely as you get out of the car.

Johnny closes the door and takes your hand "my pleasure love" He says grabbing your hand and walking you up to the door once again opening the door for you leading you in.

A waitress leads you to your guys table handing you your menus and asks for your drink preference. Soon she leaves giving you some time to pick out your orders before bringing your favorite drink back and Johnny's coke.

You both order your meals after she returns, before going back and putting your orders in. You rest your chin on your hand as you gaze up at Johnny.

Johnny freezes "what? Is there something on my face?" He asks wiping his clean face.

You chuckle "no of course not you’re just a pretty sight" you reply giddily.

He smirks "is that all you see me as?" He questions playfully.

"No I see you as much more" you wink as the waiter brings your food before Johnny could reply back.

She places the food on the table before quickly rushing off, noticing the long awaited sexual tension.

You clear your throat "so, how does it feel to be back into karate sensei?" You spark up, interested as you both dig into your meals.

"It feels great to be back, granted Miguel is my only student but he’s a good kid" He compliments with a small smile.

"Yeah, I’ve seen you guys practice he’s getting better" You say impressed.

"I know, he deserves so much more than I can give him" Johnny says looking down.

"Hey don’t say that, you’re doing amazing and I’m so proud of you. He couldn’t learn from anyone better" you say, completely dissing his thought.

Johnny looks up, both of your eyes connect. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife "you wanna get out of here?" He asks before putting his fork down.

"Yes" you answer quickly already getting excited for what’s to come.

The waitress comes over "we’ll take the check please" Johnny says with a smile that reads 'were in a hurry here' to which the waitress quickly nods becoming awkward.

Though she doesn’t move "uh- you guys didn’t finish so there for it’s on the house and you get to keep your meals" she explains grabbing two container boxes and handing them to you.

"Thank you" you say politely as you hand one to Johnny and the waitress quickly runs away.

"That was weird I’ve never heard of that before" you say as you put your food in the box, Johnny doing the same knowing you’ll both get hungry eventually.

"I know" He comments as he grabs your hand and quickly rushes you guys outside.

He places the boxes on the hood of his car before gently pushing you up against the passenger door and connecting his lips to yours in a passionate kiss.

You reply by pushing your lips against his firmer, before things could escalate to quickly and you’d give the whole restaurant a show Johnny quickly pulls away opening the door for you letting you sit, and getting into his side.

Nothing was said while driving, just heavy breathing as you both were excited for what was to come once Johnny made it to his apartment.

Soon you guys parked and Johnny quickly rushed over to your side of the door and helped you out. Before you could make it to Johnny’s door he placed his lips on yours. Your back hitting the door, he quickly pulls out his keys and opens the door letting you both in and closing it with his foot.

Johnny carries you over to the wall and pushes you up against it, not to hard but enough to make you weak. He reconnects your lips back together once again in a rougher kiss, still gentle.

He pulls away to trail slow and sweet kisses to your neck to which he immediately finds your sweet spot as you let him know by moaning.

He continues to abuse that spot as you start to speak up "Johnny.... more" you practically beg.

He caved in and taps your leg signaling for you to jump to which you do. The ends of your dress ripping immediately, causing you to gasp and Johnny to laugh.

"It’s fine I didn’t like it anyways" you say breathlessly as being turned on took you out of your thinking process.

You roughly place your lips back onto his as he carries you over to the kitchen counter roughly swapping everything away with his free arm before sitting you on it.

"Then you won’t mind if I take it off?" He asks for consent, shyly because he didn’t want to mess this up.

"Yes please" You say giving him permission.

As a gentleman he doesn’t finish ripping the dress but he pulls the zipper down slipping it halfway off til it wrapped around your waist.

Your strapless white bra being exposed to which Johnny admires as he places more kisses over your neck and the top of your boobs.

Johnny picks you back up before this time carrying you in his room placing you gently on his bed. "God your so beautiful" He compliments as he kisses up your chest, going down to your stomach.

He pulls the rest of the dress down, discarding it somewhere in the room. He runs his hand gently around your thighs and stomach.

You whine in pleasure he comes back up and places his fingers over the button on the front of your bra "can I?" He asks watching your eyes for any sign of discomfort to find none.

You simply nod giving your consent as he unbuttons the bra slowly dragging it down your body before discarding of it. Your breasts now bare to him to which you look away shyly as your hands start to cover yourself up.

"Don’t my love, you look like a goddess" he starts before placing kisses all over your chest "-you’re so perfect" Johnny finishes, love dripping with every word.

He swirls his tongue around your harden nipple causing your back to arch as a moan falls out.

He places kisses everywhere down your stomach until he gets to your soaking core. He tugs at the side of your underwear asking to pull it off to which you nod letting him do so.

Your bottom half now completely bare to him, he spreads open your legs resting his hands on your thighs. He kisses just above your core, slowly he trails more kisses until he finally connects his lips with your clit, sucking harshly but lovingly.

"You’re so beautiful" He praises once more as continues his assault on your clit, now slipping two fingers into your dripping core.

Wanting you to cum around his cock, he takes his fingers out before sucking them dry and licking his lips causing more moans to fly out your mouth

"You taste wonderful" he says as lust fills his bow darkened blue eyes.

He pulls his shirt off revealing his toned shaped body before discarding of his pants leaving himself only in his boxers.

"Are you sure you want to do this Y/n" Johnny asks sincerely.

"Of course I want to do this with you Johnny" You comply.

Nodding he removes his boxers letting his hard on slap against your core, both letting out a groan at contact.

Lining his cock up at your entrance he looks up at you once more only for you to nod your head yes.

He slowly slides his cock inside your core, feeling you clench around his cock causing him to moan you following behind feeling him stretch you out.

"I’m going to treat you so well" He says whilst rubbing your thighs slowly thrusting his hips against yours.

You moan "Johnny-" you whimper as he speeds up his pace more.

His cock hitting all the right places and more, thrusting at a firmer pace he grips your hips so he could go faster. Hitting your G- spot dead on causing your back to arch and a moan to escape your plump lips.

"You’re doing so good for me, taking me so well" he compliments as he try’s to contain his breathing and moans.

"Princess, you’re taking my cock in like a good girl" He praises as he slams his hips against yours finding a faster rhythm.

You whimper "so g-good" you stutter as Johnny leans down, readjusting his posture to kiss you.

You run your hands through his hair as you feel your climax reaching. "I’m close Johnny-" you moan aloud as you chase that burning sensation.

"Yeah? You’re going to cum for me beautiful" he continues to praise as he drops a hand down to your core and rubs your clit in figure eights causing you to arch your chest into his and cum around his cock, feeling him twitch as you do so.

Johnny follows behind as he cums inside you, filling you up as he continues to ride out both of your orgasms.

Gently pulling out his cock he turns over to his back and pulls you to lean into his chest. "Words cannot describe how amazing that was Y/n" he says feeling as though he was on top of the world.

You nod agreeing along "it was amazing Johnny" you compliment.

"Y/n.... I love you" Johnny says waiting patiently for your response.

You nuzzle your neck into his; lovingly "I love you Johnny Lawrence"

_______________________________________________

Thank you for requesting @peachymelon69 I hope you enjoyed!

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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago

Text

Phone Call Anxiety

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When wanting to make quality merch, one needs a quality team there to produce and work on quality ideas. Great minds think alike. Great eyes see alike and great hands make alike - the three keys to the formula of creating a clothing line that will be fashionable and up to his brand. Luckily, Corpse knows just who to call.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful request, I absolutely loved the idea! Sorry you’ve had to wait for it to be turned into a fic for so long, but I still hope you come across it and give it a read in which case I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

He’s not a fan of phone calls. Anyone who knows him even remotely is very well informed on Corpse’s distaste for phone calls and upholding a conversation over the phone. He’d even go as far as to say talking to a person face to face is less stressful for him than that previous option.

But still, seeing as how the person he’s trying to reach lives in a different state and is rather busy all the time, arranging an IRL meeting is basically impossible at the moment, and sending her a text results in running the risk of having the text overlooked or completely lost in the sea of notifications she probably gets on the daily.

Therefore, a phone call was his only proper way of reaching her. And it’s what’s got him pacing the room with his nervousness peaking. He doesn’t know anything about this girl, nothing concrete at least. He was referred to her by Jack who brought her up in their passing conversation when Corpse mentioned how paranoid he was regarding his upcoming merch project. He specifically stated he doesn’t want anything basic and he wants the clothes to be fashionable, suitable for anyone no matter the age or gender and to be endurable. With all the love he has for his fans, he doesn’t want to give them anything less than what they deserve - the best.

“My friend’s the person you’re looking for.“ Jack said enthusiastically and confidently, “She helped me design the latest merch line I put out and I’ve never been more satisfied with my own merch. I’m planning on offering her a position in Cloak for her birthday. Make sure not to let that one slip out if you give her a call though.“ He warned half-jokingly.

Bottom line, with that kind of intro, Corpse couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued. And so, he asked for this girl - Y/N’s contact info from Jack before he went to surf through her social media where she thankfully posted plenty of pictures of her creations, never failing to mention specifications in the caption of each picture so the viewers would get the perfect and most detailed idea of how high the standard for her work is.

And so he’s finally managed to talk himself into dialing her number that’s been sitting in his phone for weeks now. As he paces his living room, his nerves chewing him out like a dog would with a toy, listening to the ear piercing ring of the dial waiting to get picked up by the girl he’s trying to reach.

Just then, Corpse’s head turns so that his eyes meet the glowing red numbers on his digital clock on his desk and he damn near hangs up the call right away - it’s half an hour past midnight. Fast as lightning, he removes the phone from his ear, his thumb flying over to press the red ‘end call’ button. Just then, a faint ‘hello’ reaches his ears, coming from the phone’s speaker. She’s answered the call.

He hurries to put the phone back up to his ear.

“Hey, sorry for taking so long to pick up, I ought to clean my desk eventually cause my phone was literally BURIED under a pile of papers.“ A cheerful sing-song voice rattles his stale and sleep deprived consciousness, as if awakening him from a half-dream state. “You’re either a wrong number caller or a last minute client, aren’t you? Need something done urgently?“

Corpse is taken the hell aback by her strong and downright awing first impression. Not to mention her energy at an hour unsuitable for calls. Lord knows he wouldn’t have picked up if her were in her spot. With the intention of not wasting any more of her time than necessary, he hurries to explain his situation. “Y/N, right? Um no, I’m neither actually. I was told about you by a friend, he said you were a real miracle-doer with fashion design.” He trails off for a second, not completely sure of how to hold this conversation, “Uh, sorry for the odd timed call, I lost track of time. I’ve been meaning to call you for hours now but I...I was nervous.” He cringes the second the word leaves his lips, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he wants to leave her with a great, better than realistic impression of himself but he does and as of now he deems his attempts as ultimate failures.

He hears her giggle from her end, rifling through what sounds to be papers, “Yeah, I’m her. And boy is it refreshing to get someone who’s calling with an actual purpose.” She sighs as if a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders, “And don’t worry about the phone call anxiety. Makes two of us, to be honest.”

This catches him off-guard. The last thing he’d expect is for this girl to have phone call anxiety. In fact, she appears to be a natural, God-given talent at carrying conversations and upholding chit-chat with people. Maybe he’s a little too quick to judge - probably, considering he’s ‘known’ her for less than five minutes and knows nothing but her occupation, her name and the state she lives in - but that bubbly persona she greeted him with gave off the impression that it’s immune to any and all kinds of social anxiety - or anxiety in general. To hear such an honest and counter-to-assumptions confession on her part rattles him a tiny bit. In a good way though.

“How does that work for you? Isn’t your whole job depending on your phone conversational skills?“ He doesn’t mind that he didn’t phrase that too perfectly or that he straight up blurted it out. He knows he’ll be understood. She’s obviously a person who understands. Not just something specific, but everything. She simply understands. How he drew this conclusion and how accurate it is, he may not know until further notice.

“Well...“ she sighs as if genuinely looking to give him a proper answer, “You see, after doing it for so long and having been caught off guard quite a few times with some absolutely absurd orders, I’ve grown prepared of literally ANYTHING and I have a line prepared for anything the caller has to say. I just no longer let them catch me off guard and it’s fine. Helps avoid any possible awkward silences.“

Corpse’s eyebrows shoot up, her explanation only raising more questions rather than providing answers. But he’s not gonna be the annoying dumbass asking those questions at close to 1AM and bugging her. After all, if she agrees to this partnership, they’ll be hearing and potentially seeing a lot more of each other soon. “Impressive, honestly. You’re gonna need to teach me sometime.“ He’s unaware he’s smiling until he catches his reflection in the window. However, he doesn’t bother hiding it. This conversation is actually making him feel good, serving as a reminder that he’s not the only one who periodically goes through turmoil over small things.

She giggles again, this time the sound manages to draw a blush out of him, coating his cheeks, “I’d typically stray for revealing my secrets to professional success, but I’m willing to make an exception for you...” she pauses for a second as though she’s just now remembered something, “Oh shoot, I don’t even know your name.”

He wheezes out a nervous laugh, realizing he never introduced him, “Oh yeah, sorry, that’s my bad. My name’s Corpse, nice to meet ya.”

“Nice to meet you too, Corpse.“ Y/N replies, sounding pleased but teasing simultaneously, “Now tell me, you didn’t call me about my phone call secrets, did you? What may be the real purpose of your call?“

Oh shoot, he himself almost forgot what he was calling for. Luckily, the reference designs displayed on his computer screen remind him. “Right, well, I’ve been thinking of launching a new merch line either this month or the next, depending on how long the procedure will take, and I needed someone great on my team to make some merch actually worth the money people are paying for it. And, as I said, I was told you were in that ‘someone great’ category.”

“Told by who, if you don’t mind me asking?“ She briefly cuts him off, her voice now giving away the fact that she’s half-absent-minded in this conversation, added evidence be the ruffling of more papers on her end.

“Jack. I mean, Sean. You know, Jacksepticeye.“ Corpse explains, contemplating whether he should’ve ratted Jack out like that. Hearing the sound of delight Y/N lets out eases his worries ASAP though.

“Oh Gosh, I haven’t seen that cutie in so long! He’s like a brother to me so a friend of Jack’s is a friend of min-“ this time she cuts herself off so abruptly Corpse thought the line was cut or she hung up on him. She doesn’t let him wonder for long though, “Wait, wait, wait....Merch? And you’re friends with Jack?“ She pauses for a second once again, once again not a long enough second for Corpse to speak up. “You’re a famous YouTuber, aren’t you?“

He was completely unaware of the fact Y/N hadn’t realized he was someone famous yet. In fact, he didn’t think of it because he thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to her considering she’s friends with Jack-fucking-septiceye! In his mind, his ranking is far lower than Jack’s - despite that mindset being absurd - so the last thing he expected was for her to have some sort of impressed reaction to have been talking to him on the phone this whole time. Hell, she doesn’t even know his full YouTube name or what kind of content he produces.

“WAIT!“ She shouts urgently, startling him a tiny bit, “You’re Corpse Husband, aren’t you? Oh my God, yes you are, how didn’t I put it together sooner? Ah crap, I really need more coffee for this.“

“No! No, you need more sleep.“ Corpse hurries to correct her but is very clearly ignored or overlapped with the many sounds that are coming from her end, “What are you doing?“

“You’re getting the first rough sketch of a design by tomorrow morning.“ She says, taking a sip of whatever beverage she’s acquired for the purpose of keeping her awake, “You go ahead and get some sleep, I know exactly what I’m doing. Don’t worry about it.“

“I’m not worried about the design.“ He hurries to say before she, God forbid, hangs up on him, “It’s 1AM, woman, you need sleep! I don’t need those designs done by tomorrow. Hell, I don’t even need them this week!“

“You don’t, but I do.“ Y/N says, sounding almost breathless because of what seems to be overwhelming excitement, “You don’t get it - I’m designing merch for Corpse fucking Husband! You have any idea how crazy that is?“

“I personally would say it’s underwhelming. I mean, I’m no Pewdiepie, after all.“ He says, now sat at his desk with his free hand rubbing his temple as he stares at the designs he’s pulled up on his screen, ones he probably won’t need given that he’s now working with a professional.

“Oh, shut it.“ She chuckles, “Shut it and get some sleep, ok? I’ll talk to you in the morning.“

“Noooo...“ He leisurely stretches the word, “Tell me, Y/N, do you have Discord?” She clicks her tongue instantly, giving him a signal that the question he’s asked is bordering into the territory of ridiculous. He playfully rolls his eyes, “Alright then, lemme find you. If we’re partnering up on this, we’re both staying up.”

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t fully trust me with this? Like, I won’t be offended, I get it.“ She murmurs in-thought, the sound of clicking evident on her end.

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t want me bothering you and want me to leave you alone?“ He mimics her statement, smirking to himself as he pulls up Discord, knowing he’s already won.

She huffs and tells him her Discord info, quickly adding a small comment, “...but only because great minds think alike. I know we’ll be getting along on this design pretty nicely.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, sure, whatever you say.“ He laughs, “Accept my friend request and let’s drop this phone call.“

“Hey! - um, before we do that, I just wanna say a quick thank you.“ Y/N murmurs quietly, as if half-hoping he doesn’t hear her.

“For what?“ Corpse asks, his brows furrowing, unsure if they’re on the same page about this gratitude.

“For never once triggering my phone call anxiety.“ She admits, “I mean, I know I said I have lines prepared for every conversation scenario possible, but you totally caught me off-guard.“ She giggles a tiny bit, now sounding dangerously close to nervous, “But, not in a bad way, if that makes sense. Sorry if it doesn’t, I need more coffee.“

“No, no, it does!“ He hurries to reassure her, “It really does. And thank you too. Thank you for, you know, tolerating my BS at this hour. God knows I would’ve ignored your call if our roles were reversed.“

He hears her scoff and can’t help but laugh, “Huh ok, I see.“ She says, sounding greatly triggered and mock-pissed at his confession, “I’ll make sure to think of that next time you call me after midnight. Or at all, ever.“

Laughing his butt off, the only thing Corpse can think of in this moment is:

Damn, this girl and I are gonna get along

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bugsyfics · 4 years ago

Text

The Flower Who Bloomed (Part 2)

Undertaker x Reader

Fandom: BB

Summary: Undertaker requests for another visit with Y/N despite the conflict he is causing. Like Undertaker said, “once a lie is unraveled, the truth comes tumbling forth” —and so it does.

Warnings: Smut/notsfw, some serious teasing

Word Count: 1.8k

————•————•————•————•————•————•————•————

After you leave Undertaker’s shop, dress slightly disheveled and hair every which way, there’s no doubt that you have been absolutely ravished. With one good stare it is obvious what activities you were previously involved in. But even as you walk aimlessly around town to find a carriage in the brisk fall air, Undertaker’s words still play in your head.

•••

“Do not tell anyone about our little encounter, dear. He wouldn’t —they wouldn’t be very happy,” Undertaker spoke low, biting his tongue.

Undertaker phoned the earl, informing him he had seen you trip on the sidewalk, and tended to your twisted ankle. While that was a great excuse, nothing could get past Sebastian and you knew he would try to put the pieces together.

“Come here before you leave, my little flower,” Undertaker motioned to you, “I want to see you again soon. How does next week sound?”

You were unsure after the mess you got yourself into, but you just couldn’t say no to him.

•••

Fortunately when you arrive, no one is at the entryway to greet you, so you quickly walk to your bedroom. As you hum to yourself, changing into your nightgown, a knock at the door startles you. You slowly open the door to the hallway.

“Let me see your ankle, Y/N,” Sebastian says plainly. “It won’t take long. I need to check if it’s sprained.”

You smile wearily and sit on your bed holding out your leg. Sebastian grabs your ankle gingerly and observes it for much longer than you would like. After wrapping it with gauze, he looks beside himself, eyeing a pile of your clothes. “I can take those down to the laundry for you.”

“N-no! U-um I mean… it’s my job anyway,” you stammer and smile at him awkwardly.

“I insist, Y/N. You shouldn’t be walking at least for a couple days.”

Sebastian goes to pick up your clothing and you sweat nervously, aware that your soiled undergarments are stashed between your dress. Of course he wouldn’t say anything because it would be ungentleman-like, but the idea of him finding your ruined panties swallows you whole.

•••

Some days pass and surprisingly no one brings up the glaring flaws in your excuse. Though Sebastian has been observing you more often and it’s clear he’s on to you.

Instead of letting your curiosity eat away at you, you decide to ask Sebastian a question only he can answer. You stand in the doorway of the kitchen as he prepares dinner and clear your throat. “Good afternoon! I have a quick question about something that crossed my mind recently. It may sound a bit strange.”

Sebastian looks up at you and wipes his hands on the towel laid across his shoulder. You notice the slightest smirk cross his lips as he nods for you to continue. “Is it possible that the Percy twins were killed by something inhuman?” You watch as he raises his eyebrows in amusement. “For instance, like in the tales where a supernatural being eats innocent children.”

“Where did this come from all of a sudden? I thought you didn’t believe in those silly tales,” Sebastian prys.

“W-well I don’t… There’s just no other way to explain it. There aren’t any witnesses and the way they were so brutally killed…” you falter from your rambling.

“Did you need evidence to believe in the Church, or was it just second nature for you?”

“I guess it was second nature.”

“Exactly, Y/N. So why question yourself, if what you believe is the only plausible explanation?”

You never thought about it that way. Undertaker wasn’t wrong when he said Sebastian knew all about the supernatural. Though at first glance you wouldn’t think this butler in black would be knowledgeable of such topics. You thank him and turn to leave, but notice a glow cross his orbs and you do a double take, unsure if what you saw was only your imagination.

•••

Here you are back in town the next afternoon to run some errands. Young Master warned you to be more careful and to pay attention to the time so you didn’t have another mishap. You expected his tone to be much harsher, though he is more mindful of what he says to you, since you are his youngest servant.

You cross off the last reminder on your list, smiling to yourself. The timepiece reads a quarter to one and you’re expected to arrive back at 3, giving you a little over two hours to spare. A jittery feeling starts in your belly when you hear the bell chime as you enter. Yet again, Undertaker is nowhere to be seen, so you call out to him.

“Hello? Sir, it’s Y/N.”

It’s eerily silent as you walk further in. You sit your bags down on his desk carefully and decide to call him once more. “Hel—” you gasp, feeling icy hands cover your eyes.

“It’s me, dearie,” Undertaker whispers in your ear, causing goosebumps to raise over your body. You eventually relax into him and pull his hands from your face.

“You scared me,” you giggle and turn towards him.

Undertaker’s hat is gone and his hair is pinned back as he stands simply wearing both a black long sleeved shirt and pants. His bangs still fall into his eyes, and you can’t help but feel bubbly. He grins at you, rubbing your arm lightly. “It’s only been a week and I’m craving you, my little flower.”

He rubs circles on your hip and leans down to kiss you, but pauses above your lips. “Oh how I crave you... but you told our little secret, didn’t you?”

“No. I promise I kept my word, sir,” you shake your head.

He presses you onto his desk and runs his fingers up your spine, until he reaches the back of your neck, gripping it firmly. “That is what you say, but how can I be so sure, poppet? I had an unlikely visitor last night, you see. Hehe, I didn’t think you would turn around and disobey me like this.”

“I swear, I can prove it to you!”

It never crossed your mind that perhaps this visitor was Sebastian. You were too worked up to even notice that minor detail.

“Well, show me you’re innocent, love. Then I’ll believe you,” Undertaker orders curtly and pulls away.

You unfold your arms and reach behind yourself undoing your gown, letting it fall freely and the cool air causes your exposed nipples to harden. Undertaker reaches up to caress one of your breasts fondly, toying at your small bud. “How exactly does this prove anything, love?”

The truth was, you were innocent, but your mistake was letting Sebastian take your clothes. He never once impeded on your privacy nor searched through your garments. To him your arousal was just strong enough to detect and he didn’t condone a Phantomhive maid being intimate with a close ally of the Young Master. Sebastian was aware that Undertaker often revealed much more than he should and your little involvement threatened the trust he had with the earl.

Naive as you were, you knew that giving yourself up to Undertaker once more would not only distract him from finger pointing, but also allow you to feel his hands touching your body again.

You shrug at Undertaker, biting back a moan as continues his assault on your swollen peaks. He stops to wrap his arms around you, rutting his clothed hard on against your bare pussy. One of his hands travels down your back while the other rakes through his light bangs hastily. You watch him with wide eyes as he reveals a hard stare and you gulp, wondering what his next move will be. “Do you remember what I taught you last week? Something that I said before ravishing you.”

You shake your head. There was certainly more than just one thing that you considered to be a lesson.

He laughs in a shallow manner and wags a finger at you, “Once a lie is unraveled… the truth comes tumbling forth, my little flower.” He pauses for a moment to pinch your nipples, causing you to whimper. “Sebastian knows.”

Your mouth falls open, but for two reasons: you can’t believe that Sebastian would go to such lengths to find you out and also at that very moment Undertaker brushes across your clit, spreading your slick with his fingers. He eagerly teases you in every way possible, practically making you drip onto the floor.

“W-wait! H-how would he—”

Undertaker grunts, putting his fingers to his lips to taste you. He takes his time sucking each finger as if he devoured an entire meal, savoring your sweetness.

“He could sense it —your arousal— after you returned.”

“Sense it how? He must have snooped through my clothes,” you scoff.

Undertaker shakes his head, rolling his eyes at you, “Have you not gotten it, love? The butler is a demon.”

He places his hands beside you, leaning onto your much smaller frame. His nose ghosts over your ear as he speaks, “He popped by last night, apparently not very happy about us having it away. Hehe, I guess your arousal exposed us, dearie. Right now I shouldn’t be here touching you the way I am —I was warned. But you make me drool with anticipation for your delicate flower.”

Undertaker grins, his face visibly brightens. His hands grab on your hips, even after revealing this shocking information. His grip is possessive, trapping you against himself as he hums into your neck. You love every bit of how he is holding you and you want this feeling to last, but how could Undertaker remain so unbothered?

He whispers, telling you he is ready to take you once again. Though when he pulls away and his face comes into view, your heart starts to race, heavily unsettled. You notice the same glow in his eyes as Sebastian’s, but there is a different gleam lying behind them. You knew at that moment why Undertaker was so infactuated with telling you about other beings, and specifically Sebastian. He certainly isn’t human either.

Undertaker is utterly amused as he watches your eyes widen just as his cock slips deep inside you. He sees that you connected the dots to his secret and he chuckles. “What is wrong my little flower? Have you figured out my age yet? Or is it too many centuries to count on your fingers?” He grabs your hand and places a kiss along your knuckles with a sly grin.

————•————•————•————•————•————•————•————

— bugs

Taglist: @second-weeb-chick

#not sfw #undertaker #black butler x reader #undertaker x y/n #undertaker x reader #black butler smut #black butler sebastian #undertaker smut #undertaker bb #undertaker kuroshitsuji #black butler #black butler x y/n #black butler fanfiction #undertaker imagines #black butler imagines

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