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writella · 10 months ago

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Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s half past 10.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever. “8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I really do miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him— no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was and how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time because, for once, he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won.

He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

#negan smith smut #negan smith x reader #negan smith fanfiction #negan smith x you #negan smith x y/n #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #twd smut #twd fanfiction #twd fic #the walking dead #negan smith

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madxyy · 8 months ago

Text

Selfish

| pairing : peter x reader

| summary: your boyfriend comes home injured--as usual--late at night and you can't help but want him safe from his life as spider-man

| warnings: fluff, touching wrists (sigh, again), y/n used once, baby used, peter being cute and angsty as usual, reader also being cute, light angst

author's note: i am trying to write angst so bare with me lol

2 am.

It’s always when you hear that faint knock on your window that makes all your worries wash away in a split second. But not today, no, today was different. You were waiting all night to hear that thud on the firescape or the cries of the window seal being opened. All night you were absorbed in your own anxieties and worries. Your hopes were dreading as time went by. You were getting scared for the local crime fighting hero and you did everything in your power to take your mind off it.

You really did.

Drawing, watching tv, listening to music, cleaning the room—which was a bad idea as it just bought you a reminder of the boy who has your heart. You would stumble upon Peter's belongings that were scattered around your shared apartment like confetti: his engineering notes, his sweaters, his latest sketch of a brilliant idea he had to improve his spider-man suit. It only made your heart ache even more, longing for his presence and increasing your worries for your vigilante boyfriend. So you would take another route and try binge-watching a new season of a recent tv show you are watching, which would likely just be collecting dust in the column of ‘continue watching.’

Your mind keeps on going back to him. ‘He’s okay. He’s okay.’ You thought to yourself. ‘He’s coming back to me. He’ll be alright. He’s probably on his way right now. It’s just going to be a scratch, hopefully. He's going to be okay, right? Oh god. Oh god.’

As much as you love and adore that your boyfriend is helping the city and its people by saving anyone from another lab experiment gone wrong or from a dangling car that’s about to fall off a bridge, you can't help but wonder if he would ever take care of himself. It’s hard seeing him everytime he comes through your window with a new bruise on his keen jawline, a wound on his ribs, a scar on his hip. You couldn’t deal with it anymore. You wish he stopped just for his own safety. You know it’s selfish but is it so wrong to want him safe? Just the thought of turning on the news and seeing J. Jameson reporting: “Breaking News: Our local friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man reported dead by …”

You want him back with you already, his arms wrapped around you, drowning you into his warm embrace, so distinctly Peter, while he whispers soft and reassuring words that always mend your heart. You long to hear his random facts about science, see his lopsided smile that always welcomes you back into reality whenever you wake up next to him each morning. You yearn for his contagious laugh that makes your heart throb in delight over the euphonious sound. You want to smile at the tics he does when he gets nervous or the way he avoids eye contact and scratches the back of his neck when he is stuck in an awkward situation. You want him to be back so you can smooch the newly embedded scars that are planted all over his body which you love kissing away everyday when he wakes up. You want to see his dimples that adorn his face when he smiles wide enough because he finally got his web shooters to work, followed by a triumph fist bump to the air. You want to see his eyes, oh his eyes: brown, soft, autumnal, brimming with love and warmth, despite the grief and cruelty he has been absorbed in. His scent, a mix of cedarwood and asphalt (due to his high-flying urban adventures). You want to see the way his hair sticks up in the morning whilst the sun gives it a mixture of honey and bronze aura, running your hands through the mused up tufts of hair, which always leads to the corners of his eyes crinkling up as a sleepy, boyish smile tugs up on his rosy lips.

Selfish. You can’t help it.

You waited as long as you could; staring at your window for who knows how long. Your eyes were trained on the window for a good while, but you couldn't help it, all this anxiety finally got to you and you were feeling drained and your posture slumps with exhaustion. Your eyes burn from keeping them open, and soon those same eyes start to slowly droop. Blinking back sleepiness proved futile; your head eventually settled onto the cool silk of your pillow. The material greets your cheek, making it easier for you to be welcomed into slumber.

It was 4 am, yet your worries haven’t gone down at all. Your eyelids started to grow heavier, and darkness gradually enveloped your senses, until you heard a faint knock on your window, piercing the silence.

Your heart leapt, and you twisted towards the sound. In an instant, sleep was gone.

Not even a second later you heard your window opening—mm the sound of the cries. Your tired, red eyes snapped open. You were met with a disheveled and drained Peter Parker. His hair sticking to the nape of his neck and forehead, sweat giving him a post-shower appearance. A large laceration marred his chest. Oh. Your stomach dropped, eyes widened with horror at the sight of the injury. It looked like he was scratched -- no, clawed by someone or something. With quick motion, you quickly peel away the sheets, disentangling yourself from its soft embrace, and quickly hurrying to his side.

“Peter” you gasped softly. A hand settles onto his latex-clad one, the other arm wrapping around his waist to support him as you guide both him towards your bed, placing him where you had lain just seconds before. “It’s not that bad, don’t worry about it, seriously, I mean you should see the o-” Peter quickly swallows his words upon seeing your stern glare. He slumps his head downwards as he sighs in defeat.

You sigh, telling him quietly that you'll be back soon. You left him for a few moments before coming back with a wet rag. Gently, you tug at the suit, trying to cautiously take it off him without aggravating his wounds. Soon, you were met with his bare torso, which is marked with a huge claw mark. You mentally steel yourself before starting to lightly clean around the injury, dabbing the wet rag gently onto his toned chest as you avoid his eyes. It’s not like you were trying to make him feel bad, but you were also trying to cope with the situation. You don’t know if you were mad, relieved, sad, maybe all of the above? Uncertain emotions swirl within you, but one fact anchors your turbulent thoughts: he is here, safe, and alive. That's what truly matters.

Peter seems to catch your avoided gaze, he studies you for a few minutes. Biting the inside of his cheek as he purses his lips to the side, trying to figure out how to approach this situation. He takes in your furrowed eyebrows, the way you’re also biting the inside of your cheek as you put all your strength into avoiding his worried amber eyes. He knew the consequences of inviting someone into his dangerous life, it wasn’t exactly a warm and inviting embrace, nor was it appealing, but what he didn’t fully grasp is how it truly hurts you, in more ways than one. “Y/N…” he whispered, rough hands that have been through so much and experienced so much, reaching for the comfort of your skin but you gently dodge his touch, leading to a sudden twinge of anguish in his heart. You give him a slight smile to distinguish any suspicion – I mean, you weren’t doing a good job at it – before you continued cleaning the dirt away from his injury. Peter’s eyebrows furrow while his lips start to droop downwards, a frown laid upon his lips at the rejection.

Biting the inside of your cheek harder to stop the tears from flowing down the curve of your cheekbones. You keep on wiping his cuts clean, overs and overs again, getting flashbacks of his visits from the last time you had to patch him up. Blurred vision starts taking over your eyesight and all you can think about is his pain, what he goes through, his blood, the thought of losing him, life without him, the many ‘what ifs.’ The many times he almost visited death's door. You couldn’t keep it in anymore, it was like a burning sensation bubbling in the back of your throat, the sadness was too hard to keep buried down now. You started shaking and before you knew it your sobs filled the walls and all your fears were coming out of you in the form of a liquid pea that contained so much. As soon as the warm liquid left a path down the curve of your cheeks, peter panicked and rose to action just like the hero he is—your hero.

Quickly sitting up and fixing his posture, which made him wince slightly from the injuries but he pushed through, his mind set on you and only you. He wipes the tear away with the pad of his thumb and takes the wet rag away from your slightly shaky grip; gently putting it on your nightstand before he lightly reaches both of his hands out and holds onto your wrists.

“I can't” You choke out a sob.

“Hey shh it’s okay baby, what’s wrong? You can’t, what? Tell me,” He coos.

He hunches down, trying to find those eyes of yours that he swears are otherworldly, but you just can’t. You can’t see him like this. Hurt. In pain. Suffering. It pains you that he is in this much pain -- you can’t. “Peter I just… ” he gently takes your face in his hand, caressing your cheekbones with his thumbs that are growing wet from your moist cheeks. His heart hurts from the sight of you crying, it conjures a deep-seated throb of pain in his eyes. “Look at me,” he whispers softly, gently nudging your head up with his right hand that is slowly descending down to grasp your chin as if you were a treasure, in a way you are, to peter you are his treasure, the main reason he even gets up or even tries, you are his rock, the only thing that makes sense in his life, and god does he love you, he loves you so much that his heart hurts. A quiet sigh escapes you, it sounds defeated. “Please,” He pleaded oh-so-gently, his gaze unwavering but patient. You sniffle before swallowing down a ball of saliva forming in your throat. As soon as you look up you are met with a pair of almond-shaped umber eyes that are filled with the utmost care, worry, and a hint of guilt.

“Talk to me..” he whispers desperately, his heart crushing at the pain you are experiencing, he just wants to take it all away with his soft whispers but he knows they will be in vain. Shakingly exhaling “I can’t,” you frantically shake your head. “Please baby…” A few silent beats pass before you finally look back up to find those amber eyes looking back at you with nothing but worry and sincerity.

You take a deep breath before swallowing deeply ”Peter...I just…” another beat passes. You take a sharp deep breath. “I just really wish you would take more care of yourself, I...I know you love saving people and fighting crime and trust me I love you deeply for that but you come home everyday with a new wound that’s even deadlier than the last one,” You pause, licking your salty lips. “aren’t you worried that maybe those people that you save won’t have anyone to save them if they’re local neighborhood spider-man won’t be there to save them anymore..?” You ask him, almost in a plea. Peter bites the inside of his cheek, thinking over your words with a solemn expression forming on his face that are littered in small cuts from his last escapades. He diverts his gaze to the floor and the room is quickly overcome with silence as he takes in your words, letting the heaviness of your words sink in.

The silence fills the room, it lets you both engulf into your own thoughts. Peter knew what it meant when he finally told you he was the unmasked superhero. He remembers spilling his deadly secret on a rooftop late at night, where you both were admiring the stars, laying on a blanket and talking about anything and everything. He remembers looking over at you and admiring the way the moon was cascading down on you, making you look even more angelic and completely ethereal.

Peter looks at you hurt and guilty and god do you hate that. Both of you guys shared a gaze that held so much that it made the room feel denser as the distant sounds of ambulances filtered through the slightly open window. A breeze wafts in, brushes against you both, causing small goosebumps to prick up on your skin. Peter grew to learn from his past relationships and the impact it had on his partner knowing he was Spider-Man, which is why it hurts him to know he is the one making you feel like this. A calloused hand slowly creeps up, gently grasping your cheek with the utmost care, as if you were made of glass and he was scared of causing further harm. “I know, I know,” He murmurs, his voice breaking while his toughened fingers absentmindedly traces the curve of your cheek. “It’s just so hard to stop when I know I can make a difference.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as his words sink in. Your heart breaks knowing how much his words are true and the scary reality that he won’t stop until crime is put to bed and everyone can roam around the streets freely. You shook your head, one hand gently grasping his wrist. “But at what price, Pete?” you ask ever-so-softly like the question itself was forbidden territory. Those eyes that he loves so deeply, look up into his eyes and it causes a gnawing feeling in his chest, almost making him wince from how hurt you look, how scared you look. Peter bites the inside of his cheek a bit harder while furrowing his brows, trying to think of what to tell you because he himself doesn’t know.

He takes a shaky breath, adjusting the grip on your face and slowly pulling your head a bit closer until both of your foreheads are resting against one another, a silent plea for understanding in his eyes. The brush of skin itself was tender-filled, telling a millions of words with just one movement. “I am just sick of all the crimes happening here and the cops not even doing anything about it.” Peter whispered, his voice a low blend of anger and helplessness. You could feel the raggedness of his breath, each exhale a testament to the battles he fought alone in the shadows of the city. The close proximity allowed you to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes shuttered as if bracing against a storm of inner conflict. “Peter, I know you care – it’s one of the things I love about you,” you respond gently, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of hair from his clammy forehead. “But you can’t carry this burden alone. It’s too much for one person, even for Spider-Man.” Your voice was a soothing whisper, trying to pierce the armor of duty he wore so steadfastly.

Peter simply nodded, the weight of the world momentarily lightened by your understanding. You saw the fortress around his heart crumbling, if only just a bit. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of life, now shimmered with unshed tears, reflecting the constant battle between his duty and his love for you.

“I’m sorry…” Peter’s voice broke through the silence, each word heavy with remorse. He leans forwards, delicately kissing your forehead which grounds you and makes you close your eyes momentarily as you cherish the soft kiss that eases your heart just a bit. “I am sorry for not fully understanding what you are going through. I am so, so sorry,” He whispers into the dark night, the words flowing into the air as gently as ever. A few beats of silence pass while you take in his words. It gave your weary heart time to mend. Peter leaned back slightly so he could get a better look at you, his gaze locked with yours, conveying a depth of sincerity and vulnerability. “I’m truly, deeply, sorry” He whispers once more before he starts to softly press kisses underneath where your ear and jaw meet, your cheeks, forehead, nose, the wrinkles in the middle of your eyebrows, smoothing them out with the pad of his thumb, and finally kissing your lips, so delicately, it makes you want to cry even more.

The kiss was so deliberate, it was a bundle of promises that his lips sealed to keep, an abundance of love, tenderness, deep affection and care that runs so deeply into his veins that it affects his touches and kisses, he can’t help but pour it all into the kiss, he just wanted you to know how sorry he is. He wanted you to know that he never meant to hurt you, whether it was indirect or direct. It makes your heart flutter and reassures your timid heart. Slowly one hand moves to cup the left side of your face as his other hand descends down towards the side of your neck as peter tastes the saline on your moist-tear lips, but even that doesn’t stop him from pressing gentle kisses against your lips, it only fuels his love, turning the kisses even more tender. Each kiss conveys a message of “I’m sorry, I love you, please know I love you.” You can taste the metallic on his lips as your lips were caressing his back as equally gently and lovingly, your kisses filled with a message of “It’s okay, I love you.”

Peter slowly pulls back from the kiss, his mouth hovers over yours, his breath fanning over your lips, noses rubbing against each other in the tenderest manner ever. Both of your eyes were still closed, taking in everything, cherishing one another. His right hand moving back up to cradle your face, both hands cradling your cheeks and caressing them with the pad of his thumbs in a feather-like caress. You nuzzle your cheek against his right hand, feeling the rough and calloused palm that you grew to admire and adore. It always provided you with such care and comfort, always caressing or reaching out to gently touch you. Both of your hands now encircled around his wrist, caressing the inside of it so softly that it makes Peter almost melt.

Slowly, Peter opens his eyes. His amber gaze held nothing but love and the utmost care. Shortly after he opened his eyes, your eyes opened as well. Both of you search each other’s eyes as a white noise of admiration passes you both. After a moment of silent communion, the air between you both thickens with unspoken words and shared feelings, Peter finally speaks, his voice a soft murmur against the quiet room. “I can’t promise there won’t be more nights like this,” he says, his honesty laying bare the truth of both of your lives entwined with danger and uncertainty. “But I promise you, no matter how many crazy guys in suits I have to fight, I’ll always do my best to come back… to this, to us.”

This promise, simple yet profound, strikes a chord within you. It’s not a heroic declaration from Spider-Man, but a heartfelt vow from Peter Parker, the boy behind the mask, the one you fell in love with. His words acknowledge the reality of his life—danger is part of the package, yet he’s equally committed to your shared life, to you, and he isn’t going anywhere.

You feel a surge of mixed emotions: fear for the dangers he faces, gratitude for his honesty, and love for the person he is. “And I’ll be here,” you say, matching his tone with a blend of seriousness and affection, “not just to patch you up and be your personal nurse, but to love you.” The corners of his lips quirk up, his eyes twinkling with love as he takes in your words. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a silent vow of his commitment. “Thank you,” he whispers, gratitude resonating in his voice, “for everything.”

“Of course,” You whispered.

The two of you stay like that, embraced in the warmth of your love for one another, finding comfort in the silence that now speaks volumes. The world outside, with its chaos and challenges, seems momentarily distant as you both cherish this safe haven of understanding and love you’ve created together.

#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman #tasm andrew garfield #light angst #fluff #peter parker fluff #tasm fluff

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aarontaylorjohnsonsdivorcelawyer · 17 days ago

Text

library card ➵ valgrace university au

FINALE - part 10 [masterlist]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Leo slid his phone down his back pocket and viewed the landscape of New Rome University. He can see that the sun, although ithadn't set yet, is a burst of brilliant light, scattering orange, purple, and pink hues in the sky. He really hates driving at night, and he really could just return to the architecture building tomorrow, but the curiousity is killing him. He had to go back. Now.

"Hey, are you in a hurry? I need to go somewhere," he called to Piper, who was walking by him on the way to the parking lot.

"Where are you going?" Piper asked, abruptly stopping to see that Leo had fallen behind.

"I think I left something. Can you wait for me? Or you can go on without me if you want," he said.

Piper shrugged. "It's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Great!" he replied. "Be safe."

"You too," Piper said before turning to walk away.

Leo tried to walk the first few yards, but his feet took over and then he's sprinting. There was a loud pounding in his chest; whether it was from the sprinting or the nerves, he's not sure. At last, he arrived at the building, and the pounding just banged even more.

He paved cautiously, scared and excited about what he's gonna find. He's been searching for it everywhere he go, turning his head at every drawing tube yielding individual he sees, hoping his eyes lands on the right one. Perhaps it did, but now he will have a name. And now, Leo is certain.

His feet lead him to the bulletin board, his Docs squeaking at every step he takes against the tiled floor. The building is empty except the few students hanging out the tables just outside the archway, close to the vestibule in which Leo is at. He let out a shaky breath, steadying his chest as he approached.

He knew the piece very well. He admits that the reason it slipped his mind to look at the name was because the illustration captivated him first and his gaze simply brushed over the title block in the corner. Then he went back to admiring it.

It's some sort of summer camp. It has multiple buildings that carried different architectural styles but unified with classical elements, which he never imagined would work this well. At the frontage stood a big blue house white trim and wrap-around porch, and close to it stood a big pine tree. The pine tree seems huge and daunting, like some magical entity that protects the land.

There were cabins. It was surrounding a firepit in the middle, in a horseshoe shape. There might've been 20, but he's not sure. He took note of the little shabby chic cabin and got the sudden urge to tell Piper about it.

And then there's the red one. His eyes lingered at the little brick building. It's a mixture of industrial and steampunk, seemingly out of place to the bright gold and the wooden cabins on either side of it. He remembered pressing his palm against the sheet of glass that protects the board, brushing his index finger at the tiny drawing. He had never been in a summer camp before, but the tall columns and the bronze statues and the waves of the ocean are singing that he had been here before. He's even so sure that there's a hidden bunker in the woods somewhere.

Somehow, he is certain, that in another life, he is a camper in this camp, and he is with his best friend Piper McLean, and Jason Grace.

Jason Grace.

His gaze catapulted to the bottom right corner. And then he saw it. Right next to the student number he's been typing at the library for months, was Jason Grace's name. It was a name he memorized so well, so well that he didn't even struggle to read it even with dyslexia. It's as if his mind is trained to look for Jason Grace.

He fished his phone from his pocket, hands shaking. Then he dialed the number.

"Hello?" the speaker on the other end replied. It was Jason's voice.

"Hey. . . I'm at the archi building right now," Leo said, trying to disguise his nervous voice.

"I know, I'm looking at you right now."

He turned to the courtyard, and saw Jason amongst the students in the table. He smiled at him when he caught his eyes, phone pressed against his ear.

"See, I told you, it's easy to figure out," Jason chuckled on the phone. The Jason he's looking at rose, and approached.

Leo dropped the phone. "Hi," he said, to the Jason in front of him.

"Hi." He said it better than Leo. The word glides smoothly out of his mouth, with the smile never leaving from his face. There was a trace of a scar on the top corner of his lips, forming a crescent shape guided by his smile.

Leo bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to think about Jason's stupid lips, and the stupid scar on his lips, and the stupid smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry, this is so embarrassing," Leo said, shifting his gaze away from Jason. "This is so weird."

"What do you mean it's weird?"

"This! I've made it weird! I said some weird things now this is weird!"

"What? No, you didn't do anything weird at all!"

Leo avoided his gaze. "This is like a pattern for me, I fall in love so easily, and I do something embarassing, and then I drive them away. I — I just. . ."

"Hey." Jason put a hand on Leo's arm, sending thousans volts of electricity down his body. "None of this is embarrassing, it's just me."

Leo sighed. "Well, it will soon! I don't know how to act, I've never made it past the daydreaming phase! I've never had anyone know I like them, I just keep it to myself."

"You think this is embarassing? You should ask Malcolm how I acted when I saw you at the bleachers," Jason chuckled, his hand dropping grip Leo's wrist. "Good thing the helmet hid my face well, and you're far enough to not see it."

"W-what do you mean?" Leo stammered.

"You know what I mean! Now I'm the one who's embarassed."

"I didn't know you know me!"

"Of course I know you! You brought amazing flan to Mrs. Jackson's Christmas party!"

"I—" Leo dropped his head to hide his face, chuckling in disbelief. "So what now?"

"I say dinner?" Jason tilted his head, waiting for Leo's response.

"Your treat? Since you're the rich one?"

"Hey, you still owe me 30 dollars!"

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

When he went home that night, a huge smile plastered across his face, Leo took out his phone and changed the contact on his phone. The mystery man he's been texting now has a name, and it is Jason Grace.

He was typing his thank you to Jason for the amazing night when the phone vibrated on his hand, along with it was a text from Piper. He smiled to himself. He has a lot of things to tell his best friend.

#valgrace #jason grace #leo valdez #jason grace x leo valdez #valgrace fanfic #jason grace fanfic #leo valdez fanfic #riordanverse #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo

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gogobootz1 · 7 months ago

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The Mentor Pt. 7

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Your Hunger Games strategy goes off the rails when a friend comes to you with a plan

Part 6 | Part 8

“Look kid, this isn’t like last time, you’re not on a level playing field here.”

Katniss crossed her arms as she leaned back into the couch of District Twelve’s Capitol penthouse.

“These are Capitol darlings, lethal weapons, murderers one and all, gathered neatly together for an All Stars round. Of these stars, you are space dust. Recency may be on your side, but little else. They are older, stronger,”

Peeta effectively interrupted, “Who are they?”

“What?” Haymitch blinked.

“Take us through them. Surely you can offer some insight, after knowing them all these years,” he shrugged.

“I’ll ignore the fact you just called me old,” the older man walked off to grab the tablet that controlled the TV. District by district, he took his tributes through their competition.

When he got to District Four, Katniss beat him to it, “Finnick O’Dair, right?”

“Yes,” Haymitch confirmed, “he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.” The image of the tall, bronzed man sauntering across their screen seemed to disagree.

“You’re kidding,” she deadpanned.

“Yes! I’m kidding,” Haymitch snapped. “He’s a,” he dramatically moved his hair, “peacock. A total preener. But he’s the Capitol Darling, they love him here. Charming, smart, and very skilled at combat. Especially in water.”

“What about weaknesses?” Peeta leaned forward.

“One,” Haymitch confirmed, “Mags. She was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.”

“A guy like that has to know she’s not gonna make it. I bet when it really comes down to it he won’t protect her,” Katniss shrugged.

“Well, Katniss,” Haymitch said, “I just hope when she goes she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.”

Katniss blinked guiltily at his statement, and Peeta leaned back into the couch.

“But if he does ally with her it’ll make him less of a threat,” Peeta offered.

Haymitch let out a sour little laugh, “Oh, we’ll get to his allies.”

Peeta winced when Haymitch later marked the intimidating young woman from District Seven as one, and was surprised at the lack of others.

By the time he got to Ten, Katniss was antsy, “Can we wrap this up?”

“Sure if you want to ignore a huge fucking threat,” Haymitch shrugged.

“It looks like a strong gust of wind would blow him over,” Katniss complained.

“Not him,” her mentor snapped, clicking forward, “Darla Kennedy.”

Their attention went back to the screen when another young woman appeared, stepping forward and giving an assured nod to the cameras.

“Darla is young, well connected, and deadly with a whip,” Haymitch began.

“Who’s that behind her?” Peeta interrupted, noticing the woman peace keepers were escorting off stage.

“Well, since you mentioned it,” he rewinded the feed to when the young women were standing next to each other. “That,” he pointed to the one they weren’t familiar with, “is Darla’s mentor. One of the most popular tributes to ever come out of the games, and maybe the best mentor I’ve ever met.”

“How do you mean?” Peeta pressed.

“She saved Darla’s life about four times during her games with just wit and a warm smile,” he shrugged, “if she wanted a sponsor there’d be twenty knocking down her door. Kid’s a magnet, and a brilliant strategist. Not to mention, a great drinking buddy,” Haymitch finished.

“Not helpful,” Katniss griped, and the man rolled his eyes.

“Point is, if you don’t think she’s calling on every favor she’s owed and pulling every string in her arsenal to save that girl, you’re dead wrong. Darla’s practically all she has left,” Haymitch elaborated, “but both Ten ladies are good friends with Finnick.”

“Finnick?” Peeta asked, surprised.

“Not that he’d need the help with sponsors,” Haymitch shrugged, “but no doubt it’ll be a scary alliance. One you might consider joining.”

“No way,” Katniss scoffed.

“Like I said, I’m friends with their mentor, I could hook you up,” he doubled down.

“Not interested,” she grunted.

“Look,” Haymitch sat on the coffee table across from them, “you’re starting at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years.”

“That just puts us higher on their kill list,” Katniss snapped, crossing her arms.

“Do it your own way,” Haymitch shrugged, “but I know these people. You go it alone, their first move is gonna be to hunt you down. Both of you.” He left the room before his words even sank in.

————————————

Your fingers twitched while you waited for Darla to wake up. Sometimes you cursed yourself for being an early bird, but after your games you couldn’t help but get up with the sun. Some lasting self-preservation instinct had always been your theory. You had a plan for her, not that she’d like it.

Shuffling from the hall caught your attention, and you perked up to see her walking toward the breakfast table half-awake.

“Morning,” you said, quickly. She just grunted as she poured herself some coffee. “I want to run something by you.”

She took a sip of coffee, placing pastries from the breakfast spread onto her plate. When she realized you weren’t still talking she looked up, and gestured for you to go on.

“I want you and Finnick working together,” you started.

Darla interrupted, mouth full of croissant, “Obviously, that was just a given.”

You clenched your jaw a bit, but barreled on, “and I want the two of you working with Johanna and-“

“No!” She cut you off, nostrils flared. “That’s a recipe for disaster, and you know it.”

“It’s the best plan I’ve got,” you fired back, “the Capitol knows the two of you were together. They’ll eat your dynamic right up, and keep you alive long enough for you to keep making good television.”

She looked indignant, but you doubled down, “Johanna is a strong fighter, and with Finnick distracted protecting Mags you’ll need to beef up your alliance. If Blight comes with her, the five of you can square off evenly against the careers.”

“We’re sure Finnick won’t want to join the pack?” Darla raised a brow, and you blinked at her in surprise.

“You really think he’d do that?” You asked, voice light. Would he? You were so certain of his character you hadn’t even considered the possibility. But the games always changed things- changed people. When she made a face at you, you shook it off, “You know he loves Mags, he wouldn’t just leave her. And the careers are too pragmatic to take on someone they see as dead weight.”

“Good thing I’m not pragmatic, then,” Darla said wryly, taking a bite of a fruit tart.

Pragmatic, no. Entertaining, yes. Watching Finnick care for Mags would melt hearts across the nation, and they wouldn’t be able to turn the cameras away from two bickering exes. Putting on a show was the first step to a one way ticket out of the arena. You just didn’t want to think about which one of your friends would be the one to take it.

Your strategy started as soon as the train pulled into the station. Walking onto the platform with an arm over Darla’s shoulder, and big smiles on both of your faces. If there was ever a time to appeal to the audience it was now. Normally you’d shy away from questions, but with a few cameras you were eager to assert your tribute early.

“We’re always happy to visit the Capitol! You all make us feel so welcome here!” Darla assured a reporter. So she had taken your strategy briefing to heart.

“While we wish we could be seeing you under better circumstances,” you jumped in, “we’re certainly going to make the most of our time here. You might just get sick of seeing us!” You laughed with the reporter, touching her wrist lightly.

From there you were off to the races, starting a campaign of phone calls in the car. Scheduling an appearance on daytime TV to talk up Darla, conversing with the connections you’d made over the years, and making appointments for drinks or coffee occupied your afternoon.

Darla took the time to settle in to the space, flicking through magazines on the couch as you talked your throat dry. After hanging up on another Capitolite, you scratched some more notes on the meticulous schedule you’d started.

“Time for a break?” Darla asked from the other room after a minute of silence.

“Time for a drink,” you complained, but caught a glimpse of the time. “Shit!”

“What?” She asked as you ran to the room you’d stayed in during your annual visits.

“I’m meeting Mrs. Montgomery for dinner!” You shouted back.

“Who?”

Within ten minutes you stumbled back out in a short, but stylish cocktail dress.

“How do I look?” You asked, shoving your feet into a small pair of heels as you smeared lipgloss on your mouth.

“Stellar,” Darla assured you, not bothering to look up from her magazine.

You were busy clipping your hair up, assessing your appearance in the microwave’s reflection. “Really?” You fretted, finally turning toward her.

“Absolutely!” She said enthusiastically, still not looking up.

Your shoulders dropped, “Fuck off!” Grabbing your purse, you headed for the door.

“Love you too! Thanks for all you do for-“

The slamming door cut her off, and she snickered.

Mrs. Montgomery was over the moon that’d you’d asked her out to dinner, and recommended her favorite spot in the city. Luckily it was only a few blocks away, and with some extra incentive your driver floored it. You walked into her embrace right on time, and successfully reminded her of how much she adored you for an hour.

Long ago you had learned just how much Capitolites liked to talk about themselves, and you used it to your advantage more often than not. Questions like, “How are your students? I so regret I haven’t been able to visit recently!” Were unbelievably well received, and further endeared you to the very wealthy woman who sat across the table.

Finally, she came to address the elephant in the room, “I’m sure it’s hard for you to be here under these circumstances.”

You nodded, “It is. This is my home away from home, but I can’t help but worry for Darla.” She nodded sympathetically, you had her hooked, but it was time to reel her in, “She’s so so capable, and I know she’ll go far, but I need her to come home.”

Mrs. Montgomery reached across the table for your hand, “We’ll be happy to sponsor Darla.” She spoke on behalf of herself and her ultra-rich husband, who you’d have the displeasure of meeting as a client.

“It would mean so much to me to have yours and Mr. Montgomery’s support. Please tell him I asked after him, by the way,” you squeezed her hand gently. You might come to regret it later, but what was the point of being forced to have a roster if you couldn’t put them to good use. The man was richer than God, and had requested your company on multiple occasions. An appeal to his wife and to him, though indirectly, would go far. You could face any consequences later.

You paid for dinner yourself, though Mrs. Montgomery did protest, earning even more points towards your cause. A warm goodbye hug marked your departure, and soon enough you were B-Lining to the hotel bar in the lobby of the training center.

—————

“If it isn’t my favorite District Twelve victor,” an airy voice pulled Haymitch’s attention from the glass of bourbon he’d been swirling. Pleasantly surprised to see you, he turned the futuristic stool next to him in your direction.

“Well, have a seat, your highness,” he invited, and you settled in at the bar. “What are you drinking?”

“Surprise me,” you set your purse on the counter. He slid you his untouched glass of bourbon. “Lazy,” you complained, before taking a sip.

“You’re just the gal I’ve been wanting to see,” a small smile spread across his thin lips and raised alarm bells in your mind.

“Why’s that?” You asked cautiously.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he stood from his chair, but you shook your head.

“Let’s not,” you weren’t aiming to be associated with Twelve right now. If Capitolites saw the two of you on the street and got to talking, it could be bad for business. Katniss and Peeta made for a good show, but with your finger on the pulse of the Capitol, you could tell when Snow was displeased. That wasn’t an obstacle you currently needed in your way.

Haymitch put his hands up in surrender, “Then I’ll mix you something better.” He winded around to the other side of the bar. Stopping in front of you, he snatched the glass of bourbon back and polished it off. Where the bartender had run off to, you couldn’t say.

“What do you want?”

“Your ear,” he crushed some mint at the bottom of a new glass. “I just don’t want you to waste your efforts.”

Your brow furrowed, he was crazier than you thought if he was asking you to back off, “I spend my energy carefully, thank you.”

“Then spend it on this,” he plopped a mojito in front of you, “your girl makes it out and so does mine.”

You raised a brow, inspecting both him and your drink, “You know that can’t happen.”

“If you pretend we’re flirting while I lean in to tell you the plan it can,” you blinked for a second before meeting him halfway.

“A transport is coming from District Thirteen to pick up Katniss and anyone aiding her from the arena. They want her for the rebellion,” Haymitch breathed into your ear. Pretending you hadn’t just heard literal whispers of treason involving a long-dead district was difficult, but you managed to swallow your shock.

“When?” If true, this would change everything. Your moves would need to incorporate Katniss and Peeta, your endgame would be totally different. But first you had to determine the chances of this going wrong.

“I don’t know yet,” Haymitch whispered.

“Give me something here,” you pleaded, “I can’t work with nothing. How could I trust a pretty promise?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he warned, and you angled your head enough so he could see your glare. “You know very well I’m too chicken to take anything less than a sure bet.”

“You’re awful at gambling, and you’re a reckless old drunk,” you snarked quietly back, this wasn’t a risk you could take lightly.

“I’m telling you this because I need your help, and Darla’s, and Finnick’s, and Johanna’s,” he went on, but you cut him off.

“You’re assembling a team of political defectors?”

Haymitch’s nostrils flared, but went on before you could protest further, “We need to keep Katniss alive until Plutarch can get her and her allies out of that arena.”

“Plutarch?” That caught you off guard, and you reeled back. Your volume clearly bothered him, though the bar was empty. Haymitch clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Yes,” he confirmed quietly, scanning the room, “though this is all meant to be secret!”

You smacked his hand away, “Then what is my part in your lovely little treason plot?”

“You need to recruit the others,” Haymitch nodded.

“Excuse me?!”

“Well, as helpful as you’ll be pulling strings from behind the scenes, Katniss needs allies in the arena,” he said.

“You really think they’d commit treason because I asked nicely?” You were skeptical.

“Yes,” he nodded, and you gaped.

Shaking it off, you kept pushing, “What makes you think they’ll work with her? What makes you think she’ll work with them?”

“She doesn’t know about this,” he said sharply, “and she can’t. All they have to do is not kill her, and eliminate those tributes who might.”

“The careers, then,” you tilted your chin up.

“Bingo.”

You took a sip of the now slightly watered mojito, “So what does she know?”

“What you did when you won,” he offered, “shoot to kill, play to win.”

“Will she take any allies?” You asked, taking a deep breath, “You know that’d make things easier.”

“I’m working on it,” he shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s a no,” you huffed a laugh, astounded by the turn of events. Never in a million years would you have seen this coming. You knew Katniss had stirred something up, but had not foreseen a full fledged rebellion on the immediate horizon.

“She needs time,” Haymitch insisted, “Peeta will help her see the logic behind strong allies.”

“And how much does he know?” You set your glass down with a clink. Haymitch just shook his head. Sighing, you barreled on, “I don’t like this, you know?”

“I know,” he nodded, eyes clear and serious. You weren’t sure you’d seen him quite like this before. “But you’ll do it. You don’t want to have to choose between Finnick and Darla.”

Tightening your grasp around the glass, you ran your tongue across your teeth. Fuck if he didn’t have you pinned. If there was even a slight chance you could save them both, you’d take it. Just when Haymitch had realized how deep your affection for Finnick ran, you had no clue. Suddenly, you hoped you weren’t a chatty drunk.

“Your lives will all be better for it,” Haymitch said, “we’ll all be free.” You met his gaze head on, and were surprised to find hope lying in them.

“I’ll talk to D tonight,” you nodded once, “and I’ll get to Fin and Jo.” Haymitch’s shoulders sagged with something like relief. When you clocked Peeta walking in from the other side of the room, you knew it was time to wrap things up. You leaned in close, again.

“But don’t think I’m doing all your dirty work, Old Man,” you said lowly, with a coy grin, “I’m sending them your way!” You planted a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a lip stick print. Quickly grabbing your purse, you sprung off your stool.

With some manufactured pep in your step, you walked towards the blond boy. “Don’t let him fix you a drink, Peeta,” you said, conversationally, “for a drunk, he’s piss poor at it!” The last part was directed at your old pal, who’d now placed the lot of you in a precarious spot.

“I missed you too, Sugar!” He yelled back, wide grin on his face as you sauntered toward the elevator.

Peeta looked at him, amused, but skeptical, “What’d she want?”

“A piece of this!” Haymitch gestured dramatically toward himself, and picked up the glass you’d left behind. Polishing it off, he choked a little at the taste. You’d been right, of course, he was a little rusty at bartending.

——————————

You tugged at the shoulder of Darla’s tribute outfit. When you’d suggested leather to the stylist, this wasn’t what you’d meant. Skin tight, black patent leather reflected sunlight into your eyes. You let your hand come to your brow as you shook your head.

“What?”

You raised a brow at the stylist, one of Darla’s.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You don’t think it leans a little… kinky?” You shrugged, frustrated.

“Well, you said leather,” the stylist defended themself.

“And you took that as BDSM?”

Darla threw her hands up in the air at your comment, tired of being examined, and wandered off.

You sent the stylist away before they could argue any further. This parade was already a mess. Your plans to put Darla on horseback, to harken back to her first parade, were ruined by Darby’s apparent inability to ride a horse. There was no way you could put her on horseback if those poor creatures were pulling a cart as well. You pet one of the horses that would be pulling the Ten tributes, and the action calmed you a bit. Only, your peace was disturbed when you saw Finnick putting the moves on Katniss.

Of the ways to piss off the standoffish girl you’d been charged with helping protect, he had to pick this one. It took about ten seconds for you to march over and fix it.

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you,” you overheard. His voice oozed with sarcasm and you rolled your eyes.

“Is this strange man bothering you, Katniss?” You didn’t wait for a response before dragging him off by his ear.

“Hey, now,” he complained, but kept at your side. “Peeta,” Finnick tried for a dignified nod as you passed him, but came up short.

“Finnick,” he nodded back, gaze turning to you.

“Bye, Peeta!” You waved with your free hand.

“See ‘ya, Sugar,” he waved back, kindly.

Finnick planted his feet, freeing himself in an instant, “Sugar?!” He stood to his full height and shot the Twelve tribute a sour look. You rolled your eyes and started dragging him by the wrist instead. While you were going to correct Peeta, you no longer saw a point.

“Sugar?” Katniss questioned too, a skeptical look on her face.

“Is that not her name?” Peeta was confused. “That’s what Haymitch called- oh,” he seemed to have answered his own question, and Katniss let out a small laugh.

“What was that?” You asked Finnick, when you’d finally pulled him to a secluded area.

“What? I was just being nice,” he defended himself, about to pop a sugar cube in his mouth. You plucked it from his hand and tossed it over you shoulder. Finnick blinked.

“So I was trying to sus her out,” he shrugged, “big deal. If the Capitol finds out their romance is a lie, their support goes up in flames… like her little dresses.”

You rolled your eyes. If you were still playing to win, you would’ve liked his angle, but as it was, you had to steer the ship back on course. “Play nice with her, would you? I’m working on something.”

“You’re working on something that includes the girl on fire?”

You grabbed his wrist, “Keep it quiet and come find me later. Find Haymitch too!” Sensing the parade was about to start, you turned to go.

“Some greeting,” he complained, moodily. You stopped in your tracks, and turned again to face him.

“Did I forget to say hi to you and your abs and your skirt?” You asked facetiously.

“You did” he nodded, “we were offended.” Rolling your eyes amusedly, you stepped up close to him.

“Hello Finnick,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Hi Finnick’s abs,” your gaze moved down as you went, “hi Finnick’s skirt.” You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips as you looked back up at him. “Happy?” You asked.

“Very,” he nodded, soundly.

“Good,” you nodded back.

“I missed that smile.” He said lowly, leaning in a bit. You were really fighting against your grin, now.

“It missed you too,” you said, refusing to make eye contact.

“Really?” His eyes sparkled as he looked down at you.

“Don’t you have a populous to charm?” You tilted your head.

“I’ve got a you to charm, first,” he blinked, innocently. When he reached out to tug on a strand of your hair, you’d had enough.

You lightly swatted his hands away and skittered back, “Go! … Do your parade prep,” you sputtered.

Finnick tried to conceal his laughter at your reaction. He just loved to see you flustered. “If you insist,” he bowed his head and began to trot off. But he couldn’t resist throwing a melodic goodbye over his shoulder and taking one last glance to see you hurry off.

————————————

Finnick wouldn’t see you again until later, though he did try. He eventually found you at a party that night, a young Capitol socialite you were both familiar with was throwing a celebration in honor of the games.

When he saw Darla tearing up the dance floor, he had no doubt that you were behind the appearance, and started scanning the rooms in the penthouse. Finally, he found you hidden away in a quiet spot, typing away on a tablet.

Hard at work securing sponsors, no doubt. If he was lucky, he’d be reaping the rewards of Darla’s 101 sponsor gifts. Maybe you’d even deign to send him a little something. He called your name to pull you from your work.

You looked up from your tablet, curiously. His hand tensed. When did you start wearing glasses? How did they make you look even more-

“Finnick?” You arched a brow.

“Yup?” He said, shoving both hands in his pockets.

You blinked at him from your spot on a couch, “Spaced out there for a second?”

“Yup,” he nodded. You rose to meet him when you noticed he wasn’t moving to sit beside you. He watched the slinky black dress graze your thighs as you walked.

“Are you alright?”

“Yup,” he said, a little breathy.

“Okay,” you said, skeptically, “So in terms of-“

“Sorry,” he interrupted, swallowing, “when did you start wearing glasses?”

“What?” You asked, not quite following his train of thought.

He inched closer and adjusted the frames on your nose as you blinked up at him, “When did this become a thing?”

“I-“ you floundered. Was he blushing?

“Okay, lovebirds,” Johanna breezed into the room. You jolted and Finnick snatched his hands away from your face in surprise. “Wrap it up, I want to hear this brilliant plan of yours.”

She directed the last part towards you. You had found her earlier and told her essentially the same thing you’d said to Finnick. Johanna was surly, sure, but had a soft spot for you. She’d won the year after Darla, and you eventually took her under your wing as well. Not in time to warn her to take Snow’s threats seriously, but soon enough to comfort her before she could spiral too badly.

You tried to shake off the confusing last few moments, “Alright, well, marketing it as my plan was maybe a little disingenuous.” They both seemed confused at your words. “But if it’s the plan I think it is it’s a plan I can get behind,” you rushed out

“Are we throwing a surprise party? What the hell are you talking about?” Johanna asked.

“Look, I,” you did a quick glance around the room, and motioned for them to follow you. They both did, but it only further soured Johanna’s mood. When you found a private enough corner, you told them what Haymitch had told you.

“So what? We have to protect pretty little princess for a free ticket out of here?” Johanna spat.

“Basically,” you nodded. Looking over at Finnick, you tried to gauge his reaction. He hadn’t said anything, and still seemed deep in thought.

You knew neither of your friends were fond of the Capitol. They had both lost more than they’d care to admit to these people, but you couldn’t begrudge them for trying to think this through. You’d spent a few hours doing the same before you brought it to Darla last night, and she had to sleep on it.

“Look,” you tried again, “the reality is, she probably won’t ally with you. I still think the smartest thing to do would be to bring both your district partners and Darla into an alliance of five. If you can manage to knock out some threats to her, you can bide your time until the free plane ride.”

They both seemed to relax a bit at that, but there was still some hesitance. “You really think throwing Darla and I together is a smart move?” Johanna asked smartly.

“I don’t take this lightly,” you said with an air of scolding, “I’m trying to keep you safe. Right now, the only way I know how is asking you to watch each others backs in the arena while I watch yours from here. Can you trust me to do that?”

“Yes,” Finnick chimed in seriously, speaking for the first time in minutes.

Johanna was silent for only a few seconds longer, “Yes. But don’t expect me to be nice to her.”

You weren’t quite sure if she was talking about Katniss or Darla, but either way it didn’t surprise you. You only shrugged at her before she walked away.

“So,” you turned casually back to Finnick, “where were we?” You gave him a quick once over, and he seemed to tense up.

“I think I might turn in,” he nodded quickly, brow furrowed. When you titled your head and shot him a confused glance he barreled on, laughing awkwardly, “Big day tomorrow, super tired, goodnight!” He took smell steps backward with every word before practically bolting.

He breezed past Darla, face a little flushed. She smirked a little at his quick pace, and shook her head as she approached you. “What was that about?” She laughed.

“Beats me,” you shook your head, confused and a more than a little disappointed at his departure. After all, you hadn’t seen him in a few months. Most of your phone calls had circled back to the quell, and you would’ve liked some time together. At least the escape plan had made you more optimistic about your chances of seeing him again.

————————————

“Answer me this,” Darla’s voice startled him the next day at training. “Why’d you leave the party in a rush?”

“Sorry?” Finnick remembered it well, but in the light of day was better able to keep his cool. Damned glasses.

Darla rolled her eyes, “Why don’t you tell me after I kick your ass?” She gestured toward the mats set up in an alcove and started walking that way. He followed her lead and took on a fighting stance.

She started to throw out guesses as he dodged her jabs. “Indigestion?” He blocked a punch. “Had to vomit?” Blocked a kick. “Left the oven on?” Sidestepped a hit. Her barrage continued until he swept her legs out from under her.

Darla landed on the mat without complaint, more concerned with him than with training. “Then what sent you running from my lovely mentor?”

Finnick offered her a hand up, but she swept his legs out too. Lying in opposite directions on the floor, he made his first verbal defense. “What, you don’t get sick of those parties?”

She propped herself up on her elbows and sent him a glare. It was intimidating too, but Darla had learned from the best. “Cut the crap, I know there’s a reason. No way she could fathom being rude to you, so that’s out.” Finnick rolled his eyes as sat up. “And she’s got no game so no way she made you blush.”

“Come on,” he said, defensively, pushing to his feet, “don’t insult her.”

Darla perked up at this, and accepted the hand he had once again offered, “Wait, it was really her that made you blush? What on Earth did she say?”

“Drop it, D,” he warned, stalking off.

“I am so getting to the bottom of this!” She chirped, smiling at his departing figure.

Darla gave him some space for a while, flitting around the various stations. The practical skills called out to her, no use practicing with weapons when she was already as good as she’d get.

When she saw Finnick bothering Katniss she made her way over to intervene. He’d tied a noose around his neck, the cheeky bastard. Just when he held it out for Katniss to take, Darla snatched it and pulled him away.

She heard him wheeze and let up on her grasp. “Fuck,” Finnick choked out as loosened the rope from around his neck. “Darla!” He scolded her once he was properly free.

“Don’t antagonize the girl,” she said, stopping once they were out of ear shot, “and don’t act like you’re not spoken for.”

He didn’t bother replying to the first part, “I’m not spoken for.” Darla shot him a glare, saying you’re really going to pretend I’m wrong? with just her eyes. When he glared back she only shrugged.

“You could be,” she sassed, and he took a sharp breath.

“I don’t think now is the time to-“

“If not now then when?!” Darla whisper-yelled, “Newsflash buddy, you still might die. So do you want to die sad and alone… or spoken for?”

“Do I really come off as sad and alone?” Finnick blinked.

“Only to those who know you,” she shook her head.

“Gee thanks, Darla,” he said flatly.

“It’s my pleasure,” she gave him a friendly yet exaggerated shoulder bump. “Come on, let’s catch the show.” Finnick followed her off to join the crowd forming around Katniss’s simulation session.

Darla could see the faces of the other tributes drop as Katniss put down figure after figure. They were nearly all modeled after the rest of them, and featured their signature weapons at the very least. She clenched her jaw when Katniss shot the female figure holding a whip straight through the face. No mistaking who that was meant to be. She saw Finnick twitch when Katniss shot the figure with a trident through the chest. By the end, it was clear that the girl was absolutely on the level of every person there. If luck was on her side, and she wanted to, she could likely kill each one of them.

Wiress started clapping, and it killed some of the tension in the air. But the quell was getting more interesting by the minute.

——————-

The four of you sat in silence in a both in the empty lounge within the training center. You traced the rim of your drink, hoping Haymitch would arrive soon since he asked you all to meet him there. The casual conversation had died out a bit ago, having run out of outfits to make fun of to keep the conversation light. It was hard not to think about your immediate circumstances.

You shivered a little, still unused to the central air the Capitol pumped through all their buildings. Finnick caught your eye and nodded his head in the other direction, inviting you to scoot closer to him. You would’ve shaken your head if you hadn’t put on a tank top earlier, but you were chilly enough to press up against his side in a bid to steal body heat.

Finnick raised a hand to wave to Haymitch when he saw the older man scanning the place. He settled the arm over your shoulder when he was done. Behind your head, he caught Darla narrow her gaze at him and sent her a look of warning.

“What’s the update?” He asked Haymitch as the man slotted into the space at the edge of the curved booth.

“Well, Katniss is not keen on allies,” he said, instantly off to a bad start, “though she is interested in the District Three Tributes.”

“Excuse me?” Johanna asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Wiress and Beete.”

“You mean she wants Nuts and Volts for allies?” Darla asked, and heard Johanna try to muffle a snicker. She tried not to smirk at the sound. So much for ‘not understanding her’ or whatever Jo had said during their breakup.

“Look, don’t shoot the messenger,” he defended himself.

“Maybe we should if the message is dumb,” Johanna snarked, crossing her arms.

“She said she liked them,” Haymitch repeated, and the whole table winced. Maybe as people, Darla thought, though even that might be a stretch, but as allies? In terms of physical game it’d be like tying a brick around your ankle. Hadn’t the girl seen anyone else at work? Johanna’s axe skills? The second time she and Finnick had sparred?

“Anyone else?” You tried, hoping for a better result. Haymitch thought for a second before snapping his fingers.

“Yeah, Mags!” Darla groaned, make that two bricks. Finnick used the arm he’d draped across your shoulders to flick Darla in the ear.

“Mags and I are a package deal,” Finnick asserted. Not a chance in hell he’d trust someone else to protect Mags.

“Then my bet would be no deal from the girl on fire,” Haymitch shrugged.

“Ok, so we’re keeping Katniss alive, but Three too?” Darla asked.

“Haven’t we established-?”

“We’ve got it,” you reassured him, and Finnick and Johanna nodded.

“Good,” Haymitch saidd. “We’ll,” he nodded in your direction, “keep in touch through sponsor gifts. But it’ll have to be subtle, so keep your thinking caps on.”

“Is that it?” Johanna asked, bored.

“No actually,” he went on, “when the time comes you’ll have to cut out your trackers and one of you will have to get Katniss’s.”

“Shit,” Darla said.

“Squeamish?” Johanna taunted her from the other side of the table. Haymitch interrupted before a fight could break out.

“Before then,” he said, firmly, “I’d recommend making a big show of the interviews. Last chance to drum up public outrage at this, maybe get it cancelled.” Johanna scoffed at that, but Haymitch kept on, “At the very least it’ll be good for sponsors.”

“He’s right about that,” you nodded, already thinking up possible interview angles for Darla.

Haymitch grinned, “I’ll see you all there.” He pushed away from the table, heading back to his own tributes, no doubt.

Johanna walked away next, and Darla popped up to follow her.

“Think they’ll kill each other before the games start?” Finnick asked, angling his head to look at you.

You let out a chuckle, still tucked under his arm. “Let’s hope not. I’m counting on those repressed feelings to bring in sponsorships,” you replied, watching the two walk off. He grinned, shaking with a bit of laughter. When you looked up to catch his gaze, you realized how close you were.

“They sure are powerful,” Finnick said, holding your gaze.

You blinked at him, “Sorry?”

“Repressed feelings,” he clarified, doing his best to look innocent. You elbowed him and scooted away from his grasp and out of the booth. You’d been dancing around your feelings for him for so long you didn’t know how to do anything else.

“Goodnight, Finnick!” You called over your shoulder as you marched away. He sighed as he watched you go, a small smile working on his face. Maybe Darla was onto something.

------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed <3333 next part coming soon! That one will cover the interviews and the start of the games at least

taglist: @emerald-09 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @daixylie @fandomhopped

@axelinchen

@whens-naptime

@avoxrising

@erindiggory

@commanderfreethatdust

@blackdxggr

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@iheartspderman

@slytherinfolk25

@cassiecasluciluce

@jazzyyyyslife

#finnick odair x reader #hunger games fanfiction #finnick x reader #finnick odair #the hunger games

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starlingflight · 8 months ago

Text

A/N this is too long to count as a drabble but I have no self control.

Prompt: I20 — She went to the toilet and on her way back, opened the wrong door.

AO3 or read below:

“Did I mention it's infused with the natural rejuvenating properties of the spring?” Hermione asked for what must have been the fourth time since they'd begun the uncomfortably hot walk back from the ancient Grecian temple.

“Yes,” Fleur replied shortly. “You did.”

If Hermione heard her, she did an excellent job of not showing it as she continued. “It's said to have exceptionally powerful healing capabilities…”

Ginny stopped listening, letting Hermione's voice become a distant buzz which melded with the far-off rush of the sea sounding from the bottom of the cliff. Not for the first time, she wondered how exactly Ron and Harry had managed to get out of this particular excursion.

She kept her eyes focused on the villa, which finally came slowly into view ahead of her as Ginny tried very hard not to think about her dry throat, or the sticky sweat running down her back, or just how bloody warm it was.

It really shouldn't have been called a villa at all, in Ginny's opinion. The house – mansion – was huge, rising up against the dramatic backdrop of foliage-covered hills that lay behind it, shimmering like a brilliant white jewel in the blazing Greek sun as the three of them approached it.

Finally, they reached the whitewashed front steps. Ginny retained just enough self control to stop herself moaning in relief as they stepped through the rustic front door and into the blissfully cool air of the villa's lavish interior.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” she announced, cutting off Hermione's seemingly never ending lecture on the magical properties of ancient Greek amulets.

“I will get some wine,” Fleur said, her tone more like a command than a suggestion, but not one that Ginny currently felt inclined to argue with. “We will meet you by the pool.”

“I'm just going to put this in our room,” Hermione said, holding up the offending bronze amulet, which flashed eye-catchingly in the sunlight coming through the villa's many windows.

The three of them went their separate ways; Fleur headed straight ahead, towards the ridiculously opulent kitchen; Hermione turned left towards the wing – wing– that housed her and Ron's room for the week, and Ginny went right, hoping she could remember the route to the bathroom.

Upon locating it, Ginny went directly to the marble sink, set beneath a mirror which covered the whole wall, giving an excellent view of her red, and blotchy skin, and the way her hair, now damp with sweat, clung to her neck, hanging limply around her shoulders.

Desperately, she turned the shining golden tap, sighing in relief as a gush of cold water met the bare skin of her arm. She cupped her hands together, gathering pools of water and splashing it over her hot, irritated skin.

The relief, however, was fleeting, lasting mere seconds before the water evaporated and Ginny felt the closeness of the mid-afternoon heat surrounding her oppressively once more. Longingly, her mind filled with tempting images of the azure pool awaiting her outside.

She turned the tap again, ending the stream of cool water, before spinning on her heel intent on her new destination.

Her mind wasn't fully on the route to the bedroom that had been claimed by herself and Harry; Ginny was much too preoccupied fantasising about her plans to change into the smallest bikini that could still be considered acceptable for a family holiday, before sinking into the pool's inviting water for the rest of the afternoon.

It didn't become clear she'd chosen the wrong door until she'd already pushed it open and her lips had parted slightly in surprise at the scene that greeted her.

The room she’d entered was not their bedroom at all, but rather the small, richly decorated, library beside it, which she'd only bothered to enter once so far in the two days since they'd arrived in Crete, intent on finding a book for beside the pool. It was not, however, the shelves lined with books that captured Ginny's attention now, but rather the sight of Ron, who was balanced on one knee, holding a sparkling diamond ring aloft to Harry who was standing in front of him, one hand clasped in Ron's.

They both turned, evidently alerted to Ginny's presence by the creak of the door, identical looks of horror on their faces.

“Oh,” Ginny heard herself say.

“Ginny!” Ron hissed, dropping Harry's hand as though it was as burning hot as the sun outside.

“It's not what it looks like,” Harry added, nervously running his now-free hand through his hair.

The corners of Ginny's mouth twitched, her shock giving way to a great deal of amusement as she battled to keep her expression blank. “I'm so sorry to intrude.”

Harry shook his head vehemently. “You're not – obviously you're not – we were just –”

Ron shoved the delicate looking ring roughly back into his pocket as he stood, turning to her with panic in his eyes. “You weren't supposed to see–”

“It's alright,” Ginny assured, unable to stop her smirk from spreading across her face as they both rushed to give an explanation. “All I ever wanted was for the two of you to be happy – I'd assumed it would be with me and Hermione, but the heart wants what the heart wants, I suppose.”

“My heart doesn't–” Harry started.

“Don't be ridiculous!” Ron proclaimed at the same time.

“I'm not being ridiculous,” Ginny said through a laugh. “You know, Ron, when Mum taught us to share, I'm not sure spouses were what she had in mind.”

Ron surged forward, grabbing Ginny by the arm and pulling her into the room before kicking the door shut behind them. “Don't be so loud!”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I don't think there’s much chance of Hermione hearing me from the other side of this ridiculously large house.”

Ron turned sharply to look at her. “Who said anything about Hermione?”

“Well, I'm assuming the ring’s for her,” Ginny countered reasonably. “...Unless you actually are planning on stealing my fiance, which would make the rest of this holiday very awkward.”

“Obviously it's for Hermione,” Harry confirmed quickly, shooting Ron a look that quite clearly said, 'help me out here.’

“Don't tell her,” Ron begged Ginny, ignoring Harry altogether. “I haven't figured out how to do it yet – Harry was helping me.”

Usually, having Ron at her mercy in such a manner would give Ginny an immense sense of satisfaction, on this occasion, however, she felt only a warm rush of affection for her brother and an uncharacteristic willingness to help, not that she would say as much to his face.

She crossed her arms, leaning back against the nearest bookshelf as she looked expectantly between Harry and Ron. “And what have you two Masters of Romance come up with so far?”

Harry frowned indignantly at her dry tone. “I got you to say yes, didn't I?”

Ginny shushed him with a wave of her hand, which incidentally bore the evidence of the truth of his argument in the form of a ruby and diamond engagement ring. “This isn't about us.”

She returned her attention to Ron, her eyebrows rising in silent question.

“Well,” he said weakly, the tips of his ears turning magnificently crimson. “I thought I could do it here – the island is nice – and I have the ring so the time seems right –”

“I told him not to overthink it,” Harry cut in, obviously pained by Ron's stuttered attempts at an explanation.

Ginny caught his eye and suddenly they were both grinning. “Was that before or after he got down on one knee for you?”

“Before,” Harry confirmed, unabashed now that the shock of being caught had worn off. “You interrupted the actual proposal… Ron's still waiting on my answer.”

Ginny shrugged unapologetically, her shoulder bumping against the leather-bound books behind her. “I can't say I'm sorry to have come in between the two of you.”

Harry sighed wistfully. “You never are.”

“You never want me to be.”

“Can you stop flirting for five minutes!” Ron snapped. “I'm trying to do something life changing here!”

Ginny dragged her eyes away from Harry's and back to Ron who was now leaning heavily against the antique sofa beside the window. “Harry's right, you're overthinking it. She was very charmed by the temple this morning– take her there at sunset and ask her.”

“Today?” Despite being on a Mediterranean island in the height of summer, Ron suddenly turned so pale it was hard to believe he'd ever seen the sun in his life. “You think I should ask her today?”

“Yes,” Ginny and Harry said in unison.

“You said yourself the time seems right,” Harry reminded him.

“Really, there's no time like the present,” Ginny concurred.

“But I don't know what to say,” Ron croaked, looking desperately between Ginny and Harry.

“‘Will you marry me?’ Is usually a good starting point,” Harry suggested.

Ginny hummed in agreement. “Yeah, that bit's quite key, I'd say.”

‘Will you marry me?’ Ron mouthed the words as though they were completely foreign to him. He suddenly bore a striking resemblance to his teenaged self in the run up to a Hogwarts Quidditch match, and for the first time since she'd entered the small library, Ginny felt as though she was intruding.

“I'm going to go,” she said gently, taking pity on Ron in the face of the enormous task ahead of him. “You two can keep practising.”

“You could stay?” Harry suggested. “We could probably use the help.”

Ginny shook her head, her part in this mission becoming clearer to her by the second. “I'm going to go and let Hermione talk my ear off about ancient Greek magic customs for the rest of the afternoon so she doesn't notice you're both missing.”

She and Harry shared a look of equal parts amusement and exasperation as Ginny took a step towards the door, both no doubt wondering which of them had the more challenging task ahead of them.

“I'll come and rescue you soon,” Harry assured her.

Ginny smirked at him as her hand found the door handle behind her. “Just promise me you'll try to resist Ron's charms.”

#hinny #romione #harry x ginny #ron x hermione #mindless fluff #harry and ron being besties

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demaparbat-hp · 3 months ago

Note

So in the ursa kyoshi au is azusa on the island or is she off causing chaos against their father?

And the gold scars do other cultures do it? Like the earth kingdom in bronze and the water tribe in blue or silver? I assume the air nomads wouldn't unless invited to while visting.

Hello, and thanks for asking!

Azula is a very important character in the Kyoshi Warriors AU. By the time the story begins, she has long left Kyoshi Island. The Gaang learn about Ruolan from what her brother, Jian Li—who they'll later know as Zuko—tells them about her.

She disappeared one night and took Kyoshi's tessen fans with her, leaving no trace behind. Nobody knows why she left or where she was headed to, but Jian Li tells the Gaang that she had always wished to go back to their father, back to their old life, and he fears that's what she's doing: searching for a path back to what she thought was home.

As it turns out, Jian Li had a reason beyond protecting the Avatar for joining them—he also wished to look for his sister. "I won't stop her from going back if it's what she really wants," he tells them. "I'll worry, and I'll try to make her see why it's an insane idea—but I won't stop her. That's her own choice, her own sacrifices, to make. I just...I just want to see her again. I just want to know she's alright..."

So they promise to help him find her, whatever it takes. Mysterious Pai Sho players, crazy Fire Navy commanders, Rangi's spirit breaking havoc across the Earth Kingdom—nothing will stop them from finding Ruolan.

Azula is a very complex character and her disappearance and current whereabouts are a very big part of this AU. I hope to do her character justice and keep you all on the edge of your seat.

On another note, regarding the Kintsugi AU, I hadn't thought of that!

Kintsugi is a distinctly Fire Nation tradition, something that they use to differentiate themselves from other cultures and deepen their own sense of cultural superiority.

However, the idea that the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribes have (or had) something similar is incredibly interesting! The Air Nomads already have their distinct tattoos, but the Earth Kingdom sealing the scars with a form of bronze while the Water Tribes use something akin to silver is brilliant!

Perhaps these traditions were lost outside of the Fire Nation during the War. Kintsugi would have become a rarity and something "inherent" to the Fire Nation, shooting up its value as a direct result of its apparent disappearance in the rest of the world.

Some Old Families in the Earth Kingdom and the Masters and Royalty of the Northern Water Tribe (isolated as they are) could still practice Kintsugi, but they would be rare and the tradition itself would still be considered Fire Nation in nature.

Would Toph's family still practice Kintsugi? What about Yue's?

I love this idea! What do you think of it?

#dema answers #atla #avatar the last airbender #kyoshi warrior ursa au #kyoshi warriors au #kintsugi au #atla azula #zutara au #zutara

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jaegeraether · 1 year ago

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 33)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (31) & Alexia Putellas x Character (5)

Masterlist (other parts here)

(Only a little piece of Alexia in here...)

((**Any theories on who Joe is, send me a DM xD**))

YFN woke around 8:30am, having a decent sleep after her long day. She’d slept the best she had done in a week, and the only explanation was the warm right-back who was now gone. It was a disappointing feeling, waking to feel her not there, yet was superseded by the feeling of peace and security that came with the conversation she’d had the night before with Lucy. Lucy. She’d be halfway to Barcelona by now. She rolled over and could still smell Lucy there as if she’d only left a few minutes ago. She must be so tired, she thought, hoping she’d be able to sleep on the plane.

She woke and had her shower, letting herself chuckle a little at Lucy’s blue toothbrush and made her way out to the kitchen to find a note from Lucy on the kitchen island.

Good morning, little one.

You have no idea how difficult it was to leave you in bed this morning.

I ordered breakfast for you for 9am. I hope I got the timing right and they don’t wake you up.

Have a great day, please; I know I will now that I’ve seen you.

Remember: I won’t have a phone until the end of today or tomorrow… and please also remember to cancel the company car.

PS: I love you, and don't worry, you were too tired to talk in your sleep last night.

Lucy x

God, that woman. She pulled the piece of paper to her chest and held it there, unable to contain her smile. She looked at the time. It was almost 9am. Lucy knew she only slept seven or eight hours a night and had, of course, timed it perfectly.

She checked her phone and the first thing she did was respond to Joe.

Joe: Which do you like best?

Joe had sent a few links to cars.

YFN: I’m sorry, Joe. Please disregard. No need for a car. Do you have time for a phone call this morning?

Joe: Copy that. I’ll call in ten.

She went back to her other messages and emails which mainly concerned the edits that her colleagues had done. One by one, she approved them to be posted to social media. This first round had been a test for many things, one being the editing following the collection of footage at the games. She’d expected there to be some need for notes or changes, but she didn’t find any. Joe really had chosen some talented individuals.

Lumos group chat: YFN: Morning all! First round was a success! Fantastic job, everyone. The footage we’ve collected is remarkable. I’m happy for all of these to be posted today. As for the interviews, I’ve reached out for players approval and will post them once I have them.

Again, fantastic work, and a reminder to ensure we’ve sent the personal videos and photos to the players for their own use.

Our goal for next round is to post real time recordings of the game, goals and significant events.

Any suggestions, feel free to let me know!

The group chat started responding eagerly as a knock came at the front door. YFN jumped until she realised it would be breakfast. She checked through the peep hole before she collected it.

Lucy had ordered her an acai bowl, juice, and more of the banana bread she’d loved from last night. She dug in, hoping Lucy had a chance to eat before training. Her phone started buzzing and she dropped her spoon to pick it up.

“Morning, Joe.”

“YFN! Good morning, how are you after yesterday? I imagine you slept well.”

“You’re not wrong there!” She laughed. “It took a lot more out of me than I realised, Joe! But on a positive note, I think it was a success.”

“I think you’re being a bit modest there! I’ve seen everything and I’m beyond impressed. Whatever you’ve done to prepare all week was excellent, just excellent! And your interview with the Arsenal and Man City players? Brilliant. I know it was thrown at you last minute, but I really liked the way it was more of a casual conversation than asking generic questions. It really brought out the characters of the players.”

“Oh, I agree. Even if I did have time to prep questions, I still would have let them talk about what they wanted and just steer them ever so gently within the lines we wanted. I’m also a big fan of interviewing multiple players at once. They bounce off of each other well, even if they are opposite teams.”

“I was going to mention that! It’s the first time opposition players have been interviewed after a match together, yes? I love the dynamic. As for the other footage… I want to scale this up already. Did you want to talk about extra people to cover more of the games?”

YFN could hear that Joe was excited and knew that she’d give her absolutely anything she wanted. But that’s not what this conversation was about.

“Actually, Joe, I wanted to talk to you about something else..”

“Fire away, anything you want.”

YFN explained her meeting Mark at the charity event, about the photographer with Mark at the game last night, and then how she was followed. There was a long period of silence at the other end until she sighed.

“I knew this would be an issue, I just hoped it wouldn’t happen until later on.” She admitted. “Firstly, they won’t hurt you. Think of them as paparazzi. Mark is competition of mine when it comes to business, and he uses his PIs to try and get controversial gossip to undermine my business and partnerships. Saying that, I’d really like to apologise to you for putting you in this situation. Like I said, I hoped we’d be much more established by the time they came after us.”

“That’s a relief to hear, Joe. I’m glad they’re just that and not lunatics. I’ve dealt with too many of those lately.”

“Yes, yes you have.”

YFN hesitated. There was still an unanswered question there. “Joe… what did Mark mean when he said you would bring controversy to the business if people knew you were involved?”

She knew it was a personal question, and fully expected her to respond by saying he was lying. But she didn’t, because she was Joe and she was an honest woman. YFN trusted her.

She gave another heavy sigh. “Okay… okay. I think you need to know. It’s going to be much easier to explain in person. Are you able to get on a flight to my house tonight?”

She wasn’t expecting that. She didn’t care where she lived, she would go. Half out of curiosity to meet the woman, and half for the mystery. “Of course. I can fly from London or Birmingham.”

“Okay, if you head back to Birmingham today, I’ll have my assistant send you flight details for a flight out of Birmingham tonight. You can stay with me a few days. This will be good to fully discuss our future plans together and lay bare my hand. I have to go into a meeting now, but I’ll see you tonight, YFN. Great work again!”

The call ended after their goodbyes and it just left YFN even more curious. She truly didn’t know the woman, and the next few days would certainly be interesting to say the least.

“Lucia.” The teasing voice came from behind.

Lucy turned around as Alexia wandered over to her at the stretching station.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Because I think your London trip went well, si?” Alexia held that teasing expression. She wasn’t wrong. Besides the long day and minimal sleep, she had been in the best mood she had been for days. Alexia stepped forwards and slapped her face lightly like a proud adult. “The grin is back.”

Lucy tried to get rid of it, but she just couldn’t. If anything, it got wider.

“Thank you for your help, I definitely feel a lot better.”

Alexia tilted her head, giving her a cheeky look that seemed to assume sex had made her this happy. Lucy rolled her eyes at that. They’d definitely gotten a lot closer in the past few days, having supported each other through their relationship issues. “It’s not what you think.”

Alexia’s expression said she didn’t believe her one bit. Her head stayed tilted, her expression cheeky and knowing, and her lips remained a more subtle version of the Cheshire cat.

Lucy laughed and shoved her lightly. “I promise! We just talked and sorted everything out.”

“You feel better?”

“Oh, yes. You get to meet her in six days when she comes to Barca.”

“I look forward to meeting her..”

It made Lucy happy to see Alexia smiling. “And how goes your woman?”

Her smile faltered a little. “We have training-”

“Don’t you back out now. You had a plan.”

“Si, si. But we need to train and the game is Saturday.”

“Saturday afternoon.” Lucy clarified. “So there’s no reason you can’t go on Friday night..”

Alexia thought on it for a few seconds.

“Alexia, Lucy!” Jonatan reminded, pointing to the mats.

They took the hint and began stretching themselves out, both starting with their bad knees. Lucy’s felt much better after YFN had massaged it the night before, and she swear she could have come just from the release of pressure and feel of her hands on her. If only they’d wandered further up-

She caught herself and made herself stop. She was at training. She looked at Alexia who was now rolling her calf and thinking still.

“Would you like me to come?”

Alexia turned to Lucy, surprised. They didn’t usually do things together like that unless they were in a group, but perhaps it was time for that to change.

“Okay,” she said after another few seconds of thought.

“We won’t get drunk or do anything stupid. We’ll just go and have a chat and dinner and see if she turns up.”

“She…might not.”

“And that’s more than okay. We’ll have a good little date out, regardless, yeah?”

“Okay, Lucia. But only if you tell your girlfriend so she doesn’t break her phone if she sees photos.”

Lucy gave a sheepish smile. “She’s a lot better with her emotions than I am.”

“She sounds perfect for you.”

“Are we talking about YFN?” Kiera asked as she walked over and joined in.

“Si.”

“I haven’t met her yet, but Leah says they’re pretty adorable together.”

“I’m right here.” Lucy reminded.

“I know.” Kiera said, giving a little head pat. “But it’s more fun to talk over you.”

Lucy appreciated their relationship and how there wasn’t any jealously, they truly did want the best for each other.

“Are we meeting her this weekend?”

“Who are we meeting this weekend?” Mapi asked as she and Ona joined their ever-extending stretching line. Lucy looked at Ona who seemed curious at their conversation. She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her yet as she had arrived late, but she would. She made sure to give her a little smile, knowing it wouldn’t make up for how distant she’d been the past few days.

“Lucy’s girlfriend.”

Ona pouted. She wasn’t unaware of her because she must have seen Lucy’s posts on Instagram, but she still couldn’t help the look of disappointment on her face.

“She’s coming this weekend?” Mapi asked, completely unaware of Ona’s feelings next to her.

“Si,” Alexia said, sharing a look with Lucy that said she’d also noted Ona’s expression. Alexia changed the topic back to their strategies and training, a smart Captain manoeuvre around the previous topic.

YFN received her flight details not long after she’d finished her breakfast. Joe was definitely efficient. She was originally worried at her late flight time, 7pm, until she realised where it was to. Edinburgh. If she’d driven, it would have taken her over eight hours, so she appreciated the flight. Realising she had time to spare, she took her time to shower and pack up before messaging a few fellow Aussies about popping by.

Caitlin: See you soon, chicken! Warning: Kyra seems eager to see you. She’s in her annoying mood.

Erin Cuthbert: All good to pop by, bring snacks and Emma will fall in love with you.

Mackenzie: See you soon, I’ll let the girls know.

Caitlin had introduced YFN to Mackenzie Arnold, Captain of West Ham and goalkeeper of both West Ham and the Matildas during their dinner, and she hadn’t had a chance to see her play during the round so she figured she’d stop by to network and become more of a regular around the players.

She stopped by Chelsea first located south west of London at Cobham as it was the closest. Erin was right, Emma did appreciate the snacks, though she had to sneak some to the players when she wasn’t looking. She had a good catch up with the players and before that, she actually had a fantastic conversation with Emma Hayes. Emma was the manager for Chelsea, notorious for being hard, yet caring for her team. She was one of the best managers in the sport and had led the team to four consecutive WSL victories. When she spoke, it was slow but so excellently worded that everybody stopped to listen, including YFN even as they were alone on the sidelines.

“What you’re doing is so important for these players.” Her accent was rich and unapologetic. “I can’t say I’ve met Joe but I’ve heard of her, and she’s going to be the best thing to happen to this sport in a long time. If she’s chosen you to lead the way, then I know you must be excellent at what you do.”

YFN took the compliment with a smile. They’d been standing on the sidelines, Emma pointing out how they trained and worked strategies and weaknesses. It was all so interesting to her, and she assumed that Emma had appreciated her interest and questions from the compliment she’d just given her.

“I appreciate that, thank you Emma. You don’t think my lack of knowledge in the sport is a weakness?”

“Nah, not at all. I think that’s one of the reasons she chose you. You bring a new perspective. I saw the interviews you did with the other teams, Arsenal, United and such. They were a breath of fresh air to be fair. I’m sick of arguing with media.”

YFN chuckled. “Are they that bad?”

“Oh, sure. And just asking stuuupid fucking questions.”

Emma yelled advice at one of the players across the pitch who put their hand up in acknowledgement.

They spoke for a bit longer, really getting into some deep-seeded issues with media, and needed improvements for the womens game when one of the assistant coaches blew the whistle. Training break. Somehow, Emma had been so inspired by their conversation that she suggested YFN talk to the girls before they had a debrief. She obliged.

YFN had met most of the girls: Millie Bright, Erin Cuthbert, Hannah Hampton, Zecira Musovic, Jess Carter, Niamh Charles, Fran Kirby, Jess Fleming, the list goes on. She was actually quite surprised to see that she only hadn’t met a few of them. Emma gave her a lovely introduction and YFN made herself comfortable on a stool up the front as she dove into a conversation with the group about media and how to make them more comfortable. They had a lot of suggestions, even Emma looking impressed at their eagerness. They spoke for a good half an hour before YFN wrapped it up before it turned into too much banter and ate into Emma’s time. She’d written a lot of notes down and made sure to tell them to message her or come over for a chat at a game anytime.

With that, she took her leave for West Ham over at Chadwell Heath by 11am. Mackenzie was the first to greet her as they were on their lunch break. She was much taller than YFN who had to reach to the sky just to hug her, but she bent down for her.

“I’m used to it with this one!” She’d said, pointing to Kirsty Smith, her partner. Kirsty was Scottish and they’d been dating for over two years. Mackenzie had that sarcastic, Australian sense of humour YFN missed, though she was so soft around Kirsty. It made her think of Lucy.

They let her join for lunch, introducing her to the staff and players. YFN made sure to say hello to their manager, Rehanne Skinner for Emma just as she’d requested. There were only a handful of female managers in WSL, Emma had pointed out, and they supported each other. She also mentioned that Rehanne was a great manager, which was a big compliment from her.

The West Ham team seemed a lot more relaxed than the Chelsea environment, all with their own ambitions and goals. She was introduced around, having a good chat to the team and enjoying her catch up with the young Riko Ueki again who seemed excited to see her. Her most entertaining conversation, however, was with Hawa Cissoko who was a strong French and Malian defender, and notorious for her red cards. She was very vocal about racial abuse and asked YFN to bring awareness to it when possible.

YFN loved the dynamic of the West Ham team, there was such a mix of different nationalities and personalities and she especially appreciated Mackenzie and how she took care of them like a mother bird, especially the shyer players like Riko who was introverted and still a little shy speaking English at times. After joining them for their Subway lunch, and talking around the group for just over an hour, she was off to her final stop.

Her Arsenal girls were at the end of their training day, definitely slowing down and ready for the day to end. Kyra, however, was as young and eager as ever, especially when she saw YFN. Jonas drove YFN down to the field in a golf cart, dropping her off and she barely exited the vehicle when the young midfielder landed on her back, limbs wrapped around her like a spider. YFN was only small and barely managed to stay upright.

“I was told you’re in an annoying mood.”

“That’s rude.”

YFN laughed and hugged the limbs around her. “How are you, little sis?”

“Great! Can I ask you a favour before the girls get here?” She asked into her ear, her chin resting on her shoulder.

“Sure, mate.”

“At the game this weekend…can you ask for Courtney and I to be interviewed together?”

YFN paused. She hadn’t even thought about interviews yet.

She continued. “I don’t care if it’s in a group of us.”

“I can do just you two alone..” She offered. Thinking about it, it would be good to do a young player interview, and then a similar one with older players like Kim Little and Aileen Whelan.

“Can you?!” She squeaked and dropped off of her back as Katie jabbed her in the ribs.

“Chicken!” She was enveloped by the girls.

“Ew, you smell like Chelsea mate.” Caitlin said, scrunching up her nose fakely. YFN rolled her eyes.

“Calm down, mate.”

“We’re pretty much done with trainin’ today,” Katie said as she swung an arm over her shoulder and pulled her along as they began walking back towards the building. “I spoke to Kim and the girls are all keen for a chat.”

Although she didn’t have a favourite team, it was becoming more and more difficult not to as Arsenal had a lot of her heart. The players were all so free to be themselves, and she knew a lot of that was due to Kim and Katie who were the leadership within the team. They made sure it was a safe space and everyone could not only work hard but have fun also. Her chats with the group was more like a night out at town and she had to steer the conversation back to relevance a few more times than with the other teams that day. They all got along well, yet they all also had their little clicks that overlapped a lot. Beth and Viv. Beth, Jen and Steph. Katie and Caitlin. Caitlin, Steph and Kyra. Kyra and Alessia. Alessia and Katie. Alessia and Vic. She was caught unawares by Leah also being there, though she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. Leah was already back up and running with the team, just not training fully yet. When she saw YFN, she came over for a polite hug and a few pleasantries. YFN could see she wanted to talk about Jordan, but they were too swamped by the eager girls wanting to talk to YFN about interviews, photos and such. She gave her an apologetic smile and made her way around the group for a few hours, or to be more precise, she sat in the same spot as the girls rotated through.

By 2pm she called it, saying goodbye to the team and collecting more than a few hugs on her way out. Her favourite though was the little head taps by Steph.

YFN was loading her work bag into the car when she heard a voice behind her.

“Do you think she’d be mad if I stopped by tonight?”

She turned around to see Leah looking like she needed some advice. “Do you two not have a day to catch up organised?”

“This Friday..”

YFN understood all too well why she didn’t want to wait any longer. “Leah… talk to her. Just talk. If Friday is too far away, then ask her for something sooner.”

“I don’t want to push her. Besides, you can be mediator tonight? That will ease tension a little.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re asking me. Well… I’m not sure if she’d be mad, however I won’t be there tonight.”

“Oh! Spain already?”

“No, Lucy was here last night. Edinburgh actually.”

Leah’s eyebrows shot up. “Lucy was here last night?!”

“Just for a few hours.”

“That’s why you look so happy.” She smirked.

“Don��t do that.” She laughed. “We just had a few things to sort out, as you know.”

“All sorted?”

She nodded. “Better than ever. I’m going to Barca on Friday.”

“What time are you flying out tonight?”

“7pm?”

“Okay… okay I can wait until Friday. I don’t want to mess this up.”

YFN gave her a supportive hug. “You won’t, Leah.”

YFN’S bag was packed for a few days, the peace lily Lucy had gifted her was watered, she’d cuddled with Blu and was just sitting down to an early dinner with Jordan as there came a knock at the door. They looked at each other confused. YFN shrugged and got up. She checked through the peep hole and sighed before opening the door.

“Turns out I can’t wait until Friday…” Leah said apologetically, a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

YFN bit her lip, thinking, and then stepped to the side. She wondered what Jordan’s reaction would be. Leah stepped in slowly and YFN closed the door behind her, leading her to the dining table.

“Who was it?” Jordan asked and turned around, freezing on the spot. Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that. Leah stood awkwardly with the flowers and YFN wanted to disappear.

“Uh…” Jordan struggled to find words.

YFN tried to break the tension. “Do you like ravioli, Leah?”

Leah nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay…I’ll get you a bowl.” She looked at Jordan and gestured to Leah as if to say ‘be nice’.

“They’re pretty.” Jordan said.

“They’re for you.”

Jordan stood and YFN watched as she walked over and took them from Leah, their fingers softly grazing over each other. Both reacted physically to it. “I’ll put them in water. Take a seat.”

Leah sat down as Jordan went to the kitchen to find a vase. “What’s she doing here?!”

“I don’t know.” YFN whispered back. “She said she couldn’t wait until Friday, remember?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

YFN looked at the clock. “We need to go in thirty minutes, can we just talk about football, then you two can do all the talking you want without me.”

Dinner was mainly talking about their days, and YFN’s experiences around the different clubs. It started off awkward, but definitely became a lot more casual. Like roommates having dinner. YFN didn’t realise, but Jordan appreciated her there for the awkward part. Now when she dropped her at the airport, they would have avoided most of that.

Leah helped Jordan clean up, working together at the sink to wash and dry as YFN collected her belongings for the airport. The car ride was funny, Leah in the back listening silently to Jordan telling YFN to be safe and message her if she needed anything. Jordan had been extra protective since hearing about Mark and his friend, as well as Kristie being a maniac as per usual. Leah hadn’t seen that side to Jordan much, and she listened with interest. They dropped her at the airport and YFN gave Jordan and apologetic look before she hugged her, whispering in her ear.

“She loves you, Dory. Just be patient and be honest with what you need, okay? I’m a phone call away.”

Jordan’s hug tightened, nodding into her shoulder.

“Also, if she doesn’t sleep in your bed, she’s more than welcome to sleep in mine.”

Jordan scoffed and pulled away with a grin, slapping her arm.

“What? You have needs.”

She turned to Leah and gave her a hug and Jordan jumped back into the drivers seat. “She’s just as nervous as you are, Leah. Communicate, okay?”

“Thanks, YFN. Fly safe.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ll definitely try.”

The flight was short, barely an hour, and unfortunately it was too dark to see Edinburgh as they descended through the clouds. YFN hadn’t known what to expect once she arrived, the only note in her flight details being ‘private car hire to meet at airport.’ She exited with her smaller carry-on suitcase and immediately saw the sign with her name on it. The driver looked professional in his suit and insisted on taking her luggage. He introduced himself as David and was a polite, middle-aged gentleman who guided her into the backseat of the dark Mercedes before taking his place in the driver’s seat.

“How long is the drive?”

“Just over an hour, ma’am.”

An hour?!

“Do you know Joe?”

“I do. I’ve worked with her for quite a few years now.”

“How would you describe her?”

“She’s a smart businesswoman. A great mother. A role-model. A creative genius. She’s kind and very well read.”

“Did she…tell you anything about me?”

“Oh, I know all about you, ma’am. It’s wonderful what you are doing together. My daughters are still young and love playing football. We need this exposure, so they have a better pathway and more incentive.”

He knew all about her? What they were doing?

“Do you know why I’m here?”

David paused. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Is there anything you can tell me before we get there?”

“That’s really not for me to say, ma’am. It will all make sense when we arrive.”

What was this big secret?

They spoke a little more during the drive, YFN a little tired as they passed the 9pm mark. Eventually they turned off of the bitumen road and onto a long gravel driveway. She watched as a large estate came into view, still very much lit up, the warm lights escaping through the many windows of the large stone building. If she had to describe it, she’d say it was almost gothic, though repurposed to suit an English ambiance.

David stopped at the front of the steps leading up to the entrance. He insisted that YFN go ahead, claiming he’d take her bag to her room for her.

She walked up the steps, not knowing what she was getting herself into and as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open. A man stood there, looking just as neat and tidy as David.

“YFN, lovely to meet you. Welcome. My name is Benjamin, and I’m the estate manager. Please come in.”

YFN smiled and introduced herself, entering and found her eyes were immediately wandering, looking up down, all around at the architecture of the place. Although an old building, it had modern refurbishments and she couldn't help but appreciate it, but also wonder at its cost. Where was she? Did Joe have some sort of link to royalty? Nothing else made sense. Until it did.

“You made it.” YFN turned to the voice she’d heard several times on the phone and whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Her mouth physically dropped.

It all made sense now. The company. The secrecy. The controversy. The fact that they’d never met before. Why she’d hired her, a writer, in the first place, of all people.

Holy shit. It can’t be.

175 notes · View notes

missterious-figure · 6 months ago

Note

Wine and feathers reverse AU. Y/N is an EXTREMELY rare Gold rose peafowl. They are the pride and joy of the Casino and are treated better than royalty. However, that means they're spoiled rotten and kick out any handler at the slightest displeasure. Sun, Moon and Eclipse were brothers who all applied for the position of Y/N's handler and passed with flying colours. When Y/N was asked to choose they said "All three or no one ever again"

Thus proceeds shenanigans and Y/N trying to woo all three of them to be their mates.

(Note: this y/n is masculine and uses he/him pronouns)

You strutted into the bar, looking around. You smirked as everyone turned their heads to you. You couldn't blame them, though. How could anyone not want to see your beautiful rose gold feathers? Especially when they glistened oh so perfectly in the sunlight that beamed through the windows. You did love the attention, but you were aiming to trap the attention of someone else. Well, three people, actually.

You had just been given three new handlers, Sam, Maxwell, and Eric. You liked to just call them Sun, Moon, and Eclipse. Though the three were brothers, and all really muscular and hot, they all looked really different from each other. Sam had blue eyes and fluffy gold-blonde hair. Maxwell's eyes were a deep ember, almost red, and he sported long silver gray hair, normally tied back in a ponytail or braid. Eric had eyes so light brown they appeared yellow. His bronze brown hair wasn't as long as Maxwrll's. But it wasn't as short as Sam's either. Eric was also the tallest of the brothers.

You weren't sure about the three of them when they first came. Soon you were head over-heels. They were nice to you, sure, but more importantly, they were feisty. They flirted and teased you back. You loved the challenge of "out flirting" them. How you enjoyed to see them blush. It's the perfect reward.

Just as you were thinking of their rosy faces, you noticed Sam sitting alone at the bar ordering a drink. His back was facing you, so he hadn't noticed you. Perfect. You snuck up behind him like a shadow. Be it a super shiny rose shadow, but whatever. Sam had just received his drink. He said thanks to bartender. Before he could even take a sip you had gently cupped his face from behind. He was started at first, but then noticed your metallic purple gloves.

"Hello there, darling."

He put a hand on one of yours and glanced back at you. He had to look up to meet your eyes, given you were 8.7 feet tall. He was only 6.5. Such a short thing. Well, at least in your standards. You rested your head on his broad shoulder, whispering in his ear. "Hello, my sweet Sun."Sam raised a brow and giggled.

"Is that the name you've given me? First you name Eric Eclipse, and then Maxwell Moon. What is with this celestial theme, my love?"

"Because you guys aren't only the lights of my life, but the center of my world."

Bingo, you thought to yourself. Sam had started blushing a brilliant pink, like the setting sun. He needed to think of something, fast. Then he smiled. He regained his competence and caught your face in his hands. Without wasting any time, he brought you nose to nose with him. He whispered back.

"Come on, darling, you know we revolve around you."

He pushed his face closer, like he was gonna kiss you. At the last second he pulled back, grabbed his drink, and swerved past you.

"See ya, my love."

He calmly walked out of the bar, humming, leaving a very flustered peacock harpy shocked. Your cheek feathers were all bristled. He almost kissed you. He almost... You touched you lips quietly, wishing he had gone through with his silly little plan. You longed for his lips on yours. Sam was going to pay for teasing you like that. You are going to steal a kiss from him... eventually. He may have won the battle, but this was a war. And you intended to win.

Here's a picture of what I imagine peacock y/n to look like!

Tehe. 8.7 ft bastard y/n. As a baby you were called amethyst eyes. Your favorite color is purple.

(Also, Eric is 7.1 ft. Maxwell is 6.5 ft, just like Sam)

#dca au #wine and feathers au #answered #missterious drabble #handler sun #handler moon #handler eclipse #digital art #peacock y/n #reversed au

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formerstingray · 1 month ago

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How do you feel abt the Telegony and Madeline miller's portrayal of odysseus and circe (personally I don't like the Telegony bc the prophet said Ithaca would have like one son each generation and idk abt Madeline miller)

Hello! Be warned I am a literature graduate and will give a very very very long answer to this question (a la the epic windbag Nestor.) Also: reminder to all that these are just my current thoughts on these questions, and I would be more than interested in discussing, having my mind changed, or to be challenged on these in a friendly and interesting way :)

short answer to this: mixed feelings because of nuance and my own sentimentality

Long answer: So, for me, I just love Homer and mythic cycles, and am really interested in the process of mythic retelling/revising/reception/remixing/resolving/destroying. I am interested in what makes us hollow out spaces for ourselves in old stories. I'm interested in the strangeness and otherness of old stories. Thus, I am a huge fan of Madeline Miller's TSOA. I think it's a really sexy, brilliant novel that revives voices like Mary Renault's in the genre of classic retelling. I think it evokes a really strong sense of the violence, narrowness, grief and beauty of the 'Homeric' world (that strange conglomerate of Bronze and Iron age references)! I think she brings a major sense of the 'Homeric' to life in her gorgeous similes and careful attention to ritual, irony, doubleness and characterisation. (her characterisation of Achilles nd Odysseus bring to mind the lovely harshness and mathematical precision of the line from the Iliad about Achilles being simple and Odysseus being complex). I think she does this strikingly well in TSOA, but less so in Circe. I found that Circe, in its immense effort to make circe 'human' and contemporary, lost so much of TSOA's raw, potent archaicism and worldbuilding. It ended up being, for me, a really well intentioned take on the vaguely second-wave feminist NYT best seller thing that has been very popular for a while. I think maybe just want a bit more from feminism, retelling, and from Miller. I would have wanted more moral ambiguity and intrigue from Circe as a character maybe? I don't think we have to make all mythic women girlboss heroes when they're much more complicated in their original source material. I think we can come to far more interesting feminist conclusions when we work with the text and understand the context of women's lives in the original. My professor always used to remind us not to 'stare at old books and to expect to find our own faces staring back at us'. I think that Miller slightly does that with the Odyssey, in a way that did not need to be done.

Whilst I am, as mentioned, interested in contemporary takes that bring contemporary debates to myth (as all modern retellings are bound to do), I think Miller is at her most successful when she is using contemporary ideas to tease and refract new light out from the original material. I found this to be the case with TSOA which teases out not only interesting commentary on queer history, debates around masculinity and gender, but also a load of contemporary literary debates from the story of Patroklos (most interestingly for me the fact that the novel is a bildungsroman...obv anachronistic way to tell the story but so cool! The literary pressure backing that genre even lends TSOA a whiff of Joyce/Wolf/Thomas Hardy!!! Whereas with Circe I don't remember her childhood and growing up being as vividly rendered, I guess because she's a goddess and mortality works differently for her.)

Which brings me back to Circe. I think it's a really well written novel. and I LOVE Madeline Miller's Odysseus. I really think he is the sharpest, most vivid, most brilliant contemporary rendering of Odysseus I've read so far. He's just perfect!!!- smarmy, but also incredibly reasonable, charming, a bit cruel at times, very pragmatic, oving, a guy who has to do all the dirty work. I think his dialogue is written brilliantly throughout both of the novels.

My distaste for the Telegony (and the parts of Circe influenced by it, such as the whole thing about Odysseus becoming prideful and mad at the end) is largely sentimental I must admit. But I think this ending undoes a huge part of the Odysseus myth that is really valuable and interesting to me. It means something to me that these two likeminded epic characters (that word, likeminded, being used to describe odypen as we all know is the first instance of it being used for a married couple, or a pair that includes a man and woman!!) get anything close to a happy ending. But also I really value the ambiguity of the less sentimental takes on odypen's marriage; the idea that he comes home and just wants to leave again is so profound to me (anyone know the poem im talking about where odysseus returns and just wants to leave again? is it potentially a cavafy one?)....either way yeah because the telegony very much feels like its own separate work (and is likely to have been composed at least 2 centuries after the odyssey) I suppose I think of it slightly more seperately.

In summary: All additions and texts surrounding the original make debates and conversations about it richer and livelier! But for me personally I am a bit put off by viewing it as a legitimate sequel, in Miller's sense of literally including all the events as directly part of the Odyssean events. Though, ofc it makes sense that she does, bc the focus of her novel is circe, and drawing from the telegony is a convenient and interesting way to flesh out her narrative.

If you made it this far you deserve a cookie and a kiss on the forehead! Thank you for the ask httpserb! <3

#the odyssey #odypen #circe #homer #classical retelling #asks #the telegony

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noopienoopiernoopiest · 28 days ago

Text

Sirius Black (C) - #12 - Keep Quiet...Nothing Comes as Easy as You

For fic-o-ween @noots-fic-fests. As always thanks to @lumosinlove

Pairing: Coops! (Sirius/Remus)

Rating: E

Description: Sirius doesn't usually go to charity galas. Remus doesn't usually come to them either...

It wasn’t the usual kind of thing they attended. Sirius was more than happy to give worthy people and noble causes his money, but he wasn’t often the type to give them his publicity, his face. He’d had cameras shoved in front of him since he was fourteen—wide-eyed and away from home for the first time on his first billet. The constant attention had made him allergic to anything involving the media that wasn’t necessary (read: contractually obligated) for his job. But this was different.

It was kids and hockey. Gay kids and hockey. And Leo’s eyes had done that thing they did where they got all wide and blue when he’d asked Sirius to help. Leo hadn’t been a rookie in a solid five years, but he was still a rookie to Sirius. How Logan and Finn ever told Leo no was beyond him. Somehow, he doubted they ever did.

‘It’s still really new, you know. The foundation. Lots of high schoolers. I’m just…I want to leave something that makes all of this better. Makes it so what happened to you can’t happen again.”

That had sealed it—Leo’s earnest concern and his bare affection.

He’d almost regretted it until he’d seen Remus. Remus wasn’t exactly a snazzy dresser most of the time. Sirius didn’t care. He didn’t need it. Remus was gorgeous in his ratty workout clothes, holes and all, while he was panting and covered in sweat from the drills he insisted on running in the basement, even on days off. If Remus had his preference, he’d wear the same navy suit every single game day. Given Remus’s propensity to ritual, Sirius was kind of surprised he hadn’t already insisted on it. When Remus had shrugged at the question of his attire, Leo had shaken his head and sent him away with Finn for an afternoon.

Now he was coming down the stairs, still fiddling with a cufflink.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Ugk,” was Sirius’s brilliant response.

The tux jacket was a coppery kind of brown. Fairly dark, but it caught the light and tossed out warmer flashes of rust and bronze. It made Remus’s amber eyes look almost otherworldly, golden and glowing.

Remus gave a smirk like he knew what he was doing.

“What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?” He asked.

Okay…definitely knew what he was doing.

He reached out straightening Sirius’s already perfectly straight lapels and smoothing them across Sirius’s chest.

“I’ve always liked this tux on you,” Remus mused, looking up at him through his lashes.

“You like all of them on me,” Sirius croaked. When had his throat gotten so dry?

“Fair point. Your shoulders, you know?” Remus admitted with a little shrug saying, ‘what can you do?’ “C’mon handsome, let’s get a move on.”

Sirius had followed him out like a lost puppy.

The fundraiser was at an art museum. They had spent the evening taking in the sculptures and the paintings, and not for the first time, Sirius wished he had more time for things like this. What would it be like to make something for a living? Real things he could touch and feel? He wondered sometimes about how things would have gone had life been different? Wondered, but then dismissed it. He looked at Remus and thought that if life had to be precisely what it had been—Walburga included— to be right here, right now, so be it.

“Come on, there’s something I want to show you,” Remus said, tugging at Sirius’s hand. He wasn’t sure where Remus was taking him, but it didn’t really matter. Sirius would follow him regardless.

Remus looked over his shoulder before tugging him into a darkened room. By the light of the moon in the tall windows, Sirius could make out the soft pastel brush work of what looked like paintings of a million ponds and rivers, all the colors melting into one another. In the back there was an alcove. It looked like a place where a sculpture should go, but there wasn’t anything there right now.

Wasn’t until they were.

“What is—”

Suddenly, Sirius was being kissed. Not a peck or something romantic.

No, it was something filthy. Remus was kissing him like he played—full throttle, zero to 100 immediately, no time for you to mount a defense or catch your breath. And just like when Remus played, Sirius chased him.

“You’re so fucking hot. Jesus Christ,” he said against Sirius’s mouth. It came out slick and panting against his lips, and Sirius was helpless to say anything other than,

“Remus.”

Remus’s hands were knitted into his hair, pulling his head to the side so he could kiss a hot line up the cord of his neck. “I want you,” he whispered, breath hot against Sirius’s cheek.

“What? Here?” Sirius could hear the party still going from down the hall, but something about that made him hard so fast in his tuxedo trousers that he felt lightheaded from the blood loss to his brain. They’d talked about a situation like this, gasped into one another’s ears when they were teetering on the mutual brink. And then, later in the sheets, they’d discussed it more calmly in theory. If the opportunity ever presented itself, of course.

“Mmmhmm. I’m gonna ride you into the fucking ground, baby,” he said, crowding Sirius against the wall. One of his hands found the front of Sirius’s trousers. “Oh, you like that.”

Of course he liked it. It was Remus.

It was Remus…getting on his knees and drawing him out from the confines of his pants and boxers.

“Mon Dieu,” Sirius breathed.

Remus made a show of laving his tongue up and down Sirius’s cock, worshiping the crown with moaning laps and greedy eyes.

“Love the way you taste,” he panted, pink tongue pressing to the tip where Sirius was steadily leaking. “Drives me fucking crazy.”

It was incongruous. Remus looked to put together, so fussy and formal, meanwhile his mouth was wrapping around his cock, cheeks hollowing. Sirius had the urge to muss him, so he wove his hand into Remus’s sandy hair when Remus finally pulled him deeper into his mouth.

“Fuck, Re.” His head thunked back against the wall as he felt Remus’s throat teasing at him, just out of reach. God, if he kept going Sirius was going to come.

Remus pulled back. “I gotta…”

He didn’t explain further, just yanked Sirius down against the wall. Clothes and limbs were tugged and arranged until Sirius was sitting bare-assed, back against the wall, and Remus straddling him in his lap. His hands found Sirius’s jaw and he leaned down to kiss him, slow and languid.

He reached down for Sirius’s cock, next moves telegraphed to Sirius as if he’d described them.

“R-Remus,” he gasped. “What about—”

Remus did that thing he always did, knowing what Sirius’s thoughts were almost before he’d had them. He took Sirius’s hand, kissing his fingertips before guiding it to his entrance.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius moaned. “When?”

“Right before I got dressed,” Remus said, going up on his knees to grind into Sirius’s hand. “Didn’t want to have to wait. Knew I wouldn’t last…you looking like that. Fuck.” Sirius tried to ignore the image of Remus fingering himself open and fantasizing about what he was going to do to Sirius later.

“You planned for this?” Sirius asked, dumbfounded. It was hard to concentrate on anything with Remus’s clinging heat clutching around his fingers.

“Hoped, baby. Now, are you gonna let me ride you?”

Sirius nodded urgently like it was the best idea Remus had ever had. Honestly, absent the gold band on his ring finger, it might be.

Remus lined him up and worked himself down slowly just the way he liked it.

“Fuck,” Remus sighed, throwing his head back, his skin pale and perfect in the moonlight. “God, I love the way you split me open. So good. Feel so perfect.”

Sirius wanted to thrust his hips up, but the angle meant all he could do was sit there and let Remus fuck himself on him. Remus’s head came back to his ear, and he started whispering to Sirius in low murmurs punctuated every so often with sighs.

“So fucking gorgeous, Sirius. I wanted to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the middle of that gallery hall,” he admitted. “Just so everyone knew who you belonged to.” It was ridiculous that anyone looked at Sirius and couldn’t immediately glean that he was for Remus, designed and tailored just for him. Still the idea of it made him gasp.

“You like that, baby? People watching us while I fuck you?” He’d love to tell him that it was him fucking Remus, but it wasn’t really. Instead, all he could do was quiver and nod. “Everyone watching you lose it?”

Sirius’s hands clutched uselessly at Remus’s hips. He knew trying to drag him down faster would just mean slower. Harder would mean softer. Demanding would just mean refusing. He’d learned that lesson the hard way…several times.

He let the idea of it invade his mind. The shocked crowd watching as Remus made it crystal clear just who was in charge for the evening, Sirius desperately trying to choke back moans and being unable to. People seeing just what a mess Remus could make him.

Finally, Remus was seated, his ass firmly resting on Sirius’s hips. Remus started moving his own hips in little circles, just enough to be a tease, nothing that’d bring either of them relief anytime soon.

“There wouldn’t be any hiding from it, then, Sirius. Everyone would know. Intimidating Captain Sirius Black’s a desperate slut. Is that what you want? For them to know?”

That word was like a hardwire into Sirius’s brain, and he moaned a little too loudly.

Remus laughed and kissed him quiet. “Shhh, baby. Unless you’re serious.”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow at him.

Remus groaned, this time not in pleasure. “That joke will eventually get old.”

“Hasn’t yet, Loops.”

Remus laughed despite himself and then started moving in earnest. Sirius bit at his throat, one of his hands scrabbling to find grip against the stiff fabric of Remus’s dress shirt and feeling the heat of his back through it.

“Remus. Remus. God. Feel so good. So…tout.” Everything. Fuck it was true. Sirius never felt more than he felt right here, Remus as close as he could be—blood hot, vice tight, and velvet soft—both of them working together to chase this bliss. Working together to make it.

“That’s right, baby. Just like that,” Remus said, finding his mouth again and tongue licking inside.

Sirius moved to grab Remus’s cock, hard and leaking between the tails of his shirt, but Remus shook his head. “Wanna come from just your cock. You can do that for me can’t you, baby?”

Sirius felt drunk. Way more than half a glass of champagne would have accomplished. No, it was just Remus, finding and mashing every one of Sirius’s buttons in a complicated sequence only he knew.

“Fuck, yes. Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Good boy.”

“Calisse. Are you trying to kill me?” Sirius hissed.

“No, sweetheart. I’m trying to make you lose your mind.”

Sirius got hazy from there, got lost in the two of them rutting into one another and keeping rhythm. Remus’s mouth was pressed to his ear, whispering and murmuring filthy half-phrases between hard rocks of his hips. And then—suddenly.

A noise.

Closer than any of the ones before. Hard heeled steps down the hallway. Closer and closer by the second. Remus pulled back.

He expected Remus to stop, freeze.

He did. Just for a moment. And then, he didn’t.

He put his hand over Sirius’s mouth.

“Shhhh, baby. Quiet now,” he whispered firmly, eyes boring into Sirius’s.

Sirius’s eyes rolled back in his head as Remus resumed their pace and kept talking to him, just barely loud enough for Sirius to hear even with his mouth so close.

“Who knows? You might just get your wish. Wanna show them some art, pretty baby?”

Sirius felt pinned down and glued in place. Between the weight of Remus on top of him, the look in his eyes, and his hand at his mouth, Sirius couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. The threat of being caught made the tension ratchet up, made the urgency of it as sharp as a skate blade. He wanted it. Wanted them, whoever they were, to see. See him held down and fucked ruthlessly by his gorgeous husband, a plaything for Remus to get off with, something needy and desperate that only belonged to Remus and no one else. Even if they wanted him for themselves, tried to tempt him away with bedroom eyes and bitten lips, it didn’t matter. It was just Remus to whom he’d crawl to on his hands and knees. Remus who he’d beg for, break for, breathe for.

The noise got closer and closer, and Sirius was certain at this point they must be close to the entrance to the room.

Remus’s eyes went glassy and then he was coming, lips bitten shut to keep from moaning out loud. Sirius could feel the hot streaks of it against his stomach, shirt rucked up and out of the way.

He paused only long enough to ride out his peak and then kept going, if anything, more intently now, watching Sirius with the same focus he gave everything he wanted.

“What’s in here?” A unfamiliar voice asked.

Oh fuck.

Sirius was coming helplessly, mouthing Remus’s name silently against his palm.

“Oh, nothing much. Come on, there’s a sculpture room down the hallway,” another voice answered.

The steps receded into the background, but Sirius wasn’t aware of anything beyond the hot pulse of his cock pouring into Remus, the solid weight of him the only thing holding Sirius down in his own body.

Remus moved his hand, replacing it with his mouth as he kissed Sirius down from his high.

“Perfect, baby. You’re so perfect for me,” he crooned between kisses. “Fucked me so good, sweetheart. Filled me up so well.”

The praise was heady, bubbling in his cortex and making his spine shiver.

“Holy fuck, Remus. You’re going to fucking kill me one day.”

Remus laughed, something dark and deep and promising.

“No way. Where’s the fun in that?”

Somehow, Remus got him back into his tux and got himself dressed, too. Sirius was certainly no help, still reeling from endorphins. He smoothed his hands through Sirius’s hair several times, eyeing it suspiciously. Sirius doubted there was anything he was going to do for it that avoided ‘just fucked,’ but if it made Remus feel better about it, he’d stand here and be pet.

They slipped back into the main room, most people lingering over after dinner drinks and fancy little desserts floating by on trays.

“Enjoying yourself?” Leo asked, giving Sirius a wry smile.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he sniffed.

“’Course not. Dumo’s house all over again,” Leo said, smirking into his whiskey.

“If I remember correctly, someone was really interested in looking at Dumo’s guest bathroom that night…” Sirius said. “Besides, didn’t Finn have that tie on earlier?”

Leo turned to look at Logan and Finn and rolled his eyes. Logan’s teal tie clashed with Finn’s navy suit. “They really are hopeless.”

“Good thing they’ve got you, huh?”

Leo laughed now. “Hardly. Who do you think it was that got them out of their ties in the first place?” He asked before wandering over toward the pair of them.

“I was going to get more drinks, but I’m kind of ready to go home,” Remus said, appearing at his elbow. “Think Leo’d be okay with it?”

Sirius snorted. “Leo will be just fine.”

He thought about getting Remus back out of all his fancy clothes, stretching him out in their bed and licking into him, tasting the place he’d just marked before pressing back into him and hearing Remus’s high whine from the almost-too-much of it all.

He looked over at Remus, who looked like he had similar ideas.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

#lumosinlove #fic o ween #coops

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