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13atoms · 9 months ago

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Working Late (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Summary: After a busy few weeks, you spend a friday night in the office catching up on the never-ending pile of paperwork which appears whenever the team are whisked away on a case. To your surprise, a colleague decides to join you.

Contains: Fluff, very gentle friends-to-lovers, early seasons spencer, food | 2k words.

If you listened for long enough, you could hear the distant hum of the vending machine.

The office was empty. It was long past the time where other departments turned their lights off, and it became acceptable to sling your shoes off and pad around in socks. The BAU was in high demand lately, and it felt as though the last three cases had been back-to-back-to-back. You could hardly remember what your bed looked like, your apartment floor was covered in clothes from hastily repacking suitcases, and the thought of cleaning it up was enough to keep you in the office.

At 7:30pm, even the most dedicated of your colleagues had rightfully headed home to partners, or sports clubs, or kids. That only left you, and the team’s mountain of paperwork which only grew each time you headed out on a case.

I’ll work late tonight, catch up on everything, then crash for the whole weekend, you’d promised Garcia at lunch. In one breath, she’d claimed that was impressive, that everyone would love you forever for getting it done, and warned you to take care of yourself.

Sometimes it was hard to know how to. You felt dreadful being here, you'd feel worse if you went home, thinking about the work hanging over you. For a moment you lay with your head on your forearm, idly massaging out the headache that had started to form.

Dinner, you realised. You hadn’t eaten dinner. Maybe that was why you felt dreadful.

The temptation to just go home would be too strong if you went out to get it, so you headed for the drawer in the kitchen full of takeout menus.

While you were flicking through the pile for the least sticky menus, the elevator doors opened.

It was almost certainly security checking to see who was still up here, or a cleaner making their rounds. Nonetheless, with half the building dark, it was hard not to suddenly be on high alert. In socked feet, you tiptoed back along the corridor until you could see the doors, already sliding closed with the carriage empty.

You crept further forward, until you could see a man, hair slightly damp around his face and a satchel looped over his body. Reid. He was stood behind your desk, peering at the computer you had left on, as though he was confused.

“Evening,” you offered, pushing against the warm fondness you felt as he jolted away from your chair in surprise.

“The computer screens turn themselves off after five minutes of inactivity, and you never leave yours unlocked. I figured something must have happened.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to your socked feet, then back to your face.

“Evening.”

“I just went to get menus,” you held them up limply, and Reid smiled.

“Have you not been home yet?”

“No, I can’t believe you’ve been home!”

“I actually went home early,” he admitted the fact as though he was embarrassed. You were fairly sure Hotch had shoved him out of the elevator doors.

“You’ve snuck back in, them?”

Finally you crossed the bullpen, sinking back into your office chair. Reid perched on the next desk over.

“Couldn’t settle – I figured I could get through everything quickly, save everyone the job…”

“Especially after we’re inevitably called in over the weekend, and all these cases feel like a lifetime ago.”

He smiled grimly.

“Exactly.”

For a moment it was silent, and you felt a little caught at Reid finding you in the office alone like this. Your headphones lay out on the desk, music blaring tinnily from them, and you felt your face grow warm as you reached across to turn the music off.

“So you’re getting food?” he hadn’t moved, gesturing at the menus.

“Yeah. Have you had dinner?”

“Not really. If you don’t mind me joining you…”

“Not at all,” you insisted, “please.”

He glanced over the options you’d laid out, over the three piles on your desk. You wondered how long ago he’d showered, his hair was straighter than usual with the weight of being damp. He was wearing one of his usual jumpers, but he must have put a t-shirt on underneath it. There was something odd about seeing him without a shirt collar. Some insight into what Spencer wore when he wanted to be comfortable, when he thought he wouldn’t be seen.

“I– Thank you. I don’t mind going out to get it?”

“I usually just order it in, and then get security call me down and accept it.”

Reid frowned, no doubt prepared to reel off dozens of stats about security risks.

“Is that allowed?”

“No one’s ever stopped me,” you shrugged, only to delight in Reid’s wide, nervous smile.

He’d never had the chance to be a naughty schoolboy, you’d often reflected, it was why he often seemed to look like he was being called into the principal’s office.

“So long as you make the call…”

“Don’t want to get in trouble?” you teased, and Spencer laughed.

“Absolutely not! That’s the last thing I need.”

“Well then, in that case I’m choosing Chinese. Pick something.”

You tossed him a menu, and he glanced it over before looking up to think. You’d never quite get over the way his mind worked.

Once the order was placed and Spencer had laughed over your stomach grumbling, reality sunk back in. Sat at your desk, on a Friday night, under fluorescent lights.

“Isn’t it funny to have your dream job, and it’s still so boring most of the time,” you mused, and Spencer just chuckled.

He still hadn’t moved to start his work.

“I know what you mean.”

He paused for a moment.

“Was this your dream job?”

Oh, no.

“Is that lame? I assumed this was everyone here’s dream job,” you admitted.

Spencer shrugged, and you found yourself watching him desperately for any kind of redemption from the ache of embarrassment you were feeling in your chest. It shouldn’t matter, whether Spencer thought you were lame. Somehow, it seemed like the only thing that did matter.

“I suppose I never knew where I’d end up, but I’m glad it was here.”

You nodded, waiting for him to speak more. Spencer spoke a lot, defended himself with constant talking. It was something different, rare, when he was talking about his own past.

“What am I talking about? Yeah,” he was smiling, and that meant you were smiling right back at him, all toothy and lame, “this is my dream job.”

“If it was really a dream job, they’d pay for our dinners,” you teased, and Spencer laughed.

“That’s true enough. Oh!”

He rifled through his wallet, pulling out a twenty and hunting for more.

“My half,” he offered, “thank you for letting me crash your dinner.”

“Not at all, it’s nice the you’re here! And I wasn’t angling for you to pay me back, Spencer. Don’t be daft.”

“No, you just reminded me, is all.”

He put the cash down beside your hand with an eyebrow raise, and you laughed.

“Thank you.”

You wondered how someone sourced bills so clean, it wasn’t as ratty as the cash you grabbed from your wallet.

“I’ll take it as danger money, in case security squeal on us for ordering takeout.”

“I’m not sure the late night paperwork should the riskiest part of the job.”

He laughed, and finally made a move to stand up. Suddenly you were overcome by the need to stop him from going anywhere.

“What have you got left to do?” you asked.

“Case reports, a few bits of random paperwork, I think there’s a security review and some statements to type up…”

As you talked over the workload, you realised you’d done some of the work Spencer had intended to. He offered to take over on some things, and you knew he’d complete the work perfectly, until finally the workload split between the two of you felt manageable. He pulled a chair over to share your desk, and by the time the food had arrived, you felt far better about your odds of getting home before midnight.

“Do you want to try some of this?” you offered Spencer, catching him watching you.

“Oh, um, yeah actually.”

You hadn’t really meant it. Spencer didn’t share, you’d already double-dipped and your chopsticks had been in your mouth and…

“Do you want a spring roll? These are amazing.”

You let him use his chopsticks to drop a spring roll into your container, and you smiled your thanks as he did. His face was suddenly far closer to you than you’d realised, knees inches apart as you struggled to share one desk.

“Hm,” you mumbled, “that is good!”

“Right!”

For a while you ate in silence, and if you forgot about the fluorescent lights and stale scent of office, it was like you were sharing dinner together by choice. Spencer in his casuals, you still shoe-less, perched casually on your chair, it was nice.

“So, do you have weekend plans?”

He’d be silent for so long, you hardly heard him.

“Hm?”

“Weekend plans,” his voice dropped quieter, less stable. “What are you up to?”

Spencer was asking what your weekend plans were. Spencer.

“I just thought… asking about… asking about your weekend shows that I care for your wellbeing and builds social rapport between colleagues, or… I mean, I think we’re friends at this point? Too? So I just wanted to know what your weekend plans were.”

He was bright red and staring down at his noodles, you could see the rise and fall of his chest, the panic growing in him.

“No, Spencer, I appreciate you asking. I’m, uh, just planning on crashing to be honest. I have to clean my apartment, do all my laundry. Nothing too exciting. And my building’s laundry room is flooded – again – so I guess it’s a long wait at the laundromat.”

Desperate to say anything, to make Spencer feel better – and make sure he didn’t regret talking to you – you found yourself rambling on and on, until he was smiling nervously. Still avoiding your eye, he interrupted you gently.

“Public laundromats have all kinds of risks. My biggest concern is always bed bugs – even commercial machines in laundromats often can’t kill bed bug eggs, leading them to be transferred between customers…”

“Oh, god Spencer, that’s really not making me feel better!”

“No! I just mean… I have in-unit, for that reason. Disinfected regularly.”

You looked at him, bemused, the warm food in your lap forgotten. He paused, and met your eyes, a lock of hair falling over his face. He brushed it back.

“Oh! I meant, I wasn’t bragging about my washer being clean. Uh, you’re welcome to use mine, if you’d rather.”

It was the strangest thing that had ever made your heart clench with fondness. He was still blushing, clearly afraid he’d said the wrong thing, done something weird again. It was your first instinct not to bother him, but at the innocent look in his wide, brown eyes, you found yourself accepting.

“That would be amazing, if you wouldn’t mind, Spencer. Be warned, I’ve got a lot of laundry to do, you can kick me out anytime you get sick of me,” you teased.

“I know, from all the travelling. You’re wearing clothes you never normally wear, presumably because all your favourites need washing.”

You stared at him, processing for a moment. You could see his finger tapping against the side of his thigh, the smile he was trying to hide.

“You can stay as long as you like,” he clarified.

“Maybe we can watch a boxset or something, if you like?”

The raise of his eyebrows was enough to make you laugh, and he quickly looked away, taking another mouthful of rice.

“Doctor Who?”

There was nothing you wouldn’t have watched with Spencer, as you woke up the next morning blessedly free of work calls and lazily made your way to his apartment with two suitcases full of washing and a huge bags of Skittles for Reid. He’d surprised you with a made lunch, and with a freshly cleaned washer and dryer. Despite the way he made himself scarce when you pulled out underwear and bundled it into his washing machine, two hours later, he was brave enough to sneak an arm around your shoulder.

You sank your face to his chest, and listened to the pounding of his heart. By the time Christopher Eccleston had met his first Dalek, you knew a lot of your future would be spent on this couch.

#i spent like 3 hours writing this and forgot to eat #relatable reader rn #13atoms #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic

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sansaorgana · 1 month ago

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— SOMEPLACE BETTER (III)

PART ONE || PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!human(?)!Reader

SUMMARY — Lady Galadriel keeps convincing Halbrand and his wife to change their minds and go back to Middle-earth but Sauron is starting to realise that this new life might be his chance to start all over and redeem himself.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — As I warned, in this part Sauron is very ooc but I'm a sucker for happy endings... I couldn't picture it any other way with a mortal Reader tbh... 🤷🏻‍♀️ Although, whether she is really a human or not – I let you decide and interpret it whatever way you wish! 😉💝 The song The Reader sings in this part is called Lonesome Road and I know it from Joan Baez but I changed the lyrics a little so they could fit the fantasy world better.

WORD COUNT — 4,570

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

SOMEPLACE BETTER (III)

Even though he thought Halbrand's wife had given up on him already, it seemed to be quite otherwise. The guards came to Sauron in the early morning to tell him that he was free to go under a condition to never start any fight on the streets of Númenor ever again. Next time, the Queen Regent would not be so merciful. And now, she would even give him a chance to prove his worth and earn the guild crest.

Apparently, (Y/N) had spent nearly the whole night begging and pleading after getting an audience.

Free to go anywhere he wanted to, he simply decided to walk back to his new home and wait there for Lady Galadriel to show up with the next idea or opportunity.

It was not going according to his plan – (Y/N) had made sure of it. But it was still going well enough and that was what mattered the most.

As he was approaching the house, he heard a familiar voice singing a song as the sound travelled through the open windows and out into the streets. The voice perhaps was not the most talented but it was not awful either and he found it oddly soothing to listen to.

Slowly and quietly, Sauron walked inside the house and leaned on the wall with crossed arms as he watched (Y/N) with a smirk. She had her back turned on him and had no idea he was there as she busied herself with brushing her hair in front of a small mirror and preparing to go to her new work.

And while doing so, she was singing. Sauron listened with curiosity because he had missed many new songs in the time when he had been regaining his strength to go back to the world of living.

And he had never been familiar with the songs of common people anyway.

“They say all good friends must part sometime. Why not you and I, my Lord? Why not you and I?” (Y/N) sang softly. “Oh, I wish to the gods that I'd never been born or died when I was a baby, my Lord… Or died when I was a baby,” she added and Sauron swallowed a lump in his throat.

He had no idea he would be able to see himself in a song written by commoners and yet, he sometimes wondered himself why the Valar had created him. And he often wished they had not. It would save him pain and suffering that he was not able to speak of.

“Oh, I wish to the gods that I'd never seen your face, heard your lyin' tongue, my Lord… Heard your lyin' tongue,” (Y/N) kept going with the song as she put some rouge upon her cheeks. “You better look up and down that long, lonesome road where all of your friends have gone, my Lord, and you and I must go…” she continued humming and then she jumped up at the sight of him standing behind her with crossed arms. “Oi, Hal, I haven't seen ye. Forgive me, I know ye don't like it when I sing,” she got nervous in an instant.

“I don't?” Sauron raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Ye always say it's givin' ye headaches,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Anyhow, I'm off to work now,” she informed him with a sweet smile and approached him to place a kiss upon his cheek.

He let her but when she wanted to move away, he grabbed her wrists to keep her in place and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“What have you done to free me, love?” He asked in a whisper.

“I begged and pleaded for ye, Hal,” she answered. “Told the good Queen ye're naught but a man who wants to work, with a pride that's hurt. I promised ye wouldn't get in trouble again. An' ye better not.” (Y/N)'s eyes filled with pain as if she knew already he would break the promise.

Because Halbrand most likely had broken such promises many times before and Sauron had planned that, too. But now, looking deep into her eyes, he suddenly wanted to change his mind. He did not want to be like Halbrand – he wanted to be a better version of him.

“I don't deserve you,” he admitted and caressed her cheek gently.

“Start, then,” she challenged him with a cracked smile and patted his chest before going out of the house.

And even though Sauron was tempted to stay inside and wait for Lady Galadriel to show up, he walked out as well and went to the forge nearby where he was supposed to start his own training to be able to earn the guild crest.

Humiliating it was and very humbling for the disciple of Aulë to be reduced to the role of a common smith's errand boy.

When Sauron was coming back from work, it was getting dark already. He was walking slowly down the steps and whistling the very same song he had heard earlier that day – the one Halbrand's wife had been singing.

In his hands he was carrying a few coins he had earned on that day and he was playing with them by tossing them in the air and catching them swiftly right after. As he approached the harbour, he spotted (Y/N) standing by one of the wooden tables and selling the goods to the people standing in the queue.

He wondered why she was left alone by the stand but assumed the woman working with her was having a break. And the closer to the market he was getting, the more he could see how stressed Halbrand's wife seemed to be.

“You useless woman, you can't even count properly, can you?!” Sauron heard some man's harsh words due to the fact his hearing was much better than if he was truly human.

“I-I'm sorry, I'm still learnin'. How much do I owe ye, then?” (Y/N) was trying to sound nice.

“You're good for nothing, stupid wench,” the man spat out. “Where is Bellona?”

“She had to leave earlier today. Please, it is no big deal. Let me just give you back the money and–”

“You should go back to Middle-earth where low women like you belong,” the man interrupted her.

Sauron didn't think much in that moment as the primal instincts took over him. He hid his coins away and hurried to (Y/N)'s stand as he grabbed the rude man by his tunic and turned him around.

“Are you bothering my wife?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Hal!” (Y/N) squealed, looking nervously at the guards that were already coming their way after sensing trouble. “Let go of him, I beg ye! Ye promised me ye wouldn't–”

“Oh, but it's different, is it not? This man deserves it,” Sauron hissed out and when he was sure that (Y/N) kept glancing at the guards, he allowed his eyes to transform into two snake-like orbs that visibly terrified the rude man.

Sauron let go of his tunic the moment he heard the guards standing behind him and the man hurried away as quickly as possible.

“It's nothin', it's nothin'!” (Y/N) exclaimed at the guards. “I'm closin' for the day! Please, let us go.”

The men looked at each other but since the other man had run away and did not file any complaint, they just shrugged their arms and walked away alongside the rest of the people waiting in the queue.

“Ye promised!” (Y/N) gave Sauron a very scolding look as she busied herself with tidying up the stand and collecting the money.

“If you think I am going to let some bastard treat you this way, love, then you are mistaken. If I must rot in that cell for a lifetime, then I shall,” Sauron shrugged his arms and Halbrand's wife looked at him as if he had just said something crazy.

“Since when are ye so gifted with words, Hal?” She chuckled and shook her head. “Anyhow, in that cell, ye won't be 'round to protect me. Foolish, it'd be, but ye've never been the brightest, have ye?” she pointed out and Sauron gritted his teeth with an eye roll.

She kept blabbering to him about her day while they walked back to their house and even though it was a short road, it felt like forever due to her talking. However, Sauron was very surprised at the sight of Lady Galadriel sitting by the table when they entered the house.

He had been waiting for her to come and now he was shocked, nearly startled. As if he had forgotten already about his scheme.

“Oi!” (Y/N) put her hands on her hips. “Is it not illegal to sneak up on folk like that inside their own homes, Elf?!” She asked. “When'll ye leave us be, huh?”

“The Queen Regent agreed to gather the army. They will seek for the volunteers,” Galadriel announced. “People of Númenor might not need you, Halbrand, but when we arrive in The Southlands, a strong leader will be needed. Someone to unite and show the way.”

“Someone to lie, ye say,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and finally closed the door behind her. “But go on, Elf, keep talkin'. I'm sure my husband'll agree sooner or later. Vain as he is, always has been,” she sighed as if she was defeated.

Sauron felt an odd tug inside his heart at those words. Even though going with Galadriel to Middle-earth and continuing his plan while leaving annoying (Y/N) behind would be an ideal outcome… He felt challenged now to refuse Galadriel just to show (Y/N) that he could do better than that.

“I have already told the Queen Regent who you most likely are,” Galadriel insisted, ignoring Halbrand's wife and looking deep into his eyes.

“You must be desperate,” he pointed out with a smirk and watched his angry wife unpacking the groceries from her wicker basket on the kitchen counter.

“Of course I am. And you should be, too. It is about your home. Why do you give up on it so easily?” Galadriel wondered out loud.

“It gave up on us long before we ever gave up on it,” (Y/N) turned around to answer her.

“This land was your place in Middle-earth. It was giving you vegetables to eat, grass to feed your animals with, clean water from the rivers…” Lady Galadriel pointed out.

“And what do ye know about it, grand Elf?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes at that. “It ain't easy work growin' yer vegetables an' keepin' yer animals alive. One bad winter's all it takes to take away yer loved ones, yer cows, horses, an' chickens. I've no love for that land,” she stated, harshly.

“You can change the fate of people who suffer like you have suffered…” Galadriel's voice softened. “As their Queen,” she tempted and Sauron raised an eyebrow, surprised to see how dirty she could play.

Nearly as dirty as him.

“Me? A Queen?” (Y/N) laughed at that. “I can't even read!” She only said and turned around again to deal with the groceries.

“Halbrand, please. They need you,” Galadriel stood up and put her hand on his shoulder before lowering her voice. “I need you,” she added and looked down before leaving the house quietly.

Long silence occurred between Sauron and Halbrand's wife.

“Go with her,” (Y/N) muttered.

“What?” Sauron looked at her, surprised. She turned around to lay her wet eyes on him.

“I know ye want to. Just go, claim the title that's not yours, go on. But don't be stupid enough to think she'd ever want ye the way ye want her. Please, husband, don't embarrass yerself by thinkin' she'd want a filthy, ragged commoner,” (Y/N) whispered but in her voice there was no malice – it was pure worry and concern. Love.

“I'm not that stupid,” Sauron approached her with hesitance and put his hands on her arms to comfort her. “I know you're the only woman who is crazy enough to love me.”

“But is that enough to make ye stay?” She asked and her lower lip trembled.

He did not answer but he pulled her close to his chest to wrap his arms around her and kiss the top of her head.

Sauron was laying awake all night long as usual, caressing the back of Halbrand's wife and staring at the ceiling. He knew they would gather the volunteers on the next day and he still was not sure what to do.

The path he had chosen for himself was not so certain anymore. He truly did not mind the life he had here in Númenor and even (Y/N)'s presence was becoming less and less annoying to him. In fact – even though she had no idea who he truly was – it felt oddly nice to be loved and taken care of. As simple as that.

He extended his hand to the nightstand and brushed the pendant laying there with his fingertips as he remembered the very first conversation he had had with the heraldry's original owner – Diarmid.

“A sure path may crumble, but there's always another. Often, it can lead us someplace better. Someplace good. They say there's a place across the sea, a man can escape himself. Find another path. Perhaps another life.”

What if it was a second chance for him? Not for Sauron, but for the real him – Mairon…? What if it was his chance to get redeemed? To be at peace finally as if all the suffering Morgoth had put him through had never taken place?

(Y/N) shifted slightly in his arms and he looked down at her face that was now lit up by the first rays of the rising sun getting through the window. At that moment, that common and simple woman looked like the most beautiful creature in the whole world to him. And she certainly felt like peace.

“Is it time to wake up now, love?” She mumbled out, sleepily.

“No, love, not yet. I will tell you when,” he assured her.

“Good,” she smiled and nuzzled her face deeper into him.

“(Y/N)?” Sauron swallowed a lump in his throat as he fidgeted with the pendant between his fingers.

“Hm?”

“What if I told you I was not your husband?” He tried to make it sound light-hearted as if he was jesting. “That I'm a spirit that took over his body at that time when he was away while the village was being attacked?” He looked down at her, nervously.

“Ye're crazy, Hal,” she chuckled and opened her eyes lazily. Then, she tilted her head and reached her hand up to caress his hair. “But, mayhaps, I'd believe that, ye know? 'Cause ye've changed a lot since then,” she admitted and hesitated for a moment as she bit on her lower lip. “It doesn't matter, love. I love ye the way ye are now – more than I've ever loved ye, even though I didn't think it was possible,” she confessed and Sauron felt his heart swelling inside his chest as he leaned down to join their lips together in a loving kiss.

As he watched the ships sail away on that day, Sauron couldn't believe that he was simply letting them go. He saw Lady Galadriel standing in her shining armour, holding her sword. She was still glancing at him as if she expected him to jump into the waters and join them no matter what.

He wondered why she was so drawn to him, even after (Y/N)'s big mouth had made it clear that he was not any forgotten king. Could Galadriel feel who he was, deep inside?

But who was he? He was not sure anymore.

So, he looked away and went back on the road that would lead him to the forge where he worked these days. He was told he would get his guild crest very soon because they were in awe of his extraordinary talents.

Not only talent was his quality, though. It was also how much he was able to work at once and without breaks. At least it had been this way until recently.

It was the first time ever when he felt… tired. In the simplest and most common way, he felt exhausted and his stomach seemed to demand to have a meal. He nearly fainted at the end of his shift and when he dragged his feet back home, he was yawning. Surely, it would worry him under any other circumstances but now he was simply too tired to overthink what could have caused it. Was it some sort of a curse put on him by angry Lady Galadriel?

“Halbrand!” (Y/N)'s worried tone brought him back to reality when he entered the house.

She hurried to him and cupped his cheeks with widened eyes.

“Love, ye're so pale, an' the bags under yer eyes… What happened?!”

“Nothing happened,” Sauron shrugged his arms. “I'm just tired, that's it. I nearly fainted,” he admitted and sat down on the chair, sighing out of relief to finally be able to rest a little.

“Well, that's no wonder! Ye've been eatin' half meals for weeks now!” Halbrand's wife pointed out in a scolding manner. “We're not starvin' anymore, Hal, ye don't have to keep givin' me yer portions!” She exclaimed and approached the stove to pour him a bowl full of soup. “Here, eat,” she ordered as she placed it in front of him.

And, for some reason, Sauron ate all of it in a blink of an eye. He even asked for one more portion as Halbrand's wife gave it to him gladly but not without more of her whining about him being irresponsible. Then he asked for another and after three bowls of her soup, he finally felt better.

His stomach was no longer hurting at least, but he was still sleepy.

“Go, take some rest, love,” (Y/N) shook her head. “Ye don't sleep enough, don't eat enough. At least ye're not drinkin' and gamblin' anymore, but ye can't go on like this. Do ye want to die before forty, Hal? I ain't lettin' that happen!” She continued with her usual whining and he rolled his eyes.

“How can I rest when you keep your mouth open?!” Sauron asked and she huffed but she went silent and left him alone in the bedroom as she went back to the kitchen to clean the bowl after his soup.

It was the very first time when Sauron fell asleep not out of boredom or the need of dissociation but out of exhaustion.

And when he opened his eyes again, it was the next morning already and (Y/N) was shaking him to wake him up.

“Halbrand! Ye're gonna be late for work!” She exclaimed.

“But… I'm still tired…” He mumbled out, not understanding what was happening to him.

“Like all of us working folk each mornin'!” (Y/N) laughed. “Come on, I'm not lettin' ye out without breakfast, go to the kitchen,” she hurried him and he rubbed his eyes before nodding at her.

Sauron began to suspect that he was turning into a human for some time now but it took an unusual revelation to convince him that it was truly happening indeed.

(Y/N) was grinning widely on that day when he came back home and she welcomed him by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him all over his face as he tried to give back some of the kisses. When she finally stopped, she fixed his brand new guild crest and batted her eyelashes while looking up to stare into his eyes.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I think I'm expectin', Hal,” she told him, excitedly. “I wasn't sure but my friends at work said those are the very symptoms!” She added happily and he froze as he blinked slowly a few times, trying to process the new information.

“That is… Impossible,” he furrowed his brows.

“I used to think so, too. Married for so long with no babe of our own but I was wishin' and hopin' and here we are!” She clapped her hands like an excited child. “Perhaps it was that damned Middle-earth not being good for us, Hal, but here we can!”

Sauron took a deep breath in. She didn't understand – it was not about being fertile or not. It was about the fact he was a Maia and there was no possibility of him putting a baby in her without doing it with his own free will.

Unless…

“You're not sleeping around, are you?” He asked before he could think about the rubbish leaving his mouth.

(Y/N) froze at his words and her smile turned into a frown. She approached him at this very moment and slapped his face. Hard. He could feel it like any mortal would now and he admitted it truly hurt.

“How dare ye, Halbrand?! Ye wretched bastard! Even if ye meant to jest, that was uncalled for!” She raised her voice as he rubbed his cheek and winced out of pain.

“I'm sorry, love, I haven't thought before speaking. I just can't believe it…” He tried to excuse himself. “Please, forgive me.”

Her face didn't look so angry anymore but she didn't say anything and turned around without a word to walk away.

In fact, she didn't say a word to him for the rest of the day and only at night when she was deep asleep, he dared to touch her abdomen slightly with his hand.

He wasn't able to feel any presence there but these days he couldn't feel anything, to be honest. He couldn't hear nor see as much either. He was losing his abilities as time was passing.

Sauron kept his hand there, on the belly of Halbrand's wife, and he sighed. It was happening, whether he liked it or not. And he was not even sure anymore if he wanted it or not.

As he got lost in the train of thought, he realised that he had been caressing (Y/N) abdomen all that time without thinking. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled gently at him.

“Hal, ye son of a bitch,” she shook her head and giggled as she took his hand carefully and brought it to her lips to place a few small and sweet kisses upon his knuckles. “I swear, ye're gonna be the death of me.”

“And you are going to be the death of me,” he chuckled and leaned in to peck her lips.

She was going to be. Literally.

This body would start growing old normally now and, eventually, he would pass away like every mortal. But maybe he would do that laying in a bed, holding her hand and surrounded by their children.

When they broke the kiss, (Y/N) smiled widely and caressed her husband's cheeks lovingly. She looked ethereal at that moment and a crazy thought appeared inside of his head.

“Tell me, love,” he started and she raised an eyebrow at him, “are you a spirit sent to me from Valinor to lead me back on the right path? Have I passed the test?” He dared to ask and he could swear, there was a small sparkle lighting up her eyes for a short while. But then, she only laughed.

“Go back to sleep, ye madman,” she patted his chest lightly and turned around while laughing softly.

He kept staring at her for some time more, then he went back to looking at the ceiling. And, eventually, he turned around as well to wrap his arm around the waist of Halbrand's wife.

His wife.

Halbrand was coming back from work slowly while playing with the little horse forged out of iron in his hand as he hummed a song. The sun was setting slowly on the horizon when he approached the harbour where (Y/N) was slowly tidying up her stand on the market.

Her own one, that she had earned finally and was so proud of it as she was working for herself now and was able to bring more money home.

He watched her tidy up with a loving smile and their son was helping her while talking to her excitedly about something – his mouth would never close just like his mother's.

“Daddy!” He spotted him finally and ran up to him as (Y/N) chuckled.

“Hey, little man,” Halbrand crouched down to give his son a hug. “How was your day?”

“It was good!” The boy nodded. “I helped mummy a bit. And yours, daddy?”

“I made this for you,” Halbrand handed him the little horse and the boys' eyes sparkled at the sight.

“So pretty! Thank you, daddy!” He wrapped his little arms around Halbrand's neck to give him another hug and Halbrand patted his back.

“And for me?! For me?!” He felt something tugging at his tunic and he laughed at the sight of his excited daughter. He gave her a hug, too and caressed her ruffled hair as she gave him a toothless smile.

“I have something for you, too, Princess,” Halbrand assured her and took another item out of his pocket – a seashell made out of iron.

He had made sure it was crafted with the best precision and with all the tiny details, therefore it looked nearly like a real seashell. Only it was silver, which made it even better in his little girl's eyes.

“Thank you, daddy!” She giggled as she squinted her eyes at the shell and kept examining it under every possible angle.

“You spoil 'em way too much!” (Y/N) stood above him and he stood up to greet her with a short peck on the cheek.

“Somebody has to,” Halbrand answered playfully and his wife shot him a glance, which made his son giggle.

“Stop sayin' nonsense and let's go back home,” she shook her head and walked away slowly.

He watched his children follow her happily and he did, too, but much slower as he stared at the sun setting on the horizon. The sky looked like a canva full of pink and orange hues and he took a deep breath in at the beauty of it.

It was nearly as peaceful and beautiful as back in the day in Valinor. Mortals perhaps were not welcome there but, apparently, they could also experience wonders as marvellous.

And perhaps this whole life was built on a lie because he couldn't imagine telling (Y/N) the truth about who he truly was and that her real husband had been dead for years. That he had died because of gambling and drinking after leaving her alone when she was being attacked by the Orcs. There was no point in telling her even if she would somehow believe him. It would only bring her useless pain and he knew very well that her actual husband would most likely never do all these things he had done to make her happy. He would not love her right like he could.

“Ye comin', Hal?” His wife's voice brought him back to reality.

Halbrand nodded at her and joined her side to take his daughter by her little hand.

After all, it was not the sunset but her and her brother that were the real wonders. And it was not Númenor that he called home but it was them – they were his better place.

MASTERLIST

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #lilysfiction

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aemondsbabe · 7 months ago

Text

From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

❤️my masterlist

🦋find me on ao3!

🌟add yourself to my taglist!

"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise.

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass.

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept.

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed.

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor.

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her.

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee.

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices.

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband.

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.”

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne.

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them.

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions.

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…”

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear.

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?”

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.”

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.”

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister.

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance.

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.”

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections.

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin.

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet.

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat.

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red.

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do.

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows.

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens.

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum.

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places.

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek.

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet.

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons.

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast.

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement.

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks.

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now.

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife.

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle.

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets.

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity.

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?”

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.”

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.”

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.”

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.”

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling.

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly.

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.”

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight.

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile.

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.”

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue.

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.”

“Pretend?”

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things.

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm.

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip.

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw.

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter.

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds.

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him.

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him.

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought.

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.”

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in.

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further.

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it.

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length.

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his.

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain.

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway.

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you.

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber.

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…”

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end.

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you.

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips.

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery.

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine.

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire.

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening.

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing.

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name.

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors.

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better.

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure.

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.”

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no.

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him.

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices.

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes.

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.”

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod.

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him.

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines.

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted.

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes.

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair.

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue.

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you.

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation.

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him.

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him.

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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phantomskeep · 4 months ago

Text

The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 2

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 2 - A Bird, a Babe, and a Butler All Walk Into a Cave

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three

When Danny had first ventured into the darkened alleyways of this dirty city, he didn’t expect to run into some weirdo in a skin-tight black and blue suit. Fellow dumpster divers? Yeah, sure. He figured that fighting off a family of possums was normal when scrounging around for any scrap of something to fill his stomach.

He didn’t even know where he ended up honestly. Danny got a headache anytime he thought too hard about the details of where he was or how he got there or even who he was. He knew his name was Danny. He knew he was small (he had looked in a mirror, thank you, but it felt wrong somehow, like a funhouse mirror upside down) and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be small. But thinking about stuff like that hurt a lot–kind of like a metal fist bashing into his skull.

Danny wasn’t really sure how he knows what that feels like, yet he was sure that was the best comparison.

What he certainly wasn’t expecting at tonight's garbage dump feast was being kidnapped by a vigilante. Was it really kidnapping though if he kind of went along willingly out of pure curiosity?

Although, man, was he glad (not that he'd ever admit it out loud) that this random vigilante decided to kidnap him tonight. After Nightwing had bundled Danny up onto his motorcycle once their meet-up with Batman was done and peeled out of the inner city of Gotham, the bird-themed hero brought him to a hidden entrance in the hills that led to a literal cave. He had watched when they pulled up as a reinforced steel panel lifted into the rocks above their head, leaving a gaping maw that Nightwing just zoomed into. Lights activated with motion sensors as they sped into a huge room that was full to the brim with gadgets and computers that lit up at their arrival. Danny could only stare in awe of how awesome and improbable it all seemed.

Seriously, how crazy were these Fruit Loops?

The man had started explaining some boring stuff about the cave when they arrived, but the massive freaking T-rex had immediately caught Danny’s eye and he stopped paying attention to Nightwing. It was like a switch was flipped, his cautious suspicion he’d been holding onto was thrown out the window, and now all that he could think about was flying himself up to the giant dinosaur and touching it. Danny was sure if you looked at his face at that moment, there was no other thought behind his eyes beyond must touch right freaking now.

Nightwing must have sensed the gremlin energy pouring off of him because next thing Danny knew, the collar of his jacket was being grabbed before he could move from his spot at the entrance. He pouted up at the man, demanding with his eyes that Nightwing let go so he could play on the dinosaur like he was a kid. But wait, maybe he should say because he’s a kid? He is a kid right, being all small? But he still wasn’t sure if that was correct. He mentally shrugged and thought: Eh, who cares? All Danny could see was shiny scales glinting in the fluorescent lights lining the cave.

And Danny? Danny was but a simple man (boy…maybe a crow?). He sees a shiny thing and must have the shiny thing.

“Danny, don't even think about it,” Nightwing intoned. He gripped Danny's jacket a little tighter and pulled him closer to the man's side. He totally did not pout at being squished into the vigilante. One hundred percent, no siree. No pouting here.

“Think about what? What are you thinking that I'm thinking?” Danny shrugged, acting casual while his eyes flitted back and forth between the vigilante and dinosaur. “There's no thoughts going on up here, I can promise you that.” He knocked on the side of his head to prove his point, but Nightwing looked unimpressed.

“Master Nightwing, I presume you brought this child back to the cave for medical attention?” Danny's nose bunched in confusion as he heard another, older and British, voice enter the chat. He turned his head around, looking for the source and spotted an older guy in a butler outfit paired with a mask, much like Nightwing’s, appear around the corner.

“Agent A! Good timing!” Nightwing jovially responded, yanking Danny around like he weighed nothing (shut up, he was a BIG MAN!) and presented him like a scrungly, dumpster-infested gift to Agent A. Danny crossed his arms and attempted to sit criss-cross while hovering in the air in response. He hoped it showed both men how displeased he was being carried around like a kitten.

Agent A only raised a single eyebrow, humming as he set down the tray he had been holding on a nearby table. Danny felt a little awkward at the look, like the man was able to be disappointed in him for nearly trying to be a brat and was waiting for Danny himself to realize it.

“Hmm, well Master Nightwing, would you be so kind as to introduce the young Mister to me?” Agent A's attention (thankfully) shifted to Nightwing and Danny huffed a near silent breath in relief.

Danny shifted uneasily, eyeing the new person. “How do I know you’re not some sort of government spy trying to steal my spleen?”

Nightwing let out a tired sigh, patting Danny’s greasy hair with his free hand. “This is Danny, he’s in need of some medical attention like you said. Starting with an attitude adjustment, I think.”

The young boy spluttered, smacking away Nightwing’s gloved hands. His feet dropped to the ground as he glared up at the vigilante who had finally decided to let him go. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so what kind of attitude should I have in the first place?”

“You came with me willingly!” Nightwing cried out, throwing his arms over his head in exasperation.

“You bribed me with sandwiches! I see no sandwiches here!” Danny rebutted, tilting his chin up and moving around like he was towering over Nightwing (he decided it was best to ignore his current height).

“Danny, you’ll get your sandwiches after Agent A and I check you over--”

“You’re a dirty liar and I hope you know that I will haunt you in your nightmares.” He squinted his eyes at Nightwing and Danny made a mental promise to himself to follow through with the threat…whether he knew how to do it or not. He would figure it out though if he didn't get the food he was supposed to be shoving in his mouth right about now.

Nightwing just sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say, I'm too tired to argue.” Danny pumped a little fist in the air at his win.

A small cough caught the quarreling black-haired duo’s attention. They both shifted their gazes back to where Agent A was watching them bicker. Danny resolutely ignored how they acted in sync and shifted a few inches away.

“If it may please you, Mister Danny, while Nightwing gets you set up in the medical bay I can make you a few simple sandwiches.” The older man turned a pointed look towards the youngest present. “Are there any allergies or preferences that I should be aware of?” When Danny shook his head negatively, Agent A turned to leave for…wherever he had spawned from before.

“Thank you, A.” The vigilante called to his retreating back before starting to herd Danny over to a well-lit corner of the literal freaking cave with actual bats. He still couldn’t get over it.

Danny glared up at Nightwing, eyebrows scrunched in a face of pure childish pout. “I would like to state that I am doing this under heavy protest.”

“Duly noted.”

The medical bay was stocked full of random bits and bobs of probably important looking equipment. From IV lines to a full x-ray machine, Danny had to take a moment and question just how loaded these guys must be to have this stuff at the ready. None of this looked second-hand or even well-used to his untrained eyes, though he couldn't remember if he really had much of a reference for this stuff. As he was ushered onto a cot, Danny couldn’t help the shiver of fear involuntarily creeping up his spine as he sat down.

Watching Nightwing move around brought a thin feeling of panic racing through his veins. The sterile smell, brightly unadorned walls, and the constant hum of devices plugged into every outlet. There was a mayo cart near the end of the cot he sat on, not much on it but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the larger-than-they-should be tweezers and the forceps peeking out from under the sheet covering it.

“Alright, Danno, we’re just gonna check you over real quick,” Nightwing told him, bustling around the small space comfortably. Danny felt like he couldn't breathe at the nickname for some reason he couldn’t recall. But that wasn't right? Because he was pretty sure he didn't have to breathe, which is wrong because a human should be breathing, right? He raised a shaky hand to his chest and yep, it was definitely not moving. Danny had stopped breathing at some point without realizing and it wasn’t affecting him, which was weird. But he still hadn't stopped watching the gleaming silver taunting him as though the instruments would start moving on their own towards him. So, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own unnaturalness. “Now, I'm not the one with a history of medical care and knowledge. I know more than most. but I’ve only got enough in this old noggin for some basic first aid. Agent A will be the one actually looking you over in a bit.”

Nightwing continued to chatter on, but Danny couldn't bring himself to focus on his words until the man stepped in front of the instruments, blocking them from Danny’s line of sight. He sucked in a sharp breath for the first time in minutes, but Nightwing didn’t act like he heard him as he reached over to remove Danny's jacket.

“Now, real quick I'm just going to do a surface check,” Nightwing rubbed Danny’s hands between his own rapidly. “Jeez kid, you're like an ice cube! We'll get you some warm clothes after we make sure you don't have any injuries. I'm gonna look for any bruises or cuts or anything broken so I can bring it to A's attention. Okay?”

Danny didn't respond. His eyes had started scanning the room and landed on a tiny centrifuge on the counter a few feet away. It looked off, it wasn't spinning at least, but the sight of it caused questions to blur in his mind. Were they going to take his blood? Why would they do that? Lots of reasons he knew, but couldn't name a single one. Why couldn’t he think of them? Would anything happen if they did take his blood? Why was he worried? Was there something that Danny should know, should remember, that he just couldn't? It was important, it had to be important! They were important, they were terrifying, they were his everything, they were his end–!

He felt his mind screech to a sudden halt, narrowing in on the blinking red light of the power button. The centrifuge just taunted him innocently as his mind panicked. Danny felt his chest going up and down, but his lungs still felt empty while his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat. He could hear his own heart beating.

What if he was some kind of monster behind his memories? What if Nightwing and Batman arrested him, handed him over to someone? No, no, no! He couldn't let them! He couldn't go back, not to that place or to them--they hurt him, there was no way he'd go back! Danny refused to be sent back to the—!

Suddenly his thoughts stopped. Danny felt light-headed, all of his questions still swimming in his mind, but not as loud. He felt…calmer, but not at the same time? Who was he thinking of? What was he about to remember?

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there? It's not normal for you to be so quiet.” A voice spoke next to him, low and anxious but Danny's mind didn't really register it was Nightwing. He just sat there, his limbs heavy and eyelids sinking in exhaustion. He's not sure why he's suddenly so tired, but he felt his mind drift to the thought of flying through the skies with a blue shape holding onto him tightly–laughter chasing them in the wind.

********************************

To say Dick was panicking would be an understatement…He was absolutely losing his shit. One minute, Danny was perfectly fine (if a little bit nervous) but the next he was dissociating and hyperventilating! But without the very important part where he breathes! His little chest was moving up and down rapidly, but there didn't seem to be any air coming in or out of the boy.

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there?” Dick smiled, hoping it was a bit comforting. “It's not like you to be so quiet.” He spoke in hushed tones, but hoped that his goading brought the boy back to his former spunk for even a moment and snap him out of his altered mental state. When he got no response out of it though, which worried Dick even more.

When Danny’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he passed out, just as Dick was reaching out for him? He felt his heart stop. But when Dick barely managed to catch the small boy before he fell off the cot? That was the final straw. He quickly cradled Danny in his arms and faced the main portion of the cave.

“Agent A! I need your help, come quick!”

A hurrying of footsteps alerted him to Alfred arriving, but after calling out for assistance, Dick's eyes never left Danny’s face. There was a clatter as Alfred hastily dropped the sandwich tray he had been carrying onto the counter, the older man stopping next to Dick with a distraught expression. “What has happened here?”

“I don’t know, one second he seemed fine and then he just stopped talking!” Dick reached a hand up to gently cradle Danny’s small face, turning his head up to look at his pseudo-grandfather. “I tried asking him a question and he just passed out all of a sudden.”

With a quick nod, Alfred took Danny from his arms and laid him down on his side. Dick couldn’t help but notice just how small the boy looked laying on the adult sized cot. His breathing was short and shallow–nothing like how it was supposed to be when someone was sleeping restfully.

“Get the oximeter set up on him, lad. We’ll need to take his temperature and get a baseline.” With a determined nod, the young man set off to do just that. As he clipped the small, child-sized plastic equipment Bruce kept in the med bay for whatever reason, Dick couldn’t help but run through what had happened prior to him absconding with Danny to the top of Wayne Tower. Did he notice anything wrong with the kid besides the obvious? Did Danny act like he was protecting a wound of any kind while they spoke? He had no idea, but he sure was some detective for not noticing. Dick scoffed at his own thoughts and rushed back to Alfred.

“Was there anything that might have happened to cause any kind of head injury to the young lad?” Alfred questioned as he slipped a thermometer under the unconscious boy’s tongue. He held it there, never looking away from his patient as he questioned Dick. “Any symptoms of a fever or cough that may indicate he is sick or suffering from an underlying issue?”

Dick shook his head, impatiently waiting for the oximeter to give him something. When it continued to show nothing, he felt his heart sink. “Not anything I was there for. The kid was dumpster diving when I found him…looking for food.” He closed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier that night. “He kept swaying around when I got close to him though, like he was exhausted or something but trying not to show it.”

Alfred hummed, pulling the thermometer from Danny’s mouth as it beeped a cheery tune. “His temperature is not where it should be, but not out of the question with the weather and how thinly he is dressed.” The butler gave a sharp nod, depositing the used thermometer off to the side and moving towards the blood draw station. “We’ll need to perform a blood panel on Mister Danny, it’s a very high possibility that his blood sugar is low, as well.”

Dick felt his shoulders deflate, glancing helplessly between the kid he knew he was getting attached way too fast to and his grandfather. “And what if his blood sugar isn't the problem we're having here? What if something else is going on?”

Alfred's eyes softened a little around the edges, his steps a little less hurried, though still confident nonetheless. “Then that is simply one diagnosis we will be able to remove from the realm of possibility. Now, please help me get Mister Danny cleaned up a bit. I daresay, we cannot have the child catching an infection from the street grime finding its way into an injection site.”

“Got it–okay.” Dick pushed his shaking hands to still as he hurried over to one of the cabinets alongside the walls. He opened the drawer housing the many rags they use in these types of situations, a box of alcohol wipes, and a small bucket he filled with water at the sink to take over to Danny’s bedside. Setting them all on the nearby mayo cart, he started gently scrubbing away the thick layer of filth coating the young boy’s arm until the skin turned near pink. Doing his best to not think about just what was happening, the vigilante cleaned up the young boy with Bat-trained efficiency.

“He’s ready,” Dick announced as he swiped an alcohol wipe repeatedly over the now-cleaned flesh. Alfred hummed as the older man wrapped a latex band around Danny’s upper arm, watching as the young boy’s veins slowly thickened with blood swelling. With a gentle precision, Alfred prodded around before reaching a hand out to press lightly above the tourniquet. Instinctively, Dick passed over a needle and syringe to him, keeping the empty tiger tubes in his palm until Alfred asked for them.

Just as the cool metal of the needle began to poke into Danny’s veins, the boy’s fist snapped out, almost knocking the empty tubes out of Dick’s hands. They were shocked enough by the response–both men startled more than they expected–that Dick found himself taking a half step back and Alfred was pulling the needle away from Danny's arm to ensure he didn't poke the boy in the wrong spot by accident.

“Danny?” Dick called out, his surprise hurriedly making way for relief. “Oh my, Danny! You scared me–” Snarling greeted his approach and instantly stopped Dick in his tracks. His arms were held up in an aborted hug as he watched Danny inch upwards and lean forward so his weight was supported by his wrists. It couldn't have been comfortable, but Dick wasn't sure if Danny even realized as his eyes remained tightly shut–lines appearing around them that made him seem so much older than his young age was.

Danny’s noises intensified when Alfred began to move again, the needle still held tightly within his right hand. Although they didn't open during all of this, Danny's eyes were trained on the gleaming silver as though it personally offended him. Dick’s gaze flitted between the two others for a moment before he had an idea.

Lowering himself a little so he wasn't too tall in this moment, settling into a crouched position that put him eye level with Danny, Dick took a deep breath. “Alfie, I need you to take a step back for me.”

The old butler raised a brow and did not move, keeping his eyes on Danny with continuous aborted attempts to reach the child. “Master Dick, I do not know what you are planning–”

“Sorry Alf, I just need you to trust me,” he held a hand out, interrupting the butler and accepting his consequences for later. “I've got an idea, but I need you to step back a little first.”

Alfred tsked in disapproval, but did as Dick asked and the young man watched as a little bit of tension left Danny's face. “Okay okay, now I need you to slowly lower the hand that’s holding the needle.”

“Now, really Master Dick.�� Alfred didn't complain, but he made his displeasure known. “This young man is now my patient, so I must treat him. Would you please allow me?”

Dick resisted the urge to sigh. He felt like right now was not the best time to be arguing, it could only lead to Danny running from them, from him. Dick didn't know how he knew that probability, but he felt it in his very bones. Every second they wasted, he knew that it would lead to Danny running as fast as his small legs would take him.

“Alfred, please, I'm asking you to trust me right now,” he begged. Waving a hand at Danny’s current state as though to prove his point. “There's something happening, and I think that we need to follow Danny's lead here. If I know grunts and growls from B, then this is an angry or scared one. We have to step back, ok?”

Alfred glanced away from Danny long enough to stare into Dick's eyes and sigh under his breath (Dick didn't actually hear the noise, but he knew it happened). But without argument, he moved his arm down slowly, never letting go of the needle–but rather just removing it from Danny's direct line of sight. The snarls didn't completely disappear, but they lowered enough in volume that he could almost say the kid sounded like an old fridge humming to life for the first time in years.

Turning to the (obviously freaked out) child in front of him, Dick put on his best showman's smile for him. “Danno, it's okay, no one will hurt you.” There was no response, not that Dick thought there would be. “No one will ever touch you again without your okay on it, is that alright?”

A blank stare was the only reply Dick received, making his worry increase. He did his best to not show it, his smile steady and sure as he kept gently talking to the scared boy in front of him. “What’s got you all worked up? Must not like needles, huh, bud?” With the utmost caution, Dick slowly reached out a hand. When Danny’s snarling continued as before without raising in volume, the vigilante kept creeping closer and closer. “Needles are pretty scary. I used to hate getting shots, y’know? Batman would have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to do it.” Dick dropped his voice to a stage whisper as he gently touched Danny’s shaking arm. “He still has to bribe me, even if I’m not scared anymore. It gets me free ice cream, how could I say no to that?”

Alfred chuckled despite himself at Dick's words, no doubt remembering all the times he had to quell Dick's tantrums when he had to get all of his vaccinations after moving in. “It is true, Mister Danny. Master Nightwing was quite the rambunctious child and the main aggressor in Batman's multitude of gray hairs coming in early.”

Dick frowned at Alfred. He wasn't that bad growing up! But before he could protest his angelic childhood nature, he heard a quiet snort. Whipping his head back around from where he was about to defend himself to Alfred, Dick watched as the lines on Danny's face receded a bit and there was a tiny quirk to his lips.

Deciding sometimes it's better to join them than try and beat them, Dick moved forward. “Oh yeah, for sure, I was a total monster! There was this one time where Batman told me I couldn't go on patrol with him after I kept playing with Poison Ivy's plants,” Dick started in a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. Danny leaned forward, his eyes still closed but not as tightly and he thought he could almost make out a sliver of color from them. “Well, I couldn't stand for that, of course! I was all of eight-years-old and totally knew better than Batman himself, so I went out anyway but in the opposite direction of his patrol. I figured if he didn't see me, he wouldn't know.” Dick shrugged casually, leaning back a bit with a faux-cocky smirk.

“How, pray tell, did that end up working out for you, Master Nightwing?” Alfred was smirking. That was never a good sign for any of them.

Dick looked away from the old butler, keeping Danny in his peripheral as he muttered. “I slipped on some ice that Mr Freeze had left on the ground and slid into the middle of traffic. Batman got a call from Gordon about ‘an extra traffic light the city didn't authorize’ and told him to come get me.” Dick pouted remembering how Bab's’ Dad kept chuckling at him the whole time Bruce gave him a silent lecture on the police station roof. “I was grounded from everything, not just patrol, for a month. A whole month!”

A small huff of laughter caught Dick’s attention, and he could see Danny’s shoulders lower from their tense position. Dick gave a quick glance over him, checking for anything wrong, and just seeing that the little boy was much more relaxed. Within seconds his little head was lolling around like it weighed more than he could handle. Dick jumped up and grabbed hold of Danny's shoulders before he could slump over and fall off the cot. With the same amount of caution one would use to approach a rabid dog, Dick slowly laid the once again unconscious child back down. He stayed still for a few tense moments, waiting for Danny to react negatively at the change in position. When there was no aggressive movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning his head to face Alfred, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we don’t draw the kid’s blood just yet.”

“Master Nightwing, we need to find out what’s wrong with the young lad.” The old butler set the needle down on a nearby table, locking covered eyes with Dick’s own. “It could be something that needs immediate treatment.”

“Is there any way we could get that information without drawing a panicked child’s blood?” Dick hissed.

Eyes narrowing in displeasure, Alfred spoke with a sharp tone. “Master Nightwing, it would do you well to remember the manners Batman and I taught you.”

Dick sheepishly looked at the ground, mumbling out an apology. “But, A, c’mon. He clearly doesn’t like needles for some reason. Why don’t we just wake him up, or do some tests that don’t involve drawing his blood?”

Alfred twisted his lips in a way only the man himself could, eyes trained on Dick who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for an answer. When Bruce wasn't here, Alfred was in charge. (Aw, who was he kidding? Alfred was always in charge, but when Bruce isn't here the arguments are a lot easier).

“As you wish, I will view Mister Danny's current status without the transfer of biological tissue of any kind,” Alfred agreed easily, moving past Dick to properly dispose of the needle he had opened. “But I tell you this now sir, if there is an underlying health issue then I won't be able to do anything if his condition worsens in this situation. So I suggest coming up with an idea for when the young sir awakens.”

Dick nodded while feeling like groaning in misery. He barely knew the kid–how was he supposed to act as a health surrogate for this tiny child right now? The vigilante put his hands on his hips as he watched Alfred work, removing Danny's dirty outer clothing. Alfred’s facade broke for a second as he made a face at the two filthy, thin jackets covering the boy’s still covered arm and the ripped flannel around his waist. The old butler methodically cleaned every part of Danny's arms and face that were covered in dirt, and Dick watched in awe as the most adorable freckles appeared on his round baby cheeks. He needed to squish them and coo at the little boy right that second, having to use every ounce of Bat-trained restraint to not coddle the tiny human.

“Nightwing,” Dick took in a sharp breath, instinctually standing up straight. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to be back to the Cave so soon, normally the man would stay out as late as possible on patrol. “Report, now.” Bruce's voice garnered no argument, a tone demanding answers. Dick knew that he probably had some kind of traumatic response reasoning or whatever for needing to know literally everything for a sense of control. But Dick had a traumatic response to fight at every turn when being spoken down to.

“Not now B, if you can’t tell there’s something going right now we’re a bit busy with,” Dick grit his teeth as he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the laceration on the back of Danny’s left arm that Alfred had just uncovered. What could have made that? A kitchen knife perhaps? Dick wanted to get a closer look, but he knew he’d just be in Alfred’s way right now. “So if you could kindly fuck off until later, that would be great.”

“Language, young sir,” Alfred admonished him absently.

Dick felt his cheeks heat up, but didn’t move from his position in the doorway where he was watching everything that happened. He didn’t want Bruce coming close to Danny. “Sorry A, my bad.”

“Nightwing,” Bruce–no, Batman–intoned. Dick wanted to ignore the man. God, did he want to just flat out pretend he wasn’t there and focus on this tiny bundle of cuteness that filled him with a strong urge to protect said bundle from any and all harm.

But Batman was someone that couldn’t be easily ignored.

“What part of ‘not now’ do you not understand?” The younger vigilante quipped, trying to play the part of happy-go-lucky-Dick-Grayson everyone always seemed to expect from him. It was exhausting most of the time these days, but somehow easier to just fall into his assigned role than live with the anger brewing in his chest bit by bit.

“I don't have time for your remarks, Nightwing,” Batman scolded. At this point in his life, Dick can tell Bruce's frowns apart as well as he could the grunts. This was an ‘you are lucky you're my kid, otherwise I'd sock you in the jaw’ kind of frown. He didn't earn those too often, surprisingly. “You let an underaged civilian into the Cave without consulting me first. Explain your actions, now.”

Dick’s lips curled, snarling at Batman. “What I did was bring a scared, hurt little boy to a place that I knew would give him half-decent medical attention. It’s better than dropping him off at, I don’t know, Ma Gunn’s?” With an ugly type of satisfaction, he watched as the blow hit its mark. He could read Batman’s body language well enough by now to see the half-hidden wince, the slightest uptick of his shoulders. Hopefully it was enough to make Batman be Bruce for half a minute so they could have an actual conversation, rather than a screaming match.

“You're out of line, Nightwing,” Batman frowned, the creases in his mask deepening as he stalked towards Dick. A dark feeling wormed its way through Dick's chest. It was an awful thing that made him feel like a shit son for being cruel to the man who raised him, but also felt glad he could inflict just a little suffering back at Bruce for his emotionally constipated actions over the years. Dick felt sick at the words that just came out of him. “I suggest you stop now, and let me move past you.”

Dick jutted out his chin, shifting on his feet to broaden his stance and better block off the entry to the medical bay. “Absolutely not.”

The two stared each other down for a moment. Dick didn't move from his post, crossing his arms defiantly as Bruce tried to stand up to his annoyingly taller height in an act of intimidation. Too bad for him, it stopped working after the last time he betrayed Dick's trust, right before he abandoned the mantle of Robin that he had built.

“Nightwing, that was not a request but an order. Move now.” Bruce made to shoulder his way around Dick, but the younger’s lithe form moved to block him.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you take a kid–who just fainted–out of this cave! He needs medical attention and Alfred’s the best of the best.” Dick argued defiantly. Maybe a little childishly too, if he had to admit it. Dick knew that Danny would do well to be treated properly in a hospital, but after what he witnessed in that room with hardly the basics in medical care? He wasn't letting that kid anywhere near a hospital without his consent right now.

“Alfred, while skilled, is not comparable to a trained doctor who can treat this child and get them the help he needs.” Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder and he roughly shoved it off, feeling the skin burn despite layers of kevlar and spandex separating them. “You are acting irrationally right now–”

“I don’t care, Bruce!” Dick shouted, shaking with a barely-contained rage. He felt his chest burning with it, unable to hold the words in and since there were no younger siblings or small children around (and awake), so he didn't stop them. “I don’t care that Alfred’s not a trained doctor. I don’t care that you’re so against this! What I care about is the fact that this little kid trusted me enough to bring him here, to get him help, when he very clearly does not trust anybody!” Dick moved, getting up in Bruce’s face as he went on his tangent. He was so fired up, he couldn't even notice Bruce's dominos widening in shock. “You should know better than anyone what it’s like to have a kid dropped right in front of you and know that you need to help! Hell, how many orphans have come through here, again?”

Dick huffed loudly, his breaths causing a slight mist in the damp cave as he watched Bruce process his words for a moment. The man barely moved the whole time Dick was ranting and he was honestly shocked he got out what he did without Bruce shutting him up. Or Alfred complaining about how they were disturbing his patient.

“Exactly, Dick,” Bruce agreed. But his voice was low and dangerous, the tone he saved for when he was incredibly angry. Dick only ever heard it when the man was facing Joker or The Riddler after their antics affected large groups of people and led to deaths. “I have seen multiple orphans walk through this manor and through this cave. I have watched as you were consumed by rage and tried to avenge your family with your small hands, still growing as you filled these halls with so much sorrow it couldn't fit in a tiny body.” Bruce's fists clenched at his sides. “I watched as you followed in my footsteps, becoming Robin and channeling your anger before just leaving everything behind. I couldn't stop you.”

Bruce jutted his chin out, the vein in his neck popping as he remembered Dick's younger years. “I watched as…as Jason, so filled with hatred and rage entered the manor. He hid his food and tried to protect himself even when no one was coming after him, and then he took over Robin. He was the happiest I had seen him in those days,” Bruce's voice quieted some, but the steel in his tone grew sharper. “Then I watched as he died. He died because he was Robin, because I took him in.”

Bruce pointed at Dick suddenly, and the accusatory finger felt so strong he took a step back in surprise. “Tim was not one I expected, and I tried to push him away for his own good. He'd have been better off not being Robin for his own sake. Even a life lived like his could have become better than the one he has now, risking his life on the streets when he could be at home developing film or skateboarding with friends. A normal life, without the mission,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dick, I know what it's like to see an orphan child and want to help them, of course I do. But sometimes, even with good intentions, there are people who want to help but in hindsight probably shouldn't. They could end up making the child's life even worse, completely without trying.”

The guilt that Dick had been feeling washed out in a seething tsunami of fury. All throughout Bruce’s speech, the acrobat felt regretful over what he said to Bruce. Maybe the man actually understood how fucked up his relationships with his kids were? He was mentally debating how to apologize to him for what was said and move forward, maybe turn this into an actual conversation for once. Yet, Bruce's words at the end gave him pause. He made some points Dick could find himself agreeing to in other circumstances, but to say that he shouldn’t be around Danny? Because he would make the kid’s life worse? That's just catastrophizing and projecting his own guilt onto Dick!

“I want you to think about how old you were when you took me in, Bruce.” Dick said, slowly and clearly as he stalked closer to his father-figure. “You were only twenty-two. Fresh out of traveling the world, leaving behind all your responsibilities to start out on your own quest to avenge your parents. To lead a one-man crusade against all the bad things this screwed up city has to offer.” The younger man glared up at Bruce, hoping that he was communicating just how royally pissed off he was. “I’m two years older than you were. I have a full-time job as well as having a normal life outside of the suit. I have decent relationships with my co-workers and I have not only successfully led teams, but I have been fighting towards The Mission for most of my life. I have friends inside and out of being a vigilante who would be more than happy to help me if I asked them to. And, unlike someone I know, I would actually ask.”

Dick shook his head bitterly. He felt the insane urge to laugh right now, but none of this was funny. He knew that.

“I know I can take Danny under my wing and raise him well. I have a great example of what not to do, after all. But, what happened to the one kid you ever bothered to actually adopt, Bruce? Where is he now? Would you say that being under your care made his life even worse?” They both knew he was talking about himself, but Dick wanted Bruce to say the words he was always afraid to admit out loud about their relationship.

Dick felt a sick sort of satisfaction still though at seeing Bruce's shoulders shake minutely. There was not a lot that could rattle the man, but bringing up the mistakes he made raising his kids would always do it--you just had to know what signs to look for. If Jason had been here for this, or even Tim, they probably would have tried to stop their fight before it got to this point. His brothers never enjoyed being around him and Bruce at times like these, but it still made him feel awful in a way to speak to Bruce like this. But he was so upset at the situation he couldn't bring himself to care.

He barely managed to dodge the swing Bruce tossed his way, ducking down to his haunches as the man pushed his weight forwards. Sliding around his legs, Dick hooked himself around Bruce's ankle to bring the bigger vigilante down, but Bruce only stumbled a bit. Dick tumbled a few feet away and popped back up, lowering himself into a half-crouched stance in case Bruce came towards him again. But he didn't, Bruce just stood in the entry of the doorway, huffing like an angry bull as he whipped his cowl off and turned burning blue eyes onto Dick.

He peeked around the man's wide shoulders at Alfred, who stood in the background like a sentinel over Danny's quiet form resting on the bed. Somehow the kid was still asleep through all of the noise. If he weren't facing Bruce, Dick would laugh at the sight of the kid’s slack jaw and an ever growing puddle of drool under his chin.

“You have no right to talk about situations you don't understand, Dick,” Bruce ground out, his voice gravelly with the emotions he never let out. “The choices I made were–”

“Really shitty?” Dick quipped as he rose from his crouch. “Because, yes. They were, I agree.”

“They were the best choices I could make at the time,” Bruce corrected, lines deepening on his face and aging the man even more. “I was young and I had a child dropped into my lap–”

“More like yoinked from the cops, but go on.” Dick shrugged at the man, body language loose but his nerves were shot now that he was further from Danny. “Keep digging that hole B, maybe soon it'll be big enough to fit you.”

“Nightwing, stop this now–” Bruce started to lecture. But the step backwards he made caused Dick to snap. He was too close to Danny and Dick was too far. He had to protect!

“No! This isn't Batman and Nightwing time B,” Dick began marching forward, fists trembling in front of him with each step. “This is Dick and Bruce, man and ward time. You and I are talking, it is not you giving me orders!”

Stopping in front of his father-figure, Dick looked him dead in the eyes. Blue met blue. Frown met frown. He stood up to Batman who was keeping him from the child his heart had already claimed.

“So how about we talk, old man?”

162 notes · View notes

soursturniolo · 9 months ago

Text

Hurtful Words • Nick Sturniolo

Synopsis: Nick and his boyfriend get into a fight the night before leaving for Boston. After some of the harsh words from Nick, his boyfriend is left hurt and uncertain of his place in his boyfriends life.

Pairing: Nick x male reader/character (no y/n but also no other name used, he/him pronouns)

Tags: angst, hurt, a bit of sunshine!reader x grumpy!nick, nick has a panic attack, comfort (happy ending because I guess I'm not 100% evil yet)

Nick had been extremely stressed all day. Nothing was going right, first he woke up late and missed his meeting. Then, he went to edit a video they had prefilmed to post while him, his brothers, and his boyfriend would be in Boston, just to discover the SD card was corrupted and nothing could be salvaged from it. Next, he developed a horrible headache as he was rushing to finish up packing for the flight tomorrow morning. Now, he was getting ready to film a replacement video with his brothers right as his cheerful boyfriend strode into his bedroom. Fuck , Nick thought to himself. He had forgotten his boyfriend was coming this early.

“Hey!” his boyfriend smiled as he made his way over to him, arms open for the usual hug they’d share. Most always, his boyfriends sunny disposition made him smile, but today it just made him irrationally angry.

“Hi,” Nick responds flatly, not meeting his partners eyes as he dodged the hug and affection being offered. If Nick had been looking up he would have seen the look of confusion and concern flash across the other man’s face as his arms lowered to the side upon seeing that Nick clearly didn’t want a hug.

The other man frowns as he takes in Nick’s disheveled appearance, hair sticking up from most likely stressful tugging, a clenched jaw and tense shoulders. Knowing Nick for almost a year now, he knows his boyfriend isn’t one to immediately talk out his feelings, so he doesn’t ask but quickly concludes it must have been quite a rough day for the brunette. Usually in these situations, they’ll cuddle and relax and watch some stupid TV show, so that’s what the man suggests. To which, Nick scoffs.

“I don’t have time to just lay around with you, I need to go do my job, I have so much shit I need to do before tomorrow,” Nick gripes, moving around to grab the camera and SD cards off his desk, stuffing them into a bag to take to the car where he’s sure his brothers are already waiting for him. In packing he’d lost track of time, looking at his phone to see its already 17 minutes past the time they said they’d meet in the garage.

His boyfriend nods in understanding, seeing the obvious stress practically pouring out of every pore of his boyfriend. He reaches out a hand, gently touching Nick’s arm, trying his best to sooth him.

“is there anything I can do to help?” he asks softly.

“Jesus Christ!” Nick exclaims, feeling overwhelmed by everything all at once, like his skin is on fire and every little thing makes his head pound even harder, yaking his arm away from the other man’s touch “yknow what actually, there is. Just leave me the fuck alone for two seconds!”

The man frowns slightly, taking a step back at Nick’s sudden outburst, wrapping his own arms around him, head cooking to the side minutely.

“we’ve been apart all day? I’m just trying to help, I’m sorry sweetheart,” he says softly, trying to give him a soft smile, which just makes Nick scoff and roll his eyes again. A deep frown paints his boyfriends face at the reaction, the man tightening his arms around himself, shoulders hunching in slightly.

“And you come in here all fucking smiles and hugs. you’re just happy all the fucking time. Just this fucking ray of sunshine. Some of us fucking aren’t. Maybe this just wasn’t a good idea.” Nick spits out, his words venom. Part of his brain is yelling at him to shut up seeing the hurt look spreading over his boyfriends face, but the angry voice overshadows that one, just wanting everyone to feel has horrible as he feels.

“What? What isn’t a good idea?” the man asks him, voice small, fearing the answer. Did Nick mean him coming to Boston along with his brothers to finally meet his parents? While he had been nervous about meeting his boyfriends parents at first, in the past few days he had become quite excited. Thinking of meeting his family, his family dog too. He had bought gifts for them all, even a chew toy for Trevor. Even today, the young man had found himself daydreaming at work, thinking of how well it all might go, imagining them all sitting around a table looking at photo albums and smiling as he learns more about the past of the man he so desperately wants a future with.

Nicks quick response has those hopes shattering, along with his heart.

“This. Us. I don’t know. I just need to fucking breathe. I’m leaving to film with Chris and Matt. Bye.” Nick half yells, voice strained as he stalks his way to the door, yanking it open and slamming it shut as he leaves, leaving a tearful man standing in the middle of the room wondering where it all went so wrong.

Nick was distracted the whole entire time they were filming, overcome with guilt and regret. He had been so harsh to his boyfriend, his number one supporter, next to his family of course. Flashes of the other man’s hurt face flicker in his mind, the timid and soft nature he had taken on as Nick raged at him, a shadow of the mans usually bright and bubbly demeanor. Even when he was short with him at first, instead of just leaving, his sweet boyfriend had still apologized and compassionately offered help. And what did Nick do to show his appreciation? Told him callously that maybe them dating had been a bad idea.

That wasn’t true in the slightest. They’d been together 7 months at this point, and it had been some of the happiest months of Nick’s life. He’d experienced a happiness that he never thought he’d get even remotely close to again, and this was how he repaid the man? Throwing his cheerful and sweet nature in his face as if it was something to be ashamed of? It made him sick to his stomach to recall how he’d behaved.

Noticing their brothers distraction, Matt and Chris suggested cutting the video short, under the guise of wanting to get on good nights sleep before their early flight home. The drive home was quick and quiet as Nick thought of all the ways he’d apologize to his sweet boyfriend who had a heart almost too good to be true.

The brothers quickly said goodnight and parted ways, Nick taking the stairs two at a time to get to his room so he could ask for the man’s forgiveness. Upon opening the door, he’s met with disappointment. He had left. Nick knew he shouldn’t be surprised though. As he pulls out his phone to call the man he knew he had hurt, a bag on his bed catches his eye, along with a note. He peaks in the bag, confused upon seeing four boxes wrapped in a plain purple wrapping paper, as he picks up the letter, recognizing the handwriting and feeling his heart clench painfully in his chest as he begins to read.

Nick,

I’m sorry, I never meant to upset you. I know I can be a lot, and I understand if it’s gotten too much to deal with. I was really looking forward to seeing Boston and meeting your family. But it’d be silly for me to tag along now, at this point. I had gotten some things for your parents, Justin, and Trevor. I was hoping you’d maybe give them to them for me?

Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back for my plane ticket if it’s too late to cancel it.

Thank you for the last 7 months, they meant the world to me. You did, too.

Nick feels tears gather in his eyes, beginning to stream down his face as he sits the letter down and quickly scrolls to his contact on his phone.

"please, pick up, pick up, pick up" he mutters, sniffling as he waits and hopes he'll answer. A shred of hope blooms upon hearing his call answered answer, the soft noise of a car engine in the back. Good, maybe his boyfriend hadn't made it home yet.

"baby?" Nick sniffles slightly, voice cracking. He hears the man on the other end of the line sniffle too, and he feels his heart crack a little more. he'd made his sweetheart cry.

"what do you need, nick?" the other man asks softly and tearfully.

"I need you. please turn around, I know you’re still in the car. I'm so sorry," Nick pleads.

"it's okay Nick," he sniffles, "just give those gifts to them, please?" he asks.

"no, I'm not," Nick cries, tears streaming down his face, one hand clutching his hair as the other clutches his phone against his ear, sagging against the wall and sliding down it into a heap on the floor, his chest feeling tighter and tighter.

"okay, I'll get them back from you when you guys get back home," he offers, which just makes Nick cry harder. He really fucked up this time.

"no, no you're supposed to give them to them, I want you to, I want you to turn around and come back here so I can tell you how fucking sorry I am and kiss you and watch a stupid movie with you and then we get up and we go to Boston tomorrow morning and you get to meet my family and see where I'm from and everything and they'll love you and your little gifts and your smile that can light up a room and they'll love you because I love you," he pleads over the phone, desolving into sobs on the phone.

the other man on the line tears up again at the sweet words and obvious remorse, and he wants to respond to them but Nick is spiraling in regret and sadness and he can hear that it's getting harder for him to breathe through his cries.

he turns the car around, beginning to take a shortcut back to the triplets house.

"Nick, I need you to breathe," the man says softly, hearing the loud cries through the speakers of his car.

"No, I'm not Nick, you never call me nick when we're alone, its always Nicky or sweetheart or babe," the brunette sobs, still feeling like his relationship is slipping through his fingers, and it's his own fault.

The man grips his steering wheel a little tighter, driving a little faster.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I just need you to breathe for me, in your nose and out your mouth real slow for me okay? you know that box breathing technique I showed matt a few months ago?" he softly asks Nick.

"Yeah," Nick sniffles, breathing still shaking and disordered.

"Good baby, I'm going to count and I want you to breathe with me okay? I'm almost there but I need you to breathe for me until I get there, okay?" He asks softly.

As he continues to drive, he counts off and listens as Nick breathes with him, slight sniffles still present as he tries to focus on getting his breathing regulated with the knowledge that his boyfriend is coming back.

Nick doesn't even register the sound of his boyfriends car turning off or the sound of him using his house key to get in. his head jerks up to look up from his spot on the floor to see his boyfriend standing in his doorway. He quickly moves from his position on the floor, getting up and launching himself into his boyfriends arms.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean a fucking word I said," he sobs, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend tightly and burrowing his head into his neck, his tears wetting the skin. His boyfriend holds him just as snuggly in his arms, rubbing a soothing hand over his back as the other hand cups the back of his head softly.

"I know, its alright," the man sooths, but the words have an opposite affect on Nick, as the brunette pulls back quickly as he shakes his head.

"It's not alright! I was mean because I had a bad day and my head fucking hurts, and I hurt you. You didn't deserve that. I love you, and I love your personality and how loving and happy you are. It isnt something I or anyone should throw in your face. I should have talked to you, I should have thanked you for wanting to help me. I'm so sorry, ill be better, I'll get better at talking to you and communicating and not just blowing up at you for no reason," Nick sniffles, roughly wiping away his own tears.

"Okay, I forgive you," the other man offers softly, as he gently pulls Nick's hands away from the rough rubbing of his face.

"No! You shouldn't just forgive me, why are you being so nice right now?" Nick objects, confused by his boyfriends behavior as more tears make their way down his face.

The other man smiles softly and sadly, guiding his boyfriend over to the bed and sitting, pulling Nick down to sit right next to him. He gently guides Nicks head to rest on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around the man in a comforting embrace that Nick easily allows himself to be pulled into, the closeness easing the pain and regret in his heart.

"Let me ask you a couple things, okay? Maybe that'll help you understand why I'm forgiving you?" he offers, carding his fingers though Nick's hair softly, as he feels Nick nod and whisper is consent into his shoulder.

"Do you genuinely regret how you treated me?" A quick and firm nod from Nick.

"Do you see how hurtful your misplaced irritation can be?" Another firm nod and squeeze from Nick's arms around him is felt.

"Do you genuinely plan on working on communicating with me and being better in the future so this doesn't happen again?" Another nod and squeeze.

"Do you still love me and want to be with me, and want me to come to Boston with you?" This receives the fastest nod and squeeze of all the questions, making the man smile and turn to press a soft kiss to Nick's head.

"See. You acknowledged and took ownership of what you did wrong, you plan to work on being better, and I know you're genuinely sorry and regret hurting me the way you did. I trust you, so I trust what you say and the fact that this will not happen again. We will deal better the next time," he explains softly to the man in his arms.

"Okay. I promise I'll do better, I love you," Nick hoarsely whispers against his shoulder, cuddling more into the other man's side.

"I know, I love you too," Nick smiles wobbly as he hears those words and feels another kiss pressed against his head. He leans up, softly pressing his lips against the man's jaw, then his cheek, then thr corner of his mouth, smiling when we feels the skin move under his lips into a matching smile. Then, Nick presses their lips together in a soft and gentle kiss, trying to convey all the love and warmth he feels for the man in his embrace. His own ray of sunshine.

author's note: hey! i hope yall enjoyed! if you have any nick requests feel free to send em my way! im slowly but surely getting back into writing and i really want to write more for nick :)

no tag list on this post because I'm getting ready to redo my old tag list since most either aren't active anymore or have new usernames

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfiction #nick sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x male reader #nick sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo angst

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 7 months ago

Text

You're at Hellfire Club with the worst period pains, the pains have been growing steadily worse all day. Eddie notices and does what he can to help you feel better.

Purely self indulgent because I've had bad pains for the last few days and this was highly therapeutic to write 💞💞

Warnings; none, just fluffy, sweet Eddie 🥺 💞

My requests are open 💞

💌🖤

You looked forward to Hellfire every week. Not okay because it was run by your boyfriend Eddie and it was the first Hellfire since all the shit from Spring Break.

In that time you and Eddie had grown really close and began dating, bonded together by being Upside Down survivors (for Eddie it was a close call) and already friends due to your involvement in Hellfire Club.

Now that Hellfire Club was back in session, Steve had generously offered to play host and Eddie excitedly spent a full week planning the campaign.

"I can't wait to show you what I have planned sweetheart" It's nice to see him so hyped up and you were looking forward to the campaign as much as he was.

Unfortunately, the morning of the campaign you woke up with a major headache, the kind of headache that hurt your eyes, bright lights were the devil and made your head pound even more. You groan at the pain in your stomach and ache that grows steadily worse and makes it impossible to go back to sleep.

Shit, you should have realised that your period was due today, for the last few days you had felt nauseated and that slow build-up of pain in your stomach signalled they were coming.

Despite feeling like shit you power through the day, go to work at Family Video, Eddie joins you on your break which coincides with his break at the auto repair shop he has started working in.

He's a godsend because if you had to listen to one more bratty kid or know it all cinephile you're sure your head might explode.

"You okay princess? You're quieter than usual" Eddie asks and you nod, cuddle into his arms and let the smell of cigarettes and cologne - Eddie's scent, calm you down. He soothingly rubs his hand up and down your back, and presses light kisses into your hair.

"Mmm, just tired. Looking forward to tonight though" the concerned look on Eddie's face turns into unbridled excitement as he teases and hints about the new campaign.

If Eddie knew how bad you were feeling then he might actually cancel tonight and you weren't having that. Hellfire had been anticipating this and Eddie was in his element, so you would just grin and bear it.

💌

Everything was set up and ready to go at Steve's, you were feeling worse than you were earlier. The headache from this morning was back with a vengeance and the cramps were in full swing, you ignore them as best as you can as Eddie begins the D&D session.

Just watching him in his element as DM is incredible, he's so talented at storytelling and has all the participants on the edge of their seats. Even Steve who had no interest in the game was hung on Eddie's every word.

This session was a long one and the cheers and shouts around you were making your headache even worse, it was hard to concentrate on the campaign even though you desperately wanted to.

You're so wrapped up in hiding your pain and trying to cling onto what's happening in the adventure that you don't notice Eddie's eyes stray to you on occasion, worry evident in his big brown eyes.

He's not stupid. He knows when something is wrong with his princess, you're not very talkative and have been clingy today, wanting more cuddles than usual (not that Eddie is complaining about that)

It's all telltale signs that you're upset or coming down with something. Eddie is sure he's done nothing to upset you (one tearful look or pout from you was Eddie's weakness) so it must be the latter option.

He's on the edge of ending the campaign early just so he can take you home and help you feel better, his worry helped by the fact that you keep trying to hide the fact that you're in pain. One hand is gripping the table and he sees the flash of agony on your features.

"The merry band of adventurers found themselves in a cave of wonder. But something evil was with them in this cave, ready to strike at the first opportunity" Eddie's voice deepens as he reaches the finale.

"Will the Wise was the first to sense the change in the air but before he could alert the others a screeching sound filled the cave... and that is the end of the campaign this week" Predictably he's met with the cries of the others.

"That's bullshit dude, utter bullshit" Dustin snaps and he shrugs. "More to look forward to next week Henderson" he ruffles Dustin's hair who grumbles under his breath but nods mulishly.

Eddie makes his way over to you and you give him a small smile, "That wasn't the end of the campaign Eddie" you sigh clearly seeing through his ruse.

"My girl is sick, don't think I haven't noticed you trying to pretend you're fine'' you open your mouth to argue but he's having none of it, "Yeah you are princess and I know that's not true. We're going home and you are going to rest" The fight goes out of you and you agree.

"Okay, I still feel bad about the campaign ending early" he waves off your concern. He cut it down by like five minutes tops and he's not having you feeling guilty about it.

"What's got you feeling so bad baby?" he narrowed his eyes trying to figure out if it was a cold or a stomach bug, was it your time of the month already? He counts the days and frowns when you confirm that it is.

"Bad cramps, headache" you mutter sleepily and he groans, he hates seeing you in pain, and knows your periods have been pretty bad for the last few months.

Luckily Eddie has supplies in his trailer for these occasions. sanitary products, a heated pad, painkillers, chocolate and your favourite movie. Everything to help make you feel better. He guides you to his van and vows to make you feel better.

❤️

It isn't even that long later that you're settled up in Eddie's bed with a heat pad on your stomach, he's made sure you took some pain meds and they've began to take effect.

Eddie's arms wrap around you and you nuzzle into his, his hands soothingly rubbing your stomach, between that at the pain meds you're feeling much better.

Just being in Eddie's arms, the cool metal of his rings was lovely and the light way he massaged your stomach was bliss.

He leaves only for a little while to make mac and cheese and even though you're not really hungry you eat it all and share your favourite chocolate with Eddie for afters.

The best thing about the night is when Eddie picks up his guitar and begins to play your favourite song, even though it's not heavy metal he still spent the time learning how to play it for you.

It begins to lull you to sleep and just as you're almost in a slumber Eddie presses gentle kisses to your hair.

"Sleep well my princess"

💞🖤💌

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things eddie munson

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missvelvetsstuff · 8 months ago

Text

No Benefits

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Sharon Carter

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

I try to keep my Reader description vague but she's a she and above average height

Here goes nothing

Chapter 1

Warnings: Swearing, mostly angst, eventual happy ending.

Y/N, or Cookie to her friends, was at her desk, trying to finish her report so she could leave work early for one of Tony Stark's parties. This wasn't her first time but tonight her bff and mostly secret crush, Bucky Barnes, was escorting her. It wasn't the first time for that either but tonight felt different. Usually they met at the elevator but when they spoke earlier he said he would pick her up at her room. They had been getting closer in the last few months and even Steve and Sam had commented about Bucky's behavior towards her.

The night was everything she had dreamed, Bucky was attentive and always had his hands on her, respectfully of course but more intimate than he usually was. They danced much of the night and when slow songs came on he pulled her close and she could feel his breath on her neck, causing chills.

Towards the end of the night, Bucky pulled her to the elevator and kissed her until they reached his floor. They were in his room, her dress gone before she could think twice, not that she would have.

She could taste the Asgardian ale on his breath, blending with the tequila on hers. Everything was a blur of flesh and feelings she had never experienced before. She couldn't get enough, neither could he.

Y/N opened her eyes to bright light and a bedroom that wasn't hers. The pounding in her head a reminder of how much she drank last night. She looked around and realized it was Bucky's room, where she spent so much of her time. Suddenly, she realized that she was naked and her stomach dropped. She had hazy memories of shots and kisses that turned into more. The kiss in the elevator. She smiled even though her head hurt, she had been crushing on Bucky since the day they met and was amazed that he actually wanted her too.

Cookie wasn't your typical beauty, taller than most girls and with more curves than your typical agent. Of course, she wasn't a field agent but was the lead intelligence analyst on the east coast reporting directly to Maria Hill.

She reached over to find his side of the bed was cool but figured he must have gone on his morning run with Steve and Sam. She sat up and saw a bottle of water next to some pain killers, which she downed, grateful that Bucky was so thoughtful. Drinking the entire bottle of water she realized she really needed to pee. Standing slowly so as not to irritate her headache she grabbed one of Bucky's t-shirts to cover herself and went to relieve herself. When she was done she went back to sit up in bed and check her emails for today's agenda.

When she was responding to a message from Maria Hill the suite door opened and Bucky came in, sweaty and gorgeous. He saw her curled up on his bed and smiling up at him.

"Morning Buck. Good run?"

He nodded and smirked "Yeah, Sam whined at us to wait up but we just lapped him until he shut up"

"Sounds fun. Since it's Sunday and nothing is scheduled, why don't you take a shower and come back to bed?"

Bucky felt his heart stop "Look doll about last night. You know you're one of my best friends and I love you but I don't feel comfortable getting into a real relationship right now. I still have so much work to do on myself. Last night was great and I was thinking we could have one of those friends with extras, or whatever it's called. You know, to blow off steam."

Her stomach dropped and she felt her eyes filling up "You mean friends with benefits?"

He nodded enthusiastically "Yeah, that's it." he smiled hopefully.

Y/N was quiet for a minute before responding, was it worth the almost guaranteed heartbreak to have more nights like last night? She shook her head, unwilling to take that risk again.

"I'm sorry Buck but I can't do that. I get attached and end up heartbroken. I can't sleep with people that I don't have romantic feelings for."

His eyes grew wide "Wait, that means you have feelings...." He trailed off.

She nodded whispering "Yeah, I do."

Bucky's face dropped "Shit, Cookie, I'm sorry. I thought we were on the same page last night. I don't know what to say. I mean, I might develop feelings over time but I don't know. I don't want to make any promises, you know?"

She swallowed the sob that tried to escape "You don't have to say anything, we can just pretend this never happened. Ok?"

She got up from the bed, clutching the sheet to her and desperately searching for her dress from last night. When she found it she quickly put it on not realizing it was inside out.

He nodded but wasn't feeling too sure of that, he could hear her heart speed up and see her hands shaking "Yeah, sure, nothing has to change."

She smiled at him sadly, tears escaping "I uh I just remembered some paperwork I needed to finish up. I'll catch you later."

"Wait doll. I-"

"Don't worry it's fine." She cleared her throat "I could use a little space and just have work to do." She kissed him on the cheek before rushing out.

Bucky stood there, not sure how to proceed. He didn't want to lose his friend but really didn't feel like he could handle a relationship now. The stress relief from the great sex they had was something he could handle and he did have feelings for her, since the day he arrived at the compound but he knew she deserved a better man than him.

**Flashback**

Y/N was in her office reviewing some reports to glean even the smallest details before they went to the appropriate briefing packets that the field agents would use to form their strategy, when she received a text from Captain America himself, requesting her presence in the common area.

She put away all of the classified info on her desk, locked it and locked the door on her way out. She took the elevator which opened into the common area and was surprised to see a large group of agents already there.

She heard Steve shout her name "Cookie! Over here." and saw his hand waving so headed in his direction.

Steve gave her a hug and pulled away excitedly "Look Cookie, it's my friend, Bucky."

Cookie smiled and offered her hand. When Bucky looked at her she felt her breath catch, holy shit was he gorgeous, way hotter than the pictures in his file "Pleased to meetcha Sargent Barnes"

Both of them felt sparks when they touched but Bucky responded like she had burned him pulling away quickly. Cookie's smile dropped for a second before she forced it back.

Bucky looked at her through his long hair "You too, ma'am."

She could see how he was shrinking into himself, trying to look smaller so she stepped back to give him space.

Steve looked at them both oddly but smiled softly when he heard how fast her heart was beating and the slight blush on Bucky's face. That was a look he remembered from so many years ago, when Bucky met Dot.

**end flashback**

The next few weeks were tense, Y/N and Bucky barely spoke outside of Avengers business. He was always busy, rushing to train or something every time she tried to talk to him. The guilt on his face showed everything, he hated that he hurt her but missed their time together. As soon as he saw her look at him longingly, before she realized he was looking and wiped that look from her face, he had to leave. He hated himself because he knew it hurt her more every time he avoided her but he just couldn't handle seeing her and being reminded of the pain he caused.

There were other, senior agents being trained by Steve, with Bucky and Sam, to prepare for an upcoming mission. Sifting through all the related Intel was keeping Y/N up at night and her haggard appearance had been noticed by most of the team.

They had a meeting to start going over the Intel to plan their strategy. On her way in, Y/N ran into Sharon Carter who she had worked with previously.

"Hey Agent Carter, good to see you."

Sharon laughed softly "Please, Y/N, we've worked together enough for you to call me Sharon."

Y/N laughed awkwardly "Um yeah, Sharon. So how have you been? Any luck finding the power broker?"

Sharon shook her head obviously frustrated "No, he's crafty for sure but we'll get him. Rumor is this mission relates to him."

Y/N nodded, "yeah, all of the serious crime in eastern Europe seem to lead back to him." She looked up and saw Nick Fury striding towards them and straightened her shoulders "Director Fury."

He nodded at her "Agent Y/L/N. Carter. Why don't we get this started, Cookie." He looked down at the container on top of her papers.

Y/N went to the front of the room to sit next to Fury's spot at the head of the table, setting the container in his place. She saw that Sharon sat next to Bucky and started talking to him, touching his right arm and laughing softly. Y/N saw Bucky smiling and felt her chest ache, her stomach cramp up and her throat dried since apparently all the water went to her eyes. She sat down and Sam, the only one who knew what happened with her and Bucky, gave her a sad smile and squeezed her hand.

They held hands through the entire meeting, Bucky and Sharon touching hands under the table. He never liked people touching him except for Y/N but apparently he made an exception for Sharon because he just sat smiling. He never even looked towards Y/N.

When the meeting ended, Bucky and Sharon were the first ones out the door as he quickly led her to his room.

Y/N could barely breathe and rushed to her own room, glad it was on a different floor from Bucky's because she didn't think she could handle hearing him and Sharon go at it.

For the next couple of months it went like that. Bucky and Sharon spending most of their time in his room and Y/N trying to stay busy so she didn't think about it. They were hands off outside of his room and insisted they were just friends when Sam mentioned they were always together. Bucky heard Sam grumble about how Y/N used to be the one he wanted to hang out with, but blew it off. Nothing wrong with having a couple of friends. And Y/N didn't want a casual relationship while Sharon was down for everything and was teaching Bucky a lot.

Sharon was friendly with Cookie in the beginning but started being nasty to Y/N, calling her names and throwing out barely veiled insults when Bucky wasn't around, and did everything she could to keep them apart. Not that Bucky ever seemed to notice, too wrapped up in the constant sex to see much else. Even at team functions Sharon worked to keep her away from Bucky, so much that Y/N just avoided the both of them when at all possible.

Y/N was depressed and missing her friend. She had lost weight and had dark circles under her eyes which she claimed were from working all hours. Time wasn't helping at all, she still had dreams about that night and felt an ache in her chest every time she saw Bucky. A couple of times he tried to talk to her, invite her for the movies nites that she never attended anymore but Sharon always started whining for him and Y/N took the hint and made excuses that she had paperwork or needed sleep, anything to avoid them.

Bucky, Sam and Sharon were offsite for a few days so Y/N could pour herself into work and not worry about running into them.

Late one night she was talking to one of her informants in Latvia and the connection was weak. She claimed to have the details on the Power Broker but static kept interfering with the connection.

Y/N heard banging

"Marta?! Marta are you ok? What's going on?"

There was more banging and a clicking noise then she heard Marta crying and begging.

A muffled womans voice came on the line "You better back off of the Power Broker or you will regret it"

Y/N was pissed "Who the Hell is this? Where's Marta? What did-" she heard a gunshot and the crying stopped.

The voice chuckled "She's unavailable and if you don't wise up, you will be too."

The call disconnected.

Y/N had tears in her eyes. She had met Marta a few years back, she had kids, a family. Now Y/N took that weight and swore to whoever was listening that she would make sure the Power Broker paid for this on top of all the other death and destruction.

Y/N refused to stop and eventually passed out on her laptop. She woke to a loud knocking "Y/N you in there? Fury got a package and wants you in his office 20 minutes ago."

Y/N sighed, Maria Hill. "I'll be down asap."

15 minutes later she was out of breath on her way into his office. "Cookie, there you are. I don't know who sent this but both of our names were on it so I'm hoping you know what's up."

Y/N looked over the package, Latvian stamp no return address. She sighed "Looks like it's from one of my informants in Latvia. I was on the phone with her last nite when she was shot. And a distorted womans voice told me to back off of the Power Broker or I'd be next."

Fury nodded "Alright well let's see what she had."

Y/N carefully opened the package which included a large white envelope that felt like it was full of pictures and a zip lock with a post-it that said 'fingerprints'.

Fury called an intern in to take the prints for processing as Y/N pulled out a stack of pictures. Her jaw dropped as her heart sped up and she began to shake. There was one thing the pictures all had in common......

Sharon fucking Carter.

Chapter 2

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #james bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #no benefits #bucky barnes x sharon carter

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adonis-koo · 1 year ago

Text

of bones and gods

Summary: in an act of keeping war from breaking, the Prince of Penumbra, Jeon Jungkook must journey to Eunoia to wed their Princess, in one final act of mourning his freedom the night before his wedding, he runs into the Queen of Eunoia

Genre: arranged marriage, enemies to lovers

Word count: 3k

Note: this is a lil drabble based it’s main story Wicked you can read this as a stand-alone though!

Jungkook had been dreading this day for as long as the news had permitted in the air, the day he would have to leave the comforts of his homeland and accept that he was soon to be shackled and forced into marriage with a woman he would never love.

The grip on his reigns were deathly tight, his knuckles white and an icy rage in his eyes that had never quite left since two years ago when his father announced that he would be wed to the princess of Eunoia, and a rite of peace would be settled to cease the five year war.

He had many thoughts about the war, he was relieved, happy even to hear that it would finally end, but at the expense of his own freedom and happiness left him mixed inside.

And then the rage, the hopelessness, the depression that the woman he loved would have to be subjected to his new wife.

It wasn’t fair to have this much resentment for someone he had never met, but he didn’t care, this woman was nothing short but the ire of all his problems.

The hoofs of his horse plotted on the ground in the sound of a drum, five hundred echoing not too far behind as precautionary measures of Eunoia would try anything.

Not that they would, Jungkook personally thought it was a bit much, they were pacifists by nature, not even participating in the five year war despite the other nations putting pressure on them. It was the reason his father had chosen them out of everyone.

“I will be glad when this headache is put too rest,” his father finally commented, having rode beside him the last few hours in silence, “We won’t be staying after the ceremony, there’s much too do in the kingdom once we get home.”

Jungkook said nothing, his anger still very much awake and burning.

His father glanced at him, “Come now, don’t be so sour, she’s pretty. And not nearly the headache Seohyun was. You couldn’t ask for a better wife.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Jungkook hissed out, finally releasing his reigns to peel off his outer jacket.

Despite being early spring, he had taken note for the weather changes during their travels, in Penumbra, frost would still be on the ground. But here so close to Eunoia, it was warm out, buds were already on the tree’s and he could even spot wild flowers in groves of the valley.

And though he despised his soon to be wife and her people and this I sufferable wedding, Jungkook could not deny the peace he felt being on Eunoia’s grounds, he had never been here before, but he could see why it was called the Capitol of the Sun.

“Perhaps some gratitude that it could be worse is suitable.” His father commented, “I know you’ve despised this match from the beginning, and I don’t expect you to make a genuine attempt to make things work,” his fathers gaze darkened, “But I do expect you to uphold our family name, and above all else.”

“Protect the family,” Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“And soon, she will be one of us, whether you like it or not.” His father trotted ahead, sending a knight towards the soldiers behind to set up camp on the outskirts of the city.

Jungkook glared at his back but the loud noise of a horn took his gaze elsewhere, his eyes widening a little at the tall oak tree’s that lead into a forest. They would be arriving at the entrance of the capitol soon.

Jungkook slowly glanced around as he noticed people hidden in the groves and sloped hills slowly emerge.

Field workers, he thought, nothing short of curious as they all glanced at the passing of him.

Jungkook briefly wondered if he was in a dream though, women of all kinds, beautiful, some short others tall, thin or thick, freckles and darker warm skin, hair of bronze or birch, all in gowns short and skin on display.

Harlots. They’d probably be called in any other nation, he had heard of Eunoia’s primal customs, their way of life being looked down upon or considered indecent.

But here in Eunoia, these women were simply workers.

Baskets in hand filled with fruits, wheat or other foraged goods.

“Seems you’ve the pick of the lot for one last night of freedom.” Jeong Dae clearly noticed as well as he gave Jungkook a pat on the shoulder.

Jungkook only gave him a sullied look.

The only woman he wanted was the one he had to leave back in Penumbra.

The forest eventually opened into the field where the capitol was displayed, the sun shining it’s heavens upon its white cobble stone streets, vines growing off every house and flowers emerging from the place it could.

Jungkook couldn’t help but gawk around, his eyes intrigued with every inch they closed in on the castle, he knew it was a new land, but he had never been away from home, not truly, not unless it was to destroy another’s.

He never had the luxury of actually taking in another lands beauty before. And it was nothing like Penumbra, color flourished in every spot his vision could find, ivory that could never survive Penumbra’s cold climbed off every surface.

Stalls of trade had been set up and fountains poured where those gathered for water.

His brows furrowed as he watched a group of young girls play with long pieces of chiffon, some sort of dancing game as they waved the fabric in the air while singing.

Then his gaze set to two young boys, doing a dance of their own, this kind having to do with balancing on their hands, but they continue to fall over.

And eventually Jungkook’s eyes settled on the olden steps of the castle that lead to the courtyard, and upon entering it was just as angelic as the rest of its lands.

Vines bushes out hanging off parts of the upper rails, a large pond circled up ahead and the worn stone decorated the floors of the courtyard only adding to its beauty.

The man that stood behind it, his advisor behind him was the one Jungkook took note of.

Elisar stood calm, a face nothing short of welcoming as Jungkook and his father dismounted their horses.

“We welcome you to Eunoia, we’ve long since await this day and your arrival, there’s very few things left that need tending too.”

Dae Seong shook his hand firmly and Jungkook did as well next.

“We’ve all awaited this day, I’m ready for it to be done and over with truth be told, all this fuss just for a ceremony.” Dae Seong puffed.

Jungkook curiously watched for Elisar reaction, he knew his father rarely made friends.

Elisar only gave a small smile, “There is only but one day left to wait, thank the gods. Follow me please gentleman, I’ve made most arrangements in terms of the agreement for your access to the Noxtria mines, this should all be suitable but it would be best for you to read through it once more before signing.”

Jungkook briefly glanced around once more, light flowed in from every entrance and it felt like gold was spilling in bringing a certain warmth Jungkook didn’t think possible.

The guards ahead opened double doors as Elisar lead them in, “We of course, have plenty of time to discuss these matters later, aside, I’m honored for you to meet my wife Esme and my lovely daughter Y/n.”

Jungkook stood a little straighter, having known this moment would come whether he wanted it to or not.

‘She’s pretty’ his fathers words echoed in his head.

And here she was.

Y/n.

She was shorter then he anticipated her being, and it wasn’t his intention for his eyes to drop to her chest but her gown, truth be told was a risqué move even by Penumbra standards.

But seeing as her mother’s dress had a plunge in hers almost down to her mid stomach, this was very customary for Eunoian’s.

Still, her sleeves were flowing and long, leaves patterned on the sleeves, her shoulders exposed from the material and her neckline plunged dangerously low, a noticeable slit in the side of her dress, giving a small display of thigh if she shuffled.

She did that quite a bit.

His father wasn’t wrong, he begrudgingly thought.

She was very pretty.

Not just pretty, pretty was not a good description of it, it couldn’t describe the soul sucking beauty that radiated from her.

She had an ethereal kind of beauty, the kind that made it look as if her skin was glowing with light, flowers that could bud at her fingertips and eyes that burned with the fire of the sun, an otherworldly, primordial kind of beauty, the kind that men and gods would wage war over.

Jungkook couldn’t describe it.

In fact, lingering on trying to describe it made his lip almost twitch in annoyance.

Esme was graceful, a beautiful radiant smile on her lips as she spoke, “We welcome you to our home Eunoia! I’m sure the travel was long and taxing on you both, I do hope you enjoy our home, we look forward to the severed bonds of the past being repaired.”

It was silent only for a moment, but it was painfully loud as all eyes dropped to Y/n.

Too much fabric was in the way for Jungkook to really get a good look, but he thought for a brief moment he caught a glimpse of Esme twisting her daughters arm.

Who despite the raw energy her persona held, evidently was not nearly as well spoken nor graceful as her mother.

“It’s an honor to host for the royal family of Penumbra, I…” Her voice was a bit ragged, every word sounded like something was stuck in her throat, as if it was a genuine struggle to speak.

“look forward to our life together.” Y/n gritted her teeth, and Jungkook surely never heard a bigger lie in his life.

Her lips twitched as if resisting the urge to scowl as her eyes finally met his, as if left with no other choice but to acknowledge his existence.

Jungkook had seen this look before, it was a look he had received by many in his travels of diplomatic matters.

It made him want to scoff, what right did this woman have to judge him? Beauty or not it didn’t hide the fiery rage that roared behind her eyes.

Justice, or a lack thereof screaming in her face and haughtiness of presumption was evident in the way she held herself, as if she already knew him without so much as hearing a word from him.

It grated on Jungkook’s nerves, he held out his hand, feeling his fathers expectated gaze on him.

‘She will be one of us soon, whether you like it or not’

Her hand was much smaller, but surprisingly he was met with calluses of her own and briefly he wondered what she did to gain them.

Her nails had evidently been cleaned but he could still spot smudges of dirt beneath them that had evaded careful eyes.

He wasn’t sure how though, seeing as she was watching him like a hawk, her gaze was unwavering, refusing to back down or shy away from him as his own locked onto her, pressing a kiss against her knuckle, “Jeon Jungkook, the pleasure is ours.”

It felt like an electric current coursing through his body before the connect was snapped, her hand yanking away from him as if it had been burned.

Y/n’s smile was sharp, nothing less than unwelcoming, “The feeling is mutual.” It was said almost as a sneer.

The Bitch of Eunoia, that’s what they called her, and Jungkook could very clearly see why.

His father said she’d be less of a headache than his old fiancé, but somehow…His eyes followed her figure as she gave a courtesy and was escorted by a knight out of the room along with her mother, his eyes following her figure as the doors closed behind them.

Somehow, he truly doubted that was going to be the case.

This woman would surely give him a headache of a lifetime.

Jungkook sighed as he tipped the bottle of wine to his lips, groaning at how sickeningly sweet the Eunoian wine was.

It felt like a taste of heaven dripping on his lips, though he was did miss the sharper more dry taste of Penumbrian wine, tomorrow he would have to face his destiny and marry the bitch of Eunoia.

But tonight he would drink and mourn.

Glancing at his ceiling, it was high, beautiful sculpted of white speckled noxtria, it made him snort, how could Eunoia use the strongest rock and metal uncovered as decor?

It did make him curious about the castle though, sighing he stood up, a bit wobbly albeit but it was late into the night and he doubt anyone would give him grief.

Keeping the bottle in hand he decided to explore the castle, this was likely to be the only time he’d ever be in Eunoia, he might as well make it count.

Just as he assumed, with it being late at night and nobody gave him grief, the few servants still up gave deep bows and curtseys but made wide room for him.

He didn’t understand the looks of concern they gave but paid them no mind as he took another large drink from the bottle.

Rooms were lit with candles and glowed with colors and flora, beautifully sculpted and windows from floor to ceiling.

Some rooms even having windows on the ceiling, opening into the sky, he had never seen something like this before.

Through journeying around the castle he ended up on a lower level, the room was shaped in a dome and flora once again crawling from every surface and another room with a window on the ceiling, opening up into the moonlight where flowers slowly unfurled, at the center of the room was a large circle that opened into the ground and he recognized it was a white oak stump, the surface sanded as if crafted into a seat.

The curves of it however made it look odd, a top of it sat a crown- or something kin to it, a strong band- he realized was noxtria and a pair of buck antlers, large, thirteen points on each side.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

Jungkook jumped, clutching his bottle tighter as he whirled around, “Your Majesty…”

Esme only raised her brows a little, clearly amused at having caught the prince off guard, a smile on her face as he attempted to bow, “No need for that, wouldn’t want you to fall and be bruised for your wedding.”

Jungkook begrudgingly straightened, he wasn’t that drunk, “Why is her Majesty up so late?”

“Who isn’t up this late tonight?” Esme countered, slowly walking towards him, before brushing past him as she walked further, “Isn’t it beautiful though?” She asked but didn’t wait for an answer, “It was the crown my great grandmother Galadria wore for her coronation.”

She gestured upwards, Jungkook’s eyes lifted as he realized the large portraits that hung on the wall, the room was a dome shape and four hung halfway across the room.

His eyes wandered to each one, the most recent obviously Esme and Elisar, the portrait was regal, Esme clearly younger and wearing the crown, sitting upon the inner curve of the stump, and Elisar sitting on the actual seat. And then his eyes lifted to clearly her mother, and her mother before her.

All the way until the first portrait, Galadria, sitting alone, but her dress alone took up every space.

“Galadria hadn’t wed at the time until after she was queen. Still, there is something cathartic about her portrait,” Esme hummed in wonder, “I do hope you and Y/n will make a return within the year back to Eunoia to allow her to get her portrait done as well.”

Jungkook only leaned against the marble column, taking another gulp from his bottle as he said nothing in return, he wouldn’t make false promises, he had no intention of returning to this place so long as duty did not command it.

“My daughter…Y/n…I will warn you wicked Prince,” Esme slowly turned around, her dark eyes piercing him as she spoke, “She is not for the faint of heart. Her heart is tender and she has created walls of fire to protect it,”

She paused, taking a long look at him as if accessing him, “She will burn anyone who dares try to hurt her. So protect her.”

“Pardon?” Jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle at her words, shaking his head as he took another drink.

Esme glanced at his bottle before back at him, “It is any mothers wish for her daughter to be safe, do not take this as a command or I a queen, but as a mother.”

“With all due respect, I am not for the faint of heart.” Jungkook lazily leaned against the column once more.

Esme puffed a breath, “I am not worried whether my daughter can handle you, I am certain she will, it is you I worry for,” she folded her hands together, “Y/n is…she is a million souls of the lineage before her, she holds the wrath of a god in her bones,” Esme’s eyes grew cold, “And what are you? A prince who befell a misfortunate time to be alive?”

Jungkook glowered up from his bottle, “I am far more than what you and others say I am.”

Esme curved a brow, “Then I can only hope what you say is true. For Y/n will need that, whether she realizes it or not, she will need someone who will not be afraid of her, who will not let the flame of her soul consume them. Someone who will accept her as she is, I will not presume who you are, but I will put trust that you are not just merely a prince.”

Jungkook said nothing, eyes staying on her as he lifted the bottle to his lips.

“Do come and visit after you wed, I think you’ll fit nicely along the walls of our home,” Esme smiled, light lifting back to her face as she walked past him, snatching the bottle out of his hand, “Now go drink some water, I will not let either of you ruin your own wedding over foolishness.”

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts x reader #Jungkook smut #jungkook x reader smut #Jungkook imagine

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queenie-ofthe-void · 8 months ago

Text

Here's a crack Stobin idea

It's platonic Hanahaki by instead of puking flowers, it's migraines and mind reading.

***

After they're injected with the same experimental mystery drugs in the Russian spy bunker, Steve wakes up two days later with a killer headache.

Must be the concussion.

Except throughout the day it gets worse, worse than his migraines after his fight with Billy. He tries to go to sleep early, but the pain's so intense he seriously thinks his head might implode.

Does he call Robin?

They aren't what he'd call friends. But they survived torture together, so that has to mean something, right?

No, he decides. She's got her own problems and it's almost midnight.

He's up, can't sleep. At 6:30am he wraps an ice pack around his head and sits in a warm bath. At 7:30am he's throwing up water and bile. By 9am he's got a bloody nose and he's popped a blood vessel in his right eye. Just as he's about to pick up the phone, there's knocking on his front door that feels like a hammer to his skull.

Robin's on the front stoop, the front of her Fleetwood Mac sleep shirt covered in drops of blood and she's holding a wad of napkins to her face. She's crying and practically collapses into his arms.

The pain recedes so quickly he gasps. He didn't realize how difficult it was to breathe. The sharp stabbing behind his eyes is gone and it feels like he hasn't eaten in days.

Robin's still holding his shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes. She moves the napkins and even though her face is a mess of dried blood it's clear the bleeding has stopped.

"Steve, what's going on?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Her hand slips from his shoulder as he backs into the house, and suddenly the pain's creeping back in. It's minimal compared to before. Robin grabs his hand again and the pain recedes.

He looks up and she's staring at him wide eyed, mouth hanging open like a fish.

"I do not look like a fish!" Robin scoffs.

He didn't say that.

"Oh holy shit you didn't say that!" she practically screams at him.

She grips his other hand, squeezing them both tight as they stare into each other's panicked eyes.

Oh my god playing on loop between them, yet Robin's mouth isn't moving and he's pretty sure his is closed.

Can we read minds?

I have no idea Steven I've never done this before! You're the freaky stuff expert.

It's called the upside down Robs.

He's so bitchy.

I'm not bitchy!

"OK we have to stop this," Robin finally says. He knows she said it. He saw her mouth move and everything.

"Jesus I'm not sure I can handle your brain Harrington I've already got enough going on up here on my own."

"Yeah tell me about it," he replies as he thinks about her rambling about nothing for hours on end during shared shifts.

Robin sighs, squeezing his hands again as she scuffs her shoes on the white tile.

For what it's worth, I like your rambling.

A light smile ghosts her face. He always feels better when she's smiling, and that gets a wet chuckle from her as she wipes her teary eyes.

"Ok," Robin says, putting her game face on. "We're going to figure this out and I've got some ideas."

~~~

s4 follow-up ficlet

#it's platonic hanahaki but also it's not??#it's “what if the Russian serum plotline actually meant something”#platonic stobin #mind reading #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin ficlet #stobin #stobin prompt #steve harrington #robin buckely #stranger things s3 #stranger things #QueenieWritesStories

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thefriendlyferretwriter · 3 months ago

Text

Weasel

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw!F!Reader

Summary: A back and forth with the infamous Fred Weasley sends the two nemeses into a back-and-forth that lands them in detention, where both their frustration and anger send them into a deep argument full of insults, tension, and revelations.

Warning: LONG, 8k words, lots of scene cuts becuz a LOT happens, rivals to lovers (not really, Fred's obsessed with reader and is a little shit), boy pulls on the pigtails of the girl he claims he dislike type trope, was forced to give reader at least a last name, same for her best friend ( went with one of the most generic name Tiffany), Fred being a little shit, argument, tension, reader is unhinged

A/N: Fun fact about this fic it almost included a Pygmy Puff before I checked and discovered that they were created by the twins for their shop and since they are still students I had to go and swap it up with a baby puffskein. No idea how to describe that fic, there will definitely be multiple parts, enjoy!

There are no other places like Hogwarts.

The scenery, the castle's secrets, and the yearly competition between houses are something to behold.

But what might be icing on the cake is the library. The place where I can lose track of time all the while learning about the magical world.

The library has a hush rule but you can't help the coughs, the few ink pots falling to the ground, or even the giggles here and there but it doesn't bother me one bit, it even helps me focus as I enjoy yet one more day in the castle.

"Hi there Raven."

And there goes my enjoyment.

With a roll of my eye, I direct them toward the annoying voice belonging to none other than Fred Weasley who stands there with his satchel on his side leaning against one of the book-filled shelves.

"Weasel," I acknowledge him with a sigh looking back down at my page.

"Weasley," he corrects drily.

I brush him off as I finish my inked sentence and wait for it to dry before turning the page and asking him what he's doing here.

He leans on the table by his hip and crosses his arms inclining his head towards me, "What is it to you?"

"You being here is a bad omen so either you're here to sell your stupid stuff to the first years," I say glancing at his sachel for a second before looking back down at my work, "Or it involves annoying me and I'm having a good day to waste it dealing with you today."

I don't look at him and instead focus on my next sentence when I hear some shuffling and a piece of rolled-up parchment drops next to me that I recognize all too well.

"You must be kidding me," I groan snatching the parchment from the table.

"Unfortunately no. McGonagall benched me and said that if I wanted to stay on the quidditch team I needed a tutor."

His speech makes me groan as the lines reiterate his rant in a distinguished manner and is signed at the bottom by Professor Flitwick.

"McGonagall sent me to Flitwick who recommended you. Said you needed tutoring on your record."

I let go of the paper and join my hands together placing my thumbs on the base of my nose to try and diminish the incoming headache.

"Soo," he draws out attracting my gaze, "See you later, I'll be waiting for your owl."

I see him walking backward, all cocky as he dares to wink at me before turning around and descending the spiral stairs.

I audibly scoff and slam my notebook closed.

Yet another day ruined by that damn Weasel.

"He's a pest."

"You're exaggerating again," she laughs at me standing up from her seat.

"No, I'm not!" I say shoving the last book in my bag as class just ended, "He's obnoxious and annoying and a nuisance to my peace," I stand up and follow right after her.

It's been a few days since my unfortunate meeting with the least likable Weasley in the library and the meeting with Professor Flitwick and McGonagall this early morning couldn't have gotten any worse since no amount of pleading on my part could get them not to assign me with him. As a supplement I had the redhead walk in on me pleading which had him reveling at my misery digging me into a deeper foul mood.

"He's a funny guy that sometimes goes too far," she says pushing a chair that wasn't tucked under its assigned table.

"He's the bane of my existence," I say full of venom.

She laughs walking toward the classroom's exit," That's romantic."

"No, saying someone is the bane of your existence isn't romantic."

"I'm sure you could turn it into something romantic, like a poem or a book about forbidden love," she daydream walking through the door.

"You read too many romance books," I say stepping outside the classroom when I freeze and feel like I'm going underwater as my body is iced out for a moment.

It feels as if I've been hit with glacius but I'm able to use my voice and squeal in shock as the feeling subsides and I'm brought back from my shock by two giggles.

I see two first-year Gryffindors laughing nervously before they simultaneously decide to run away, one of them letting loose on her wand that was levitating the bucket letting it fall on the ground with a loud clash.

I'm left in the middle of the open hallway surrounded by classmates who just exited their class.

The wind hits me and I feel my body shiver before I look up at my friend whose mouth is covered by her hands in surprise.

I hear it.

The annoying infuriating sound of distant laughter, one I cannot mistake for another.

My eyes zero on him sitting on the transfiguration courtyard's tree clutching his stomach as he laughs balancing himself on the branch.

"You were saying?" I ask her rhetorically still dripping in the pink-colored jelly-like liquid.

She lowers her hands and approaches me slowly trying to wipe my face.

I feel the bubbling of rage making its way up my throat with my breathing taking up seeing him seated up there on the branch looking like a king sitting upon the throne of his buffoonery surrounded by his brainless friends, or rather, George's brainless friends and it makes me snap.

I push her hand away and stomp my way through the hallway onto the courtyard's grass toward him.

"Weasley!" I yell as I march to him.

"Oh, now she remembers my name," he laughs out loud for his twin and his friends to hear as the number of students stopping by increases.

He slides off the branch with ease and starts strutting to me with this damn cocky smile.

George stands up from his leaning stance on the tree, "Fred," he says.

I don't know if it's a warning or a scolding but his intent doesn't matter to me.

My hearing is replaced with the beats of my heart drumming in my ears as my face feels as hot as lava.

My steps get bigger and bigger and the closer his infuriating smirk approaches, the rage escapes me as my hand swings back and closes into a fist before landing in his face mid-step.

The audible hit is met with a groan and while I'm far too small to send him to the ground with a punch it does send him swaying back and hunching over.

In a second George jogs to his twin and hands him support grabbing his elbow as Fred's groan turns into another one of his annoying chuckles.

"You see how she hit me?!" he shouts looking delighted by the situation before he lays his gaze back on me with a bit of blood on his teeth.

His smirk falls and I believe for a moment that I finally did it, I finally managed to instate fear in this jackass before I realize his gaze moved from my frame to someone behind me.

The buzzing in my ears ceases and my hearing comes back to me as the grass crunches under one's weight indicating someone approaching.

A cold sweat travels through my body when I turn around and spot none other than Professor Hooch standing tall in front of us.

By instinct, I take a step back and bump into Fred before jumping aside as if he burnt me which isn't far off as my knuckles are calling out for help burning and tingling from the impact it had on his cheek.

She sends us both one of her infamous hawk looks that could petrify Dumbledor himself, "I presume that display of violence can be explained by your appearance?" her pointed look is directed at me.

I try to wipe the substance off my hair with an annoyed huff.

Her eyes travel to Fred whose head is pointed down grabbing his chin and messing with his mouth moving his jaw from side to side.

"That rewards the both of you with an hour's detention," that answer makes him groan and I point at him with outrage.

"But he-!" My disbelief doesn't reach her before she cuts me off.

"You're both dismissed. Mr.Weasley, I advise you to escort your brother to the infirmary to tend to his injury. As for you, I advise you to go clean yourself up before heading to the infirmary as well, perhaps at a time Mr.Weasley won't be there," she finishes her sentence looking at George who acknowledges her insinuation with a nod.

Still clutching his jaw, Fred is led away by his elbow by George as Hooch walks to stand in front of me, "While I understand your frustration I did expect better from you than violence."

My eyes widen and the breath I take in is cut off, "He-"

"This isn't about Mr.Weasley's childish behavior, he will receive his punishment either way. What disappoints me is that you could've avoided any punishment by reporting this to me or any other professor in the area but instead, you will ecope of an hour's detention as well."

She says shaking her head as she walks away leaving me standing here in the courtyard covered in the substance and an aching fist that doesn't even feel satisfying knowing it didn't teach the jerk anything.

"Why is it so windy today?! I thought it was supposed to be sunny!" I complain trying to be louder than the wind.

"No it's supposed to switch all day, look," my friend says motioning to the daily prophet in her hands bringing the paper closer to my face so I can see the weather section indeed announcing an insufferable change of weather all day.

"You can still spot the puddles from the rain earlier," Luna Lovegood points to the Quidditch pitch where the grass is still two shades darker and the random puddles of water stir with strength from the wind blowing.

My venting is interrupted by a loud collision that sends me twisting around back to the pitch to see Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teammates fighting over the quaffle like rabid dogs in what is supposed to be an amicable match as a form of training.

"Remind me again what's the point of an amicable match if there is no amicability?" I ask turning to face them just to miss the apparent goal from a Gryffindor through one of the Ravenclaw's lowest hoops.

I groan when I recognize the face of the person who managed to pass our defenses as he basks in the small victory.

"What is it raven?! Can't take in the sigh of greatness?!" he gloats seated comfortably on his broom with his red hair all tussled.

His pretentiousness blinds him and his arrogance leaves him to ignore the whistle suggesting the match continues and leaves a fellow Ravenclaw to score in a flash right behind him. The only indicator that anything happened at all is the small thunder of applause and shouts of approval coming from the small gathering of students who decided to kill time and participate in the amicable match to cheer each team on.

His head whips around and the sight of the opposite team scoring sends him tilting his head back with a groan that he tries to conceal but it doesn't escape anyone's notice.

The karma is enough but it is so rare to catch the weasel in one of his life life-learning moments that I don't hesitate before deciding that I need to add my little grain of salt to the wound.

I have it, I have the perfect response to give him right on the tip of my tongue and I wonder for a second if the smirk grazing my lips isn't a giveaway but my witty taunt is stopped when a broom enters my line of vision.

"See?! I told you your presence would do me good. Look at that, bullseye!"

I'm sure he means no harm, I know him to be humble but the poor lad either didn't see Weasley or simply decided to ignore his presence.

The fact that he is being ignored after being wrecked is sickly satisfying and my smirk manages to widen somehow.

It is clear he simply didn't see Fred as this one's scowl sends him silently flying away in an awkward, one-sided staredown that ends with him glancing at me with an uncomfortable wide-eyed stare, silently asking for help.

I stare at him flying further and further away and only look back when I notice George approaching his twin on his broom.

His frustration is clear and the eye roll along with his head thrown back pleases me a great deal.

The devilish idea is too good and it doesn't take a lot of self-convincing before I fall for temptation.

"What is it Weasel, too busy drowning in your own ego you can't pay attention?!" I shout so my sickly honeyed voice reaches him and George as I tuck my now pastel pink hair behind my ears.

'The concoction should last less than a week. This Flemont Potter was a genius!' nurse Pomfrey said.

The scowl adorning his face fills me with warmth and electricity buzzes through my veins knowing I have the last word for once.

"Nice hair," he tries himself at a desperate dig that does not work as Professor Hooch whistles for him to fly back to the match.

Turning his back to me, he flies back to the center of the field I can't help but laugh realizing that it's the first time he turns his back to me without walking away with the last word.

The whistle is blown and the speed at which each team goes at the other's throat could cause whiplash if one wasn't used to it.

I'm focused on a group of players when my peripheral vision drags my eyes to my friend throwing the quaffle with all his strength leaving another small group of three players to speed away.

Taking a moment to take in his throw he looks back down and waves at me with a smile, satisfied with his play.

I wave back with a grin of my own before he disappears out of my sight as a bludger hits him straight in the back of the head with a resounding thunk throwing him off his broom and crashing to the ground.

I hear a loud yell and realize it comes from me as my body instinctively reacts and bolts toward the pitch.

Professor Hooch is already by his side by the time I run to his limp self.

"Is he okay?!" I get caught off guard by my friend reaching him and kneeling at his side before I do.

I stand there looking down at him in shock as people start surrounding the area trying to take a look at the wounded on the ground when I notice the Gryffindor team lowering themselves on the ground including the culprit.

His quidditch robe swings with each one of his steps as he walks towards the commotion very slowly like in a trance.

"You too bring a stretcher," she says shooing away both a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw player.

I hear George Weasley calling after his brother who has now reached Professor Hooch kneeling on the ground

"Is he okay?"

How dare he. His filthy meek voice asking about his well-being as if he isn't the reason my friend is lying unresponsive on the ground.

That familiar boiling sensation in my chest rises again and I feel my fists clenching by themselves.

Before I can comprehend my thought process I am bolting toward him. Still, before I can reach him George jumps in front of him getting ready for whatever, a whatever that does not come as I am held up by the waist by two Gryffindor players sensing the hostility.

"What is wrong with you!" I holler up in the air struggling with all my might against the hold of the chasers which is useless against the player's strength.

The rest is a blur, George pushes the douche towards the locker room as I follow the stretcher closely to the infirmary.

"If you stare any harder you're gonna be the first third year student here to achieve wandless magic," she chuckles "It's you! You did this!" he yells shoving me back and sending me stumbling on the ground probably trying to get me as dirty as he is. back down at her textbook.

"False," I utter not leaving the weasel out of my burning stare.

I notice her raising her head from my side view in wonder.

"Granger," I state chewing on my thumb's fingernail.

The sight of him simply sitting there without any consequences under the excuse of 'it's part of the game, nobody can prove there were any malicious intents behind that strike' drives me mad and haunts my head with multiple scenarios of murder that keep replaying again and again.

"You have to let it go. Pomfresh said he'll be fine."

"He didn't deserve that strike it was targeted to piss me off because I got the last word," I say wincing when I realize I bit my thumb a bit too hard and drew some blood.

"It's part of Quidditch, many, many people took strikes to the head."

"Bullshit. A strike to the head during an amicable match? Come on," I roll my eyes frustrated that everybody seems so eager to just brush this incident off.

"I'm gonna start thinking you're checking him out and not actually glaring at him."

"Have you lost your mind?!" I say louder than intended, my head whipping left to glare at her this time.

There is no silence as the Care for the Magical Creature class takes place outside and the lack of chatter is covered up by the sound of wind rustling the nearest tree's leaves and the distant purrs and grumbles of the different creatures in their pen.

"Is there a problem?"

Unlike McGonagall or Snape, Professor Hagrid's tone of voice isn't accusatory but genuinely one of concern. This concern eats at me as the idea that he might believe even for a moment that my words are targeted towards him makes bile rise in my throat.

"No!" is my immediate response to reassure the professor but the rest of my explanation seems to be stuck in my throat as I have a hard time imagining myself explaining to the class that I was just defending myself at the mention of me hypothetically checking Weasley out.

That same person here in the open classroom with a side smirk plastered on his annoying face trying his best not to laugh at me, not because it would be rude but because not laughing at the right time alongside the rest of the class wouldn't be as satisfying as a full-on public humiliation.

I see Hagrid lowering his chalk and I can already foresight him asking what he might have done wrong which is not something you want to ask as a teacher in front of a bunch of ruthless teenagers.

His other hand joins in on the other starting to mess with his chalk making him appear anxious and way less mighty.

The awkwardness doesn't begin to measure to the remorse of having put him in this situation because of my impulsive nature.

"It's my fault!" my friend shouts in my defense.

Looking at her, Tiffany managed to snatch up a baby puffskein and hold it up to Hagrid's sight.

"I put him in her hair and she was afraid he would do a pooh."

The laughs are inevitable but I'm certain the 'do a pooh' will haunt my nightmare.

The mocking is a harmony of taunting and I can only look beside me to glare at her sitting there with the puffskein in hand as I wish he would just 'do a pooh' in her hands this instant.

At least Professor Hagrid seems reassured, smiles as the misunderstanding is cleared up, and turns back around to continue the lesson.

We're sent to different enclosures containing different creatures and are instructed to feed them to create a bond.

"Look at him acting casual as if he didn't send someone to the infirmary with a trauma to the head," I say full of venom seeing him being buddy-buddy with another Gryffindor girl as they try to feed Mooncalf in the open and have a laugh as they are surrounded by the eager herd starving for pets and seeds.

"Will you quit it and enjoy one of the only course that's relaxing here," she scolds kneeling closer to the ground to feed a diricawl who nibs at her finger affectionately before walking past her hand and pitter-pattering to her to lay his head on her chest to receive pats on his head.

"Plus you've already been told we can't know if the blow was on purpose."

"That's a load of bullshit and you know it, he's one of the best beaters here," I say with a pointed look at her throwing a violent handful of seeds towards the rest of the diricawls.

"Did I just hear you compliment Fred Weasley?" she says looking up at me with a teasing smile.

"It's not a compliment I'm just stating a fact, the probability of Weasley hitting someone right on the head by accident at such distance is close to none," I say throwing another handful as my eyes catch a paddock with dubogs in it, one in particular who is devouring the weasel with his bulgy eyes.

There are three dubogs in the small paddock and two of them are cooling off in the dirty pond uninterested in anything else but sunbathing with only their eyes above the murky water blinking one at a time as the third one is eating up Weasley with his eyes.

A devilish idea makes its way into my head. The opening I get is served to me on a gold platter as Tiffany is distracted by the herd of diricawl overtaking her landing her on the ground, surrounded.

My chance is heightened by Weasley's back turned to me talking with his little girlfriend.

I take my chance disregarding any rational thought invading my head. Sneakily climbing over the fence, I crouch and walk toward the desired enclosure. The creature doesn't seem to sense me approaching and if he does he doesn't seem to care one bit licking his eye and pawing the ground with his hind leg.

A part of me wishes I could egg him on and ask him if he wants to nibble on the Weasel's ankles but I'd rather not throw my plan out of the window. Instead, I carefully slide my arm to the latch and pull on it slowly to make sure not to make any noise before giving the door a small push to create the crack that seems to be enough to throw the creature out for a jog as he crashes against the paddock's door.

I don't get to see the seconds before the disaster as I have to hurry back and jump over the fence once again, running back to my friend and free her from the diricawl's clutches giving her a hand and raising her back up as the show starts.

The screams that grace my ears aren't from fear but more from shock as the tall redhead lands on the ground when I finally get to lay my eyes on him. The dubog licks him from bottom to top with the creature's natural dirt and slimey skin rubbing off on him as his Gryffindor girlfriend screeches for help calling for Professor Hagrid who runs up to help in a flash.

The man's height isn't only impressive and intimidating but also a great advantage to grab the massive creature off and drag it back to its enclosure where the other two are still sunk in the water, sunbathing and behaving.

Once shut close, Professor Hagrid grips the wooden bars of the enclosure to gather himself before turning around and helping Weasley up with just one hand gripping the back of his blouse. While he seems shaken up by the encounter, he tries to rub off some of the mud on his face but only manages to smear it looking around at the rest of us.

The reactions vary, some are as shocked as he is and others shrug off their worries and are now laughing at his appearance now that they've established that he is healthy and no longer in danger.

I myself giggle knowing that while I can't get him punished for his action back on the pitch, I get to watch him look like a fool and even up the score. My friend does not agree and lets me know by elbowing me in the ribs making me groan mixing laughter and painful grunts.

Laughter that is spotted by the redhead when his head whips to me before his eyes light up.

His eyes shift from eureka to burning hatred. Shrugging off the hand of his friend trying to tidy him up and storms in my direction.

"It's you! You did this!" he yells shoving me back and sending me stumbling on the ground probably trying to get me as dirty as he is. The confrontation is cut short when Hagrid once again showcases his immeasurable strength by yanking the weasel back with a tug on his now mostly white blouse and throwing him behind his eleven-foot frame that stands now right in front of me.

"Enough with the both of you!" his voice booms in the open area.

He takes a step back and I can get a peak at the redhead enough to see him huffing and puffing from being thrown around like a doll.

"This is a classroom, not a pub. Now the both of you will walk all the way up to Professor McGonagall's office and explain exactly why I had to send the both of you to her and she will be the one to give you your punishment!"

I look at him now, hair disheveled and his tie undone covered in dirt and mud and slime. He still looks somewhat decent as he pushes his hair back with a huff.

I must look just as messy with my pink hair having been thrown on the ground and I decide to tug at the end of my own blouse trying to tidy myself up and avoid any more wrinkles on it.

"Miss Granger, please accompany those two, you know what to do if they misbehave."

"She tried to kill me!" Fred yells pointing at me.

"Do you have any proof, Mr.Weasley?"

He seems to hesitate for less than a second before motioning to me with his hand in frustration.

"It's logical thinking, she hates my gut and she's crazy!"

"You jerk-!" I bellow throwing myself in his direction before I'm engulfed in the Professor's arms.

"Enough!" He yells once more letting me go only when I stop fidgeting in his hold.

"There is no way of proving the Miss did anything. This paddock's lock has been faulty for a while and after this incident, I will personally see that it is dealt with."

He says as if he was addressing the whole class who is still standing all around us watching the event unfold.

"As for the both of you, you will do as you're told and let Miss.Granger accompany the both of you back to the castle and receive the punishment the both of you deserve for the waste of both my time and your classmates' time."

The tone is harsh and the decision is final.

"I am very disappointed in the both of you. You're worth so much more than this petty rivalry," the man shakes his head walking away.

Those words seem to have the same result on both of us. We look down a bit ashamed before we are ushered away by Hermione as we start the long and silent journey back to the castle.

We both stand in silence, side by side with yet a respectable distance as the two professors stand in front of us with judgmental stares that don't need any words to transcribe their distaste…or is it disappointment?

We were sent to our respective bathrooms to clean up 'as best as you can' while my request to wash off completely was denied by both teachers and so here I stand with the back of my blouse tainted by dirt as Weasley could barely wash the slimy texture out of his own blouse and barely dry it with what I believe might have been a spell.

And so here he stands looking dirtier than me despite the order to clean up.

"Now that the awful stench has been managed I believe a proper punishment is in order," McGonagall says with her hands joined in front of her.

"I agree, my cauldrons are in dire need of a scrub," Snape says with his usual disinterested tone.

Weasley starts protesting and claims that I should receive a harsher punishment for my so-called actions.

"She tried to kill me!" he protests.

"And as I told you Mr.Weasley there is no way for us to possibly prove this claim as Professor Hagrid did not see any of this unravel."

"Just like no one saw you throw that bulger." I bite under my breath.

"Exactly Miss.Hermlock. And I would suggest you speak with your full chest if you have any objection." Mc.Gonagall drily berates me.

"Snape-Professor Snape," he quickly corrects himself, "said multiple times that in such cases veritaserum should be used, and since she's SO confident saying she didn't do anything she won't mind doing this, won't she," he says towering over my side.

"I've always known you were a moron but I never thought you would outdo yourself in front of teachers," I smirk crossing my arms.

"Mr.Weasley, even with Miss.Hermlock's permission, the usage of such beverage on a student is forbidden. I would've hoped that with a father working for the ministry, you out of all of us would remember that."

My smirk doubles in size which I thought would never be possible.

In the end, my smirk is wiped away when we are both awarded two hours of detention with Snape. And as if it wasn't enough the punishment is cleaning the endless potion class's cauldrons.

We're ordered to go clean up, thoroughly this time and go for lunch before being expected in the dungeons for our detention hours.

We arrive at the same time just as the last student exits the class, we are left standing side by side, or more precisely 3 feet away from each other as we walk in right in front of Snape's office where he is seated with his head down to his paper purposely stalling and letting us stand there in awkward silence.

What must've been minutes feel like hours as I try my best not to side-eye the redhead standing silently beside me.

I wonder if I should've refrained from opening that damn pen when I hear those continuous scraping of pen meant to insult us as the dark-haired teacher ignore our presence.

He finally puts his feather back in its inkwell before he stands resting both his hands on his desk, "I believe I don't have to remind you what you need to do during those two hours of detention."

Neither of us answers and that seems to egg him on to stand straight and walk around his desk to stand right in front of us, his hands placed behind him.

"You two will clean every single cauldron here, I made sure none of my classes cleaned their equipment to make sure the lesson will stick and you won't have to keep me company again on such a fine day," he says bending to my height and looking straight into my eyes for just a moment before moving his sight onto Weasley, "At least one of you will learn."

Standing back up his speech is interrupted by strong stomps getting closer.

Turning around, the three of us look towards the class's entrance as we spot for a single second a figure sliding across the entrance and disappearing with a loud thud that sounds painful.

It is the first time I make eye contact with the weasel since the last time we butted heads and it is to share a sour scrunched-up expression for the victim of the fall who we hear grunting in the hallway before the sound of their footsteps echoes once more and we see the face of the one who rushed here most likely to speak to Snape.

He's bent over leaning on the door out of breath.

"Berkshire, if you're done fooling around you may grace us with an explanation as to why you're disturbing this detention."

Still out of breath, Enzo Berkshire huffs and puffs for a few more seconds before settling down still bent over.

"It's Nott," he exhales deeply before breathing in once more, "He and Wood started a brawl between quidditch teams, Hooch told me to come get you."

Turning back to the teacher, his eye roll is noticeable and his silence is an obvious assessment of the situation as he probably is planning what to do now that he is torn between us two and the alleged brawl.

"Alright, As the head teacher of house Slytherin, I will accompany Berkshire and assist Professor Hooch in this conflict."

He points to us, "As for the two of you. You will stay here and complete your detention without any complaints. If you leave before your time is up, I will know and that will reward you an entire week of detention."

Pointing at Berkshire, Snape walks past us and orders him to lead them away and with a flick of his wand makes it known that it is thanks to that maneuver that he'll know of us potentially leaving the classroom.

"Behave." is all he says before walking right behind a speeding Enzo Berkshire.

I wonder if he was referring to the both of us or maybe just Weasley.

I don't get to ponder on that before my thoughts are drawn elsewhere at the realization that my worst nightmare is unfolding before me, I am now stuck with the most insufferable student here for two hours doing the most aggravating task besides cleaning the house bathrooms.

I only get back to reality when I hear him throw his robe and satchel on a nearby station.

Being left alone with him, the task at hand, and the absence of Snape to muzzle the redhead angers me as I frop my own bag and stomp to one of the sinks filled to the brim with dirty cauldrons.

I don't even get to enjoy a full minute of tense peace as the douchebag starts his usual yapping.

"Can't say I'm surprised he would leave me alone with you, Snape has always hated me and it's no wonder he left me with you considering you tried to kill me," he mouths off as always lifting a cauldron from its stove and piling it on top of another one.

"And yet you're still breathing, what a shame." I roll my eyes as well as my sleeves picking up a scraper.

A moment of silence passes and I pray this is the moment he realizes he needs to shut up so we can endure the rest of this detention in mild peace but alas this is a good idea and everyone knows that Frederick Weasley never had one of those in his life.

"Damn. The sorting hat must've made a mistake, maybe you belong with the other psychopaths in Slytherin." He throws both cauldrons beside the filled sink with a loud clang.

"I'm sorry but I'm not the one cladding the scales." I bite back.

"Oh, she has claws," he draws out loudly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask genuinely turning around to face him.

"No, the question is what is wrong with you," He asks back louder.

"Nothing is wrong with me! You're the one who can't figure out when to stop, you're the one who always goes too far and you're the one who went too far once again, so much so that you ended up sending my friend to the infirmary!" I hurl and see him losing that fire that usually overtakes his pupils showing he enjoys egging on people once they are set off.

"It's the risk when you play Quidditch," he tries and fails to sound firm in his statement making me scoff.

"For Rowena's sake, you're still acting as if you didn't purposely throw that bulger at him!" I say running my hands through my hair in frustration.

"I didn't!" he says even less believable.

Done with his excuses I turn back around to give all my attention back to the dirty cauldrons when he manages to slide between me and the sink making me take a huge step back.

"I didn't mean to throw it that hard."

I stare at him, no, I glare at him feeling the urge to punch him again but I remember that it didn't do anything for me the last time and instead opt to let out my frustration by hollering at him and walking away before I make the mistake of punching him and have a Professor magically appear out of nowhere to give me more detention again.

Even when I think I finally win and have him admit to his wrongs he still finds a way to make excuses for himself.

"What were you expecting?! I'm a beater that's what we do!"

Does he really think I don't know what a bloody beater is?!

Is he trying to make me pass off as an emotional wreck because of my appropriate reaction to such injury during a supposed amicable match?!

Any beater whether amateur or professional could agree that either maliciously or not that throw was unwarranted during training.

"There really is something wrong with you," I walk right in front of him, toe to toe, and spite my statement right in his face pushing him aside to gain back access to the sink.

I start scrubbing as my mind throws all the different reasons I despise the fucker. Irresponsible, unfunny, no compassion.

I'm so lost in my spiteful analysis of him that I don't register that my thoughts aren't my own anymore as I unconsciously start rambling out loud.

"An idiot who doesn't even think before taking people down with him," I grumble scrubbing away.

"Come on now it's not like he's dead," He nips throwing down yet another pile of small cauldrons beside me.

"I'm talking about me!" I yell letting go of my current task and letting the pot fall and clang with another one causing a ruckus in the sink.

"Not only is my friend in the infirmary because of you but I'm also stuck with you trying to teach someone who I learned has never been slacking in muggle history before recently."

His jaw slacks open and his eyes double in size like the breakfast sausages I had this morning.

"Wait a minute. You think I'm doing this on purpose?!"

You do everything on purpose! Your dad works for the ministry, he is a Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office employee dammit! If anyone is an expert at muggle stuff it's your dad!" I say as a matter of fact.

"And tell me exactly what would it bring me to purposely be bad at this subject all of a sudden?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe to annoy me more often than usual." it sounds like a question but I know I'm just clarifying the situation.

"You think I'm gonna waste my days stuck with you in the library acting dumb for fun?" he tries to ask sarcastically.

"And why not? Beside the library part isn't that what you do all day anyways?"

The quick wit seems like it struck him as he scoffs with a broad smile.

"If you want to be a failure for the rest of your life go ahead and be my guest but I'll ask you not to take me down with you."

That same disbelief smile disappears and leaves place for a blank look that doesn't often grace his face.

"Unlike what you think, success doesn't necessarily come from academic prowesses." he tries to bite.

"Obviously not when it comes to you." I mock before turning back around feeling satisfied for getting him not once but twice in a row.

The triumphant silence doesn't last long before he dwells in a monologue that I don't bother listening to. Instead, I tune him out and start scrubbing which helps to cover the annoying sound of his voice.

His speech feels like hours long but is probably just a few minutes tangent as by the time my ears recognize his next sentence I'm only done with the first cauldron.

"-With such a nasty attitude it's no wonder Murphy didn't show up to your date."

The cauldron clashes with another as I let it fall back into the abnormally huge sink before turning my head toward the nuisance of my life.

"How do you know about that?" the voice that comes out of my mouth is one I don't recognize.

He pauses and seems to hesitate.

"Heard Katie talk about it to her friend."

"I never said anything about it to Katie, 'matter of fact I never said anything about this date to anyone ever so there's no way you heard this through gossip."

"He told me." he tries again even less believable than the first time.

"Bullshit." I seeth.

It's bluff, while I believe I might know Murphy it's not to say that he isn't just like any other guy and simply good at hiding his real intentions.

He starts ranting about some story I can tell is made up on the spot and it's like the wheels stopped turning and the lightbulb lights up in my head with such intensity that the next words come out of my mouth in a loud realization that echoes his own.

"You did this, It was you!" I accuse him with a rageful glare.

He steps back and rolls his eyes tilting his head back, "Oh my-you know what?! Yeah, I did. I warned the guy and I did well because he deserved better than to be stuck on a date with a stuck-up cunt like you." he finishes his tirade by sticking his index finger in my enraged face.

"You're fucking evil." I spit it like it's a statement everyone agrees upon watching him turn his back to me walking farther away.

My outburst is so intense that I have to take a shaky breath and keep my tears at bay as my better judgment is thrown out the window and I decide to finally pour all my frustration out.

"You know, you always take some sick pleasure in telling me I'm cold-hearted," the beginning of my speech is shakey but I quickly regain strength in my voice to let out all my poison,"But you can't even own up to your own fucking flaws and the fact that you're nothing but a jackass who use your so-called 'pranks' to harass everyone in school because they know better to be friends with an asshole like you who's only friend is his twin because no one else wants to be around you!"

My rant is over and the only noise filling the space is my heavy breathing. Catching my breath I feel hot and can barely focus on anything other than my heart beating in my ears as I feel my boiling blood travel all through my body as I stare dead into the eyes of the one who brought me to such an extent of anger.

When my heart settles and I can finally hear my breathing slow down I can focus solely on him and realize that his stare is dead.

He's not glaring, he's just looking. All trace of anger is gone and he's left staring at me or rather through me with dead eyes.

I seem to have struck a nerve and for once the guy doesn't have a comeback. Instead, I'm rewarded with the shoulder shove of a six-foot-something figure who passes me to walk to the sink and starts scrubbing away…

What the heck?

The feeling of regret invades me for a moment but is quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

Why should I feel regret? It's not like he ever feels regret for the horrible things he does. He never apologizes to anyone no matter how far he crosses the line.

The regret quickly fades and I instead let the small spot of confidence inside me grow. It's the first time I've ever shut the mouth of the biggest jerk there is, why shouldn't I enjoy it as long as it lasts?

After everything, I'm entitled to this. I'm entitled to twist the knife.

I take a first careful step and then a second, more confident one closer to him and the sink.

"Yeah, I might be a cold-hearted bitch. But you're an arrogant jackass who's not even funny." I say more calmly yet still petty.

"Oh piss off!" he shouts throwing the cauldron back into the sink with a smash that I wonder might have actually shattered or maybe chipped one of them.

I jump aside to avoid another shoulder shove and follow him with my eyesight to spot him grabbing his stuff and realize he is trying to escape this detention to avoid my lash-out.

Figuring out his plan I catch up and run past him to stand in front of the door blocking his way out.

"No! No, You called me what you called me and now I get to call you whatever I want!"

I wonder for a moment why he doesn't push past me, for sure his frame can easily overpower mine but instead of crashing into me to walk out of the potion class he instead turns around and throws both robe and satchel on a station with a shout that almost rivals mine.

"Alright then let's go ahead, get it all out of your system sweetheart." He snarls standing in the middle of the class, his arms expanded before he places them on his hips.

"You!" the bitter tone escapes me in a rough huff as I point at him, "Have done nothing but make my life hell since the day I arrived." I start walking towards him, "And for what? I have NEVER given you any reason to hate me and yet I have been the target of so many of your pranks that I started being known as the damn Weasley's guinea pig!" I throw my finger in his direction before it falls back on my sides as I walk slowly but with conviction towards him.

"There we go!" he says faking being proud probably to egg me on in my rant with a sick smirk bending down to my eye level and crossing his arms probably to toy with me and undermine me as he always does.

"You do nothing at school but be a nuisance and waste everyone's time including mine and it's so sick to think that you can't even let others be successful just because you can't achieve anything on your own, it's pathetic!" I'm getting closer, almost toe to toe with the redhead who doesn't take a step back and stays planted where he stands or rather is bent over.

"Come on let it all out," he snarls.

"But somehow I was still stupid enough to think that this time you would have the decency to at least admit you went too far and apologize for hurting my friend but even then you cannot take responsibility as always," I finish my tirade taking my final step right in front of him as our noses brush.

"Anything else?!" he angrily spits in my face with a scowl.

I breathe in harshly wishing I could punch him or clap back like I did before but realize if my rant hasn't aroused all kinds of empathy it is useless to keep calling him names it won't male a difference.

"Yeah, your attempt to make me look ugly by turning my hair pink completely failed because I still look good unlike you," I say sourly throwing a glance at his mop of hair.

He sneers.

His arms that were crossed in front of him manage to travel up and brush strands of hair behind my ears before his fingers slide down and twirl the locks in his hands toying with them.

When I'm done bathing in the hatred coating his eyes I notice I'm not the only one panting when I feel his breath brush my face.

Why is he panting? I'm the one who just rambled angrily for five minutes.

"Got it all out?" he says calmer this time around.

I look at him and my eyes make the mistake of switching between his eyes and lips just a second to see his doing just the same and analyze my face.

We haven't moved from our spot and I don't know why.

"Yeah, I think so," he whispers his lips brushing over mine with each syllable.

He stands back up, his hands leaving my hair and falling back to his side as he brushes past me leaving me to stand there frozen trying to comprehend the goosebumps littering my body and my hands shaking by my hips.

I manage to turn around and see him grabbing his stuff and making his way to the class entrance once more.

I find my voice, less confident than before but still strong enough to try and stop him.

"What are you doing detention isn't over yet!" I begrudgingly state.

"Then I guess I'll get a week's worth of detention!" he announces walking out with one hand clutching his satchel and the other one throwing his robe over his shoulder.

He's gone, and in the newly found silence, I breathe out through my nose and assess what just happened.

Weasley just mocked me, pissed me off and egged me on, undermined me, and left me in a classroom filled to the brim with cauldrons to clean all by myself after toying with my anger, my hair, and…

My hand bolts into fists and my nails sink into my palms as I conclude what I already know.

I hate him.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #ennemies to lovers #rivals to lovers

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thirteenducks · 1 year ago

Text

rest for the weary

(neuvillette x fem!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to as 'girl'), no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.9k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic? sort of?, mild hurt/comfort, gentle and tender Neuvillette, being overworked, fainting, neuvillette is sexy in a paramedic kind of way, crimes against gloves, almost-crimes against pastries, "you will be taken care of So Help Me" neuvillette, very self indulgent, can you tell i'm a college student

༻❁༺ author’s note: blame my mutuals for putting talk about neuvillette being gentlemanly and kind on my twitter feed. this is their fault and also the four glasses of sangria i drank before i wrote this

Neuvillette would like to believe he understands human behavior quite well by now. What he does not understand is their tendency to be self-sacrificial to the point of exhaustion. When your stress reaches a fever pitch, he steps in.

You don’t remember if it was the fatigue or the hunger that you noticed first. Both have been on the fringes of your consciousness since you left your bed early this morning. Right now, they’re kept at bay only by a lingering headache that worsens as you step out into the clear day.

The beautiful azure of the morning sky above. The flocks of pigeons that dapple the steps of the Palais Mermonia like sunlight through leaves. The hum of the Court of Fontaine as coffee sales begin for the morning. All are lost on you as you forge ahead, feet barely clearing the cobblestone below them.

The papers on your desk, stacked high and demanding attention, are all that your bleary eyes register at the moment. Anything else is secondary.

As much as your conscience would contend it, your current predicament isn’t entirely your fault. Sure, you had procrastinated a bit when the pile of records was first assigned to you, and maybe hadn’t chipped away at it the way you could’ve if you planned ahead.

For a gestionnaire, though, it’s also just that time of year when the clouds pour rain daily and the opera house sees a never-ending rotation of cases.

So if that means some sacrifices on your side are required, you’re willing to make them for the good of the Court. You’re certainly not the only one, either. The circles under the Chief Justice’s eyes always grow darker during the rainy season; you hope he’s taking better care of himself than you are.

Once you’ve gotten rid of this batch of paperwork, you’ll be free to rest for a while, you tell yourself. You can take a break. Maybe you could walk to that cafe down the street with the nice cashier and get yourself breakfast, if the rain isn't too bad by midmorning.

Your knees waver under you as you carry the precarious stack of records to the threshold of your office. On second thought, maybe you should ask if they offer delivery.

The low murmur of a familiar voice, a pleasant bass melody, reaches you as you step out into the plush carpet of the hallway. It floats through your dizzy head like syrup.

Good. You won’t have to walk far to give these to Neuvillette, then. You’re not sure your feet would carry you all the way to his office anyway, and you’d rather not field any uncomfortable questions about your health from such an esteemed man.

Assuming what you hope is a pleasant expression, you approach the Iudex and Sedene as he bends at the waist to inspect a bump on her antler.

There’s a very becoming look of concern on his face, you notice. It must be nice to be the focus of such care.

The unfazed voice of a Melusine comes from somewhere below you: “I promise it’s just a mosquito bite, Monsieur. I must’ve stood around the docks for too long this morning.”

“Even so... I would administer some anti-inflammatory soon, Sedene. Please don’t neglect your health,” he chides as he pats her head affectionately.

Neuvillette rises again to his full height, catching your eye as you draw near to him.

A fetching smile upturns the corners of his mouth. He greets you with a stately nod, holding out his right hand for your stack of records. Your gaze flits to his other hand, currently engaged by an apple turnover.

Ah. A gift from a Melusine, no doubt. You hope he enjoys it, even if a part of your brain wants you to snatch it for yourself.

If Neuvillette catches the way your eyes linger on his breakfast, he doesn’t mention it. What he does is quirk his head to the left in a silent question as he continues to stand with his hand outstretched.

Oh, archons. How long have you been standing in front of him with a blank look on your face? Too long to be appropriate, certainly.

Clearing your throat and forcing a smile, you take a step forward to hand off your pile of papers to him. Only, instead of making contact with the floor of the hallway, your shoe falls into thin air as your other knee buckles and your back falls towards the carpet.

As your consciousness slips, you feel a cool hand snake around your waist.

Your head goes limp, bouncing a bit with the impact until the pastry drops to the carpet and Neuvillette’s other gloved hand comes to cradle the back of your neck.

He’s caught you. He wishes you were awake to instruct him what to do next.

He lowers you to the ground softly, brow creased with worry. Sedene stands next to him with a similar expression, holding the turnover she saved as it fell.

“Sedene. Bring me a pillow from the sofa in my office, please. Quickly.”

The Melusine salutes and she darts off. His eyes never leave your face as he kneels, large frame bent over you protectively.

Releasing your waist, he brings a hand up to his teeth and tugs off the glove in a smooth motion before resting his bare fingers against your forehead. A curse in a tongue unknown to all but him breaks the quiet air and his brows knit together. Humans and their damned self-sacrificial nature.

Sedene returns holding a cushion. He eases it under your head with care, ensuring your neck is supported before he retracts the hand underneath.

There in the Palais hallway, the Iudex of Fontaine strips himself of his judge’s coat, uncaring of decorum at the moment. Gentle hands graze your bare skin as he wraps the garment around your shoulders. Were you conscious, you would feel the softness of the silk lining against your cheek and the scent of the ocean it carries with it.

He knows from his extensive observations of human behavior that you’ve probably only collapsed from fatigue, not sickness. And yet… and yet he cannot keep himself from stroking your forehead, cool fingertips resting there as he meditates.

Another moment passes before he makes up his mind. Your body rises from the carpeted hallway floor into strong arms, seldom-seen muscles flexing under his white undershirt.

The change in altitude brings you halfway out of your daze. Through hazy vision, you catch the sight of pale skin moving above you. His slit eyes meet yours and you don't manage more than a small sound of confusion before you’re pulled back under by sleep.

With a brief nod to Sedene, Neuvillette carries you to his office in a few quick strides. The door slides shut behind him.

Your hands unconsciously tug on his lapels and you curl your body closer to the warmth of his chest, making his ears burn.

Every time he thinks he understands your species, something like this happens.

He had certainly noticed your energy waning over the last few days, but he worried about the propriety of mentioning such a thing to you. Would you resent him for asking about something so personal? Should he send someone closer to you to step in before you hurt yourself?

In the end, he had settled for bringing you breakfast from a nearby cafe. He glances at the turnover, now sitting innocently on his coffee table courtesy of Sedene. It taunts him.

The silence in his office is deafening as Neuvillette lays you carefully on the sofa next to his desk. He runs through the list of human vitals in his head.

You’re breathing quite deeply. Your pulse is healthy and strong as his fingers press against the side of your throat. The color in your face is returning to its normal shade. Surely all you lack is a good meal, which he can certainly provide, and some rest.

Then why do his hands shake as he pours tea into a cup on the table before you?

Why can he not keep his eyes from you as you sleep, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm?

Why does he find it impossible to return to the paperwork that calls his name just a few feet away?

A clap of thunder shakes the building.

He doesn’t realize how long his eyes have been trained on yours until you’re staring back at him through lowered lids, awakened by the noise.

It takes about a half second for you to remember the circumstances of a few minutes prior and gasp, sitting up with a speed that makes Neuvillette reach towards you in concern. His coat falls from where it was draped across you and you stare at it, unblinking.

Your gaze flits to Neuvillette, bare to the wrist. He watches silently as you register the sofa you’re laid upon and the lavish office around you.

The Chief Justice makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when you rush to stand up, face burning. Your head spins - whether from fatigue or embarrassment, you’re not sure. A million apologies threaten to spill from your mouth at once.

With your head bowed and your feet unsteady below you, you don’t see the hand rising to your face until a cool sensation spreads over your flushed forehead. The surprise of it shuts you up immediately. When you do dare to raise your eyes, you hardly trust what you see in front of you.

There is no anger in the face of the Iudex, in the downturned curve of his mouth or the crease of his brow. Only tender concern presents itself as he addresses you.

“You appear to be feverish. Please, sit back down. I won’t have you fainting again if I can help it.” He removes his hand from your skin, leaving behind a burning sensation that you can't attribute to a fever.

“Mon- Monsieur?”

He tuts, raising the cup of tea to your hand and folding it into your grasp. “Drink, please,” he murmurs, face etched with care.

You blink a few times, sipping the drink as if compelled by magic. It's sweeter than you’re expecting.

“Good girl.”

You nearly choke on it.

If possible, Neuvillette looks even more distressed by your sudden coughing fit. “You’re far redder than when you awoke. The fever reducer in this blend should help with that, but in the meantime, please take some of this…”

The minutes pass quietly. Periodically, Neuvillette instructs you in a gentle tone to drink your tea or eat a bit of pastry. He absolutely forbids you to stand after the second time you attempt to excuse yourself.

When he's been assured that you're comfortable, he speaks again.

“May I ask why you believe those papers you were attempting to bring me were worth working yourself to exhaustion over?”

His words are authoritative, but his voice carries such softness that you can’t help but be honest with him.

“I’m so very sorry, Monsieur. It won’t happen again. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this week.”

Neuvillette's violet eyes are melancholy as they meet yours. “Of course. It’s a busy time of year for us all,” he says, shifting his gaze to the steady rain outside. “I do hope you know, however, that I would far rather your work be late than your health to fail on my account.”

You duck your head. “...I understand, Monsieur.”

The man’s stately expression fades into something unreadable at that.

“...Please, call me Neuvillette.”

You were unaware that his voice, so commanding in the courtroom, could sound so tender directed at you.

Your gaze darts up from the floor. The Iudex is not meeting your eyes. His are fixed instead on the light drizzle pattering the windowpane. A faint swathe of color decorates his lofty cheekbones.

As you smile and nod your head, pronouncing his name with a few words of thanks, the morning sun streams into the room behind you.

It’s getting to be quite the lovely day outside.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x fem!reader #fem!reader #:3c #this was fun to write and even more fun to see my beta readers react to #shout out to tender and honey btw love you guys #have i mentioned how much i love gentle men recently #if i haven't here's 2k words to remind you

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wheeboo · 1 year ago

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three silly little words | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. the three times you and jeonghan wanted to confess those three silly little words for each other, and the one time you do. PAIRING. jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, slightly suggestive at the end, established relationship WARNINGS. kissing, i have a thing with jeonghan w neck kisses, terms of endearment, jeonghan is just so whipped for you like, you both are a lil drunk n cute n v much in love at the end WORD COUNT. 2.6k

notes: happy birthday to our beloved angel!

ONE.

The first time was so sudden. The moment was just so mundane, simple, just so miniscule, but Jeonghan knows that it doesn't make much for him to feel so weak for you.

How can he not feel that way when the first thing he sees when he wakes up is you stepping out of his bathroom, hair wet from a shower, clad in one of his shirts that you must have stolen from his closet beforehand? The two of you aren't officially living together yet, and it's only the second time you've slept over and stayed the night at his place voluntarily, yet Jeonghan feels his heart take a giant leap in his chest, even through his half-asleep brain and the grogginess of just waking up.

Once you catch sight of his eyes, you feel your cheeks flush, and you playfully tug at the collar of the (his) oversized shirt you're wearing, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"Why... Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask.

Jeonghan just tilts his head slightly, face softening. "Like what?"

You roll your eyes playfully, placing yourself down next to him on the bed. "You know what I mean."

"I don't, actually, would you care to explain to me?"

You let out a small laugh as you scoot closer to Jeonghan, your hand finding its way to his cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his face. And when your hand rests rightfully on his face, Jeonghan leans into your touch, closing his eyes momentarily as he relishes the feeling of your hand against his skin. The morning sun casts a warm glow across the room as you feel his fingers trace delicate patterns on the back of your hand.

And in that moment, there's a sudden realisation that bursts within your chests. It's loud, almost raging, even in the quietness that lingers this early in the morning. You both exchange a knowing look with each other𑁋there's a vulnerability there, a hint of recognition. But neither of you dares to vocalise it. Not right now, at least. You both have danced around the feeling for so long that the hesitation has grown considerably.

It doesn't take long for a coy smile to etch across Jeonghan's features, before reaching out to pull you down onto the bed with him. You laugh as you tumble into his arms, and he wraps them around you, keeping you close to him as much as possible.

Then his lips, soft as a sigh, presses a kiss to the top of your head, a sweet delicate caress of affection.

You both choose to stay silent.

TWO.

The second time was when you had came down with a cold one day, and you found yourself drowned in a nest of blankets and pillows that Jeonghan had arranged for you on your bed. It was a miserable day for you, with a stuffy nose, a pounding headache, and you could barely speak without your voice cracking. But even with this, he still continues to dote you, care after you, even taking the day off of work to watch over you.

"You don't have to do all this, you know," You mumble, throat scratchy from all the coughing.

All he does is gaze at you with that tender look and faint smile that doesn't waver, even in the face of your stupid cold and absurd bedhead. Jeonghan reaches over and places a gentle hand on your forehead, his touch cool and comforting.

"I know, but I want to, angel," he tells you. "Taking care of you is the least I can do."

You smile weakly at his words, your heart melting at the endearment he uses𑁋it's his favourite one to use for you, he's told you (and there's many other things he wants to call you too, even something as ridiculous as schnookums or as intimate as simply love, my love). You remember the way he first said it, almost shyly and unsure like he was revealing a secret, and how it made your heart skip a beat and how it made his own swell out of his chest.

"Let me go check on your soup, okay? I'll be back." You give him a nod as he stands up to leave you in the comfort of your bedroom for a few minutes, giving you the chance to let out some low coughs that itches the back of your throat uncomfortably.

He emerges back into the room with a steaming bowl of soup, and the aroma instantly fills the room, making your mouth water. Jeonghan carefully places the bowl on the bedside table and adjusts the pillows to help you sit up a bit.

"It's homemade chicken soup, just the way you like it." He hands you the bowl, and you take another waft, already feeling its soothing effects on your irritated throat and congested sinuses. He definitely did not text your mother beforehand, but the soup smells just as good as hers, if not better.

Jeonghan watches you with a soft, adoring gaze as you take your first cautious spoonful, ensuring you're comfortable and not struggling too much. The flavours of home relish on your tongue, eyes widening up to him as you take another sip, and another, and another.

"Gosh, you're an angel," You rasp out, voice still a bit rough.

Jeonghan chuckles softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "You're the real angel here," he replies, eyes filled with affection. "Gotta make you feel better so your pretty smile can brighten up my day again."

You can't help but blush at his sweet words, even though your cheeks are already flushed from the fever. As you continue to eat, he stays by your side, occasionally offering you sips of water and making sure you have everything you need. The combination of his care and the delicious soup begins to work its magic, and you can feel your energy returning, even if it's just a tiny percentage.

And when you finish the last spoonful, he helps you set the bowl aside as you lay back down in the comfort of your bed, letting out a satisfied sigh. His eyes remain on you for a bit, and you can tell he's about to say something𑁋the thought makes your heart race.

"I'll let you rest now, okay?" There's a slight tickle to your chest that had made you anticipate for something else, but all you do is give a nod. "Call me if you need anything. I'll be in the living room."

"Okay," You respond, watching as he picks up the empty soup bowl from your bedside table before beginning to make his way to your bedroom door. But just as he's about to leave, you call out impulsively, "Hannie?"

Jeonghan pauses, looking back at you curiously, and a bit worriedly.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you lock eyes with him, and for a moment, you contemplate telling him those three little words that you've been holding onto for so long. You can feel them hanging at the tip of your tongue. You want to tell him how much he means to you, but as you look into his eyes, you hesitate. Maybe it's the fever or the vulnerability from your cold, but you can't bring yourself to say it just yet.

Instead, you offer a shy smile and say, "Thank you... for taking care of me."

He smiles softly.

"You don't have to thank me, angel," he replies. "I enjoy taking care of you."

And with that, he leaves the room, and you watch as he disappears from sight, your heart still pounding in your chest.

THREE.

The third time was just... rudely interrupted. The two of you had taken a weekend trip to the beach, craving for some time away from the bustle of everyday life. The sun was warm, the skies a beautiful clear blue, the sand beneath your toes was soft, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was nothing short of a peaceful.

You and Jeonghan found yourselves strolling along the shoreline, hand in hand, leaving footprints in the wet sand. The wind tousled your hair, the fresh scent of the sea air filling your lungs, and you couldn't help but feel utterly content.

Jeonghan shoots a few glances toward you, the sunlight playing on your features casting a gentle, golden glow on your face. He admires the way your hair dances in the breeze and the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the reflection of the sea. In that moment, you appear nothing short of ethereal that leaves him completely spellbound. You just look so beautiful and he makes it a promise to tell you that for as long as he can.

You steal a glance at him as well, the sun kissing upon his face, noticing how he's lost in thought, with his free hand tucked into his pocket and his expression pensive.

"You okay?" You ask him, letting a thumb caress gently at his hand.

Jeonghan's gaze shifts from the horizon to you, your voice snapping him out of his reverie, and he offers a faint smile. He squeezes your hand in response, appreciating your touch and the concern in your eyes.

"More than okay," he assures you warmly. "Just taking everything in. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

You nod in agreement, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The scenery is undeniably breathtaking, but it pales in comparison to the way he looks at you, and the way he holds your hand as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

And little did you know, the two of you were thinking just how perfect this setting is. It's ideal, romantic, just enough to set the backdrop to the three little words you've been wanting to say each other for the longest time. When the two of you take a moment to stop and pause to overlook the calm ocean waters together, Jeonghan turns to face you.

"Y/N, I..." He pauses, before continuing, "You know that I𑁋"

But just as he's about to finish his sentence, a seagull swoops down suddenly, interrupting the moment with a loud and unexpected squawk. It starts the two of you simultaneously, and you let out a surprised yelp before turning your attention to the noisy bird that had landed on the sand nearby.

The seagull stares at both of you with its beady eyes, seemingly unapologetic for the interruption. You and Jeonghan both exchange a puzzled look with each other, trying to suppress your laughter together.

"Sorry, what were you going to say?" You ask him.

Jeonghan's lips purse together, glancing between you and the noisy bird waddling it's way towards you. He lets out a sigh.

"I'll... tell you later, don't worry about it," he reassures you.

Then the seagull squawks again, as if offering its commentary on your conversation. You and Jeonghan burst into laughter, unable to contain it any longer. As if sensing it had done its part, the seagull finally takes flight, soaring back into the sky and disappearing into the distance.

It's quiet for a few moments, and the opportunity was still there, but it wasn't until you both can overhear some loud chatter in the distance. Jeonghan's eyes trail behind you, seeing a large group of beachgoers making their way towards your spot. He feels the snake of frustration crawl up his spine.

However, he feels that frustration dissipate when you grab a hold of his hand again, and he's met with your bright smile.

"Take a little dip in the water with me?"

He can't help but grin back. "Absolutely."

A smirk crosses your face as you are quick to kick off your shoes. "Loser has to get splashed!"

Jeonghan just yells out your name as you dash your way to the water's edge, also taking off his shoes and hurriedly rolling up his pants. He chases after you, and it isn't long until the water reaches your ankles. The calm waves lap gently at your feet, the cold seawater sending shivers up your spine.

And once he reaches you, he grabs your hand and spins you around to press a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.

FINAL.

And the one time it happens, the situation wasn't entirely... the most ideal. It was late at night, the two of you were returning home from a birthday party for one of Jeonghan's friends, and for most of the time you had found yourselves separated away from each other.

You are both also a bit tipsy.

Maybe it was the alcohol speaking for you, or the fact you both felt as if you haven't seen each other for weeks on end, yet nothing but your chuckles fill the air as Jeonghan drags you inside his place. And once the door closes behind𑁋the two of you finally alone together𑁋his lips are immediately locking onto yours, both firmly and gently, making you stumble backwards until you feel your behind hit the back of the couch.

Your senses are heightened by the remnants of alcohol in your system, and your head spins with his lips moving against yours. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his body pressing against yours. His kisses were sweet and addictive, like they always are, also a bit clumsy, and you could taste the hint of red wine on his lips.

You feel his kisses travel from your lips to your cheeks and down to your neck, planting soft, loving pecks along the way. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh of pleasure, your hands finding their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, feeling the way his breath brushes against the skin of your neck.

"Missed you so much, beautiful," he mutters against your skin, sending goosebumps to dance on your skin as he continues to pepper your neck with tender kisses.

You couldn't help but smile, a gentle, tipsy grin spreading across your face. "I missed you too."

As you break away for a moment to catch your breath, Jeonghan's forehead rests against yours, and you both giggle softly. The room spins slightly around you, a dizzying combination of alcohol and desire. You feel his hand trace delicate patterns on your waist, sending shivers to run up and down your spine.

You can feel your heart beating faster as you lock eyes with him, his dark, dilated pupils filled with a longing that matches your own.

"You know," he begins, eyes fluttering and voice a soft, alcohol-tinged murmur. "There's a secret I've been wanting to tell you. You can't tell anyone."

Your heart flutters, and you lean in closer, eager to hear what he has to say. "Tell me."

A mischievous grin tugs at the corners of his lips, and he leans in even closer, his lips brushing against yours with a teasing, almost torturous gentleness. The scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body envelop you.

"I love you."

Those three silly little words hang in the air, and it feels like time stands still. You're no longer tipsy (even though you still kinda are); at this point, the alcohol has sharpened your focus, and you're acutely aware of everything around you.

"I'm so in love with you, angel, I feel like I might lose my mind."

If it was possible for you to burst, then that's what your heart does right there. You feel a rush of warmth flood your body, like a deep breath you've been holding onto for years, and you kiss him this time. Just briefly, because it was all too overwhelming right now to use your voice when that itself feels like it's not enough.

When you finally catch your breath, you whisper, "I love you too, Jeonghan."

Jeonghan's eyes simmer with an intensity that pierces right through you.

"Say that again," he breathes huskily.

A playful grin forms on your lips. You lean in even closer, your lips nearly brushing against his as you repeat those three precious words again and for the rest of the night.

And all the nights after those.

"I love you, Jeonghan."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair

#kflixnet #k-labels #caratsland #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan x reader #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt x reader

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theother-victoria · 1 month ago

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LOVE IS CONCOCTED FROM ESTERS AND KETONES- CH.02: ROBIN

SYNOPSIS: you’ve been commissioned to make a perfume that tells the life story of the universe’s most beloved idol. don’t let her down now.

CHARACTERS: robin, mentions of sunday, gopher wood, jade, and welt

TAGS: robin character story spoilers, mild gore (descriptions of a gunshot wound), mild angst, CRASHOUT ROBIN REAL WE ALL CHEERED (potentially ooc), 5.7k+ wc (I got carried away... sorry not sorry :3)

TAGLIST: @mitsvriii, @harque, @akutasoda, @flowery-jazz, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @lxkeeeee, @mewnekoice-mecha, @nariism

NOTES: i love women give me a "hell yeah" in the comments if u agree

special thanks to pookies @wystiix, @tragedy-of-commons, and @papiliotao for proofreading!

M.LIST | FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

Paparazzi in front of your store isn’t uncommon, but for a crowd like this so early in the morning- it’s already giving you a headache.

It hasn’t even been a half hour since you flipped the sign on the front door to “open” when you hear the squeal of tires pulling up to the curb. Several of them, in fact. The voices of reporters and paparazzi meld into one jumbled mess that grates on your ears, growing even louder when a car door opens and shuts.

Yeri and Aika glance over from where they are.

“We haven’t had a crowd like that in ages. Wonder who it could be.”

The flutter of camera shutters going off one after another is so loud they’re heard even inside the store. Camera flashes practically blind your poor shop assistants as they shield their eyes and draw the blinds shut. The cameras go off even more frantically now, desperate to get a few last shots in before the blinds shut entirely.

You hear the front door slam shut and a loud sigh of relief. Yeri and Aika both gasp in shock, and that catches your attention. It must be someone really famous then, or someone they idolize to elicit that kind of reaction.

You peek up from the counter and instantly realize why the paparazzi went insane. Lilac-silver hair, fluttery wings behind her ears, a halo with flowers at the ends that resemble angel’s trumpets…

It’s Robin. The Robin, in the flesh. In your store.

You’re no stranger to having famous people in your store, but you’ve never had a singer on her level of renown and you find yourself becoming strangely nervous. Two burly security guards flank her sides. She meets your gaze and bashfully smiles and waves.

“You must be (Name). I’ve heard many good things about you and your store.”

Her voice is even more angelic in person…

She extends her hand out for a handshake and you accept. The smooth silk of her glove brushes against your hand and you can hardly believe your luck right now. You’ve had your fair share of famous people in your store. Movie stars, politicians, celebrities, and the like tend to be a common sight in your store. Greetings range from a handshake to a hug to even a kiss on the cheek. But the thing is that they tend to be lax on a no-touching rule or don’t have one outright, often being photographed hugging their ardent fans. However, Robin has a strict no touching rule at her concerts and fan meet and greets. She will never touch someone of her own accord unless it’s a close friend or family and if a fan gets too bold… Well, her security is there for a reason.

“Do you mind if I just walk around? I don’t really have a scent in mind- or rather, a story that I want to tell. I’d like to see what you have to offer.”

“Not at all. Just call me over if you have questions or need any help.”

She walks around the store, occasionally stopping to sample some perfumes. She likes many of your perfumes, as evidenced by how her eyebrows raise in pleasant agreement almost every other bottle. But she looks rather… disinterested. No, disinterested isn’t the right word. More like… unsatisfied. Like she hasn’t found what she’s looking for just yet.

She checks her phone and her eyes flash in panic as she sees the time.

“Oh, it’ll be unbecoming of me and your shop’s reputation if I leave here without something. Quick, pass me a perfume you think I’ll enjoy! Money doesn’t matter. I have more credits than I know what to do with.”

You scan your store and hand her the first feminine perfume that catches your eye. It’s in a pretty pink bottle with a vintage atomizer. It’s sweet, sugary, and fruity. No surprise that it’s one of your best-sellers among young women, with top notes of juicy fruits and sparkling alcohol before drying down to a sweet vanilla with powdery aspects. You don’t doubt that she has a million other perfumes that smell similar and it’ll probably be quickly forgotten about in her undoubtedly already-extensive perfume collection, but it’s a crowd-pleaser and it wouldn’t hurt to add another bottle.

She swipes her card quickly and leaves, but not before looking back at you with a promising glint in her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon. And without the paparazzi.”

In your experience, that usually means a client wants a personalized perfume. Meaning they’re going to be divulging aspects of their past they don’t want anyone else around for.

Aika wanders over to your side when she’s out the door and the paparazzi have left. Yeri is in the back on the verge of fainting, mumbling something about her lucky stars having blessed her for a lifetime.

“What was that about? Seems like a wasted trip to me.”

You shrug and make your way back to the lab.

“Beats me.”

Weeks come and go. You handle clients as per usual, but you can’t get her out of your mind. And as you’re thinking about her while opening for the day, she shows up- albeit you don't recognize her at first. There are no outrageous paparazzi and she doesn’t even have her security with. She’s wearing a big tan trench coat that hides her svelte figure and instead makes her look like a shapeless mess. Her silver hair is hastily shoved into the hat atop her head and when she removes it, her halo also springs up, bobbing up and down a bit before stilling. The wings by her ears flutter and twitch as she stretches them out after hiding them in what was surely an uncomfortable position for so long.

“Good morning,” she greets with a gentle smile.

“Good morning,” you greet in return. “It’s nice to see you here again. Anything I can help you with today?”

“Yes, actually. I’d like to get a perfume custom-made.”

You tell Yeri and Aika to handle any customers that come in through the door before leading Robin to the back. Next to your lab is a small office where the business side of things are handled, and it’s where you negotiate commissions from clients. You unceremoniously brush aside a stack of credit card receipts and clear the desk space. You ask Robin if she’d like some snacks and tea. She declines the former but accepts the latter, and as the kettle boils atop the mini fridge in the corner, you get down to business.

“I’m happy to custom-make a perfume to your needs. Let’s get the necessary details sorted out first, and then we can move onto the fun stuff.”

You rattle off your rules regarding payment, as well as a rough timeline of production and when she can expect updates from you. She nods when she has to and you can see the same impatience in her eyes for the fun to begin.

After confirming with her and seeing the astronomical down payment go through, you can finally get into the part you enjoy the most.

“So, what would you like your perfume to smell like?”

“I’d like it to reflect my life story.”

Not an uncommon request. Probably one of your most common ones, actually. Consultations for these types of scents tend to be the longest, as clients pour out their life stories to you. They’d often bring a variety of items for you to smell to get a better idea, such as rags that belonged to someone dear a long time ago or locks of hair tied together with a yellowing ribbon. In this case, you wonder what the illustrious Miss Robin would bring.

The kettle goes off and you make some tea for the both of you. As you fill her cup, she looks around nervously.

“Will… anyone overhear this?”

“Don’t worry. The walls are soundproof here and you need the right key to unlock the door. As for my shop assistants, well…”

You mimic zipping your lips shut and throwing the key away.

“Client confidentiality has always been our utmost priority. Alongside a quality product, of course.”

You shoot her a wink and she laughs, her voice sounding like tinkling bells. The tension has visibly dissipated from her shoulders and she eagerly gets started.

“If I were to describe my life as a song, then the beginning of it was dark and solemn. A Stellaron invaded my homeland and took my mother from me. The chords were dissonant and the melody was unpleasant.”

Your phone buzzes and you see she sent over several voice messages.

“Transcripts of an exclusive interview I did a while back,” she explains. “One of the first and only times I opened up about my past. But since these are already out there, I wouldn’t want to waste your time. Instead, I’ll be telling you things that no reporter has heard before.”

She skips to when she first started studying music soon after she arrived on Penacony.

“My fingers still ache every time I think about the countless hours and late nights I spent alone in the practice rooms,” she says, lightly chuckling at the end as she surely recounts many memories. Then, her smile fades a bit.

“At the time, I had the support of my brother and friends, but right outside, there were people already disapproving. We were taken in by Gopher Wood, head of the Oak Family. You see, there’s five lineages that make up The Family, each handling different affairs,” she explains. “The Oak Family is in charge of political organization, whereas the Iris Family oversees the entertainment industry. Thus, many people, especially those of the Iris Family, cast doubts on whether I could make it as a singer when I ideally should’ve been learning how to handle political affairs.”

Robin sighs and looks out the window, fingernails drumming against her still-steaming mug of tea. Your phone continues to record and you hurriedly scribble down notes in your notepad.

“But I made it, despite what they said and their stake in the entertainment industry.”

“If you could thank only one person for their support, who would it be?”

“Why, my brother, of course!”

“Please tell me more about him.”

Her eyes light up and the wings by the side of her head flutter rapidly. It’s clear she loves her brother dearly as she excitedly gushes about him.

“Sunday made many sacrifices to support my dream. From when we were children, he never faltered in his support. In fact, the tipping point was when I put on a concert soon after I had just started taking music lessons. It was in our bedroom with him as the only audience member. There were no fancy acoustics, cheering fans, or even a mic. It was just me, singing my heart out as he clapped along. Thinking back, it was… something for sure! As I had just started taking music seriously, I had yet to grasp the basics. I was off-key, would flub several passages because I forgot the lyrics, and wouldn’t be able to hit all the notes.”

She winces and shakes her head as if to chase the thoughts away. Her wings puff out and droop from embarrassment.

“It must’ve been an awful listening experience for him. But Sunday never showed it. After the concert was over, he stood up and clapped as if demanding an encore and I’ll never forget the look on his adorable face,” giggles Robin. “I’ve rarely seen him look so proud as he did back then.”

You picture a starry-eyed, baby-faced Sunday, a far cry from the dignified and solemn image of the Family head and giggle along. Robin’s eyes glint conspiratorially as she divulges for a moment to show you his baby photos on her phone. Here, you learn that he has a massive sweet tooth and that the dentist was his worst nightmare as a child.

When she sets her phone back down, there’s still that joy in her eyes that only comes from discussing her brother.

“When I went off to university, Sunday continued to show that same level of care, even with his ever-increasing responsibilities. He never missed a concert, never missed a call, and never failed to send me care packages when I needed them the most. However, he faced scorn from other Family members for my career choices when he was still a leader-in-training and lacked the grace to handle such situations.”

The joy falls from her eyes and her smile slips a bit. Her wings droop even lower this time.

“Looking back, it must’ve been unimaginably hard on him. Not only was he worrying about how to lead The Family, but was also worrying nonstop about me. He must’ve been so stressed… But if I try to bring it up to him and apologize, he won’t give me the chance to.”

Robin lets out a forced laugh. You sip your tea and pretend to be very occupied with your notes, giving her a moment to collect herself before she moves on.

“After I graduated, my fame steadily increased until it skyrocketed after I released two singles- ‘If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking’ and ‘On That Most Beautiful Day’. I still remember waking up and seeing they had jumped to the top of the charts across the cosmos almost overnight and stayed there for ages. My manager was overjoyed and I could hardly believe it. It felt as if all my hard work and everyone’s sacrifices had finally paid off. I was no longer Robin the budding singer and little sister, but Robin the cosmic songstress now… it was a bit bittersweet, I’ll admit.”

She fiddles with a strand of hair.

“As you may be aware, around this time I decided to take a break and devote my time to philanthropic work instead, much to the confusion of everyone.”

She shows you the photos she took during that time. Her standing in front of schools she had helped rebuild with, singing to a crowd of shell-shocked soldiers, holding up scores that would’ve been lost to time if not for her efforts, teaching children how to sing, and more.

“I won’t deny that I was purposefully putting myself in dangerous situations. But to me, it was worth the risk. If I could save one child, provide an education for a child the way The Family provided one to me, or inspire someone to pursue their passion regardless of the obstacles standing in the way… then it would’ve all been worth it. Even this.”

She removes the violet collar around her neck and points to a spot on her neck. It’s a patch of skin lighter than the surrounding area and you realize it’s scar tissue.

“I was shot during this time,” she gingerly says as she fastens the collar around her neck again. It’s then you realize that you’ve never seen Robin without something covering her neck. A scarf, furs, necklaces, there’s always something there. “This is something that only my brother and the late head of the Oak Family know about. The bullet had just barely missed my vocal chords. I made a full recovery, but I was terrified for a long time after that. Still, I found the strength to keep going and thanked Xipe every night that I had survived with my voice unscathed.”

You’re writing notes down furiously, and Robin pauses to give you some time. When you’ve jotted down all your ideas, you look down at the page and frown. Your notepad looks like a mess right now. Ruined childhood: strawberry, sugar, praline, bubble gum, cotton candy, violet, datura(????). War: BLOOD, GUNPOWDER, leather, smoke, pomegranate, METALLIC NOTES, animal notes. Stardom: marshmallow, cake, rose, raspberry, vanilla, caramel, amber, almond, SoulGlad (what does it even smell like…? ) MAGNOLIA, jasmine. Brother: sandalwood, lavender(??? Might throw everything off), skin.

“Um… this fragrance won’t exactly be wearable. Would you like for me to-”

“I don’t care about wearability. I have too many pleasant-smelling perfumes. Show me artistry,” she demands.

You feel the familiar thrill of excitement run through you that comes with having free reign to do whatever you want without your client getting pissed.

You can tell you’re nearing the end now when Robin moves onto her brother and his fate after recent events. Now this, you know of, but you were surprised by how big of a role Robin played in toppling his plans. Faking her death, using the power of the Harmony to unite everyone under a song to lead the fight against him, striking a deal with a crafty IPC businesswoman, and for it all to have been successful. Or well, as successful as a plan of this magnitude can be.

You realize this little bird is just as cunning as her brother, even if she doesn’t look the part. They really do share the same blood.

“I love my brother, I really do. He has a bleeding heart and hates to see those around him struggle. Of all the decisions he could’ve made in a position of power, choosing to protect people from suffering was one of the best. However, the way he went about it… I just couldn’t let myself turn a blind eye and do nothing simply because he was my brother. By trapping everyone within a dream to form a collective Order… that’s no way to live.”

She bunches her hands into fists.

“This is something that we’ve disagreed on for years. He wants to shoulder humanity’s pain and give them an idyllic, painless life where no one has to think no matter the cost, whereas I believe that although pain is an unavoidable part of living, people are more than strong enough to push through that pain and make it something worthwhile. Take me, for instance!”

She suddenly stands up. There’s a blazing conviction in her eyes that makes you flinch a bit. Her fingers are splayed out across your desk as she leans forward.

“I sacrificed so much to pursue my dream of becoming a singer- time, money, energy, and blood! Sunday doesn’t know this, but I’d cry myself to sleep many nights during university, wondering if I could even make it in this field overcrowded with talent. What if I couldn’t? I have no other skills and I’d be forced to rely on him, which as much as I love him, I don’t want. I don’t want everything handed to me on a silver platter just because of his position! And he knows this! He knows of the impossibly high standards I hold myself to!”

Robin takes a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself. Reign it in. The Harmony preaches unity, not dissonant outbursts. But it doesn’t work. She hasn’t felt this angry in a long time. Or perhaps it’s all the repressed emotions finally bursting forth after suppressing them beneath the smile she always has on.

“Let it all out. You deserve to.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

“I get that we’re siblings and that we’re always going to disagree, especially on something as subjective as our beliefs in humanity but how is he not only blind, but also deaf with his eyes and ears everywhere? He’s seen the lengths I’d go to, all in the name of music. He was one of the first to receive the news that I’d been shot, but did that dampen my resolve at all? No! If anything, it only encouraged me even more! It was all so painful, but it was all so necessary and worth it in the end. In fact, if you told me to experience all that pain again because it would push me closer to that envisioned ideal world, then I would dive in headfirst without hesitation! And dare I say who does Sunday think he is?” she exclaims, her voice steadily rising. “His ideals are a reflection of himself. Is he saying that he doesn’t believe his sacrifices- my sacrifices- to have been worthwhile because according to him, I could’ve gotten here without even lifting a finger? Don’t even give me that! That’s not a life worth living at all!!”

Robin deflates and flops back into her chair as if a balloon had suddenly popped. Those are all the words she wishes she could’ve said during their heated arguments as of late, but will never get to. At least someone finally heard her anger, as ugly as it may have sounded.

“I’m surprised he even thought you’d be willing to listen to his plans,” you gently comment after refilling her teacup. The warm liquid soothes her throat on the way down and she finds that she’s able to speak again after a few sips. She shakes her head in response. She barely has the energy to even move right now.

“No, he knew I wouldn’t even hear him out. That’s why he kept his true motives concealed for the longest time. Someone else actually figured it out first by reading deep into his words. Were it not for him, we’d be in a very different situation right now. What was his name again…? Ah, I can’t remember…”

Robin sighs. Her head rolls back to look out the window.

“Like how birds must learn to fly even if it means tumbling from the nest or encountering a dangerous predator, so too must people face hardship and struggle against the odds. Only then will a bird be able to freely spread its wings and will people see the world of possibility ahead of them,” she quietly whispers, voice hoarse from her earlier outburst.

A heavy silence sinks into the room. Robin looks down and fiddles with her hands. You stare blankly at your notepad, her words echoing in your mind.

Her phone breaks the silence by suddenly going off. Robin picks it up and sighs when she sees the caller ID.

“I have to go now. Security’s calling and messaging me in a panic since I snuck out without them knowing.”

She gathers her belongings in a hurry and checks her appearance before leaving to ensure she’s as flawless as always.

“Before you go, why did you decide to commission me to create a perfume for you?”

She stops just short of leaving and looks over her shoulder.

“I’ve long since heard of your artistic flair and your ability to tell lifelong stories through scent alone.”

“And what is your reason for being fine with receiving an utterly repulsive perfume, even if it’s the pinnacle of artistry?”

She goes silent for a few moments as she thinks.

“I suppose… It's to remind myself of just how far I’ve come and how much work I still have left to do to achieve that wish of mine. That wish is why I sing.”

And she’s gone. You lean back in your chair and sip your tea. Her half-empty cup sits across from you with a pink lipstick mark left on the rim. An open-ended perfume, huh? Most perfumes that are meant to reflect a client’s life story are in reality meant to encapsulate one perfect moment that they wish to relive every time they uncap the bottle. But to create a perfume for a singer of such renown that’s not only meant to reflect her past, but also her boundless future that carries years’ worth of hope and aspirations…

You flip open your notepad again and add another section. Conviction: pink pepper, saffron, musk, cloves, tonka bean, chocolate.

After stretching, you get up and head to the lab next door. It’ll be a challenge, but one you think you’re now equipped to handle.

For the next few weeks, it’s all you focus on. The exclusive interview and your audio recordings of your time with her loop on repeat for hours on end as you go back and forth between the lab and the drawing board. Accords are scrapped and tweaked or even tossed out the window to fit the vision in your mind as it changes by the day. Soon, it looks like a tornado went through your lab with every bit of counter space covered with labeled bottles and lab equipment. Bottles of SoulGlad are shipped to your door as you attempt to replicate the scent as closely as possible. Dozens, if not hundred, of attempts are made before the scent is indistinguishable from the original.

Yeri and Aika are enjoying the free soda, but you notice they’re sleepier than usual and it’s only then you remember that SoulGlad is an effective sleep aid too. Dammit.

Robin is always quick to respond to the updates you give her as well, despite her busy schedule. From when the custom bottle arrived to when you finally perfected the scent of SoulGlad, she always sends words of encouragement your way, as well as expressing her excitement over seeing the finished product slowly come together. She always sends a cute sticker or two at the end of each message as well.

Several months later and after a final all-nighter for the finishing touches, it’s finally complete. You text Robin that it’s ready for pickup before you go to sleep and the next morning, she’s already outside the door, waiting for you to open. It seems she wasn’t able to sneak out this time, as she’s flanked by two security guards.

“Good morning. You’re here early,” you greet as you unlock the door.

“I couldn’t sleep since I was so excited,” she admits as she watches you go about setting up the store for the day. The lights are flicked on, air purifiers are turned on, and you motion for her to follow you back into the office. Her two security guards start to follow her, but Robin gives them a look that tells them to stay put.

You disappear into the lab next door to return with a white box tied with a pink ribbon. The office door locks behind you and she feels a thrill of excitement run through her at what’s to come. With a light tug, the ribbon comes undone and you remove the lid to reveal an iridescent bottle that scatters the early morning light peeking through the blinds into rainbow-colored fractals. It was carved and blown to look like a bird taking flight (you distantly recall the exact species to be a Charmony Dove. Her request.) and the bottle cap resembled her halo. The curved golden metal is polished to perfection and little flowers are attached to the ends.

“It’s already a work of art,” she marvels as she gingerly lifts it out of the velvet-lined box and holds it up, admiring the workmanship from all angles. Without any further hesitation, she takes off her glove and sprays it onto her exposed wrist.

Robin’s eyes widen in delight at the first whiff. It’s a gourmand, sugary delight. Bubblegum, cotton candy, praline and raspberry practically dance on the tip of her tongue and she almost wants to take a bite out of her own arm because of how good it smells. There’s a floral aspect too with a strong violet note coming through. Blood orange and lemon pierce through the overwhelming sweetness, the astringency of the two fruits preventing her nose from becoming overwhelmed. She inhales again and sighs in bliss. Like her brother, she has a sweet tooth and finds this perfume to be temptingly delicious. It also reminds her of a dessert she had a long time ago. Strange, she can’t quite remember the taste or name of it… It must’ve been a dessert she and her brother enjoyed when they were children then.

The scent composition is beginning to change now. Robin inhales again, but this time her eyes fly wide open and her nose scrunches up in a mix of disbelief and disgust. The delicious fruits, which previously smelled juicy and ripe, are now overripe. They’re cloyingly sweet now, with the unmistakable odor of something rotting that makes her feel nauseous. There’s a weird, musty odor now that she attributes to the flowers in the scent decaying. It smells awful now. Revolting. Robin wouldn’t be caught dead out in public wearing this, but it was never meant to be wearable or for the public to smell it anyway. She paid for artistry, and she got it.

“Oh, Aeons,” she whispers as the scent changes even more. It went from bad to worse to horrible. The sugary sweet and floral aspects are still there, but there’s something new that emerges. It smells like war, she realizes. There’s the unmistakable stench of iron- blood- and metal. Smoke and gunpowder waft up from somewhere within and her hand flies to her neck, right above where the gunshot wound scar is. The dull pain from the gunshot throbs. Robin isn’t sure if it’s actually hurting again or if it’s her mind playing tricks on her. The blunt pain spreads across her throat and she feels a strange chill rippling out from the wound to the rest of her body. She shudders violently.

A moment passes. Then another. It starts off as a faint tingle before escalating into a searing pain that paralyzes her. She feels like her vocal chords are on fire now. Her hands fly to her throat. Burning, twisting, and eating away at the bands of muscle that give life and hope to so many, including her. She cries out for help, but nothing comes out except for a scratchy version of the plea and a hot, wet gurgling sound that she recognizes as blood dribbling out of the wound- though the sound is muffled as if someone has shoved cotton into her ears.

Robin feels something wet staining the fibers of her gloves and she looks down to see a deep red seeping into the silk and spreading until it covers her entire hand. It’s her own wet blood, still hot to the touch and she reaches up to the back of her throat where the bullet exited. Blood trickles down her back from the ruptured flesh and she gingerly presses a finger to the wound. It doesn’t hurt, strangely. Or maybe the pain is just overwhelming her senses to the point where she’s become numb. This doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real.

It’s as if someone forcefully shook her awake from a nightmare. Her pupils are blown wide and hair is plastered to the sides of her head and forehead from being drenched in a cold sweat. Her hands are still around her throat. The gunshot wound has long since healed. Her vocal cords are unscathed. Robin slowly peels her hands away and looks down. Her silk gloves are pristine.

It was just a memory. A far too vivid one, though.

You pass her a bottle of water and she eagerly takes it, chugging it in record time as she recovers. Robin thinks back to your notepad amidst the horrible memories of war that resurface. Spoiled childhood. War. You really hit the nail on the head. Truly, your storytelling ability through scent alone was unparalleled. Case in point: cake and something berry-like are present- pomegranate, maybe?- but they smell expired and rotted, like they’ve been trampled underfoot while fleeing in a panic. How did you pull it off?

“So, what do you think?” you ask as she waits for the base notes to emerge.

“Disgusting. And horrifying.”

You both laugh in unison.

“Then that means a job well done.”

The memory of war fades and something more neutral emerges. A sweet vanilla, one of her favorite scents, with woody notes. She immediately recognizes sandalwood. Sunday. It’s a favorite of his. There’s a nutty smell that emerges and she thinks of her brother again. One of Sunday’s favorite desserts was one topped with almonds and drizzled with syrup. This almond leans more bitter instead of warm and toasted, but the similarities are still there. Sticky caramel is present. Sunday loves those little caramel candies that practically melt in his mouth, she thinks. I should pick some up for him next time I go back.

Oh wait. I can’t go home now. I almost forgot, he’s not there anymore.

It smells like her brother now, and her heart aches. Will she ever be able to see him again? Strange. You’ve never met Sunday before- at least that’s what she thinks. How did you get his scent down almost perfectly then? But there’s also a surprisingly spicy kick in there that isn’t reminiscent of him. She likes it though.

She swallows down the lump in her throat and clutches the bottle tighter.

“Thank you,” she whispers. You simply nod. There’s nothing else that needs to be said.

She collects herself before leaving. It’s now approaching afternoon and there’s more people on the streets now. They stop for a double take when they realize it’s Robin, eyes going wide and jaw going slack. Whispers follow her, she sees phones being pulled out and soon, she’s surrounded by fans asking for a photo or an autograph, despite her security’s efforts. She’s used to this by now- mindlessly signing objects and donning the same smile every time for photographs. Robin the graceful, Robin the elegant, Robin the cosmic songstress who always looks flawless no matter what.

But as the last of the fans run off and as she’s sitting in the back of her chauffeured vehicle, heading to the next item on the agenda, she finds herself wondering if there’s even more she can still do. The bag with your store’s logo on it tempts her and she lifts the box out, unwrapping it again to admire the bottle. She won’t spray it- she’s not subjecting her poor security guards and chauffeur to that smell- but she finds herself thinking back on the same questions she’s always asked herself.

Why do birds fly? Does my song serve any purpose?

She thinks these are questions she’ll spend a lifetime chasing the answers to. Realistically, Robin knows she won’t ever arrive at one. She’s no philosopher, but how many times has the former been asked? And as for the latter… that’s a subjective one that’s up to her to decide.

But her song saved her brother in the end. And that’s more than enough for her.

PERUME NOTES:

TOP: strawberry, sugar, praline, bubble gum, cotton candy, raspberry, lemon, blood orange, violet, black elderberry, datura, soulglad (I hc it to smell like coca-cola)

MIDDLE: blood, leather, gunpowder, smoke, rose, pomegranate, incense, cake, metallic notes, marshmallow, magnolia, jasmine

BASE: vanilla, skin, bitter almond, caramel, amber, sandalwood, chocolate, tonka bean, cloves, saffron, pink pepper

INSPIRATION: Toskovat Age of Innocence, Toskovat Curtain Call, Toskovat Born Screaming, Ariana Grande Sweet Like Candy, Juicy Couture Viva La Juicy, Lattafa Yara

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