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writethelifeyouwant · 4 years

Text

Sin

Created for: @ilysm-mybabybrother

Pairing: Dean x Reader / Sam x Reader / Dean x Sam

Warnings: Dub-Con

Additional tags: Cuckolding, Dirty talk, Praise kink

Word count: 2,076

A/N: Written for my @spnsecretsantaficexchange set up by my bae @negans-lucille-tblr as a present for the lovely @ilysm-mybabybrother (who I’ve been a long time stalker of, nbd). They requested something smutty with dirty talk / praise kink / cuckolding / and the brothers touching each other - potentially with Demon!Dean or BoyKing!Sam - I’ve gone with Soulless!Sam - I hope that’s still okay! I think I managed to work all the other kinks in there... Anyways I had a lot of fun writing it so I hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas 🎄

Dividers: @firefly-in-darkness

Dean hadn’t let himself imagine this moment.

When Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding shotgun, Dean made himself accept that. Bobby came back, Cas came back, but when Sam didn’t appear with them, he had to let him go. He promised he would let him go.

He kept his promise. He found a job in a garage in Texas. He wooed a girl who brought in a car that sounded like his old neighbours in Hell were trapped under the hood. He picked her up in the Impala and dropped her off on her doorstep with a kiss and a promise to call; and he actually called her. They weren’t living together, but they spent most of their time at each other’s apartments. Dean taught her a bunch of ways to doctor up boxed mac’n’cheese, and Y/N taught Dean how to mix cocktails with cheap whiskey that actually made it taste nice. The earth was still turning.

But now it had stopped, because Sam was standing in front of him, dripping in holy water and cut across his arm - not a monster or a demon, it was Sam. And Dean didn’t care that he got wet too when he pulled his little brother in for a bone crushing hug, because nothing could be wrong again now that Sam was back in his arms. At least, that’s what he’d thought two hours ago. Because now, as his wrists were getting rope burn and his ears were ringing with Y/N’s soft whimpers he knew something was wrong. Something was very wrong with Sam.

“Wow, Dean,” Sam had exclaimed when he introduced him to Y/N, who had been cooking dinner when he showed up at Dean’s door. “He’s lucky he met you first, darling.” Sam’s eyes dragged up and down her body hungrily, and Dean was taken aback because that was not like Sam at all. Usually Dean was the horndog between the two of them but, I guess you would get pretty horny being dead for a year, Dean reasoned to himself. He remembered that feeling, after he got back from Hell, of wanting something to really make him feel alive again. It would just be nice if Sam didn’t use his girlfriend to feel that.

But as the evening progressed, and dinner turned into drinks, and beer turned into liquor, Dean felt more and more like he might not get a say in the matter. Sam was all over Y/N, flirting harder than Dean had ever seen him flirt, and way better than Dean remembered him being at it, come to think of it. And Y/N wasn’t turning him away. She was laughing and smiling and getting him another drink, and being the perfect goddamn housewife all while Dean was sitting there watching the two of them.

And then when Y/N brought him a refill on his whiskey she shot Dean a look that he’d only seen once before, when she’d asked if they could take home the cute waitress so Dean could watch. Back then, Dean had thought he had the best damn girlfriend ever. He essentially got a front row seat to one of his favourite pornos. But the thought of her sleeping with Sammy... Dean wasn’t wild about that one. Except he didn’t know how to say that to Y/N and Sam, so he just kept drinking and hoped it didn’t come up. He wasn’t so lucky.

He tried to step in, when Sam put his hand on Y/N’s thigh and dug his fingers in - Dean gritted his teeth and choked out a cautious “Sam…” but the warning died in his throat when he looked into his little brother’s eyes and saw empty determination and cold hunger. He didn’t see his brother. “Y/N get away from him!” Dean shouted and reached for the knife stashed in the end table next to him, but Sam was faster, drawing his own and shoving it threateningly under Dean’s chin.

“Whatcha doing there, Dean?”

“What are you?”

“I’m your brother,” Sam teased, lips curled in an ugly imitation of Sam’s warm smile.

“What happened to you down there?” Dean demanded, because if this was Sam, something changed - something was different.

“Oh so much, big brother,” Sam laughed but there was no emotion behind it. “Learned a few things too. How ‘bout I show ya?” And now Dean’s hands were tied above his head with his own goddamn rope on his own goddamn bed, while Y/N was laid out between his legs with her head on his stomach as his own goddamn brother went down on her.

“Mm, you’ve got such a good little pussy, sweetheart,” Sam sighed, sucking on her clit and pulling a whine from her lips. Y/N’s breath ghosted over Dean’s naked cock, making it twitch despite his best efforts to be disgusted at what was happening right now. “Hope Dean’s been giving this cunt the attention it deserves.”

Y/N whimpered a little, but didn’t answer, prompting Sam to slap between her legs. “My brother been treating you good? Giving you enough cock to keep a pretty thing like you happy?”

“Yes,” Y/N gasped, clenching around the fingers Sam had just pushed inside her. “Yeah he’s good - mmh - so good to me,” she moaned.

“Yeah?” Sam sneered, twisting his fingers to push against Y/N’s clit and make her writhe. “What’s he best at? I’ve always wondered when I heard the moans from the next room.”

“Sam…” Dean complained, finding his impertinent big brother tone despite the situation he was in at the moment.

“His mouth,” Y/N sighed, happy to answer despite Dean’s protest. “I love his mouth, it’s so soft… and when he kisses you, it can take your breath away.”

“How romantic,” Sam smirked. “Always knew Dean was a bit of a softie deep down.”

“Fuck you,” Dean growled, pulling uselessly against his restraints again.

“Ladies first,” Sam laughed, and pulled his fingers from Y/N and sucked them clean, eyes boring into Dean’s while he swallowed his girlfriend’s slick. “Turn around baby, get on Dean’s cock,” Sam directed, landing a slap on Y/N’s ass when she turned and crawled over Dean. She shivered when she pressed his cock against her entrance, pulsing down slowly, working him inside her bit by bit.

“Oh look at you,” Sam cooed, brushing her hair off her shoulder so he could bite into her neck, pulling a moan from her chest. “Such a good girl teasing him like that, I didn’t even have to tell you to.” Y/N smiled to herself as she finally got Dean fully seated inside her, revelling in the stretch and fullness of it all. “How did Dean manage to find such a good little slut, huh?”

Y/N giggled lightly but didn’t say anything, just rolled her hips, drawing a gasp from Dean, whose eyes were squeezed tight in pleasure. Y/N felt so good around his dick. And he hated to admit it but he was in fucking heaven right now. This was so, so wrong but it was so hot, every other thought was being pushed out of his mind for the moment. He just wanted Y/N to keep moving, and he wanted Sam to keep talking.

Sam wrapped his fingers around the back of Y/N’s neck and shoved her forward, so she was lying chest to chest with Dean. “Give her a kiss Dean. It’s her favourite after all,” he teased. Dean wanted to find some retort to throw back at his brother, but Y/N’s lips were swallowing his before he got a chance, and he decided this was a better use of his breath anyways.

They kissed and licked and moaned as they ground together, Sam watching on and stroking himself lazily. He reached one hand forward and drew lazy patterns on Y/N’s ass which was bouncing so nicely on Dean’s cock. Sam bet it felt amazing to be inside her. “Mm, you’re fucking him so good, Y/N,” Sam praised, petting his hand down her back. “Look so hot with a cock inside you.” He crawled forward and draped himself over the couple, bumping his hips into Y/N’s and grinding against her ass. She moaned happily and fucked back harder, trying to rub against Sam as much as she could without pulling off of Dean.

A choked whine slipped through her lips when Sam’s cock caught between her cheeks and nudged at her other entrance. “Oh,” Sam grinned at her reaction and repeated his motion, pushing against the taut, puckered skin. “You have more in common with Dean than I thought.”

“What?” Y/N panted, confused and distracted by all the sensations she was swimming under.

“What, Dean never told you? Never asked you to fuck him up the ass?”

Dean’s eyes shot open, horrified. How did Sam know?

“You didn’t really think I didn’t know, did you, Dean?” Sam smirked, still rubbing himself against Y/N’s ass, but letting his fingers trail down further, skating over Dean’s inner thigh, making him jump. “You told me about Rhonda Hurley and the panties when I was sixteen, but I knew that wasn’t the whole story. I found the strap on after you picked me up from Stanford. How many girls you given it up to, big brother?”

“Fuck you,” Dean ground out, mortified.

“You know what, I just might,” Sam drew small circles with his fingertip the whole way across Dean’s skin until he reached his target. “What do you think, Y/N, should I give your boyfriend what he wants?”

“God yes,” she gasped, riding Dean hard, head buried in his shoulder.

Sam spit on his fingers and pressed them back against Dean’s ass, teasing his hole until it was nice and slick and he could slide a finger in without too much resistance. Dean was tense, trying to fight what Sam was doing, trying to fight wanting what Sam was doing, but he didn’t think he was strong enough. Sam’s finger twisting inside him actually felt amazing. It had been over a year since he’d let anyone fuck him and god, he had forgotten how fantastic it was, feeling this full, this whole.

Sam felt Dean accept what was happening, felt him relax around him, and took that as his cue to add more spit and another finger. Then another. He pulled them out when he felt Dean was ready and tugged Y/N back so she was sitting up against his chest. “You ready to cum, darling?” He snarled in her ear.

“Mmhmm,” Y/N whined, bouncing faster over Dean, but Sam hoisted her off his brother and sat her down between his legs where they’d started.

“You’re gonna get my cock nice and wet, aren’t you baby? Gonna be good and cum all over my cock?”

“Yes, fuck yes, please,” Y/N begged. Sam slammed in place inside her and didn’t hesitate before fucking her at a furious pace, rubbing his thumb over her clit and pulling scream after scream out of the girl writhing beneath him. He felt, with satisfaction, a surge of heat between her legs, and knew her cum was trickling out from between her thighs.

“Good girl,” Sam huffed, cold smile firmly in place. He pulled out and looked down to see veins of white dripping over his skin. “Got me nice and wet for your boyfriend, good job, sweetheart.” Y/N rolled out of the way, sated and dazed, and anxiously watched Sam climb over Dean and rub his cock between his legs.

Dean groaned, eyes pressed tight, trying to pretend he wasn’t about to let his little brother fuck him. Trying to pretend he didn’t desperately want his little brother to fuck him. But when Sam pushed in he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love it. It felt so different to having a dildo in his ass, and it was so much better. It was warm, flesh and blood; his flesh and blood. When Dean clenched around him, Sam moaned and thrust harder into his brother. Dean loved how responsive he was, and did it again, earning himself another thrust.

“Think you’re being cute?” Sam panted and glared down at Dean, who smirked up at his little brother with his last vestige of self-respect.

“I think I’m adorable.”

“And I think you’re gonna regret that.”

#spnsecretsantaficexchange #secretsantaficexchange

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mellowswriting · 4 years

Text

A Good Thing

pairing || Marcus Pike x fem!Reader

warnings || pregnant!reader so a bunch of pregnancy stuff, a lil bit of angst but mostly fluff, soft Marcus, lotsa tears, food mention, overuse of italics probably oops

word count || 2,173

a/n || Welcome to the first installment of the Dad!Marcus series! Ever since @absurdthirst‘s amazing Marcus fics put Marcus as a dad in my head, it has been living here rent free and I couldn’t help but indulge myself and anyone else who loves the World’s Best Boyfriend™. Side note, this gif is the exact facial expression I’m imagining when he realizes what you’re trying to tell him

Main Masterlist | Join the taglist!

The positive sign on the pregnancy test made you feel like you were going to throw up again for the third time that evening alone. You could feel your heartbeat through your entire body, your breaths coming and going in ragged bursts. The test clattered slightly when you set it on the bathroom counter, a product of your trembling fingers. There was no telling how far along you were; the curse of an irregular period granted you no real timeline. It was like any logical mind you had went straight out the window and all you could focus on was the fear, each thought coming and going too fast for you to even catch your breath.

You rubbed a hand down your face, trying to calm your racing heart, and in turn, your racing thoughts. Marcus wanted kids, you knew that. Hell, the two of you had just talked about it last week, how you both wanted kids in the future. You laughed a humorless laugh at the fact that you agreed on waiting a bit longer for kids all the while being pregnant. How ironic. No matter how many times you repeated to yourself that Marcus would be happy about this, an ugly conglomeration of anxiety and fear bubbled in your stomach. The excitement was there underneath it all, you could feel it. But the one anxious question that bounced through your head overwhelmed everything else.

What the hell were you going to do if he wasn’t ready?

It didn’t help that you knew Marcus would be home any second and god knows he would be able to tell something was going on with one look at your face. Your sweet, sweet Marcus. He read you like a well-worn novel over and over with familiarity and love, his hands gently bending your spine and dog earring his favorite pages. With eyes screwed shut tightly, you repeated to yourself in a hoarse whisper, “It’s going to be fine. Marcus will be happy about this. It’s going to be fine. Marcus will be happy about this.”

“Sweetheart? I’m home!” Marcus’s voice filtered up the stairs and through the closed bathroom door, and your breathing hitched. Your hands still trembling, you shoved the test in your pocket and slowly made your way down the stairs, heading right for the sound of Marcus clattering about the kitchen. There was no point in putting it off. The sight of your boyfriend pulling containers of Chinese food from paper bags made you smile despite your anxieties. In the first moments of returning home, you felt Marcus looked his cutest. His hair was always mused and all over the place, tie either loosened or hanging over his shoulder completely undone, eyes tired but happy. He wore a similar smile when he turned to you, but it dropped the moment he took in your disheveled state. “What’s wrong?”

Yeah, you were right.

“Marcus, honey -” You started, but the smell of takeout suddenly had your stomach lurching despite already being empty. You pressed your knuckles against your lips, willing your body to stop dry heaving. A warm hand slid down your back comfortingly; it brought you back to the many times he held your hair back for you when you were hungover or had the stomach flu, and tears pricked your eyes. You knew the whole hormone thing was wild, but holy shit. “Mm, fuck...hold on.”

It’s going to be okay. Marcus will be happy about this.

“Are you sick, sweetheart?” Marcus asked, his eyes and voice full of worry. He pulled you closer to his side and led you into the living room to settle you onto the couch before sitting next to you. You couldn’t help the small laugh you gave when his hand pressed to your forehead and slid down to your cheeks. “You don’t have a fever. Have you been throwing up? I swear, you always manage to get sick around this time of year, it’s like the world’s worst superpower.”

It’s going to be okay. Marcus will be happy about this.

“Marcus.” You interrupted his rambling, the tears threatening to fall. “Uh, I-I... fuck, okay…”

Marcus’s hand settled on your shoulder softly, his fingertips rubbing small circles into your skin. He said nothing and you knew he was trying to encourage you to go on, but you couldn’t get the words past the lump in your throat. Instead, you pulled the test out of your pocket and pressed it into his other hand. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, his confusion obvious, and the second it clicked in his head, his eyes went wide. You were bouncing your leg without even realizing it, the nerves needing some sort of physical outlet before you exploded.

“Wait, you’re pregnant?” Marcus whispered, his voice an octave or twelve higher in his surprise. He exhaled, loud and hard, and the hand on your shoulder tightened slightly before sliding to the sweet spot where your neck and shoulder met. His eyes met yours and holy shit. The sight of your boyfriend, the man you loved more than anything in the world, staring at you with those warm chocolate eyes shining with tears and wonder and happiness… “We’re having a baby?”

You nodded and laughed wetly, only then realizing that you were crying openly, but you didn’t care. Not when relief and excitement surged in your chest, threatened to drown you in the warm waves that filled you to bursting. The back of your hand brushed the tears away quickly. “Yeah, we are, Marcus. We’re having a baby.”

The smile that broke out on Marcus’s face could have lit up the entire planet. That’s exactly what he was - the sun. Your sun. Everything he did warmed you; every kind gesture, every kiss, every smile. He filled you with warmth and life and fostered something bright and beautiful to grow within you, no longer just an inexpressible sense of belonging. It was tangible.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re happy about this, Marcus.” You murmured, your eyes slipping closed in your relief. “I was so scared.”

“Scared? Why were you scared?” Marcus asked.

“We just talked about waiting to have kids. I don’t know, I just…” You sighed. “I was worried that you weren’t ready, that this...wouldn't be a good thing.”

“This is a good thing. You think so, right?” Marcus clambered to his knees in front of you when you nodded emphatically, his excitement as palpable as a hyper puppy, and he buried his face in your belly, whispering quiet ‘oh my god’s over and over. Your entire body shook with your bright laughter, one hand curling in his hair to hold him close. It was perfect, watching him nuzzle against your belly, his face wet with his own tears that soaked into your shirt. You could feel him rumble as he spoke right into your stomach, “This is such a good thing.”

You couldn’t find the words to express your happiness, your relief, but you didn’t need them. Marcus knew. He leaned up with a final kiss to your belly and settled his hands on either side of your face to give you a soft kiss. No matter how many times you shared soft moments like this, it always felt like the first time. The soft glide of his lips against yours, his tongue swiping at your lower lip before drawing it between his teeth to nip at it gently...it killed you every time in the best possible way. The hard press of plastic against your hair made you crinkle your nose and pull away, batting his hands away from your head.

“Marcus, I peed on that, get it out of my hair!” You cracked up at the guilty expression on his face as he put it behind him on the coffee table. It disappeared the second he started laughing too, and the two of you devolved into a fit of laughter, clinging to each other as you shook. “Ohhhh my god. I don’t think I could possibly be happier.”

Marcus hummed where he plastered himself against you, chest to chest, and you relished in the warmth. That is, until he suddenly scrambled to his feet and took off for the stairs, leaving you with empty arms and a confused laugh. He shouted for you to “just hold on!” when you called up to him to ask what the hell he was doing, your voice still laced with amusement. You could hear the sound of rushed footsteps, drawers opening and closing roughly, and just when you were about to call out for him again, Marcus flew around the corner and returned to his spot in front of you, on his knees and panting like he just ran a marathon.

“What in the world was that about?” You ask with a laugh, brushing his hair out of his face gently.

“I...I have been trying to find the perfect time for this for weeks, and I couldn’t think of a more fitting moment.” Marcus exhaled shakily as he presented a small black velvet box in the space between you, and your heart stopped in your chest. His voice quivered, “You have made me the happiest man in the world being the mother of my child. Please...please do me the honor of being my wife, too.”

“Oh...my god. Of course, of course I will.” You whispered, the tears returning to your eyes unbiddenly. You leaned down and kissed him, hard and passionate, desperate to make him feel just how ecstatic you were. Marcus’s empty hand gripped the back of your neck tightly and pulled you into him, both of you kneeling on the floor and crying like a couple of weirdos.

You peck his lips, then his jaw, his cheek, his nose - you kiss all over his face even when he scrunches up his nose and chuckles at your antics. Once you felt like every inch of his handsome, blushing face had been lavished with your affection, you nuzzled him gently, brushing your nose against his. Marcus was practically shaking beneath you and you knew. You knew he had deep seated fears that you would abandon him, that you would drop him out of nowhere like others before you had done. It was something he told you in the dark of night, in those moments when fears felt like they could be bared without a disastrous fallout. Not you, though. Their loss, you had told him. You hated that Marcus Pike, truly the sweetest man you had ever met, had to experience such loss and heartbreak, but you had no issue in being the one to show him just how much good he deserved.

“God, I was wrong.” You said as you watched Marcus slide a beautifully cut engagement ring onto your left hand. “Now I couldn’t be happier.”

“Yeah?” Marcus whispered with that dazzlingly bright smile, leaning into your hand when you brushed his tears away. “Me too.”

That dopey grin followed him the entire night and you couldn’t think of a prettier sight. You traced your fingertips over the crinkle at the corner of his eyes and they deepened with his smile. You both went straight to bed once dinner had been eaten - the need to hold each other and rest was too much to ignore after the intense day you had.

“We have so much to do.” Marcus said, his voice low and rumbly in that delicious way you loved. “I think we should move my office to the guest bedroom, that way the nursery is upstairs. Won’t have to walk as far, they’ll be nice and close by. Shit, we gotta get you on those prenatal vitamins, too. I guess the doctor’s appointments come before that though, right? Plus -”

“Breathe, Marcus. We have plenty of time. Well, except for the doctor part. Let’s start looking for one in the morning, yeah? Gotta get a good one.” You rubbed circles into his chest, smiling when he hummed happily. Marcus settled his hand above your belly button, his thumb swiping back and forth gently, and you couldn’t help but slide his hand lower, right between your hips. “They’re right here, honey. Safe and sound.”

Marcus’s breath caught in his throat and he drug you against him, that needy part of him rearing up and itching to have your back flush against his chest. The feeling of his large frame curled against you made you feel safe, cared for. He made you feel safe. Your Marcus and the new life the two of you had created together. - your little family. You shivered at the feeling of the kisses he peppered against your neck and shoulder and laced your fingers with his where they splayed between your hips. The last thing you saw before sleep overtook you was your fiancé’s hand cradling your belly gently, your hand atop his, and the glint of moonlight reflecting off of your engagement ring.

That night was the best sleep you ever had.

#marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x y/n #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Text

His Mistress - Series Finale

Warning: 18+ smut, mentions of cheating, coarse language, mature themes.

Author’s Note: I am terrible at ending stories because I never want them to end. The ending I initially wrote wasn’t good enough, so I started again until I felt it was right. I’ll keep it brief, but I want to thank all the readers who fueled this crazy fire and inspired me to flesh out a dark love story that I’m proud to say I wrote. I’ll miss Mr. Deaver and all the smutty, angsty, drama of his life with his mistress. Thanks for tolerating the never-ending POV shifts and filling my inbox with love and support for the story and for me. You guys are the BEST. I’m forever grateful!

I hope you enjoy the 9K series finale. It’s been a slice!

Henry X Mistress Masterpost [x]

Henry's company held an office party to bid farewell the building that had brought them growth and success over the last few years. Once again expanding, the company added a brand new customer-relations department, a slew of employees fresh out of university and interns to fill in the gaps. The celebration took place on the evening of their last workday and boasted live entertainment and enough luxurious fare for each employee and their loved ones. They rented a bouncy castle and ball pit for the kids and set up an open bar next to two seminar tables' worth of catering.

It wasn't only a farewell party for the company, but the first time Henry showed off his girlfriend in front of his colleagues and employees. Word of Henry's divorce had already made its rounds, his colleagues begging for gory details after the documents were signed and filed. Rumours fluttered in and out of ears and mouths, but never while Henry was in the room—Henry had cheated on his wife with a coworker, Henry screwed the cleaning lady and his wife caught him in the act, Henry picked up a venereal disease, and poor Mary. The speculation rose tensions, but like all rumours, faded into irrelevancy once news of the company move surfaced. People forgot all about Henry's ugly divorce for the next round of gossip. Word of his mistress died down.

Although the tension had mostly evaporated, she felt eyes crawling on her when she showed up on Henry's arm. Of course, everyone recognized her—she was the secretary for a time, the only line to get an opening with Mr. Deaver. She had spent months parked next to his office, taking his appointments, booking his days, answering his phone. They remembered, and they leaned into the nearest ear to whisper, "I knew it all along."

If Henry noticed the curiosity, he chose to ignore it, but she couldn't. She felt every woman in the place wringing her silently, scrutinizing her moves, her hand in Henry's. People who knew Mary tended to side with the older woman, and the nattering reinstated in hushed exchanges. She was alone at the party save for Henry, but he could only guard her for so long before his colleagues whisked him into conversations littered with business jargon that lost her attention.

Still, she clung to his hand, and once in a while, Henry would break from stock discussions to turn in for a kiss. He surrounded her ears with his fingers, tilting her face up so he need not crouch just to show some affection. When he buried her mouth with his, she savoured the taste of wine, the power in becoming the first lady, the stares from Henry's subordinates.

Henry pulled back an inch, staring drunkenly, though he'd only had one glass of pinot noir, and nipped her bottom lip. "Having a good time, sweetheart?"

"Sure. I love catching all the cattiest office workers glaring."

Henry smirked as though he too tasted a dollop of satisfaction from the envy. "You know what I say to that?"

"What?"

"Fuck them," Henry whispered.

She feigned a gasp, swatted his shoulder, and he pulled her even closer. "Gosh, you look beautiful. I want to undress you later and do all the things they're thinking about me doing to you."

"My, my, Henry. You better take it easy on the vino."

"I'm not tipsy. I'm excited."

She checked his pockets for bulges, hoping Henry's intentions weren't to propose in front of all these near-strangers. The lines of his suit were smooth, and when she hugged him, she only felt his cellphone, wallet and keys, no ring box. She sighed with relief and sweltered under another one of his long kisses. He moaned against her, stroked her neck and back until she interrupted him to say, "Jesus, Henry. What's with the PDA?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't care anymore. Let 'em look."

"Easy, tiger. You're the star of the show. People want to talk to you without lipstick all over your face."

"Mm, I'd fuck you right now if I could," said Henry.

She squeezed his shoulders, holding him off for a moment before he swooped in for another peck. "Okay, okay, I'm done. For now."

"Don't make me spank you when we get home," she warned, mouth curved in jest.

"I'll behave," he assured.

With children running about, the catering service making rounds in the nearly empty office space, more employees and their significant others piling in by the minute, it was easy to get lost in the bustle. Henry's colleagues whisked him away into a conversation she had no business understanding, leaving her stranded, drink in hand, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse to distract herself from her friendless reality. None of Henry's employees came to talk to her. She stood alone, a flag on a pole reminding everyone that Henry had upgraded in every way. Some people went by, nodding respectfully, while others bypassed her like a piece of furniture.

Just when she felt the pressure behind her eyes saying she was tired, Frank stepped out of the elevator with his wife and two boys. The children bolted for the bounce house, leaving their bickering parents in their dust. Frank travelled through the crowd rolling his eyes and sneering at his wife, who looked upset about something, but retracted her frown as soon as a colleague's wife greeted her. The loud businessman honed in on Henry, and she watched her helpless boyfriend go limp when the man slung his meaty arm around his shoulders, thumping his back with a ham hock fist.

She mused over Henry's embarrassment as Frank launched into a story designed specifically to draw attention to him in the worst way. Frank's baritone floated above the music, and soon, others gathered to listen to the man tell the story of how Henry got too wasted on sake on a business trip to Japan because he didn't want to seem rude to the host and didn't know how to decline.

"This fuckin' guy—pardon my French—is rolling on the floor in his hotel room, has ten minutes to get dressed and downstairs for the conference, but can't even hold his head up straight. How many did you have, Henry, seven? Eight?"

Henry blanched, shaking his head. "Eight, yeah, I think that's about right."

"You've never seen a guy so drunk in your life! He did the conference, slurring the entire time, stumbling over his shoes, but the folks loved it! Didn't they, Deaver? You really got their attention when you started hiccoughing between every word."

"Different times. We were younger. We were boys."

"Ah, yeah. Young and dumb. Now, look at you! Much older now and just as dumb, eh?"

The gaggle surrounding Henry burst into laughter and carried on as Frank surrendered his grip. She tried to picture Henry staggering, too drunk to string together a sentence, but couldn't imagine him as anything less than poised. The image reminded her of the conversation she had with Mary in the parking garage. Before the divorce had been finalized, Mary told her Henry had done questionable things abroad with his colleagues. Frank's story, although comical and meant as a harmless jab, filled her with suspicion.

Henry had denied the accusation that he cheated before that night he invited her up to his hotel room. With desperation on his face, he vowed on his love for her that he was never unfaithful, barring their affair. She believed him, with reluctance, and stowed it away in her mind with the rest of Mary's dubious claims. Now that stories of shenanigans and unprofessional conduct were in circulation, she tried not to let her suspicions gain traction.

The night played on, and as more of the families left to put their hyper children to bed, the heads of business brought out the top-shelf Scotch and sat around picking at sandwich trays and hors d'oeuvres. Frank caught Henry's assistant-turned-girlfriend in his cross-hairs and approached her with a drink in hand. Red-faced and loud as ever, Frank asked her why she wasn't enjoying herself.

She cleared her throat and offered her best smile. "I am having fun. I just don't have a rich enough history with the company to offer any entertaining stories."

"Oh, come now. You were Henry's assistant for months! You don't have anything to share about banging the boss?"

Frank's announcement only fell on her ears, but it was enough to make her blush and want to escape. He apologized and sidled up to her, clinking his whiskey tumbler with her wine glass.

"Gotta get you a refill, Whaddaya say, toots?"

"I'm fine for now," she said. "I offered to drive home."

"That's right. You two live together now in that little condo."

She blinked, unsure of how anyone might think of the condo as little, then realized she was standing among wealthy men whose homes spanned acres, who owned Summer cottages bigger than the average townhouse.

"I gotta say, Deaver's got that colour back in his face since he started on with you, doll. What do I gotta do to get me a woman like that? He's a whole new man. Is that all it takes is a nice, young honey to roll back the decades? I bet the old bastard gets it up just fine. Just fine."

"Thank you, Frank. I'll try to sift through that to find a compliment," she scoffed and sipped her wine.

"Aw, I mean it with love, darlin', you know that. Ol' Franky just talks, right? I don't mean any harm. Maybe I come from a place of envy, who knows? Not every day a dry old fella gets his hands on something pretty as you. I can see you're good for him. He sure smiles a helluva lot more! Christ, can't chisel the grin off that face. Loopy as a damn circus clown since you came around."

"Really?" She tittered.

"I'm serious. Shit, when Henry was with Mary, you couldn't pay the guy to crack a joke. Now, he's nothing like the shlub I met all those years ago."

She ran her finger along the glass rim as Frank droned on, her eyes on Henry across the room. He had been having a good time, his cheeks aglow with cheeriness. She'd never seen Henry interact with his coworkers for more than a quick trip in and out of the conference room to deliver him a printout or progress report. Tonight, Henry hadn't complained about people talking his ear off. Even after Frank's unflattering account of one of his rare blunders, he hadn't whined or wished they could sneak out unseen. Henry was at ease.

"He's planning on proposing to me soon," she said.

Frank cocked his head and rose his glass. "Here's to hoping he makes the right decision, and quick, before you realize you can do better!"

She clinked glasses with Frank once more, and while he drained his whiskey, she set her glass down on a table nearby.

"I was wondering what his coworkers might say about him remarrying."

"Anything to get him away from that soul-sucking ice queen of an ex-wife."

"Frank? Can I ask you something and get a sincere answer?"

Frank read her serious tone, shifted his brows and angled in, unaware of his alcohol-laden breath fanning over her face. "Anything, love. Franky tells no lies. That's what they say. With me, it's pure honesty."

"I heard a rumour about Henry in Thailand. Somebody said he cheated on Mary. Do you know anything about this? I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into, being young and all. I don't want to end up wasting my best years with a man who might cheat on me down the road."

Frank scoffed, slapped his leg and howled. She waited for him to wipe an invisible tear from his eye, hoping nobody asked what was so funny.

"Oh, doll. You can't believe all the rumours you hear in this place. Thailand... Shit, that was so long ago. I can hardly remember what happened. It's true, we did some partying, but when in Rome, right?"

She grimaced as Frank went on, "Ol' Deaver never left his hotel room on that trip. Me 'n a couple of our work buddies cruised around, got ourselves into a little trouble, but not Henry. He spent the whole week hunched over his laptop, putting last minute touches on some PowerPoint crap—never was good with computers, myself. And don't get me wrong, there were offers made during dinners—generous offers. You know the type. They like to show their hospitality. But Henry was the professional. We call him Dad since he's always keeping us in line. Even us old guys, eh? No, no... Company is rock solid 'cause of him. We told Deaver a million times to drop the ball 'n chain, but the kid stuck it out, he really did."

"Am I stupid to marry him?"

"Doll, I think if you want someone to treat you right, it's my man, Henry Deaver. The Kid can't contain himself. And who could? He's a lucky man, really fortunate to have a dish like you."

"Oh, stop," she gestured at the opposite corner of the cleared out office space where the wives gathered. "You know, if I marry Henry, I'll have to join the wives' club and stand over there with Phyllis and Dorothy."

Frank beamed at her. She decided not to loathe the man for his praise, both for her and Henry. He was a bumbling idiot at times and unfiltered, but she had seen much worse. Before the corporate job with all the nice clothes and gadgets she used to pine for while browsing fashion websites, she worked her food service job. With every type of asshole and gentleman coming through the hotel bar, Frank was the loudmouth who'd changed her mind on Henry Deaver.

"You're a different kind, ain'tcha? I bet Deaver has his hands full with you."

Warm, wine-drunk confidence slid off her tongue, "Oh, I keep him busy."

"I'll kill him if he doesn't marry you, kid."

"I'm sure you will."

"That's Frank's Guarantee."

She tipped glasses with him once more and excused herself to use the washroom. The night was drawing to a close, and she enjoyed the quiet of the bathroom and its 3 stalls. Many times she had retreated to the washroom to text Henry while he was in his office. She couldn't risk getting caught exchanging dirty messages with the boss, so when she wanted to make him blush, she snuck off to the lady's room. Many nude photoshoots happened in the safety of the last stall on the right, and all of them fed to Henry's phone at inopportune times—mostly during meetings or video calls with clients across the world. Now, she laid her head against the cool metal and thought of marrying Henry.

Back then, falling in love with him was forbidden, tingly, like a shot of alcohol at an inappropriate hour that she hoped nobody could smell on her breath. Now, it was pure. There were no more walls, no need to hide in the stall to talk to him. Henry was hers, and everyone knew it.

Henry waited for her by a stack of chairs. Behind him, the catering company was clearing away serving trays, stacking cups and folding tablecloths. The band had long since packed up, and anyone with children had taken them downstairs to the shuttles the company had arranged to drive them home.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey, indeed. How're you doing? I thought I saw you getting along with Frank." Henry chuckled. "What was up with that? I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him. Maybe I wasn't keen on him hitting on me back at the hotel, but I think he's smartened up. As uncouth as he may be... He has your back and cares about the company."

"He's the drunk uncle of the business."

"You'll have to teach him some manners, though. One day, you'll have a female big-wig to schmooze, and she might not take kindly to pet names."

Henry's eyes bugged as he nodded. "Frank doesn't get to talk to the women in the industry, and don't worry, I'll whip him into shape."

"Hm, is that why they call you the company dad?" She asked, tracing one finger down Henry's lapel. "You just keep everyone in line, don't you? Lay down the law. Tell all those silly men how to act."

Henry shivered as her hand travelled lower, coasted over the front of his pants while nobody was looking. He puffed his chest, a crafty look taking over his visage. He snatched her wandering hand and stepped closer, eclipsing her as he slouched over to whisper in her ear.

"Yeah, I'm the Daddy around here."

"Is Daddy ready to head home soon?"

"Let's say our goodbyes, then we'll get out of here. Come on."

Henry gave her directions that took them in the opposite direction of home. When she questioned him, he patted her thigh, assuring there was a surprise waiting at the end of the line. She tried to pry it from him while they cruised the highway in the dark. The radio played low while Henry tried changing the subject.

"Where am I going?" She asked.

Henry pointed ahead. "Get off at the next exit."

The roads narrowed, and the street lamps spread farther apart outside of the city. She slowed the car, flipped on the high beams and guided Henry's BMW over gravel hills. There were houses along the quiet strip of country line, but they were hidden behind spruce and maple trees.

"Henry, we're so far from home. I'm tired. Please tell me what we're doing."

He pointed at a driveway tucked behind a line of birch and a dented metal mailbox standing crookedly on the side of the road. "Down there. It's close now, don't worry."

They curved through a loose gathering of evergreens and pulled up to a sprawling ranch house with a double garage and topiaries along the sides. The place was dark, but a motion light illuminated the paved driveway as she pulled up and parked. Henry pulled a set of keys from his pocket and exited the vehicle. He waited for her to catch up, breath turning to vapour in the crisp night air.

"Care to explain what we're doing at some random house?" She asked.

Henry took her hand and guided her toward the front door. In the dark, she sailed by the realtor's sign and stepped onto the first stone slab leading to the front door. She watched Henry fiddle with a key, shove it into the lock and turn the handle. The door opened with a whoosh, the scent of fresh paint and lacquered wood spilling out of the massive wooden door. Henry hit a switch, and fractals of light exploded from a chandelier on high in the foyer.

"Check this out. It's so open in the center, you could drive a truck through to the backyard. And the kitchen! Oh, you gotta see the kitchen. It's lovely," Henry said as he grabbed her hand and led her through the house. "All stainless steel and marble. The island is bigger than our bed! And come this way, down here."

They journeyed down an echoing hall, footsteps casting off the hardwood floors and glass light fixtures. Henry threw open a door and ushered her inside a furnished bedroom. A sleigh bed domineered the far end of the room, all dark wood, plush duvet and pillows.

"I know you're not keen on beige, which is fine. We'll paint it. But, look at this bed! And this window overlooks the backyard—Well, I wouldn't say 'yard.' It's more of a...field. Look, look, look!"

"Henry, what is this?" She asked, peering out the window at the blackness beyond the dim orange halo of the bedroom light.

When she turned back around, Henry placed his hands on her hips, excitement simmering. He smiled, wry and lustful, and bent down to kiss her.

"Isn't it obvious? This is our house."

"What are you saying?" She gasped. "You bought this place?"

"Mhm. I've had my eye on it for a long time."

"And just how long exactly were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

"Only until I bought it."

"Henry!"

He jingled the keys in his pocket. "Well, you can't just walk into a place that's not yours."

Suddenly, she realized Henry had put this in motion weeks before, masked it under the search for a new office building. Realtors had rung Henry's phone off the hook, and she had answered them all, oblivious to his underlying motive. When it clicked, she dropped her jaw and swatted him playfully.

"I can't believe you. Right under my nose!"

"It was good timing."

"But...why? What's wrong with the condo?"

Henry guided her to the room's centre beneath the carnival glass light fixture that had to go, along with the drab paint job. "Nothing is wrong with the condo. It's just not ours. There are too many memories preventing me from letting go of the past. I want to let it all go, but I can't when I look around and remember where I was just a year and a half ago. It served me well as a place to escape, but now, I don't need to hide. I want new memories. I want to walk outside with my coffee and see you in the backyard, doing whatever you want—gardening, reading, lounging. I want to pull up after a long day at work, see this place, and know that you're inside, all of our things, our memories, our smells."

"And what if I hate it?" She asked, stifling a giggle.

"Then I'll sell it, and we'll find a new place."

"I don't hate it, Henry, but...This was such a risk."

"It paid off. I knew you'd like it. It's the perfect combination of vintage and modern. The structure is old and strong, but the renovations give it that modern class. It's like that chalet we stayed at in Sweden. Remember?"

"Of course, I remember. We didn't leave bed for two days."

Henry smiled fondly at the memory and stroked her hair back, smiling with her in his arms. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed in a contented sigh.

"There are two offices, one for me and one for you. Two other bedrooms. One for guests and one for a kid."

She looked up at him, and all the playfulness fled from his eyes. He kissed her to avoid the inevitable questions. When will we see a doctor? What is the plan if we can't conceive? They didn't need answers, only trust that whatever battles stretched on, they would meet them hand-in-hand.

"I can't wait," she whispered. "I love you. And I love this house."

"There's one more thing," Henry cleared his throat and stepped away from her. "It's kind of important."

"What is it?"

"I'm old, babe."

"Henry, you're not that old."

"I'm an old man. I'm head of a multi-national company, y'know. I wear suits and talk to people who hemorrhage money day in and day out. I like to style myself as a professional."

She cocked her head, wondering where Henry was going with his monologue.

"It's awkward when people ask me about you, and I have to refer to you as my girlfriend. Guys like me aren't supposed to have girlfriends. It just sounds creepy. Plus, you're so much more to me than that. You're not my girlfriend; you're the love of my life. My soulmate. My queen. I want you to be my partner."

"Henry—"

He cut her off and fetched something from the table next to the bed. When he rejoined her in the middle of the room, he bent at the knee and presented her with the ring box she had already seen, yet she fluttered as though it was the first time.

"Baby... I could have flown you to a tropical island or put this in a glass of champagne. I could have done this in front of everyone at the party tonight, but all of that seemed silly. Don't get me wrong, I still want to take you to every corner of the world and give you all the nicest things, but I wanted to propose to you in our house, just you and me. So... Will you quit being my girlfriend and become my wife instead?"

Henry separated her ring finger from the rest and slid the band down to the knuckle as she blotted her sobs with the other hand, nodding and fighting joyful tears.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" She asked as he rose to his feet and clamped her in a bone-cracking hug.

"I know I'm clever! You thought I would propose to you in front of all those people? No way."

"You hate being the center of attention."

"That's right. And although I want to shout it from the rooftops, I thought you'd prefer me asking you to marry me someplace quiet."

She gazed at the stone glittering on her finger, and a fresh wash of tears wet her cheeks. "I'm marrying you... You're going to be my husband."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to skip fiance altogether and get right to the wife thing."

"You're my husband."

"You're my wife!"

"We're getting married!"

"That's right," Henry beamed. "And we move in next month."

Breathless, she ripped her eyes off the ring and looked up at the man who gave it to her. She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the column of his throat and breathed in the scent of old hotels, of pastry and coffee and drying ink on newspaper. She had a vision of him seated at a table across the room, smiling in her direction, tapping his silver pen on the spine of his planner. Two eyes, one green and one brown, drinking her in like fine wine, full of secrets and passion, indulgence and guilt. Her good Christian boy who was anything but pure or chaste.

"I'll worship you until I die, you know that, right?"

"Henry, I can't. You're making me cry. There's probably mascara all over my face!"

"I don't care," he pressed the words to her temple, swaying in languid step. "You'll never be rid of me. Think about that."

"I believe you, Henry."

His eyes flooded and no amount of squeezing suffocated the tears. The streams met the cuff of his suit jacket. He questioned why he still wore the suit and slipped out of it as her hand tugged his tie. Leash in hand, she pulled his face to her level and touched the tears coasting his cheeks, brushed her thumb over the scar two inches from the lips she kissed.

"Are you sure you want to marry me?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm telling you to shut up, Henry. Don't ask those kinds of questions."

"I just can't believe you're mine."

"That's right. So stop wondering if I'll change my mind. I've had many opportunities to reconsider. I stuck it out through times I should have walked out, and now we're standing in this gigantic house, and there's a ring on my finger... And you still think I'll back out?"

"I hope not. You're everything I've wanted my whole life. I have it all. Now I can spend the rest of it happy."

"I love you," she whispered against his bottom lip.

Henry crouched, circled her hips with his arms and carried her to the bed, murmuring, "I love you, too, baby. So much."

"Are we gonna fuck right here?"

"Right here, right now," said Henry, perching her on the bed so he could work open the buttons of his dress shirt. She lifted her legs, slipped off her heels, then wrestled her blouse off. The struggle to undress ended with their tops off, Henry standing with his knees pressed into the plush mattress, between her legs. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, nylon sighing between skin as he stroked.

"I didn't think I'd make it out of the office without fucking you. Gosh, you looked so good in that outfit. All those guys were looking at you... Especially when you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. That fabric stretching over your ass. You should've seen 'em staring."

"You think they're jealous of you?" She asked as Henry bunched her skirt around her hips, revealing satin and lace panties pasted to her crotch with arousal. His palm traversed her thigh, paused at the edge of the panties. He sent out two fingers to stroke the stitching along her groin, satin running like water across the tips. Henry wanted to take his time, but she was restless. He subdued her with a kiss.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm in control tonight, and I want to feel and lick and taste every inch of your body before I even get my pants off, understand?"

She returned his sly look and rolled onto her stomach, parting her legs so he could admire the shiny material ruched between her cheeks.

"To answer your question... Yes. Of course, they're jealous."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

Henry snickered, like a bully cornering his prey. "Those old bastards can't keep their mouths shut. Even when you were my employee, they'd hound me for details... Ask if you were single, if I was tapping you, if I'd thought about it. I'm not one to boast, but they all knew. Henry Deaver doesn't kiss and tell, but then you'd come in and smile at me like just an hour before I was balls-deep in your pussy... Like my cum was still dripping down your thigh. They knew. We weren't as covert as we thought."

"It's that naughty little smile of yours that gives it away. You flashed me that same smile a few times at the hotel, and I just thought maybe you didn't realize how seductive you looked. But you know, don't you? You know what you do to me. How hard you can make me with just one look."

Henry lifted her leg over his shoulder and kissed her ankle as he squeezed the sole of her foot, admiring the coloured polish on her toenails peeking out of the semi-opaque stockings.

"I do enjoy getting you worked up, sir."

"Let's not tonight. I'm supposed to make love to you, not treat you like my office pet. I'm marrying you, for fuck's sake."

"Then make love to your future wife. That doesn't mean I can't be your slut anymore."

"Oh, my God," Henry growled.

"Look at what I'm wearing for you. I know how much you love the way my pussy looks wearing this fabric. Thigh-high stockings aren't practical, but I figured you might fuck me in your office one last time, and I wanted to torment you."

"Not so predictable now, huh?"

She simpered and ran her toe in a line down his chest and didn't stop until she grazed his belt buckle. "Yeah, and you've been thinking about filling me up all night."

Henry grasped her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed to meet his groin. He gathered her up in his arms, pressing his entire weight on her frame as he kissed her desperately. When her legs grew weak, he clamped them around his hips and undulated. Hardness strained against her crotch, pulsing from the heat between her legs.

"You're right. I've been aching to fuck you. How long has it been? Gosh, this week has been so busy, I've hardly had any time alone with you. And you've been occupied with your new job. It's been a while since I've come."

She made a coo of sympathy. "Aw, my poor baby. You're probably so sensitive."

"I want you to do something for me," Henry muttered, adjusting his crotch, then giving up and undoing his belt and pants altogether. "I'd love it if you sucked my cock."

"Oh, Mr. Deaver asking for a blowjob? A rare sound to my ears."

He shook his head, grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed to kneel on the floor. With feet spread wide, his fingers tangled in her hair, Henry waited for her to make the first move. His view of her from on high was angelic. In the prismatic light, her eyes twinkled, and he thought of whiskey in a glass, poured by a dangerous woman he'd grown to admire. She always wore a smile, but for the right person, that smile turned luscious and dim. Her eyes would relax on him, soothe him, delight if he made small conversation instead of only demands.

Henry did not demand, but as her smiling lips tightened around the midway-point of his cock and sank, he couldn't help aiding the way to her throat with one firm thrust. "Oh... Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he droned.

"You can use my mouth, sir."

"Just suck that dick like a good girl. Do your magic on me, baby."

With free reign, she slathered his shaft with her tongue, side-to-side, up and down. She met his eyes and smiled, the tip nestled between her puckered lips. Her grasp on the base sent waves of hot blood pumping through the veins, filling him out entirely.

"I can't wait to feel this big cock pumping my pussy full of cum."

"Oh, I know, baby. We'll get there. For now, I need your mouth. All over me, please. Balls too. Come on... Eat that cock, you hungry little slut."

She chased Henry up on the bed where she could kneel between his legs in comfort. Henry enjoyed the position, too—back against a mound of pillows, his long legs spread to the lower corners of the bed, her crumpled form nestled between his thighs while her lips and tongue worked in a circuit on his length. He leaned his head back, arms thrown over the pillows. In this position, Henry bucked his hips a few times to touch his tip to her tonsils. Each time she brought up a wave of saliva that coated him and made it easier for her to slide down.

"What about that ass, big boy?" She asked after popping up from a harsh series of head-bobbing. "I know how much you love it when I play with that pretty hole of yours."

Henry sucked air in through his teeth, chin dimpling and lashes fluttering. "Mmph, not tonight. I want that pussy. Yeah, I wanna taste you."

They flipped positions. Henry pulled her onto her back away and snatched one of the pillows to wedge under her tailbone. With both hands, he hooked the back of her knees and spread her thighs wide, elevating her pelvis until his breath stroked the front of her panties. Henry nipped the fabric, pulled it into a tent and let it snap back against her lips. He nuzzled it, faint stubble scratching the delicate fabric. She let out a gentle sigh, a whimper of lust. Henry kissed the satin once, twice harder, then a third time like he'd met her mouth in a fevered touch.

She watched his long fingers sneak the fabric away, how he made shapes with his mouth like he wanted to say something but lost his voice. Henry bit his lip, kissed where he knew her clit was hiding, then prodded her folds with a long lick. He repeated the motion on the right side, along her labia, and again on he left side.

For a while, he would only meet the crest of her entrance with light kisses and whispered promises.

"Do you like it when I tease your pussy? Giving you just enough to make you wet, but not as much as you need?"

"Henry, please," she begged.

"Please, what?"

"Please give me more!"

"More of this?" Henry asked, ghosting his breath over her clit.

"No more teasing."

"You sure?"

She clutched some of his hair and pouted. He chuckled, laid his cheek on her thigh and brought his hand up between her legs. "What if I'm not done teasing? What if I want to torment you a little longer?"

He spread open her lips, applying pressure on both sides. She could almost grind against his fingers if he didn't have her at his mercy, arched over a pillow, thighs splayed wide and vulnerable. Henry tapped her clit with three fingers, stippling with gooseflesh from the wet noises the pads made on her vulva. "Oh, I love that sound," he sang. "You're so wet for me."

"Please, sir. I need your mouth."

"Is that right? Well, you've been so good and helpful. I'm sure I can give you what you want... but you have to promise me something."

"Yes, yes, I will. Anything."

"Promise you'll tell me before you come?"

"Uh-huh. I promise."

"Okay, I trust you. Don't get too close. I have other plans for your pussy."

She groaned out loud, relieved when he finally licked her clit. His tongue was a warm blanket, weighted and placed perfectly on top. He undulated the muscle, coaxing out the sensitive parts for adoration. That's how she described his attention in her mind. When Henry ate her out, it was like he'd infiltrated her head and knew the precise amount of pressure, the proper motions, when to flicker his tongue and when to envelope her clit between his lips. He kissed, sucked, lapped and moaned like a symphony, only opening his eyes once in a while to catch her staring in awe between her legs.

"Mm, baby," Henry moaned against her slit. "I can feel you getting close already. Don't go over the edge."

"I'm sorry, you just look so good eating my pussy."

Henry pulled off her, smirking, letting her glimpse his full lips shining in their glory. She couldn't stop herself from lunging for him. The taste of her own fluid on his mouth set off a carnal urge to feel his cock too. She told him to fuck her hard, to spank her ass and make her squeal like a knifed animal. She wanted that deepness, the full stretch as his thighs bounced her up and down. They laid on their sides, and Henry entered her from behind, arm hooking her leg up so he could gaze over at her exposed breasts, her glistening clit forgotten for a moment too long. In his clutches, she was helpless, and Henry used his advantage to squeeze and rub her until more of her liquid soaked between their groins.

"Can you come like this?" Henry puffed next to her ear. "If I rub your clit like that and keep fucking you, can you come?"

"Yes," she peeped. "Yes, keep going."

"Yeah? Gonna come like a good girl all over this dick?"

Again, she nodded, biting down on her lip in concentration.

"'Cause I'm gonna shoot so much fucking cum inside you, but only after you get all tight around me."

She begged him not to stop, to never stop being hers. Henry rushed his movements until she bucked once, legs fighting to fold inward.

"Is that it? That spot right there?" Henry asked. "Keep rubbing you just like this?"

He didn't need an answer; it was written all over her flushed face, denting her lip where her teeth bore down. Henry exerted every inch of stamina he had in his body until her muscles seized hard enough to snap. Mewling as she came, Henry didn't stop pestering her clit with his fingertips or pull out after he emptied as deep inside as he could fit. He gathered her up in his arms, locking fingers and lips, breathing each other's air. Pieces of his hair clung to his sweat-dampened forehead while he pulsed and shivered.

"I need you to get your panties on right away. We can't leave a mess behind."

"Are you serious?"

Henry nodded his head, unperturbed by the alarm in her tone. "Well, it's not our stuff. It's staging furniture. I just convinced the realtor to let me surprise you tonight. She probably didn't think I'd be fucking you in any of the bedrooms."

"Henry! I'm not sure where you slung my underwear."

He pushed into her one last time and grunted. "Aw, honey, mm. That's where my cum belongs."

"You're such a bad man," she giggled.

"I know I'm dirty."

"Come on, husband. Help me find my clothes. We should get back before we both fall asleep and someone finds us like this."

They gathered themselves, sighing and stretching the tension from their muscles as they dressed and took one more look around the property. She saw the house in a warm light now, as a place they could fill with memories, starting in the master bedroom where Henry proposed. He held her hand as they drove to the condo and flung themselves into bed, drained from the night's givings but wrapped in each other's arms.

The next morning, she woke to the smell of pancakes cooking on a griddle. Henry was up, two coffees deep, and buzzing from cupboard to cabinet, humming under his breath. He lit up when he caught her motion in the corner of his eye and went in for a long hug.

"Good morning, wife."

"Morning, husband," she replied, cheeks and chest prickling.

"Pancake buffet?" Henry gestured at the kitchen island.

"It's not even Christmas!"

Henry scoffed. "Who needs a special occasion to have a pancake buffet?

"I suppose I can't complain," she said.

She sat at the island, studying the foreign object around her ring finger every once in a while. When she made a fist or spread her hand, the rock sparkled and delighted her eyes. Henry caught her staring at the ring and smiling as he launched into the day's trajectory, his plan falling on deafened ears.

"Hello?" Henry waved the spatula. "Are you home?"

She sat up straight and folded her hands. "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."

"I was saying I have to go into the office today, but only for an hour or two. Are you okay with hanging around here by yourself while I take the car? Can you believe the Beamer is still in the shop? They say take the damn thing into the dealership, we'll fix it up for free, but we'll keep it for half the week."

"Oh, well, I was supposed to pick up groceries, but I can wait."

Henry's eyebrows popped up. "Oh, no. No, no, honey. That's all right. I'll find another way there."

"Why don't I drive you to the office? Unless...You're not actually going to the office?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asked.

"I don't know...You could be exacting another one of your famous covert plans and covering it up by saying you're going to the office. How do I know?'

Henry tipped his head back and laughed as he tended the food sizzling on the stovetop. "Oh, sweetheart. No. I promise, no more tricks for a while."

"Sure," she said with a sly edge on her tongue.

"You can drop me off and take the car. It's nothing secretive, I swear."

Henry piled the last pancakes onto a plate, turned off the griddle and wiped the counter clear of flour and coconut flakes. They put together an extravagant array of dressed-up breakfast food, dousing their plates in maple syrup, chocolate chips and heart-shaped strawberries as they talked and sipped coffee. Henry sat across the island holding his hand out for her to touch every once in a while. He didn't need her to hold his hand, though, subconsciously, he always reached out for her in case she wanted to feel his skin.

The morning melted seamlessly into early afternoon, and the couple ventured from the condo after a quick round of energizing couch sex. Henry thumbed the ring on her finger as they walked onto the main floor from the elevator.

"Mr. Deaver and Madame, good morning!" Johnny, the concierge, greeted them.

Henry held up their conjoined hands. "It's Mr. and Mrs. Deaver from now on, Johnny."

The tall man behind the desk made a small gasp and bowed. "Apologies, Mr. and Mrs... Might I say congratulations to the happy couple?"

"You're the first to hear, officially," Henry said.

Johnny touched his enormous hand to his chest. "What an honour, sir. This position never loses its magic."

Henry twisted his mouth. "I have some other news, Johnny. My wife and I will be moving soon. We won't be seeing you every morning."

"Ah, that's all right, Mr. Deaver. Moving up and up, I hope?"

"Yes. It's a ranch house in the country. No neighbours."

"Beautiful. Well, I wish you both the very best and look forward to helping you out until moving day comes."

"Thanks, Johnny," she said with a smile.

Johnny rose his finger as they meant to leave. "One more thing. A package arrived for you, Mr. Deaver."

The concierge ducked under the desk with a set of keys and opened the security box dedicated to the Deaver property. He pulled out a bulging manila envelope and turned it over with a dutiful grin. When her eyes glanced at the writing on the front, a knot formed in her throat. Henry's name adorned the front in practiced, sweeping hand. Henry. Not Henry Deaver or Mr. Deaver. Just his name written in black ink with flourishes on the capital H and a hand-drawn filigree beneath. She watched his shoulders stiffen as he nodded to Johnny.

"Thank you, Johnny. We'll see you later."

She followed Henry to the parking garage, staring at the envelope in his hands. Henry looked ahead, his bright demeanour trampled upon by the object he carried. When they got into the vehicle, they looked at each other, then down at the package.

"What is that?" She asked.

"I think it's from Mary. That's her handwriting."

She swallowed the knot in her throat, but it had doubled in size and refused to budge. "What now? She's not supposed to bother us anymore."

"I know," Henry breathed. "I can't... You open it."

She tore into the envelope and pulled out a letter accompanied by a DVD in a flat jewel case and photocopies of ruled paper scrawled with notes. Henry nodded at the letter, signalling her to read it aloud.

"Dear Henry... I know there's little chance of getting a private audience with you now that we're legally separated, and the company is in the process of moving. You probably have your hands full and do not wish to hear from me either way. I understand your need to stay away, hence the letter and no phone call. What needs to be said cannot be summed up in a brief call, so I will try to keep this to a few pages.

I wanted to start off by apologizing. It's too late for apologies, and you must think I'm off my rocker to have even considered coming to you with this. Still, I'm not looking for acceptance, sympathy or anything but the need to fill you in on the blank spaces that must have driven you crazy over the last couple of years. The way I scorned you was wrong. A wife should respect her husband in all forms, and answer to him when he calls. I ignored you and purposely drove a wedge between us in order to distance myself from you and our collective failure.

By now, I'm sure your new girlfriend told you what I told her. It should come as no surprise that when I say "failure," I mean our inability to have a child.

When I received the news, and you were nowhere to be found, I felt the clutches of the Devil himself reaching for me. God does not make mistakes, which is how I know we were being punished for our sins, and since the results indicated you were the weaker factor, I can only assume the punishment was meant for you, and by extension, me. I know you have berated me in the past for my strong beliefs, but I cannot compromise my relationship with God for anyone's comfort. I know in my heart, his word is law, and if we couldn't produce a child, lying together would be straying down the path of temptation.

There were things you wanted me to do that I could not, in good conscience, provide for you—sex acts no married couple should have an interest in performing. If I'd have known of your devious tastes early on in our relationship, perhaps I wouldn't have married you. You resisted His word and acted on selfish impulse, spoke of wicked things with your colleagues, and Lord knows what other things I didn't catch wind of. I had to escape your sin yet remain your wife through the bad and the worse, as I pledged before God until death.

I do not judge you, as you are no longer my husband, and I know God will assess your choices in his divine eye. I don't have to worry about the unclean thoughts that live inside of you—they have no power over me; they aren't a reflection of my heavenly worth. If anything, I hope you are happy and have all the freedom one who strays from God can expect to have in this world. I pray for your soul each night and hope you do not meet the eternal fires.

I should have told you, but I was stricken with unbearable grief. I hated you. I fell out of love. I can't describe how, but I felt if I touched you, knowing what I knew then, God would punish me. Please understand everything I did, I did in the name of the Lord and with concern for my immortal soul. Call me selfish. I was and am, to this day, a selfish woman. But you were good to me, up until a certain point.

I cannot forgive your infidelity and can only pray you to seek repentance for your sin, though I will admit I did not care to make it right at the time. My silence was meant as punishment, but only God can dole penance, and in shutting you out, I acted in his name when I shouldn't have. I will spend the rest of my days begging His forgiveness and praying for you, Henry.

This package includes the evidence I've compiled of your cheating. You should know now I no longer seek vengeance. I simply want to scrub my life of all traces of you, and figured you might want to gaze upon your transgressions. Or throw them out. It's up to you now. Sincerely, Mary."

Henry was quiet for several minutes as he digested the contents of the letter. She found a pamphlet for the Evangelist Church of God among the pages and scowled.

"Wow, religion really makes people say some crazy stuff," she muttered, hoping to get a sound out of her fiance. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He motioned for the letter and gave it a half-hearted scan before crumpling it in his fist.

"Fuck that woman. Fuck that life."

"Sounds like a story."

He puffed, scoffed, burned a hole into the letter written in Mary's graceful hand.

"But you don't have to tell me."

"She's right," Henry said. "I was different back then."

"I know you were."

"How come you've never asked?"

His question nipped the skin on the back of her arms. "The same reason I don't ask other people about their religion. That's their business. You were raised a certain way, but you changed. I know you were put in a cage, Henry. You made a mistake, but it's not the eternal damnation Mary says. Your marriage was practically over. Unless... You cheated before us?"

Henry whipped a look at her, gaping and wordless. She shrugged as a platitude and coughed over a laugh. "Well? How can I not suspect? Mary says you cheated, Frank says you didn't, but I don't trust either of them as far as I can throw them, Henry!"

"Look, I know!" Henry barked, and she pressed her back to the door. "You've gotta believe me, sweetheart. I'm trying to prove to you every day that I'm not this monster she wants me to be!"

"What's on these discs? They don't have labels. Am I going to watch this and find out something you don't want me to?"

His jaw set like he was about to explode. Air escaped his nostrils, and he glared forth at the wet cement wall beyond the hood of her car. Above, the building's pressure crushed out all sound, and Henry became aware of his breath, the tension in his windpipe.

"No. I don't know. I have no idea what's on those DVDs. If she got her private investigator to film me, it's probably just you and I making out in the car. What would be incriminating about that?"

"Did you lie to me that night in Paris?"

A dissonant, heavy silence fell over the man in the driver's seat. His skin turned sallow, and her eyes eclipsed to see the sickly guilt on his face.

"That night, you told me you left her. You said you asked for the divorce, and she just gave up. Was that a lie? Did you say that just to get me to go?"

Condemned by another bout of silence, Henry hid the colour of his ears behind hunched shoulders. "Baby, I was in love. I am in love with you. It's only ever been you! I needed you with me so bad. She knew we were done. She knew it. Divorce was not a foreign word."

"Just tell me straight. Did you put it in stone that night? When you flew me ten hours to Paris to be with you?"

"No. I didn't. I went home, said goodbye to her, she gave me the cold shoulder, I cursed, and she got angry with me. I told her I was finished, and then I left. Maybe I didn't flat out say I want a divorce, but it was implied."

"I'm curious to see what's on these discs," she said.

"Sweetheart, I will watch them with you, totally confident there's no evidence of me with any other woman."

"Good," she nodded. "Because you're mine. Maybe I'm the bad one for not caring. If you're bad, I'm worse. I don't give a fuck about you cheating on her, and this is the first time I've ever admitted it out loud. You're mine, Henry. You belong to me. She knew what she had and uses faith as an excuse for hiding a horrible secret from you!"

"Good Lord, I don't want to cry about this again," said Henry.

"Fuck it, Henry, just like you said. Fuck her and fuck the life you had. Your ass is mine now," she stuck her ring finger in the air. "Like, forever."

Henry pouted and melted into her lap. She quickly ran her hands through his hair as he moaned against her knee. "But what about our family?"

"We'll figure it out, babe. I promise. Until then, just keep shooting loads inside of me, and we'll see what happens."

He burst with laughter and lifted his rosy face to kiss her. "That's such a you thing to say in a time of crisis."

"I told you last night and back at the hotel... I'm with you. I'll back you in everything you do and make sure not a day goes by you wish you were somewhere else."

"I have absolutely no doubt of that, sweetheart. Goddamn it, I love you... Wifey," he giggled.

"But how hot would it be to have sex while watching DVDs of us hooking up in the Beamer and touching on patios and shit?"

"So hot. I've been thinking about it, and I've concluded it is very fucking hot."

"All right, hubby. Let's put this shit behind us forever and get busy getting married and having babies. We have places to go!"

"Yeah," Henry grabbed her hand and nodded. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

#henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #henry deaver

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tricksters-captain · 4 years

Text

Weasley Twins/Cedric Diggory Imagines - Accidental Meeting - Part 9

AN: Thank you for all being patient with me! I hope you all had a Merry Christmas or a Happy Holiday!

Overall Summary: (Y/n), is a young witch who always kept her head down due to her complicated past; one day she bumps quite literally into one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, and that’s when (Y/n)’s plan of keeping her head down seems to go up into the air. Things only seem to worsen when two redheaded twins start to take notice too...

This Chapter: (Y/n) spends time with Cedric just before the Christmas break before getting a Christmas surprise...

(MASTERLIST HERE)

Pairing(s): Cedric Diggory x Reader, (Eventual) George Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Fred Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Oliver Wood x Reader

Word Count: 4,134

Warnings: None, lots of fluff

“Slow down, Lauren!” A couple of first years shouting at each other ran threw you and Oliver as you walked down the corridor.

“Got to love the Christmas excitement.” Oliver chuckled at their behaviour and you just rolled your eyes.

The whole castle seemed to be filled with excitement. Christmas was right around the corner and so was the upcoming Quidditch match between Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor.

“Meanwhile I can’t wait for this castle to empty out.” You admitted as you shifted your scarf tighter around your neck.

“You know, when everyone leaves for the holidays so does lover boy.” Oliver smirked, referencing to Cedric.

“I really hope Ravenclaw wins tomorrow.” You changed the subject to purposefully annoy the boy.

“That’s slander, you know. You could be kicked out of the house just for thinking that.” Oliver retorted.

“Oh calm down, Wood.” You linked arms with the boy to draw some of his warmth. “The game may be cancelled due to the heavy snowfall anyway.”

“That would be even worse.” Oliver frowned, turning his head to look past you at the falling snow.

You spotted Cedric up ahead and he smiled brightly at you to which you returned.

You were meeting up this evening to spend some time together before the Christmas break, not that Oliver knew that.

“Remind me to hide the mistletoe.” Oliver teased you as he caught the direction of your smile.

“You are worse than Fred and George and that’s saying something.” You pulled your arm away from the boy and he quickly relinked your arms laughing at your irritation.

“They’re still not over your last snow fight, you know?” Oliver reminded you of the snow fight at Hogsmeade and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Sore losers.” You chuckled, shaking your head at the memory of them drenched in snow.

Then just on cue, the twins came up behind you both.

“You excited for Christmas, (Y/n)?” Fred asked as he joined you and Oliver.

“I can’t wait. I won’t have to see your ugly faces.” You retorted to the twins with a wink.

“You’ll miss us.” George shook his head at you.

“Yeah! Just wait and see how boring it is around here without us.” Fred added.

“Did you mean how peaceful it’s going to be?” You teased the boys as you came to the Gryffindor common room entrance.

Inside the common room was crowded.

The snow and cold weather had driven everyone inside and with the holidays right round the corner, all the students were eager to spend time with each other before they have to leave for a couple of weeks.

“Where you off to, (y/n)?” George asked as you went for the girls dorm stairs.

“You really don’t want to spend the last few days of term with your favourite people?” Fred took hold of your arm to stop you.

“Haven’t you guys got practise for the quidditch match tomorrow?” You cocked your eyebrows at the boys.

“Can’t practise until the snow slows.” Oliver grumbled.

“It’s heaving out here.” You gestured around to the surrounding students.

“You’re not scared of a little social interaction, are ya, Seyler?” Fred teased you, pulling you towards some free chairs in the corner of the common room.

“(Y/n), not Seyler.” George nudged his brother, correcting him since you were in a large group of people.

“Thank you, George.” You pulled your arm away from Fred and linked arms with George instead.

“So, has your uncle sent your presents over yet?” Oliver changed the subject as you all sat.

“He sent a couple of owls over the past couple days with parcels. I’ve tucked them under my bed for now.” You explained.

“Wood won’t tell us what he’s got you.” Fred whined as he looked in between you and Oliver.

“Thinks we’ll tell you.” George laughed.

“You probably would.” You defended Oliver as you looked up at the red headed twin, his brown eyes staring straight back down at you.

George rolled his eyes and looked up over at his twin who wore a similar expression.

“Look, guys, it’s so loud in here. I want to get changed before supper too.” You rose from your chair and peered over at the stairs.

“Got a date or something that you’re not telling us about?” Fred wiggled his eyebrows and you shoved his shoulder lightly with your elbow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You then excused yourself to go get changed.

You spent longer than you would have liked trying to pick something to wear. You ended up going to supper with Oliver and the twins as per usual and you walked back to the common room with them as you and Cedric weren’t due to meet until 8pm.

“Where are you running off to?” Oliver asked as you packed up your parchment and books. You had been studying with him in the common room as you waited for the time to pass.

“The library.” You lied quickly before you rushed to dump your stuff and leave.

You checked your hair one last time in the mirror before escaping the dorms and the common room.

“Hi.” Cedric smiled widely as the door closed behind you.

“Hi.” You smiled back.

“Come on... I have a surprise.” Cedric offered his hand and you took it, furrowing your eyebrows at him with curiosity.

“Where are you taking me, Mr Diggory?” You laughed quietly as he lead you forward down the stairs.

You felt yourself drop Cedric’s hand when you spotted a couple of young Gryffindor students coming up the stairs.

Cedric looked down at where he had lost your hand but didn’t say anything.

You walked slower behind Cedric as you carefully watched the students disappear.

“Shit.” You cursed as the stairs below your feet started to grind to move.

“Jump!” Cedric was already on the other set of stairs.

“What?” You scoffed in disbelief at the boy.

“Come on!” He encouraged you as the stairs started to move.

You were already in the air before you realised what you were doing.

Cedric’s hands caught your forearms as you felt yourself collide with the boy.

“I can’t believe you actually jumped.” Cedric chuckled in amusement as he held you against him to keep you sturdy.

“I trust you too much.” You groaned as you pulled away from him, your cheeks burning from the previous closeness.

“Good. Because I’m gonna need you to trust me tonight.” Cedric took your hand and lead you away before you could argue.

Cedric lead you outside the castle to which you were very confused by this time as it was dark and you knew you would both be in trouble if caught, prefect or not.

“I need you to drink this.” Cedric pulled out a small bottle from his pocket.

“Cedric, the last person I know who drank an unknown substance by the male species ended up blacking out and not remembering what happened.” You stared at him flatly.

“You said you trust me?” He rose his eyebrows at you before taking a swig himself then handing it over.

“What is it?” You asked, raising it to your lips slowly.

“It’ll let you see in the dark.” Cedric told you.

“Why do I need to see in the dark?” You asked.

“Why do you ask so many questions?” Cedric responded as he took the empty bottle away from you.

It felt weird as your eyes started to adjust and the night suddenly became much lighter.

That’s when you spotted the ice skates.

“You’re kidding right?” You looked at the frozen lake and then up at Cedric.

“Trust me.” He put on his own skates then watched as you slowly laced up your own with a worried expression glued to your features.

Cedric stepped onto the ice and started to glide with ease but you fell over the moment you stepped on.

“Steady there.” Cedric skated over and helped you up.

You were wobbly for the first few minutes but Cedric’s grip on you soon eased up and you could skate beside him without slipping.

“Are you warm enough?” Cedric asked as he watched your breath from your lips.

“I’m just lucky I decided to bring outdoor stuff with me.” You smiled through the night as you wiggled your gloved fingers at him.

“It’ll be strange. Not seeing you for a few weeks.” Cedric admitted as he picked up his pace.

“I bet you won’t even think of (Y/n) Seyler the moment you walk into your house.” You rolled your eyes but Cedric’s smile dropped.

“I was going to write you.” Cedric confessed as he came to a stop.

“It’s only a few weeks, Cedric.” You started. “You don’t need to write me. Just. enjoy the time with your family–––”

You shifted your weight wrong and your skate slipped under you, sending you crashing into Cedric’s arms. Again.

“Sorry!” You squealed as you gripped tight onto his coat.

You both stayed there, your hot breath tickling his cheeks and his yours.

You looked at his eyes. They were so bright in the moonlight.

That’s when Cedric started to lean towards you.

You pulled away immediately and skated to the side of the lake, trudging through the snow in your skates.

“Hey! (Y/n)! Wait!” Cedric raced after you as you fled.

You sat down on a nearby log and immediately went to put your boots back on.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry.” Cedric caught up with you and tried to apologise.

“I’ve never done this before.” You cut him off with your response.

“What?” Cedric was confused to what you were talking about.

“This!” You gestured between the two of you. “I’ve never done the boyfriend thing, I’ve never done this with someone, spend all this time together.... Except Oli, of course, but that’s different. I don't know what we are doing, Cedric but I don’t know how to do it!”

“Woah... Hey, hey, hey!” Cedric sat down beside you and searched your face as the words spilled out.

“I still don’t truly understand what this is. What’s going on - I - I...”

Cedric’s lips met yours to stop the word vomit.

All the anxiety and nervosa suddenly left your body as you tasted the mint from Cedric’s kiss.

His lips were soft, warm and it felt... right.

Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat.

“Lumos.” It wasn’t hard to guess which professor had interrupted your first kiss as soon as they spoke.

You pulled away from Cedric and looked down in embarrassment.

“Miss Seyler. Mr Diggory.” Snape’s stare bored down at you both.

“Professor, it’s my fault.” Cedric stood as he started but Snape rose his hand to silence him.

“If it wasn’t so close to the Christmas holidays both of you would be in detention for all the rules you’ve broken this evening but instead 20 points will be taken from both Gryffindor house and Hufflepuff.” Snape explained as he looked between you both. “Now back to your common rooms. Now.”

You didn’t tell anybody about what had happened when you returned to the common room.

You laid awake longer than usual thinking about the kiss.

Your first kiss.

You shook your head and tried to stop smiling as you covered your eyes with your hands.

What just happened?

The next day the snow had stopped falling and the quidditch match was allowed to go ahead.

You wrapped up warm and followed the rest of your house to the stands to support the team.

George and Fred flew over to you on their brooms as the teams awaited the match’s start.

“You look happy.” George commented on your smile.

“That makes a change.” Fred teased you and you just stuck your middle finger up at the boy.

“Cheer us on, (Y/n).” George told you.

“If we’re lucky we may get a winning kiss, Georgie.” Fred smirked.

You felt the colour drain from your face.

They knew.

You suddenly realised they knew about the kiss.

Snape had caught you and Cedric, of course people knew...

How many more people knew that you and Cedric Diggory had been caught by the lake...at night...

You felt your happiness slowly fade as you tried not to look around you to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

The match went by agonisingly slow but Gryffindor fortunately won.

You immediately rushed back to the common room before the twins or Oliver could catch up with you.

“Hey (Y/n)!” Cedric caught you just before.

“Cedric, I kinda have to go.” You tried to leave but he caught your hand.

“I just wanted to apologise for last night.” Cedric told you. “Not for.. You know but for getting caught.”

“It’s okay, Ced but I really have to go.” You looked past him to see the teams colours through the crowd which meant they were close.

Cedric nodded and started to walk away.

You internally groaned at his sad face and tugged on his coat to pull him back round to you.

“I’ll see you later.” You kissed him very briefly before continuing your way to the common room. Hiding in your dorm.

“Fred sent me to tell you that you can’t hide forever as you need to say goodbye to them and explain how you lost the house 20 points last night.” Angelina entered your room with a smirk on her face.

“I’m sure everyone already knows, Ang.” You cringed at the thought of everyone talking about it.

“All I’ve heard is that Cedric Diggory also lost 20 points last night.” She replied with a wink.

“Sure.” You scoffed, folding your book over and sitting up on your bed.

You watched her gather her chest and a small bag from her bed.

“All I’m gonna say is you’re lucky this happened just before we broke up for Christmas. Hopefully this news won’t still be making the rounds when we come back in January.” Angelina tried to make you feel better but it didn’t work.

“Have a good break, Angelina. Merry Christmas.” You wished her farewell and she wished you a Merry Christmas back.

You finally gathered the courage to slip your shoes on and descend the stairs.

“Finally.” Both Fred and George said in unison.

“You’re lucky I even came down at all.” You told the two as you approached them.

“Then you wouldn’t have gotten this.” Fred pulled out a small brown paper package from behind his back.

“What’s this?” You looked between the two boys.

“Just something small.” Fred admitted.

“Ginny writes home to Mum and well, she’s mentioned you once or twice.” George started to explain as he took the package and handed it to you.

“He means he asked mum to make you one––” Fred was cut off by a punch to the side by George.

“She then wrote to us and asked if you wanted to stay for Christmas to which we knew you’d be here with Wood.” George cleared his throat, his face bright red as he spoke.

“That’s very kind but completely unnecessary. Tell her I thank her anyway.” You pressed a smile onto your face as you thought about the red headed older woman who could’ve raised these two.

Then again, you looked around the common room at Ron and Ginny saying goodbye to their friends. And even Percy...

You started to open the present to see it was a knitted sweater. You opened the jumper up to see your first initial knitted onto the sweater just like the sweaters you’ve seen the boys occasionally wear.

“You don’t have to wear it.” George laughed as he watched you study it.

“But if you ever meet our mother you do. Scary that woman is.” Fred laughed along side his twin and you just smiled.

“I love it. Thank you.” You embraced the boys and they hugged you back.

“No sarcastic comment?” George looked confused. “Are you feeling okay, (Y/n)?”

“It’s the honeymoon feelings. Got her all giddy after locking lips with pretty boy Diggory.” Fred immediately moved back as you went to swat him for his comment.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/n)!” The twins fled before you could throw any books at them for their teasing behaviour.

“You’ll be glad to get rid of them.” Oliver came up beside you as he watched the whole Weasley family leave and slung his arm over your shoulder.

“I have a terrible feeling I’m now stuck with them for the rest of my time in this Godforsaken school.” You leant your head on his shoulder and folded over your arms with a sigh.

“Let’s see if you can survive that long without cracking their skulls together.” Oliver smirked and you groaned playfully.

“Merlin help me now.” You looked up at the ceiling which only made Oliver laugh once again.

“Speaking of goodbyes though... Isn’t there someone you should be seeing before they leave?” Oliver asked.

You had almost forgot.

You excused yourself and rushed to the basement near the Hufflepuff entrance.

“I thought you’d show up eventually.” Cedric was leaning against his trunk when you showed up.

“I was seeing the twins off. I’m sorry.” You confessed.

Cedric said it was alright before pulling you into a hug.

The soft blue wool of his sweater was soaked in his scent and you breathed it in sweetly.

“Have a good Christmas, Ced.” You whispered as you held onto him.

“I’ll write you.” Cedric told you. “Even if you don’t write back.”

You pulled away from the boy a little so you could look up at his face.

“Guess we’ll see.” You shrugged, knowing full well that you were definitely going to write back.

Cedric peered up and down the corridor before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me this year.” Cedric admitted.

“What? Above becoming Quidditch captain and a prefect?” You rose your eyebrows at him with a smirk.

“Yes.” Cedric chuckled with a little shake of his head.

You reached up behind the boys neck with your hand and brought his lips to yours. Kissing him softly.

“Merry Christmas, Cedric.” You flicked your wand behind your back and a vine of mistletoe grew above you both.

Cedric kissed you once more before you pulled away and left. A warm glow on your cheeks.

A few more days went passed and the quiet bliss of the castle kept you in a calming spirit.

You and Oliver spent most of your time playing wizard chess or reading in the common room or even out on the quidditch pitch.

You didn't fly much but you helped Oliver with his batting skills.

On Christmas Eve, you both sat in front of the fire with hot chocolates and a mince pie each.

“I can’t believe this is my last Christmas at Hogwarts with you.” You sighed quietly as you nuzzled into Olivers side.

“You know I don’t die after I leave Hogwarts.” Oliver said as he took a bite of his pie.

“I know that but you’ll be working. You’ll be busy. You won’t have time for some school girl whenever she has an issue she can’t solve herself.” You pouted.

“(Y/n).” Oliver adjusted to look you in the eye. “You are one of the strongest and bravest people I know. I will always be here for you when you need me but I know you will survive here without me and you will finish Hogwarts just like me and you will enjoy it.”

“Oli...”

“I’m not disappearing of the side of the earth. I will still be here, I just won’t be here.” Oliver assured you as he gestured around the common room.

You just pulled him in for a hug.

“I know. It just scares me.” You confessed against his shoulder.

“I know.” Oliver stroked your hair before pulling away to drink his hot chocolate.

The night went by quickly and soon you were tiptoeing up the dormitory stairs in your fluffy socks to get some sleep before Christmas morning.

You had already placed all your presents underneath the tree the common room in a bag with your name on and you had put Oliver’s there too.

Your dorm was empty which meant you didn’t have to worry about anyone one else as you tucked into your bed and turned out the lights.

Even through the dark you could see the snowfall outside the window. The moon reflecting on the tiny snowflakes.

You don’t know when you fell asleep but you did know you wished you hadn’t.

Images flashed through your head of Christmas years ago. The alarms. The snow. You being dragged through a dark alley by your parents. Your cloak dragging behind you. You tripping. A slap. Screams. An inn. Blood. Darkness.

You woke up panting and soaked in sweat.

You didn’t know how you remembered these memories.

You were only 4/5 when it happened.

It was when your parents had escaped the ministry during a hearing about their crimes as Death Eaters a couple years after the Dark Lord had fallen.

They had broken into your uncles house and stolen you in the night. They didn’t bother with your uncle that night because they were without their wands but they managed to snatch you quite easily despite Demetrius’ efforts to keep you hidden.

You touched your cheek as if you had felt the slap all over again.

Outside the birds were chirping happily and a plump robin sat on the window sill without a care in the world.

You slipped out of bed and managed to squeeze in a shower before Oliver woke up.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/n).” Oliver wore his pyjamas and dressing gown as he engulfed you in a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas, Oli.” You returned the hug before lurching towards Oliver’s gift and thrusting it in his hand.

“I hope you like it.” You smiled as you fiddled with your hands nervously.

Oliver handed you your own present and then sat down to open his small gift.

You watched him open it carefully and this his eyes grow wide in surprise.

It was Oliver’s favourite Quidditch players autograph on a quaffle.

“How did you get this?!” Oliver asked as he jumped up to hug you.

“Demetrius has his ways.” You laughed as you winced from how tight his hug was.

“Open yours now.” Oliver sat back down, the quaffle sturdy on his lap with his hand on it.

You teared the wrapping paper back to reveal a small photo frame with an old moving photo inside of it.

“Oliver Wood!” You gushed as you realised it was a photo of you and Oli during your first year.

“Me Mam found it tucked away on an old photo album during the summer. I remember she took it during the Christmas holidays when you first ever visited mine.” Oliver explained as you watched the awkward yet undeniably cute photo move.

“Thank you, Oli. I love it.” You hugged him once more before turning to open the presents from your uncle.

There was only four small separately wrapped presents but you were extremely curious to find out what he sent you.

The first present was a photo album.

The second was some new socks which you and Oliver laughed at since it was so typical of your uncle.

The third was a dream catcher. He always seemed to know.

The final gift you unwrapped was a enchanted camera for moving photographs.

“Oli! Look! We can take a new one!” You felt your chest warm as you realised just how thoughtful a present this was from Demetrius.

You made a mental note to write a letter as soon as possible.

Oliver moved beside you and wrapped his arm over your shoulders.

He smiled widely as the photo was taken and ruffled your hair just as the flash went.

“Hey!” You squealed as you moved away.

“Anyway, Wood, what’d your mother get you?” You flattened your hair back to its original state as you nodded your chin towards the tree.

“Let’s find out.” Oliver knelt by the tree and pulled out his gifts.

You watched him unwrap his presents before you both decided to change and head to the great hall for a Christmas lunch.

You came down in the sweater the twins had given you and Oliver’s draw dropped.

“Are you really going to wear that?” He asked, his disgust shining through his accent.

“Bugger off, Wood. I think it suits me.” You shrugged, “It was a Christmas gift after all.”

“Next you’ll be moving into their home.” Oliver teased you about looking like a Weasley but you chose to ignore him.

The rest of your Christmas just seemed to fly by...

(NEXT PART SOON)

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tcm · 3 years

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A Conversation with Patty McCormack on Growing Up on Screen By Kim Luperi

Not many child stars go on to enjoy long, successful careers in show business – and fewer still have earned a prestigious Academy Award nomination before they turned 18. Patty McCormack has achieved both. The actress, who made her first film appearance in 1951 and went on to star in THE BAD SEED (’56, for which she received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress as the murderous Rhoda at age 11); THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN (’60) and THE YOUNG RUNAWAYS (’68), continues to work in Hollywood and shows no indication of slowing down.

I had the pleasure of speaking with McCormack recently about some of these titles and more, including the delightful film KATHY O’ ('58) in which she plays a famous child star – an apt springboard for a discussion about growing up on screen and transitioning into more mature roles over her incredibly long, accomplished career.

(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)

I was watching KATHY O’ last night, and I really enjoyed it. In that movie they talk about your blonde pigtail braids as a trademark, and I realized it kind of was; you had that hairstyle in THE BAD SEED and ALL MINE TO GIVE (’57), too. Do you know how that style came about, or was it something you did that caught on?

Patty McCormack: It seems to be! I believe I even had them early on in Mama, which was an old live TV show that was a weekly event. I don't know how that [trademark] happened. I think it just happened because of THE BAD SEED – I think it was the hairdo that I went in with or they just decided on. When you see the original artwork on William March’s book, there’s a very long face drawing of Rhoda, his Rhoda, and there were braids in it. I don't know if they were looped or what, but that could have been it – or I honestly don't remember if it was chosen by my mom because it was easy, but it stuck!

I loved KATHY O’ because I got to live the dream. I loved the notion of them cutting my hair off – except it was a wig that they cut. After a while it felt like I didn't want to look like an older person with braids – you have to get rid of them eventually. As soon as I could, I wanted hair that was like, in that era, a page boy or something like that, where it landed on your shoulder. But I carried that long hair for a long time. And then you know how you revert back to certain hairdos years later?

They come back in style.

PM: Yes, they come back, but now I have shortish hair, and I'm growing it one length. So I got over the braids – just in the nick of time!

Circling back to Rhoda, you originated the role on Broadway before the film version, so you obviously had a lot of practice and familiarity with the part before you took it to the screen. Since she's such a chilling character, how did you get into that mindset at age nine, especially when you had to play the part multiple times a week?

PM: I always go back to the source, and the source was the director, Reginald Denham. He was so good with directing me. He made it fun, because I learned when I'd get an audience reaction on a face I’d make or something, I'd look forward to doing that again – you know, that kind of joy.

He made it so clear and simple, and his point of view was that Rhoda was always right. I know I've said this before, but it's the truth. No matter what anybody says, Rhoda is correct, and anything she wants, she feels entitled to – not using that word ‘entitled’ – but I really wasn't thinking of myself as a bad person, or especially not a murderer. I just thought it was their fault, which is classic, I guess. I had to kill him [the little boy] because he was so mean. So I think that was how I learned to be that character. I was aware of the murders – people were dead because of me, that I knew – but somehow it wasn't disturbing to my mind. If you take a look at it knowing that, you see it. I'm not coming from some sort of evil place, I don't think.

You were nominated for an Oscar for THE BAD SEED, which is amazing; it's a true testament to your talents, of course, but it’s also such a big accolade to have at such a young age. Do you remember there being any pressure on you for your next role?

PM: Well, the role was so odd for a kid to be so noticed, in that era anyway. I can't think of any jobs I didn't get after that that somebody else got, you know? What happened, though, was that each year I grew, and so I just experienced the typical kid actor dilemma which is going from category to category and establishing yourself in that category and learning how to be in that category. I did do something on Playhouse 90 – I did a few PLAYHOUSE 90s back then – and I did a lot of television –

You played Helen Keller [in the original 1957 Playhouse 90 teleplay “The Miracle Worker”].

PM: That's what I was going to say! That was after THE BAD SEED. But mostly, as far as movies went, there was KATHY O’ and a few here and there and at different levels of development. I was always aware that it had been a while since I worked, that I felt, but I didn't think business, like “What will I follow up that with?” I didn't have that kind of mentality, and I really don't think my mother did either, so it just sort of went the way it went.

As you mentioned too, you were still growing up. So, you’re a child, then a teenager, then young adult. You probably wouldn’t be thinking about the business part of it.

PM: No, it's so strange. It's not an easy transition, and as you know famous people go through really hard things. You don't get to sit and relax in a certain mode for too long because before you know it you're in the next one. And then you go through your ‘ugly period’ in front of everybody, which is horrible.

The movie that you mentioned TCM is going to air, THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, when I see the headshots from that I just think, “Aw, I looked uncomfortable!” I could see it even in my body. I felt like I was at the awkward time – you know, part of me was getting bigger, developing – and that hairdo they gave me didn't help; it was still the braids but wrapped up.

I want to ask you about that transition. Did you find anything difficult or surprising about navigating Hollywood and growing up on screen?

PM: The most difficult part, honestly, as a person growing up – I think at the time I always say Sandra Dee was the person we all looked to. She was just so beautiful, and no one else looked like that – maybe Carol Lynley a little bit – but the bar was set very high. With that, you’re insecure anyways because you’re at that age, and more than anything you don't want to be different. I think that's true for a lot of kids. So the maturing, that part of development, was difficult when I look back. You don't have the confidence that you had as a little kid when you don't think about anything. You become all self-conscious about how you look, if you're thin enough, if you’re pretty enough, if your hair looks nice. It's a little bit of an adjustment to get through all that and go back to what you like to do, which is to pretend, and take the focus off what you look like or who you look like or any of that stuff. I don't know if other kid actors had the same experience, but usually people grow out of a look that made them known – most of us anyway, not all of us.

I know when you left Hollywood you went back to Brooklyn and finished high school there. What was that experience like for you?

PM: Well, I took my real name back, and I was going to the high school that my mother and older sister went to, so I was really excited. This is going to sound so weird, but it was almost like playing a part – I was playing the part of a high school student. My real name is Russo, so I was Patty Russo. The experience was really kind of shocking, because I think they expected me to be very conceited, and so I had to hide in the cafeteria in the early days, because it was Brooklyn and they were pretty tough – they were on me! But I made a best friend who helped me navigate through it, and it turned into a nice experience finally. I was glad to have had that.

Then I came back out here [Los Angeles], and I stayed with a friend of my mother's family for a while. I wound up leaving Utrecht [her Brooklyn high school] – it’s a long story – but I did a soap opera in between while I was going to Utrecht, and that was kind of tricky because they weren't flexible like California was. In California they were used to kid actors, and in New York at that time, they really weren't. Then when I came out here, I went back to finish high school at Hollywood Professional and got my diploma that way. But I'm so glad I got to go back to Brooklyn. I'm pleased about that.

It sounds like you had a pretty grounded childhood, especially in attending a regular high school. Do you think that helped how you adjusted when you returned to the film industry?

PM: It was a little bit too grounded, I think! I came from a really good family. I never thought that I was a big deal, and they [her mom and dad] made sure of that. So, coming back to the industry after, I really didn't know the ropes. People handled all that before – the only thing I knew was what I did, and so some things maybe didn't get handled so well, but I learned on my feet when I came back out here. Then I married my childhood boyfriend and we had our children, and I kept working.

Yes, you’ve worked steadily since then.

PM: I did work a lot! It’s true. Nothing on the level of nominations, but I was a journeyman, I like to say.

You've spent six decades in the industry, which is really astounding, especially since you started as a child. I read an interview from 1974 that featured a humorous quote from you that I’d like to share. You said that you lamented that you never got the guy in movies and just once you wanted to “kiss the guys instead of kill them.”

PM: That is funny!

But throughout your career, you played Helen Keller, you played a career woman in THE BEST OF EVERYTHING (’70), you played Pat Nixon more recently in FROST/NIXON (’08), so you've had a lot of experience with different characters. Was there any genre or any type of character that you wish you could explore further?

PM: Well, I'll tell you the truth, it's actually seven decades from when I started, although if you want to make me younger, I don't mind! At this point in time, I'm so grateful when I work, because there could be nothing now, you know? I do enjoy what comes along. The only thing I never got to do, which I would have loved, was to have been in a habit – I would have loved to have played a nun in a habit.

That’s interesting.

PM: Isn’t it? It’s the Catholic school thing.

We’ll have to find you a role like that!

PM: I know, wouldn't that be fun? And it would be a nice way, in your later years, to go from a killer to a nun, you know? I think it would be a good idea.

Going in the right direction!

PM: Yes! But anyways, little things change here and there, and I sometimes do voiceovers, and I did something recently that I had never done, which was so much fun. Did you notice on Netflix a show called ARSENE LUPIN [working title for LUPIN]?

I haven’t heard of it, but I know there’s an old movie with the same name.

PM: Yes, this is a remake. It's in French, and I dubbed a French woman into English, and it was so much fun to do, to have someone else's face up there. I know some people watch foreign movies and they say, “Oh it's so unfair to dub the other actors,” and I probably wouldn't love it if somebody dubbed me either, but I had such a ball doing it. So, if you catch that show, you'll see somewhere in there I'm speaking English for a French woman.

I wanted to talk about two of your more recent roles. I know you starred in MOMMY in the 1990s, kind of a grown-up Rhoda, and you played a psychiatrist in the Lifetime remake of THE BAD SEED in 2018. This story has been filmed a few times; what do you think resonates with people, and how did it feel going back to that character and story but from different perspectives?

PM: Right. Well, to be honest, the Rob Lowe production [for Lifetime] was really a totally different story. There was no mom – he was the mom character – so the writing was really different.

There were two MOMMY movies: MOMMY (’95) and MOMMY’S DAY (’97). Those were written by a writer who lives in Muscatine, Iowa: Max Allan Collins. This is a long time ago now, but it was fun to grow her up, you know, physically. I talked to you about how that is the strange thing about transitioning, and it was so enjoyable to do that. It really was a journey for me internally.

There was also something about shaking hands with that, because in my day, it was never a good thing to have something so long ago be talked about all the time. I got that impression by other people's opinions, not my own, and as time went on, the world changed and people started knowing actors’ work from 20 years ago. So, the appreciation for that old work came back, and I learned to feel good about it through other people's feelings about it. I do have such a different perspective on it now, and it's a character that was so special. That really changed my ability as to how I could hold it [the role].

It’s nice to be able to do that.

PM: Yes, it is.

I have one more question for you. I know we’re in a pandemic and many productions are halted, but do you have any upcoming appearances that I can share with fans to look out for?

PM: Aw, I wish! It's funny, I did some Hallmark Christmas movies. Well, I did one, and then last year I was supposed to do another one, and they cut our parts because of COVID. So, I'm rooting for [the next one], and I have a good feeling, you know, when we have our vaccinations. Also, a downside was that they shoot in Canada, and they have to bring you up there, and at that time you had to stay in 14 days.

A lot of rules!

PM: Yes, a lot of rules. So hopefully there will be a new one. I can't honestly say, but there's no reason there shouldn't be!

My dad loves the Hallmark Christmas movies, and I watch a lot of them because of him, so I'll be rooting for you and looking out for you!

PM: I know, there's so many. People have blankets and all these things! There are real hard-core fans – it's amazing.

#patty mccormack #child actors #TCM #Turner Classic Movies #The bad seed #kim luperi #growing up on screen #acting #actor

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velvetthunder1999 · 4 years

Text

All the time on Earth

Part 21 - Promises and Christmas Jumpers

Summary: Tension between you and George is rising until a point where you can’t handle it anymore. You just hope he’ll be able to forgive you

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word count: 3.3K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

You left the Knight Bus feeling sick, it was likely you were going to throw up on that exact spot. Hermione patiently waited for you to catch your breath, before you two headed towards Grimmauld Place, pulling your trunks behind you in the snow.

“Feeling better?” she asked, her hand reaching for the bell.

“Yeah,” you panted. “Just let’s get inside, I’m freezing.”

Yesterday you woke up to Hermione violently shaking you, telling you what had happened to Mr Weasley and that now he was in St Mungo’s. George and the other Weasley kids had already left the school by then, but you and Hermione had to wait until term ended. You had had your last detention with Umbridge yesterday evening; you’d never seen her so angry like this before. She was fuming, probably because of how Dumbledore took things into his own hands. Either way, you were glad Christmas break had started. You could really use a few weeks without seeing ugly toad-face.

“Hermione!” Mrs Weasley welcomed you inside with a hug. “Y/N! It’s so good to see you!”

“How’s Mr Weasley?” you asked nervously.

“He’s quite all right. He’s resting now, we were just visiting him yesterday… But don’t just stand there, come in, come in! Are you hungry? We’re about to have dinner.”

You got rid off your clothes and followed Mrs Weasley to the kitchen.

“Ron, please tell the boys dinner’s ready,” she sent her son upstairs. A minute later everyone except Harry came down the stairs, taking their seats at the table.

“Hermione, Y/N, finally!” said Fred with a grin and sat down next to you. George followed, saying a low ‘hey’ as he sat down to your other side. Sirius was handing plates out while Mrs Weasley placed a big bowl of soup in the minddle of the table.

“Bread, Y/N?” asked Ginny and you reached for a slice. Mrs Weasley’s sharp eyes shot a concerned look at you.

“Did you injure your hand, Y/N? Would you like me to have a look at it?”

The whole table fell silent. George casted down his eyes and was now heavily concentrating on his soup.

“Er — ” you said, immediately hiding your hand under the table. “No, thanks, it’s okay…”

“It seemed pretty serious,” said Mrs Weasley, now coming towards you. “Are you sure it’s all right, dear?”

“Yes, it’s fine, no need to worry — ”

“Show her, Y/N,” said George in a low voice, eyeing the table. “It’s what you wanted.”

You looked at George, feeling hurt, but you felt even worse when Mrs Weasley took your hand and gasped.

“Y/N! How… What… How is this…” she couldn’t find the words. Her face went pale and she found it quite difficult to breather properly. You turned your head away only to lock eyes with Sirius. He was staring at the words on your hand with a stern face.

‘I musn’t mix with purebloods’.

“Umbridge,” you said in a low voice to him. You couldn’t look at anyone else. “She…”

A chair creaked loudly on the floor next to you as George stood up and left the table without saying another word. His footsteps on the stairs made your heart sink even more.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Excuse me,” stood up and hurried out of the kitchen, too. You had no idea what you wanted to say, but you just knew you couldn’t handle this anymore. George’s silent outbursts, Fred’s suggesting looks, the guilt in your stomach… You just wanted to make things right. You wanted to talk it over. You wanted to be ony speaking terms with your boyfriend again.

You ran up to the first floor, slipping on some nasty liquid as you turned to the next set of stairs. You checked your room first but it was empty… Hurried to the next one, finding no one there either. You almost passed the drawing room, thinking there was no chance he was in there, but a small gleam of red hair made you come to a halt.

You peaked your head in quietly. He was sitting on the very end of the couch, his face buried into his hands. First you thought he was crying; but then you realised that his shoulders were rising and falling very slowly, almost as if he was breathing while asleep — or as if he was trying to calm himself down.

Your heart broke at the scene; even more as you remembered you had caused him to feel this way. It was not until you took a few very slow steps towards the counch, that you spoke in a low voice:

“Can I sit down?”

He could clearly hear you coming in, cause he did not wince to the sound of your voice. He nodded as an answer, without raising his head from his hands. He looked extremely distressed. You felt horrible and ashamed. You sat down, unable to look away from him. You didn’t know where to start. You wanted forgiveness, but you also wanted him to know how sorry you were.

“Georgie, I… I know I messsed up.”

He didn’t answer. Your throat felt dry.

“And I know you wanted me to stop.”

No answer. Your stomach felt really uncomfortable.

“And I know that I haven’t listened to you.

He still didn’t look at you.

“And I… I understand if you hate me.”

Hearing that, he jerked his head up. His face was stuck in a grimace, in an expression of anger and disbelief.

“I don’t… Y/N, I…” he rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Agh! You know what bugs me? I don’t know what to do! I could never hate you, but I can’t sit around and watch what you’re doing to yourself anymore.”

“I know,” you whispered, and your eyes started to sting. You were staring at your hands in your lap now. You couldn’t look George in the eye anymore. “I know that.”

“And you wouldn’t listen to me. What do you suggest I do? I’ve asked you to stop nicely, I’ve asked you to stop angrily. I’ve done everything in my power to persuade you…” he shook his head in pain. “What else, Y/N? Cause I’ve run out of ideas.”

“I know,” you whimpered. You didn’t want to cry but you couldn’t help it. It was to happen at any second now. “I —”

“Look at your hand,” he said in a shaking voice. You had never seen him so furius. Not with you, anyway. He was fuming. “Look at it and tell me it’s worth it. Look at it and tell me that you like what you see. Look at it and —”

“Stop!” you cried. A small sob sqeezed itself through your lips and you felt tears running down your cheek. “I know! I know you’ve told me, I… I shouldn’t have pushed her, she… she payed me back for it, I…”

“Payed you back, what d’you mean she payed you back?”

You needed a few try before you could answer properly.

“She… s-she… she k-killed Peanut!”

“What?!” his anger was replaced by mere shock. You nodded, still crying.

“I’m… I’m an idiot, George…I am such an idiot, a stupid, stupid prat, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

You sobbed into your hand.

“Please, d-don’t hate me. Please, I’m sorry, you were right, just d-dont… I don’t want this anymore, I can’t, I can’t do this — ”

George moved directly next to you on the couch so that your knees were touching. He put one hand on your back. His face was pale and his eyes were full of worry.

“Shh, hey, hey…” after a bit of hesitation he pulled you into his arms and brushed your hair out of your face. “Don’t cry, please, it’s all right now…”

You buried your face into his neck. You saw your tears leaving wet marks on his shirt. He was tenderly soothing your hair. You could barely breath. You couldn’t calm down.

“Please, don’t… d-don’t shout at me, please don’t b-be angry with me, I am so sorry, George…”

“I won’t shout, I promise, I’d never — Y/N, please breathe, okay? — I’m not angry with you, I promise, please just try to calm down — ”

You shook your head. Your voice was muffled by his shirt.

“No, you should be an-angry, I deserve i-it…”

“I’m not following you love, do you want me to be angry or not?”

“I d-don’t want you but you should be, I’m a horrible person!”

“You’re not a horrible person,” he said sharply. “Please, try to breathe, okay?”

“I’m s-sorry… for everything…”

“It’s all right… Please don’t cry, everything’s okay, I promise…”

“Y-you mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it.”

“I w-was horrible t-to you.”

“I know, baby. It’s okay…”

“It’s n-not okay.”

“You said you’re sorry, it’s okay now…”

“You f-forgive me?”

“Of course, love… Come — come here, breathe with me okay?”

He cupped your cheeks and forced you to look into his eyes. He took a deep breath and you followed; when he exhaled you did the same. After six rounds you felt yourself calming down, breathing properly again, tears stopped.

“All right…” said George, wiping your wet face with his fingers. “You scared me there for a bit.”

“I’m really sorry… for how I behaved,” you said again, this time more clearly. “I mean it. I should’ve listened to you… She… She… Peanut…”

You felt your lip tremble again. George squeezed your shoulder firmly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes… It was him…”

You told him the story of the feather. You managed without crying this time, but George’s face went even paler.

“We have to tell Dumbledore.”

“Come on, there is no evidence…”

“But she told you!”

“She could’ve told me anything, that’s not proof.”

You took George’s hand into your scarred one. The letters were showing in bright red. For the first time in many weeks you realized what the words meant. What a disgusting meaning they bore. And you actually felt disgusted and regretted being so stupid to let things go this far.

“I promise I won’t step out of the line,” you said sadly. “I keep my head down.”

“Okay.”

“But I won’t pretend that we’re just friends,” you said firmly. “I won’t talk back, but I want to walk with you to class, I want to sit with you in the Great Hall… She can’t punish me for that… I wanna be with you… I really miss you, George.”

“I really miss you, too,” his voice cracked. “It’s been so dreadful.”

He closed his eyes rested his forehead on your shoulder. You looked at his face, his beautiful, freckled face and you just didn’t understand how could you have been so stupid before. And how could he… be like this? He… He forgave you, just like that. Even though you knew you will never forgive yourself, he did. He had the nicest soul you’d ever had the chance to know.

And suddenly a strange feeling came over you, almost like unfulfillment… And in that moment you just knew that you’ll never be able to get enough of him. You knew that there won’t be a single day when you won’t be wanting more of him… And you could not help but wonder, how was it possible to love someone as much as you loved George.

“You’re quiet,” he said and leaned back to be able to look into your eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t,” you said after a bit of hesitation. “It’s quite complicated.”

“You think I won’t understand?” he said with a half smile, but his eyes looked concerned.

“No, I…” you struggled, now regretting that you’d spoken at all. “Come here — come.”

You thought it was going to be easier to lie down; then you cupped George’s cheek and pulled him gently over your chest so that he’ll be on top of you, resting his head on your breast.

“You hear it?” you asked.

“Your heart? Of course, I hear it,” he said uncertainly.

“Good. It’s yours.”

He jerked his head up. You brushed his cheek with your thumb, a shy smile on your lips.

“Sappy?”

He chuckled.

“Yeah. But it’s all right if you mean it.”

“I mean it. I really mean it. I… I can’t find the words to tell you how much I love you. I just hope you feel it.”

“You’re making me so soft,” he said, shaking his head. Then he climbed closer so that his face would be in front of yours. Then he nodded seriously. “I do feel it. Please, believe me. And believe me when I say the same. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He pressed a soft kis onto your cheek, then your mouth, then he lowered himself carefully to lie on top of you again on the narrow couch.

Snow was falling heavily now, and the strong wind outside was making sure to rattle the old windows of the house. You thought about Hogwarts, then Umbridge, then Mr Weasley who was still lying in a hospital bed somewhere in London. Then you thought about Harry and the Third Task, then the dementors that had attacked him during the summer. And as you buried your fingers into George’s hair, caressing it gently, you couldn’t help but think about your love and that how long will it last before evil interferes.

——

On the day of Christmas you woke up with a start, squinting at once at the bright sunlight that was filling in the room. You blinked for a few times, then you realized what had caused you to jerk awake so suddenly — George was leaning close, barely an inch away from your face.

“What the hell?” you exclaimed.

“Merry Christmas!” he started pushing you to scoot over and sat down to your bed. “I’ve got your present!”

“Oh, no, but I haven’t got you anything,” you teased.

“Witty,” he rolled his eyes and put a box in your hand. “Just open it.”

You sat down and brushed your hair out of your sleepy face, then looked at the package curiously. George was watching excitedly as you lifted the top of the tiny box, pulling out a thin chain that seemed to belong to a neat little necklace. It had a tiny golden locket on it, which if opened, showed a picture of the two of you. The photograph was taken in the Room of Requirement after a DA meeting. The picture-George was laughing at something while picture-you was shaking her head with a smile.

“Oh, I love it,” you said softly, your heart melting. “Thank you, George.”

“Can I…?”

You gave him the necklace and he put it around your neck, pressing a small kiss on your cheek after. You bemaed at him, then reached into your trunk to look for his package. From the huge mess of clothes and books you pulled out a green little box.

“Here. Merry Christmas.”

He opened his gift with great anticipation. When he lifted the top of the box, his eyes went wide.

“What is this?”

“It’s called a dreamcatcher,” you said. “You should hang it above your bed. Muggles think it’s good against bad dreams and everything. But I made this one on my own… It took a while, actually.”

“Did you really?”

“Yeah. There’s something else to it, too. Smell it.”

He raised the dreamcatcher to his nose.

“It smells like vanilla.”

You smiled.

“Well… I put some Amortentia on it, charmed it so it would never fade away. I wanted to give you something that’d remind you of me even if I’m not there.”

“Witty… it’s beautiful.”

“You really like it?” you asked shyly.

“Yes, it’s brilliant, really,” he looked at the dreamcatcher again. His eyes went misty. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you kissed him on the cheek. “Breakfast?”

“You want to be careful,” said Fred, stepping through the door. “Mum’s been crying all morning.”

“What?” you asked, nervously remembering Mr Weasley. “What happened?”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you — Percy sent back the Christmas jumper,” said George in a low voice. Git.

“Ungrateful little weasel,” added Fred.

You waited ten minutes before you went down to have breakfast, and even then turned away politely as Mrs Weasley occasionally sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. You helped her do the dishes as a lame way to make her feel better, but then you and the twins joined Harry, Ron and Hermione to play Wizard’s Chess and Exploding Snap all day. In the meantime Mrs Weasley left with some people from the Order to get Mr Weasley and bring him home. You had not recieved your presents yet as she wanted to wait for him and celebrate together.

“Daddy’s back,” she said with a wide grin once you all surrounded the kitchen table, ready to have lunch. Everyone applauded Mr Weasley who seemed a bit tormented but happy to be home at last. Mrs Weasley took one of the many packages and handed it to her son. “Big box for Ron!”

Ron took his present with a reluctant smile, but you were watching George and Fred receiving identical scarves and wrapping them around their neck. George caught your eye as you were smiling to yourself and winked.

“Y/N, dear,” said Mrs Weasley, handing you a package. “Hope you’ll like it.”

You were uncertainly staring at the package in your hand, not sure what to say. You looked back at Mrs Weasley, taken aback.

“Is this for me?”

“Of course, dear! Merry Christmas!

“I didn’t think I’d get —”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N, it’s yours!” scolded Fred, grinning.

“Fred!” said Mrs Weasley, annoyed.

“Open it, Y/N,” said George keenly.

You looked around; all the Weasleys were watching you with anticipation. You took the package again and carefully loosened the thin string around it. The paper fell off, and your eyes fell on a red fabric. You realised with great shock that it was a knitted jumper.

“I… Oh, my God,” you said, your throat dry, as you touched the soft fabric. You didn’t know what to say.

“There’s a little something there as well,” said Mrs Weasley, beaming. You folded out the jumper and found a soft, maroon knitted hat inside it.

You looked at George who was now grinning madly.

“I told you I’ll get one for you, didn’t I?”

“Is it the right color, dear?” asked Mrs Weasley anxiously. “I wasn’t sure if you — ”

You stood up from the table and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, Mrs Weasley.”

Her face was flushed by the sudden surprise. She patted your head gently.

“You’re welcome, dear. Do you like it?”

You were speechless. You remembered clear as day to the Hogsmeade trip when George and you, just as friends, spent a day together in the small village. He told you about his mum making jumpers and hats for Christmas. You had felt a bit jealous and sad at that time. You had felt bad, for he had had the perfect family and you didn’t. And you felt sad, thinking how nice would it be to be a part of a family like his. You had never told him this… But apparently you needn’t have done. He had known it. He had known it very well.

“I love it, Mrs Weasley,” you said, still a bit emotional as you pulled your first ever Christmas hat on your head. You sent a loving smile towards George who just didn’t seem to take his eyes off you. You beamed and in that moment you felt that you are truly a part of his wonderful family.

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 9)

A/N: it’s reader backstory time! This part also includes season 6 spoilers :) xx

word count: 4.0k

tw: mentions of violence, abuse, cursing, other criminal minds stuff!

masterlist:

The beginning of letter #8 was scribbled out, like you’d written but decided the words weren’t quite right. Spencer tried to look through the black ink lines to see what you wrote, but most of it was smudged from tears.

“This was the night everything changed, Spencer. This was the beginning of the end, but at the time it just felt like the beginning. It was a little over a year ago, sorry for skipping some of the middle. I could’ve written a 5,000 page novel about every little moment I had with you. If I had the time, I would. I’d write about every date night, every bouquet of roses, every case you held my hand through. I thought about writing about a lot more of the ‘happy’ parts, but they would’ve just been fun, little, anecdotes and made my heart hurt more. I decided on only highlighting the important parts, not that the happy parts were unimportant. I think they may be the most important, they’re the only things that kept me going at the end. Those parts gave me hope that maybe one day we’d get back to those people. But we didn’t and those people are long gone. Now all the bad memories outweigh the good ones. I need you to see the ugly parts. I always showed you those, and you still told me they were beautiful in some way.

“Everything is a masterpiece if you look at it in the right way”

So here’s the ugly Spence, any clue how to make this beautiful? How do I make this a ‘masterpiece’? Because I don’t know.

Before I start, I want you to put on some regular clothes and pack up the box and put it in your car. Remember how in the first letter I said you’d need to go somewhere? This is that letter. So get in your crappy car that brought us together and drive to the place where it all started to fall apart: Meridian Hill Park.”

Spencer stopped reading and did as you asked. He took the sweatshirt off and hung it in his closet in a place he’d see it everyday. He didn’t really own any ‘regular clothes’ so he ended up in slacks and a dress shirt, his version of regular. He grabbed the box and the last of the coffee in a to-go mug and got in the car. He slipped the disc from letter 2 in and listened to Stacy’s Mom on a low volume. Between that and the snow, he felt like you were right there with him.

When he got to the park, he sat in his car for a moment and reopened the letter.

“There? Good. The bench we sat at is next to the blue bird bath and under that huge oak tree. Go sit at it.”

Spencer got out of the car, now wearing a heavy wool coat and scarf, and made his way to that spot. After most of your dates you’d go for a stroll around that park and always end up at that exact bench. You’d talk for hours, or sometimes you’d people watch. Either way, that bench became another one of your places. He set the box down on his left, the spot where you usually sat, and kept reading.

“That particular night was in December, during that weird week in between Christmas and New Years when time doesn’t feel real and the world is almost at a stand still. (My favorite week of the year) I had begged you to go to the movies with me. I dragged you to see Frozen.

“Frozen?” You said, crinkling your nose, “Out of all the movies?”

I laughed and told you that I needed to see it because Mia had and already loved it. I think I said something like, “If I’m going to be her cool Aunt we have to see it.”

And you agreed, because you’d do anything for me. You always would. So two thirty-somethings went to see a six o’clock showing of Frozen on a Tuesday. We looked ridiculous; your messenger bag was overflowing with snacks and we were the only people there without a child.

I loved it though, and you did too. When the movie was over we sat in the lobby at a table and I finished my slurpee as you told me about the real story of Frozen.

“It’s loosely based on ‘The Snow Queen’ by Hans Christian Andersen from 1845. They both have a snow Queen, reindeer, trolls, frozen hearts, and snow creatures, but that’s where the similarities end. In the original story there is a horrible magic mirror and,” You finally paused to breathe, “ROBBERS!”

I laughed, “Aren’t all fairytales actually awful? We’ve just disney-ified them for kids?”

You nodded, “Most fairy tales in their original form were gruesome to the extreme. In Cinderella, the step-sisters had their feet mutilated to fit into the shoe.”

I yawned, “That’s why I always stuck to Pixar.”

We laughed and threw away our million candy wrappers. As we were leaving I saw a photo booth, one of those old one’s like I went in with all my high school boyfriends. I pulled you over to it and you grimaced, “It’s a small space CRAWLING with germs Y/N!” you whined to me, “Do you know how many people have been in there?”

I rolled my eyes, “It’ll take thirty seconds and I will sanitize after!”

I tugged your arm in and we both barely fit in the booth. You pulled me onto your lap and four poses later we had two photo strips covered in pictures of you kissing my cheek and us smiling. That’s your momento for this letter.”

Spencer reached in and grabbed the photo strip delicately between his fingers. It was one of those tacky ones that looked like a roll of film and all the pictures were in black and white. The first one was the two of you smiling as wide as you could, the second you stuck your tongue out and Spencer scrunched up his nose, for the third he kissed your cheek, and the last one you turned your head to meet him. His heart softened for a moment, remembering how soft and sweet your kisses were. They were usually delicate, like you were kissing the finest of china. Or they were intense, like you were drowning and he was coming up for air. He felt warm, despite the snow falling all around him.

“This is my copy. We printed two. I don’t know where yours is, I just hope it isn’t in the trash. I know it’s another photograph; you just got one of those from JJ’s wedding. But I love photographs. I have a million of you and I. I always used to shove my phone in your face and you’d block it with your hands. I haven’t been able to bring myself to delete them yet. I just love pictures. They capture moments, the good and the bad. Sometimes the only thing that can get the feelings across is a photo, so here’s four.

I remember sticking them in my purse as we walked out of the theater hand in hand and found ourselves in this park. I love it when the cherry blossom’s bloom, but they weren’t blooming. We found our way to this exact bench that you’re sitting on right now. I think it has the best view of the fountain. You put your arm around me and I snuggled into you. You were trying to talk about work; something about Rossi and Gideon? I didn’t know. I was so tired, I couldn’t even focus. I remember just staring at the dry fountain; they turn it off when the weather gets too cold.

“Don’t you agree?” You said, but I didn’t register it, “Y/N?”

I looked up at you and blinked a few times. I sat up and moved myself off of you, “What? Sorry about that I—“ my own yawn interrupted me, “I’m just really tired.”

You looked at me so concerned. Your pretty, honey brown eyes always could see right through me.

“Tired? But we went to sleep at ten last night, you should’ve had at least seven hours.”

I just shrugged and you raised your eyebrows at me, waiting for me to spill.

“I couldn’t fall asleep the last few nights.”

I avoided your prying gaze that felt red hot on my skin even in the freezing air and played with the locket around my neck, as I usually do when I’m nervous.

“Y/N,” You said and grabbed my two hands to make me look at you. I looked you straight in the eyes.

“Talk to me.”

I sighed, “No.”

“No?” You looked offended, I don’t blame you.

“No,” I said plainly. It looked like I was picking a fight, but I wasn’t. I just wasn’t ready to tell you. It’s so weird, we had spent over two years together by then, and I still couldn’t tell you. I don’t know why. It wasn’t you. You make me feel comfortable and safe. I think talking about it made it more real for me, you know? And I just didn’t want it to be real.

“Is it the nightmares? Are they back again?”

I just nodded. Of course you knew, you always knew.

“Y/N, we’ve been through this. You have to talk about them.”

I groaned and you dropped my hands to run yours through your hair. Frustrated is how you felt in that moment, and I don’t blame you. I was mad at myself too.

“I know! But can’t I just not want to talk about it?”

You stood up and paced in front of me, “You have to talk to someone! Even if it isn’t me.”

“That’s the thing! I don’t trust anyone except you with it!”

You sounded defeated, “Then why don’t you tell me? You haven’t slept, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself. I can’t just sit back and watch you do this to yourself. It’s not healthy.”

That isn’t the last time I heard you say that, but it was the first. That became your favorite phrase at the end. “It’s not healthy,” as if you’re the judge of what’s healthy and not.

My heart ached at the sight of you; purple scarf disheveled and your eye bags a similar color. Your hair was tousled from running your hands through it and you looked like you might cry. I patted the seat next to me so you would sit down and then before I could even think them, the words were tumbling out of my mouth. Every. Damn. Detail.”

He remembered it so clearly, as if it were yesterday. The cold air bit at your skin causing you to shiver and pull your coat tighter. The only warmth either of you felt was what was radiating off the other. It wasn’t much.

“It’s the nightmare, like the nightmare. The same one from Jacksonville. It just won’t go away. I wake up sweaty and disoriented and I can’t breathe.”

Silence came. How hadn't he heard you wake up the last few nights? Why didn’t he notice? He silently scolded himself while watching your feet draw little shapes in the snow. The flakes landed on your hair perfectly and the light made you look like you had a halo. An angel. His angel.

You got yourself together and back tracked, “Do you know what I did before the BAU Spence?”

He thought for a moment and realized he didn’t. He had no idea. It was a strange feeling. He knew the last four or so years of your life so well. He spent two and some change of them with you, together, but he knew little about you before then. He knew about your family and your childhood, but that was it. Your early twenties were a secret.

“No, I don’t,” He croaked, running his hands nervously down his pants, as if they were sweaty, “Rossi just called you one day and the next you were here.”

You sighed and didn’t dare look at him, “I worked with Organized Crime in California. With the Bratva.”

“The russian mafia?” His voice went high, like it always did when he was confused.

“Let me start at the beginning,” You took a deep breath and held it for a moment, “I went to school, got my criminal justice degree, you know the usual stuff. I worked on various other criminal psychology and forensic degrees and certs until I turned twenty-three.”

“So you could join the bureau,” he finished your sentence.

You pursed your lips and nodded, “Yeah, it was my life long dream. So I joined at 23, found myself in organized crimes twenty weeks later. I was on the fast track. Not as fast as you of course,” You smiled and bumped your shoulder with his, earning a warm smile that made you feel more comfortable.

“I worked various cases for a year or two. Low level stuff, you know? Until they actually needed me.”

He was nervous to hear it now, half regretting asking, and half celebrating the fact that you’d share your deepest darkest with him.

“You know like in old movies when the gangster has a pretty girl in a skimpy dress on his lap? And she pretends to know nothing about what he does? Yeah that was me. Turns out I was the right age and type for Alexei. So there I was. Twenty-five. Had no idea what I was doing, going undercover.”

“Like Emily did with Doyle,” he said.

You nodded, “Like Emily and Doyle. That’s part of why we got along so well, we both had similar experiences. She knew what the long haul was like.”

“How long were you under?” Spencer whispered.

“Sixteen months.”

His eyes went wide, “Sixteen?”

“Yup,” you popped the ‘p’.

“That’s a long time.”

“You don’t become a mafia kingpin’s girlfriend overnight, Reid.”

He laughed. You didn’t.

“See you guys do the short stints. A night, maybe a day or so. It’s different. It’s draining. Constantly worrying about knowing the details of my cover while also not losing myself in the process. Sometimes I couldn’t tell where the cover ended and I started. I was paranoid, looking over my shoulder constantly. If they knew who I was, I’d get killed instantly.”

He stiffened next to you, but you carried on.

“And you can’t break character. You have to do whatever they want. I had to be his girlfriend. I had to pretend to love him. You know how tiring that is? Pretending to be in love with a man you’re trying to take down? Pretending to like what he likes? Pretending to want to be a part of the sick shit they did?”

He sighed, “You had to do everything he wanted.”

His heart sank and he suddenly felt angry. He needed to punch this guy in the face.

“Everything,” You practically spit out, venom dripping from the words, “And Alexei’s favorite pastime was killing people who he thought were disloyal. He’d switch it up. Some days he liked to make them suffer, others it was one between the eyes and out. He liked to make me watch. He liked hurting the dancers too. They had a club, they always have a damn club, and those girls were the only friends I had for months. He liked to hurt them too, defile them. ‘Ruin them’ he’d say.”

Spencer’s arm reached around you now. The cold was getting to both of you, but you didn’t budge from the bench. You didn’t curl into him for safety. You just stared at the snow.

“He liked when it hurt. He liked to throw things at me. Bruise me. Pull my hair. God I hated it,” your voice was a mere whisper now. Spencer’s grip around you tightened with every word. He wanted to protect you. He always wanted to protect you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” He mumbled into your hair. A few frozen tears dripped down your cheeks. You sat like that, silently sobbing while remembering what had happened to you. What you’d seen.

“What happened to him?”

You took a shaky breath, “I begged them to let me out. We had enough. I had stacks and stacks of pictures and evidence. But they didn’t let me. My awful handler would always say ‘just a few more days, Y/N, just a few.’ Then that would become another month. The job only needed eight months. I was there double that. Finally, they did the raid. I got kudos and congratulations. A promotion and a couple extra bucks, as if that would take away what I had been through. I wasn’t myself anymore.”

You took a thick swallow, finding it hard to breathe, “So I quit.”

Spencer held you still, not moving a muscle.

“I quit. I gave up my dream. I moved back to Connecticut. I made coffee at Starbucks for $7.25 an hour. I read. I went on trips and vacations. I needed to find myself again. Then one day you guys stumbled into them and Rossi called me since I knew first hand how they worked. That was all I needed. A taste of it again, and I was all in. So a week later I showed up, Rossi raving about my ‘ability to get information out of people.’ I developed the skill to survive, Spence.”

You turned into him now, head on his chest.

“So the nightmares are those memories. The girl’s faces. The young kids who messed up jobs. They’re hurting and I can’t save them. That’s the nightmare.”

You sat in silence, letting the words hang in the air between you. You were tired and spent, leaning your full body weight into him. He was just trying to relax and keep calm. He was pissed, and a little bit was directed at you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, but thank you for telling me,” His voice was low and raspy, his head spinning. For just over two years he had been your person. Your rock. And he didn’t know this about you? Why couldn’t you tell him? He told you all of his dirty secrets; his dad, the kidnapping, the drugs, and you ‘couldn’t tell him?’ Why?

“That’s why I was so scared when Emily ‘died.’” You used air quotes around the last word, “Her nightmare came true.”

“Yours won’t.”

You sniffled and rubbed your ice cold nose, “I know. You guys keep me safe.”

You looked up at him, falling into his big doe eyes. They were hurt and twisty, but full of love. And you looked at him like he was everything in the world. In that moment, he was.

He treated you differently after that night. He was always kind and gentle, but he approached you with a new sense of care. He didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. Someone finally understood you, and it felt so good. But one thing always bothered him, why did you wait so long to tell him? He didn’t think he’d ever know.

“I loved you and trusted you enough to lay it all out for you, and you took it all in. You told me you wouldn’t let it change anything, but it did. I thought it changed us for the better. Maybe it didn’t, I’m still not sure. You told me it made me stronger, more resilient. It made you love me more, if that was even possible. It made me human. You told me Ernest Hemingway once said “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” You said I was strong at those broken places.

So that’s what this photostrip is to me. It’s the day I officially took all of my walls down and showed you the parts of me that aren’t pretty, and you didn’t run away. You stayed and kissed me on that freezing cold park bench and warmed me up with a hug I never wanted to leave. I thought after that it would take something much greater than you or I to break this apart, like divine intervention. We were impenetrable, but then again, so was the Titanic.

That night I didn’t have any nightmares. I didn’t have a bad one until a few weeks ago. I missed having you next to me during it. You were right, talking about it does help. I’ll find someone out here to talk to, I promise.

That night, all the walls were finally down. I think that was my fatal mistake, if only I kept them up a little while longer.

So look at us, all young and innocent before the world left us jaded and hurt. I miss your cheek kisses and the way your hands feel snaking around my waist. I miss your fact dumps and the way you feel like home. Thank you for taking me at my worst, loving me, and leaving me better than I was when you got there. Just like being under, it’s now hard for me to tell where I end and you begin. So many parts of you became parts of me. I’ll have to work on finding myself again, and this time I won’t do it over grande java-chip frappucinos, I’ll do it over case files. I’m finally done running away.”

Spencer’s throat was dry and his palms were so sweaty the ink was bleeding underneath his fingers. How was he sweating when it was barely ten degrees outside? He put the letter and photo strip back in the box and stuffed it in the passenger seat of his car before walking back into the park.

The fountain was off again, but he remembered what it looked like running. He walked the same paths you had walked with him a million times. He never wanted to walk them alone. He wondered if Seattle had any nice parks like this for you to walk through. He hoped you were close to Pike Place Market so you could order a coffee at the first ever Starbucks. He hoped you were happy.

He remembered the way the park looked in the summertime, all lush, green grass and kid’s playing. He remembered the picnic you went on when the blanket flew away. He remembered kissing you under huge trees and feeding birds. As he walked around, he could almost see it, shadows of the people you used to be.

He walked for maybe an hour before retreating back to his crappy car and crying for a moment. He didn’t turn the music back on as he drove home. He just thought of the way your body racked with tears at the nightmares and how he could always calm you down, almost instantly. He wondered who would see you through the nightmares now? They’re too hard to do alone.

He didn’t remember when he got home, seemingly having driven on auto-pilot the whole time. When he got back inside he dropped the box and made a beeline for where his copy of your photo strip was, on one of his many shelves covered in books. He grabbed the book he had started six months ago. It was a gift from Rossi and he only read half of it, a rarity for him. When he got halfway through, everything happened and he couldn’t bring himself to open the book up anymore. He rifled through the pages of ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ and found the photo strip where it was acting as a bookmark on the page where he had left off. He took it out and slammed the book closed, not wanting to read any of the words, even by accident.

He took the strip over and compared it to yours. His was worn and bent and the shiny photo paper had dulled from the many pages he had stuck it between. Yours was in perfect condition, still shiny and even a little sticky, like it hadn’t been touched. He stared at them, wondering what your life would be now if you could’ve held onto the people in that photo booth. There were so many what-ifs, he didn’t even know where to begin. He knew he couldn’t just leave it at these letters, he needed more. He needed to see you and he fully intended on breaking your ground rules, but not until he was finished. He walked back to the box with newfound vigor, and grabbed #9.

PART 10!

taglist: @l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings

@ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight @goldentournesol

(i think some tags aren’t working so if anyone knows how to fix that pls lmk :)

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #reid #reid x you #reid fic #cm fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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magalidragon · 4 years

Note

Angst #7 and whatever verse you want 😇

I can’t do angst today! Not on my birthday!! So I switched it and made it a funny. Here’s #7-- “Do you even love me?” set in the summer lovin’ universe-- the infamous gala!

Tonight was the night, many women would be nervous, some perhaps trying not to be, at the idea of meeting their boyfriend's families. Especially a boyfriend who also was the father of your baby. A surprise baby. A baby you didn't even know you wanted until the stick turned pink and you were breaking the news to the guy you really didn't think you'd ever see again, until shock, he just randomly appeared back in your life as randomly as he'd entered it. Dany was excited though. Deviously so. She exited the limo easily, maneuvering her six-months pregnant belly with relative ease, her red gown floating around her legs, before it tightened up at her bump and clung to the rest of her like a second skin. She was a walking flame; the only one wearing red amongst a sea of boring black, gray, and navy. "You Northerners need to find a color wheel," she commented, walking by yet another woman in black heavy fur-like clothing. She wrinkled her nose. "Looks like you wear rugs as fashion." "We are a boring folk, I do agree." They walked up the stairs of the keep; the gala was being held in White Habror, at the Manderly estate, and she was not impressed. "You also need another interior designer," she scowled. Jon sighed. "Yes, it's quite hideous. Ah look, Starks." He wrinkled his nose, distasteful at the sight of his family standing in such a way that everyone had to go up and bow and owe them fealty. Metaphorically speaking, she thought, although-- Gods! He must have seen her expression. "Yes, people do occasionally kneel to them." "I hope you know I will do no such thing."

"Would never have expected you to my love" He let go of her arm and reached to wrap it possessively around her upper body, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. Her skin tingled, a purr emitting involuntarily. They were getting stares. Maybe it was the red dress. Or her silver hair. Or her pregnancy. Or maybe it was because Jon was now pressing little kisses underneath her ear. Since it looked like these women also asked their husband's permission to speak, she suspected many northerners were not comfortable with public displays of affection. So she turned and grabbed his chin, planting a hard kiss to his mouth. He growled appreciatively. She beamed, purple eyes sparkling. "Introduce me to your family Jon. I am eager to meet them as your girlfriend." He lowered his lips to hers, brushing lightly. "Of course, love." They were quite a pair, she imagined. Jon was a curious entity to the Northern peerage, he informed her, and as such at this gala, he would likely get quite a few stares. She was fine with that; so long as they didn't stare too long or try to take him away from her. Jon Snow belonged to her and he knew it. She placed a hand to the sid eof her bump, feeling the baby kicking. The little girl-- she knew the gender, Jon didn't-- was quite active. "They're staring," she purred. Yes, all eyes on them. Jon, resplendent in his black suit and silk shirt, his dark curls gleaming, and his careless attitude dripping off him, while she was his opposite. Where he was dark, she was light. Gleaming silver hair, fiery dress, and her six-inch platforms, shimmery red. The gorgeous ruby earrings Jon gifted her winnked at her ears. He said many fancied them; they belonged to his mother and had been quite the showpiece of her jewelsry collection, which occasionally he put on display in the museum for special events. It was her belly that drew the most attention, she suspected, although who knew with these racist xenophobes. He glanced towards the Starks. In the forefront, holding court, were two redheaded women, who would have been pretty if it were not for the pinched sour expressions in their faces, their hair pulled too severely from their angular faces, and the sharp almost armor-like dresses they were. His smile curled into a smirk. "Mmm, my cousin Sansa and my aunt Catelyn." He paused. The smirk faded and he glanced down at her, face puckering in a frown. "Are you sure you want to do this? We can turn around and go home. Order in. Watch a movie." Her mouth fell, she gaped at him, mock hurt filling her words. "Jon, do you even still love me?" "I love you more than anything in this entire world." "Then you should know better than to try to take away this fun from me." He grinned. "Well alright then. Let's go meet my family." He patted her belly, leaning down to it. Cameras falshed; no doubt hteir prsence had been officially noticed by the press pool. "And you too my little dragonwolf." They sauntered in, people gaping at them, and Dany winked and waved at a few she noticed from Dracarys Group's work. She already knew Robb and Arya, who were stifling laughs over by the bar, joined with a man she knew was Theon Greyjoy, an heir to a shipping conglomrate out of the Iron Islands. Robb lifted his ale mug up, silently saluting them, perhaps even wishing good will. He thought they might need it, adorable, she thought, winking in their direction.

As they approached, she could see the pinched expressions tighten, the narrowing blue eyes on both women’s faces. “Here we go,” Jon said under his breath. He reached them, his uncle standing with his back to them, speaking with a massive man wearing a kilt and sporran, she recognized to be Wyman Manderly their host for the evening. He kept his arm around her hip, maying his fingers grazing a little farther south. “Aunt Catelyn,” he said, his voice cool. “Sansa, you both look lovely this evening.”

<i>Like a couple of gargoyles</i>. Dany smiled politely, grateful her makeup that evening was applied with a far lighter hand, her purple eyes standing out, her silver braids intricate and a dragon clip attached to them. She reached a finger to gently fondle one of Lady Lyanna’s earrings, drawing their attention to them. It worked; Sansa’s mouth dropped, before she een said a word to Jon. “Sansa,” she greeted, offering her hand, to be polite, while also showing off the ring she wore that matched the one Rhaegar and Viserys famously wore; one of three their mother got them before her death, when lined up they formed the famous three-headed Targaryen dragon sigil. It was their version of a crown; everyone knew what it was. “Wonderful to finally meet you in person, you’re as lovely as your brother said, just the North.” She blinked, peering at Jon, who was looking at her curiously.

“Oh well,” Sansa said, ruffling her feathers slightly. Quite literally, she had black feathers on the shoulders of her dress. She smirked, an ugly look on someone who was really very pretty. “That’s nice of him.”

Dany glanced at her red nails, before she set them on her belly, drawing their attention back to it. “I do find the North quite harsh though. Cold and severe you know. Then again, I’m a Targaryen.” She grinned. “Daenerys Targaryen, if you didn’t remember. It’s been awhile, we don’t usually do business with the Starks. My brother finds the North to be a bit too narrowminded for our more…” She licked her lips, brows lifting. “Liberal and open policies. More welcoming, I think.”

She could feel the heat starting to emanate from Jon. Not out of anger, but passion. He was <i>loving</i> it, she could tell. He smiled, gray eyes twinkling. “Daenerys is here as my date this evening.”

Catelyn cleared her throat loudly. “Well, it is…” She choked on the word. “Nice to meet you too Daenerys.”

“Nice of your husband to allow you to come as a date with someone else. Ididn’t know you married, but Targaryens do marry multiple people, right?” Sansa shot at her.

Dany grinned; here it was. “No I’m afraid we don’t actually, but we do all have criss-crossing family trees do we not? Starks are no exception. Actually…”

“Actually,” Jon interrupted, his hand going to her belly. She dropped hers over it, grinning at him. He turned, love shining out of his eyes, his face soft and gentle. His voice dropped, husky. “Dany and I are together; we’re having a baby.”

The sound Catelyn made was so loud and foul, it forced Ned Stark to turn around to look at them, concerned. He smiled; a rather handsome man, he always had a tired and put-upon look at him. Through problems of his own making, Jon always told her, and never actual ones. “Jon! You decided to come!” He turned to her, polite. “And you brought a…” his voice trailed, gray eyes dropping to her belly and Jo’ns hand there. His face went stony. Cool. “Jon?”

Jon tugged her against his chest. “Dany and I are having a baby. We met in the Summer Isles.” He dropped a kiss to her lips, a squeak coming from Sansa. “We’re going to get a drink, find Robb and Arya.” He laughed softly. “And maybe think of baby names. Something Valyrian, right Dany?” He pushed by, ignoring Ned’s protests that they needed to speak. “Later Uncle, you’re being rude to Dany. She needs to get off her feet.”

There was nothing wrong with her feet, she just struggled to walk because she was trying not to laugh so hard; or pee, but that was because the baby was on her bladder. She waited until they were out of earshot before bursting into giggles, spinning to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth. “Oh you do love me! You love me so much! Their faces!”

Jon squeezed her to him, murmuring against her lips. “They’re foul. Their policies are archaic. I told you I don’t get along with them for a reason.” He reached to touch the earrings dangling from her lobes. “And Sansa always fancied these.”

She giggled again, knowing they were getting looks. “Come on Jon Snow. You owe me a drink for this.”

“And then we can go home?” he asked hopefully.

“And then we can go anywhere.”

#jonerys #jonerys drabble #writer prompts #reply #aenarsnow #the infamous gala event lol

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sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

A Matter of Expediency - Part XI

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

—

Part 11

4.5k words

Mentions: pregnancy, swearing, mild sexual content, discussions of past relationships, menstruation

—

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask your husband, hesitantly settling in his lap as he starts up his TIE-fighter, flipping switches and pushing buttons.

“Oh yes,” Kylo assures you, absently pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I would never put your in danger.”

You’re still not convinced, unsure about two people galivanting through space in a one-man vessel, but Kylo’s arm is strong around your waist, his words comforting. And honestly, you’re too excited to really be bothered, thrumming with anticipation at the notion of zooming around the ship with your husband after hours.

Kylo is careful as he guides your ship out of the hangar, exiting the Supremacy with care. But as soon as the two of you are fully out in the inky expanse of space, he punches the accelerator, sending the little craft off at an exhilarating speed. You giggle as Kylo whips you around the ship, squealing when he makes sharp twists and turns with master precision. Hux had told you that your husband was an excellent pilot, but you had no idea what that really meant, accustomed to traveling on casual transport vessels. But Kylo is being anything but casual, telling you to hold on as he executes rolls and loops and other tricks that make your heart jump up in your throat.

Clutching onto your husband tightly, you’re absolutely delighted to realize that he’s enjoying himself too, grinning against the side of your face as he tells you to brace yourself before he does something complex. Stars, he even laughs, the sound of his joy coming from deep in his chest. He loves this, you realize, loves to fly. Your husband, a serious man, a man with little time to himself and so much to do, loves to go out and do the one thing that probably makes him feel truly and supremely free. And what’s better still, he’s decided to share this hobby of his with you.

By the time Kylo lands the TIE back in hangar two, you’re breathless and giddy, flushed with elation from all that’s just happened. As soon as Kylo pops the door open to give the both of you a bit more air, you’re on him in an instant, pressing kisses to his face as you laugh and laugh. He kisses you back, holding you and smiling into your mouth.

“Did you have fun?” Kylo asks, finally peeling you away from him.

“More fun than I’ve ever had in my life!” you exclaim, turning to fall back against his chest with a sigh. Wistfully, you add, “Oh, we should do that every night.”

Your husband settles his arms around your middle, nuzzling into your hair. “If the Empress commands it, then so it shall be.”

You smile at that but say nothing, content to stare out at the stars glittering in the distance before you. Kylo’s got his little craft positioned so that the two of you can gaze out the back of the hangar, safe inside the climate preservers and blastshields. The two of you hold one another for a long while, sitting in comfortable silence until Kylo finally speaks.

“Did you have any lovers before me?” he asks, settling you in his lap.

“I told you the night we wed that you were my first,” you reply, brows drawing together in confusion. You thought the whole thing had been rather unforgettable, but maybe that was because you were the one who wiped a bit of blood from between your legs when all was said and done.

“Well of course,” Kylo says quickly, sensing your disconcertment. “But did you have any other… beloveds? A boyfriend, or just someone who cared for you?”

You shake your head. “No. Mila was very good at turning others against me, and there are many beautiful girls my age in my husband’s court. Everyone passed over me, I think.”

Kylo kisses the top of your head upon hearing this, arms holding your tighter. He hesitates as he goes to speak though, almost as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Even the women who attended to you?”

You balk at that, caught off-guard by the question. Memories flit through your mind like flashes of light, and for the first time in years, you think of Sabe’s hands, of the way her lips felt on your neck. The two of you had been so young then, barely Helda’s age when you first kissed each other in the dark. It was an innocent little tryst for the most part, two teenagers sneaking into each other’s beds to make out for a couple of hours while everyone else was asleep. There was only one time that something “serious” happened between the two of you, something that was a bit more than simple kissing. You had been so nervous when Sabe opened the front of your nightgown, self-conscious about your body back then. But her mouth was warm and soft and wet as she suckled at your breast, laving her tongue across your nipples in a way that made you sweat. She never touched you, never actually made you cum, but that was the first time you can remember really wanting to have sex with someone. No promises were made, you never courted one another, but you would be lying if you said there wasn’t a bit of puppy love at play all those years ago. Obviously, though, the little fling ended, fizzling out with the heat of the summer months. You thought Sabe had moved on forever and a day ago, but you’ve been rethinking the idea of that since her little post-engagement explosion.

“I see,” Kylo says softly, breaking you from your thoughts. Embarrassment washes over you then, staining your cheeks with crimson— he saw what you were thinking about.

“I don’t miss her,” you say at once, rushing to explain lest your husband mistake your reminiscing for longing or pining. “We were virtual children then, curious and bored and accessible to one other. I just don’t like how we ended our friendship is all. Sabe was very angry when I said I wanted to marry you, even after you offered me a chance to break things off. Myself and my other ladies ended up having a fight with her about it, and it was ugly. She was ugly.”

Kylo gives you a squeeze around the middle, comforting and companionable. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug, mildly upset and completely unaffected all at the same time. The little relationship you had with Sabe is all water under the bridge, old news from years ago that you look back on with fondness. But her cruel comments towards yourself and Lydia have not faded with time, and they still sour your image of her overall.

Tired of thinking about the matter, you shake your head to clear away of images of Sabe, of her mean eyes and her soft mouth. Reaching a hand back to toy with a lock of your husband’s hair, you decide it’s his turn in the hot seat.

“What about you?” you ask, inquiring about his past relationships. “I’m sure you had many beautiful lovers before me.”

Kylo plays it modest, simply saying, “I took women to my bed on occasion, yes, but they were never anyone special.”

You won’t let him get away that easily, though, pressing for details. “Who did you sleep with?”

Once again, your husband is casual, speaking the truth without boasting. “Women I met through diplomatic work, mostly. The parties and the dinners, you know how it is.”

In actuality, you don’t know how it is, but you nod companionably nonetheless. You’re an adult— you understand the basic premise of what he’s saying.

“You never had girlfriends, lovers you saw regularly?”

A shake of the head, and then, “None of them interested me. But I certainly didn’t string anyone along. I watch officers do that to people all the time, and it disgusts me to no end. My intentions were always clear from the outset.”

You admire and respect that sentiment, pleased to hear that your husband never went through a womanizing phase like so many men of station do. And not because he wasn’t desired, either, for you’re sure the women (and men) flung themselves at Kylo back in the day the same way they do now.

Your final question is perhaps your most invasive, but you think Kylo won’t be offended if you ask it. “What was your first time like?”

“When I was twenty-two, Supreme Leader Snoke sent me to negotiate a treaty on Valdera,” Kylo begins. “As you know, the President of Valdera and his Parliament like to partake in quite a bit of… merrymaking when they receive guests. They threw me a feast, and many important officials were there. Nearly all of them were drunk before we even began eating, but I didn’t feel comfortable becoming inebriated amongst strangers.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to your husband’s knuckles to show that you’re listening.

“Anyway, as I was having dinner and trying to ignore all of the foolishness going on around me, I felt as though I was being watched. When I looked down the table, I saw that it was a woman who was staring at me. She was seated in a dignitary’s lap, and I thought at first that she was his wife. But then I noticed that other women had come to the table as well, and I understood at once that she was some sort of concubine. Or a prostitute, maybe. In any case, she was very beautiful, and I could see everything she was picturing in her head as she looked me over.”

“She was fantasizing about you,” you say, and not without a bit of jealously. This woman is long gone, a relic of Kylo’s past, but you still can’t help yourself from being a bit miffed.

Your husband must sense the change in your mood, because he draws you closer to his chest, laughing lightly. “Yes, you possessive little thing, she was.”

Though you’re not ready to be done sulking just yet, you crack a smile nonetheless, unable to stay mad when Kylo’s teasing you and nuzzling his nose against your ear.

“Naturally,” Kylo continues, “I was a bit taken aback, but I didn’t say anything there at the table. A few hours later, I retired to my rooms for the night, and she came knocking not long after. I was unsure of myself, but I let her in anyway. She said she was there to spend the night with me, a gift from the President himself. I told her at once that she wasn’t obligated, that she didn’t have to stay if she wasn’t truly willing, but she was insistent, putting her hands all over me as she told me that she was tired of fucking old men. I warned her that I wouldn’t be much of a partner, given my inexperience, but she said that was no matter.

“She taught me much that night. All of the ways a man can fuck a woman, what to do with my hands and my mouth… She probably enjoyed the sex more than I did that first night, but I tried my best to please her.”

“I’m sure you did just fine,” you tell your husband, unable to fathom him being a bad fuck. “Did you see her again after that?”

“Yes, but only for the remainder of my stay.”

You pause, hesitant to hear the answer to this next question. “… Did you care for her? Or any of the others?”

Kylo says nothing for a moment, rearranging in his lap so that you two may look at one another a bit better. His face is set, expression serious as he cradles your cheek delicately in his palm. “I always treated my partners with respect, but none of them ever meant anything to me, not really.”

For just a moment there, in the chill of the hangar, you feel safe enough to lay bare one of the soft spots on your heart. “Do I mean something to you?” you whisper, too afraid to ask any louder than that.

“You are my wife,” Kylo replies, caressing your skin. You kiss your husband then, heart bursting at this quiet, almost unspoken admission of his love for you.

The two of you retire to bed not long after that, walking hand in hand back to your quarters. Kylo lets you hold him so tightly that night, falling asleep with his face pressed against your chest. You breathe in the scent of his hair as you nod off, warm and content.

---

Palgodu is just entering its winter months, the air nipping at your exposed face and ears as you walk up the steps of the royal castle. Snow hasn’t fallen yet, thankfully, but you step lightly anyway, not wanting to graze over an icy patch and go tumbling. Kylo is by your side, of course, shrouded in a black as per usual. He keeps you close, probably trying to warm you up himself even though you’re draped in furs and thick fabrics. The two of your take in the great castle before you together, noting the fine stonework and carpentry. It’s a sturdy building, built no doubt to keep warmth in and invaders out. Guards are lined up all along the front of the place, armed to the teeth. They may be there for you and Kylo’s benefit, a welcoming party of sorts, but you doubt it. If your planet just ended a civil war, you’d keep yourself covered on all sides as well.

King Eli awaits you and Kylo as soon as you enter the castle, grinning broadly as he welcomes the both of you to his home. The first thing you notice about the King is his size, for he is tall and wide, made exclusively of thick slabs of muscle. He would be imposing with his full beard and beastly hands, you think, if his demeanor were not so warm.

You and Kylo amble through a corridor just off the castle’s entrance hall, following in the King’s wake. You pass many tapestries along the way, precious pieces of handiwork that seem to depict the history of Palgodu. They turn your head, these works of art, and you find yourself studying them intently until you’re shown into a small receiving room at the end of the hall.

The first thing you feel when you lay eyes on the Queen Eleanor is envy. Before she even so much as speaks, you’re plagued with it, the jealousy you feel so white-hot in your veins that you’re afraid your skin will glow from the heat. She is heavy with child, the Queen, her stomach round and swollen underneath the skirt of her gown. To make matters worse, the bundle of blankets that she clutches to her chest is squirming, confirming that she already has a little one out here in the world as well. And then a young girl dashes out from the corner of the room, giggling as she evades being picked up by her nurse, and you feel as though you might actually burst into tears.

It’s idiotic, you know, to be jealous of a woman simply because she has children, but you can’t help the way your mind rages at the sight of Queen Eleanor and all the bounty of her womb. She has so much of what you want, so much of what you’re worried you’ll never be able to have. Still, it’s impossible to hate her for long— the Queen, like her husband, is just far too kind.

She welcomes you with open arms, beaming as she declares that she feels as if the both of you already know each other. And you sort of do, you suppose, given how much you’ve communicated these past few weeks. Like you, Queen Eleanor handles her regime’s charitable efforts, and you’ve spoken at length over comm about donations and food and a myriad of other subjects. She’s practical and a bit headstrong, passionate about protecting those who rely on her and her husband for help.

“I apologize for not meeting you right when you arrived,” Eleanor says to you. “The baby needed to eat, and Maudie is always so restless when she’s forced to stand still.”

Finally, you snap out of you sad little trance, remembering where you are and what you’re doing. “Oh please, don’t be sorry,” you reply, waving her off with a gesture and a sweet little laugh.

Though your feeling of envy pass quickly, the sudden burst of intense emotion does leave you feeling disoriented. The rest of the afternoon is mostly a blur, and you barely feel like you’re there as you and Kylo dress for dinner. You must put up a good front though, because neither Miriam nor Kylo says anything as about your demeanor as they interact with you.

Dinner consists of a large feast, and you’re grateful for the crowd around the table. There’s much talking and laughing, and you’re able to shrink back into the noise, more content with observing rather than participating tonight. You do feel a bit better though, fortified by your warm meal and a few sips of wine. And of course, Queen Eleanor continues to be a lovely friend, trying to rope you into conversations regarding the upcoming charity gala that the two of you have worked so hard on.

Just as you’re digging into your dessert, however, you feel it, that round, aching pain that most women know all too well. Your good mood evaporates immediately, overtaken by an empty sort of melancholy that’s even more painful than the cramping in your abdomen. Keenly aware of your audience (and the fact that you’re wearing black), you try desperately not to let your emotions show on your face. And stars does that take all you have, the task made even more arduous by the fact that your husband sits beside you. You don’t want him to perceive the shift in your mood, so you must guard your thoughts more closely than ever before.

Mercifully, your mask never slips, your defenses do not fail, and you’re able to excuse yourself from the table with ease. In a surprising turn of events, Kylo actually accepts King Eli’s invitation to play cards, and watching your husband walk away from you is perhaps the biggest relief of all in this moment.

The walk back to your chambers is relatively short, but your limbs are so heavy as you make the journey. Miriam is there waiting for you, but you have no heart to perform for her, stumbling into the ‘fresher with little more than a weary ‘hello’. When you check , your underwear are stained, just as you suspected. And though you already knew what happened the moment you felt your stomach cramp up at the table, this confirmation of your worst fear makes you breakdown completely.

Cleaning yourself up sloppily, you leave the ‘fresher with tears in your eyes, startled to find Miriam there in the doorway when you try to go back to the bedroom. She’s poised to get you whatever you may need, mouth already forming the words, “What can I do for you?” when the two of you lock eyes. You don’t know why you do it, but you collapse into Miriam’s arms right there, offering no explanation for your actions as you dissolve into sobs.

“What’s the matter?” you attendant asks quickly, supporting your weight as you sag against her. Miriam’s hands are on your back, in your hair, rubbing and petting and trying in vain to soothe you.

You draw back from Miriam’s chest, hiccupping pathetically. “I started my period,” you tell her, and the fact that you sound like a distraught twelve-year-old girl is not lost on you in the moment.

Miriam looks confused for a moment, asking, “Did you—?” But then her face dissolves into a look of sympathetic understanding, and she puts her arms around you again. “Oh. Oh, my lady.”

You beg for a bath, unable to do anything else as your attendant holds you close. Miriam does as you ask, letting the hot water run as she unlaces your gown and lets down your hair. Trying to be useful, you take off your jewelry on your own, but even this small task feels insurmountable in the midst of your breakdown.

The heat of your bathwater feels like a warm hug against your skin, but not even this serves to soothe your aching heart. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you curl in on yourself, choking on your own tears and sniffles. Miriam allows you to have a moment, sitting patiently by the bathtub as you settle yourself. Finally, she speaks.

“What’s the matter?” she asks softly, reaching out to stroke your hair again. You don’t brush her off, though your tone is less than charitable.

“I already told you,” you reply curtly, hugging your legs closer.

Miriam maintains her composure, speaking gently. “I know. But I have a feeling that this is about something more than a bit of blood in your underwear, Empress.”

Swallowing thickly, you contemplate whether or not you want to get into all of this right now. But Miriam is your only resource, really, the only older woman in your life that may be able to offer you a bit of advice.

“I just want to be pregnant,” you finally croak, voice raw from crying for so long. Miriam sighs at that, nodding solemnly.

“I know, my lady,” she says companionably, still carding her fingers through your hair. “Has the Supreme Leader said something to you? Gotten angry or expressed his dissatisfaction?”

“No,” you say quickly, moving to sit up now. Your head pounds, clogged with congestion from all your crying. “It’s… it’s the Queen.”

Miriam starts at that, eyes ablaze, her tone indignant. “Queen Eleanor said something to you?”

You can’t help but laugh then, touched by your attendant’s defense of you. “No,” you say, any joy you experienced just now dissipating. “She’s a lovely person, it’s just… It’s just her children. She has so many, and I—”

“And you have none,” Miriam cuts softly, finishing your sentence for you. You nod, chewing on your bottom lip to keep from crying again.

“I just don’t understand it,” you declare, utterly bewildered. Miriam lathers up a rag, washing your body as she listens to you talk. “Kylo and I have sex nearly every night it feels like. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

“It’s not about what you’re doing,” Miriam soothes, rinsing you with her hands. “Sometimes these things just take time, that’s all.”

You throw a look Miriam’s way, eyebrows raised. “It only takes once.”

Miriam laughs a bit at that, nodding. “Yes,” she concedes, “technically once is enough. But that’s not the case for everyone.”

That makes you sigh, mostly because you know she’s right. Still, you can’t help but feel betrayed by your body, by your womb.

“Have I ever told you about the first woman I ever served?” Miriam asks, redirecting your attention away from your thoughts.

“No.”

“She was a senator’s wife,” your attendant begins, pouring shampoo into her hand now, “and she was desperate to get pregnant from the moment she got married. Like you, though, it didn’t happen for her right away, and she became rather upset. She began doing anything she could to conceive after a few months, drinking these disgusting teas, standing on her head after she and her husband had sex— just all sorts of nonsense. But after a year, she still had no child. Doctors assured her that she wasn’t barren, but of course she thought otherwise.

“After a lot of crying and wasting away in her bed, my mistress decided to just put the whole thing out of her mind. It destroyed her to do so, but she decided that perhaps she wasn’t supposed to be a mother. But do you know what happened after she quit fixating on the idea of getting pregnant?”

“She got pregnant,” you answer, already seeing where Miriam’s going with this story. She nods, confirming that you’re correct.

“That’s right. She went on to have another three children after she had that first baby, and they were all healthy and beautiful.” Miriam hooks her fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at her. “The same way yours will be. But you must relax, Empress. If you fester in this desire to bear a child, the stress will prevent you from getting the very thing you want so badly.”

You want to argue, to say that you aren’t working yourself up into a frenzy about having a baby, but that’s simply not the truth. You think of conceiving each and every time you and Kylo make love, you pray and yearn and hope as you as you wash him off your body. You even dream of it sometimes, giving birth, and not all of the things you see in your head are pleasant.

“Just enjoy being with your husband,” Miriam advises, almost as if she can read your mind. “If you relax and allow yourself to let go when the two of you make love, a baby will come quickly. I promise.”

You desperately want to believe you attendant, but your own anxiety forces you to remain unconvinced. Still, you’re grateful for the reassurance, figuring that everything will be brighter in the morning.

Kylo comes back from his card game not an hour after you get out of the tub, kissing you soundly as he grumbles about drunken aristocrat and a particularly poor hand that came his way during the event. You almost tell him about your little episode but ultimately refrain from doing so, figuring that it’s not worth the trouble. Still, your husband is intuitive as ever, asking you if everything’s all right as the two of you retire to bed.

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” you tell him, more than happy to snuggle down under his arm.

Kylo doesn’t press the matter, though you’re not sure he believes you. But he holds you close anyway, shielding you from the chill of the room.

That night, you dream that you’re running all through the Supremacy, chasing after a small child that giggles and squeals as they continuously evade your grasp. It’s frustrating, for they always seem to be just ahead of you, just around the corner or already running down the next hall over.

Just as you get close enough to grab the back of the child’s shirt, you wake up.

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren reader #ame #my writing #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #cw: pregnancy #cw: menstruation #tw: pregnancy #tw: menstruation

106 notes · View notes

shannygoatgruff · 4 years

Text

00:00:13

Genre: Social responsibility

Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OC

Warning: Language, racial slur, prejudice, mention of the YouTube video

Rating: M+18

Header by: @flowers-in-your-hayr

For: @xbellaxcarolinax - thanks for lending me an ear and encouraging me to continue writing this story

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on something I saw that evoked a feeling in me. I don’t know Alex or that guy in the video. I don’t own the rights to use him or anything else in my story. I’m just going off something out there on the internet that I wish wasn’t ever there for me to have to write a story about in the first place.

A/N: So, I don’t know if this is the right time to post this story or not, but it’s been weighing heavily on my heart for some time now. During one of my many Alex rabbit hole stalking internet searches, I came across this YouTube video of him from a few YEARS ago that made me feel a certain kind of way. Admittedly, I went through a ton of different emotions. I made a bunch of excuses for him. I tried to justify him being drunk, young, being from a different country...not understanding his actions. As a black woman, I was saddened, and a little heartbroken, but I truly don’t think there was any malice behind it. I think it was just poor judgment on his part. But, in the end, I came up with, he’s a grown man and as a public figure he needs to be more responsible.

I am in no way trying to sway anyone’s opinion of him, turn you against him, make you seek the video out or anything else. I just needed to speak MY truth and get my feelings out about the situation. I’ve been the black girl in too many interracial relationships and friendships with people that just don’t get it. I am in no way trying to offend anyone - these are just my feelings. I just needed an avenue to speak out.

Anyway, it didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it, mainly because I was in my feelings, but I think it’s close enough.

I’m still an Alex fan and he could get it, at ANY moment...just say the words, Boo! 😍

I invite your comments, thoughts, and feelings...if you just wanna talk, feel free to hit me up. I’m always open to a good discussion.

With that,

Be easy!

Thirteen seconds…Nia Howard could do a lot in 13 seconds. For almost 10 minutes, she had been timing herself to see exactly what types of tasks she could perform in that amount of time.

In 13 seconds Nia could lace her brand new blue and white checked Chuck Taylor Converse tennis shoe. She was careful to lace the shoe so the strings were only threaded on the outside of the eye-loops, creating one thick solid line across the bridge, hiding the string feeding into the next eye-loop inside the shoe, just like she liked them. This was a trick she learned in Mrs. Hamilton’s 7th grade Math class, and she had been lacing her shoes that way ever since.

13 seconds was all it took for her to guzzle 10 ounces of the Dasani water bottle sitting on her desk. She probably could have slammed more of the water down her throat, but she wasn’t that thirsty to begin with. Had she been parched, or had it been something that she wanted to drink, she was sure she could have gotten more than 10 ounces down in that amount of time.

Nia also discovered that she could refill the liquid nicotine and change the filter in her vape, as long as everything was laid out in front of her, in 13 seconds. She was also able to screw the tank back together, but not put the tank back on the battery base before the timer went off. That part still took her an additional 3 seconds. Hmm.

In 13 seconds, she was able to remove the back of the picture frame, take out the photo, and run her thumb over the glossy paper. It took less than that amount of time for all of the emotions of the day to come flooding back to her as she stared at their first family photo.

It had snowed at least a foot that day. But there they were, outside sitting in all of that powder, freezing. Nia, her boyfriend, Alex, and their then 8-week-old Siberian husky, Vlad. He thought it would be artistic. She thought it would be cold. Vlad thought it was fun, running around in snow deeper than he was tall. But they were still smiling; they were happy. They were in love.

Alex was wearing his favorite navy blue The North Face snowsuit, that he had zipped up to his chin. You could only see the side of his pale face, with his cold red cheek, plump pink lips, and those dark lashes covering his incredible blue eyes. The rest of him was so bundled up, he looked like the abominable snowman. He loved the cold and the snow. Growing up here, these snowy days in Denmark were nothing to him. Nia, however, wasn’t quite as used to it. It snowed on the East Coast of the US, but not like it did in Denmark. Her pink and white snowsuit was more for fashion than warmth. Sitting in the snow in between Alex’s legs, she was freezing and couldn’t wait for them to finish taking pictures.

However, his arms were warm around her, and though his lips were cold against the side of her face, she could feel his warm breath tickle her ear as he laughed and told her how much he loved her. She had leaned against his chest and noted how well her pink and white outfit matched his blue one. Only her dark brown skin made a contrast against the snow and Alex’s complexion, but she still looked as if she belonged.

She sat with her feet flat on the ground, knees drawn toward her chest bringing their brown and white puppy, the perfect mix between their two tones, closer to the two of them. While her head leaned into Alex’s kiss, her eyes concentrated on little Vlad in her lap. She had him turned so the camera could capture his one blue eye and one brown eye, while she gently caressed their fur baby, drawing him in for a kiss on his soft, furry head.

Could they be any cuter? They were the perfect family. They were a good looking couple with a good looking dog.

Thinking about the day that photo was taken quickly made her mind drift back to the first time Alex told her he loved her. She could vividly remember how he grabbed her face and leaned in for that kiss. The way he pressed his lips to hers, and how it set off every nerve in her body. She remembered the way her heart fluttered and how she thought she was going to float right out of her skin. But when he pulled away and looked at her with those blue eyes, he grounded her and brought her right back to the spot where he was. When his eyes shifted between hers, desperately searching for some hint that she felt the same, she knew from that moment that he was the one for her. That entire encounter, the weightlessness, grounding, feeling his eyes look through her and hearing his heart speak her name, couldn’t have taken more than 13 seconds. She was sure it happened all at the same time.

With everything she timed, 13 seconds seemed like it passed in the blink of an eye. It was manageable if she had a task to complete, but by no means was it a significant amount of time. So why did it feel like an eternity, each time she watched that damn video clip? The more she watched it, the longer it became. That damn 13-second video clip brought out of her a new set of emotions each time she viewed it.

At first, it was shocking. She couldn’t register anything she saw because she was too surprised at what she saw. The only thing she could process was the feeling of, Huh?

So, she watched it again, and this time she did so with a goofy smirk on her face. The smirk was the smirk of embarrassment. Embarrassment for her, for him, for them... for not knowing how to feel.

She had to sit with it for a few minutes before she could watch it a third time. Instead of just jumping right into again, she decided to go back to the original email and reread the message. She had been so put off by the video that she forgot what it was that she was being asked to do about it.

When she clicked back on the email from her office and skimmed the contents she could only shake her head. Did they actually expect her to handle this? Really? She was a publicist. His publicist, but come on. This was asking a bit much, no? There were 14 other people in that damn firm that could have handled this, even if Alex was her client. He was still a client of the fucking firm. What was she supposed to do?

Without thinking, she put her thumb to her mouth and started biting the cuticle around her new French manicure. She had been doing so well with that, too. She only bit or picked at the cuticles on her nails when she was nervous or angry – that’s why she made sure to keep her nail appointments every two weeks. She didn’t want to have ugly cuticles on freshly designed nails. Now she just wasted 264 DKK.

By the third time she watched the video, she went numb. She couldn’t tell what she felt, all she knew was her mind wouldn’t let her feel anything. A million different thoughts and emotions swirled around her, but none of them actually hit her, yet. The best way she could explain it was akin to having an out of body experience. It felt like the glass desk she sitting at was getting further away from her while her laptop screen continued to get smaller. She started to see the room she sat in as a person watching this scenario from somewhere else, and as long as she wasn’t directly connected to it, she could continue to disassociate with it. Instead, she could only sit there, with her mouth open, staring blankly at this distant laptop screen, unable to process what the fuck she just saw.

There were no words. No thoughts. There was nothing. Only the feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins and the sound of her heart breaking in a million pieces, as 13 seconds altered the course of her world.

Ten minutes had to have passed before Nia clicked the replay button on the YouTube video to watch the clip for the fourth time. She was in a better place now. She had gotten up, got a drink of water. Practiced a bunch of things she could do in 13 seconds. She had refocused. She could watch it now and deal with it with a clear head. She wasn’t sure how many times she had watched it before – it hadn’t registered. She was still in shock from that initial viewing. But, she needed to watch it again because she had to dissect it.

Placing her chin in her hand, she didn’t give a fuck if she was transferring her Mahogany Shape Tape foundation and Cocoa Bean Black Radiance pressed powder on her palm. Fuck the papers that were going to be stained from the makeup transfer. That was a gripe for another day - black women that wore makeup always had issues with the transfer. It was the plight of the beauty revolution. She’d fight that battle another day. Right now, there more important things to deal with.

Where the hell were her earphones? She needed to have the audio go directly into her ears. There was no time to have the sound filter throughout the loft’s office and possibly get distorted. She needed every word to go directly from the computer, in her ear, and into her brain for immediate translation. Maybe she missed something. Maybe she misinterpreted it. Yea…that was it. This was on her. It had to be, right?

Plugging in her Beats headphones, she placed them on her ears and turned up the volume on her laptop. She took in a deep shaky breath and hit the replay button for the fourth time.

Nope, she hadn’t imagined it. It was still the same. He was still having fun, hanging out with those same stupid fucking people. He was still talking in that same drunken tone. He still thought everything was so fucking funny and laughed at every fucking thing.

Why did he do that laugh? It was laugh he used when he was really tickled. The one that he accompanied by clapping his hands because he was genuinely amused. It was that laugh that she loved the most. It was that laugh that made her laugh too, usually. It was that laugh that brought tears to her eyes.

What the fuck was he thinking? When was he going to learn? There were so many of these kinds of questions she wanted to ask, but did it matter? Did he ever really have to answer them? It was always going to be different for him for so many reasons. The question was, did she want to stick it out and deal with it?

This wasn’t the first time he had done something so irresponsible, so insensitive. She knew it wouldn’t be his last. The problem was, he never seemed to understand why it was a problem. Quite frankly, she tired of trying to be his teacher.

Just as she sat the headphones back on the desk, she heard the key in the front door lock. She didn’t want to deal with him right now. She needed more time to digest everything before she talked to him, otherwise, this wasn’t going to be a productive conversation.

Nia was not the type of person that liked to argue, let alone, have a conversation when she was angry. Her words were always carefully weighed, and she very rarely said anything out of anger. Hurting someone’s feelings, being misunderstood, and saying something that she would later regret were things that she tried to avoid. It wasn’t that she was non-confrontational, she was just reserved, that way. She didn’t grow up in a house where people yelled or used words to hurt each other. She didn’t believe in doing that, and she wasn’t going to bring that into her relationship, no matter how passionate Alex could get about a situation. But the way she was feeling right now, all bets were off.

“Hallo, Vlad. Have you been a good boy?” She heard his voice from the hallway rise an entire octave as he addressed their 10-month-old Siberian husky. She could tell by the way Vlad whined and his paws scratched against the hardwood floors that he was jumping on up Alex. All of that money they were spending on dog training and Alex was still letting Vlad jump on him. Nia shook her head in irritation. “I missed you, too, boy. Where’s Mama, huh?”

Nia remained frozen to the spot. She did manage to reach for her vape, on her desk, and noticed how the muscles in her neck and shoulders shook with tension. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to unclench her jaw. She just needed a few more minutes to herself. If he could just go upstairs, or in another room and leave her alone, she would be able to talk to him about this later. But, knowing him, that wouldn’t happen.

He would keep pushing and pushing until he found out what was wrong with her and before she knew it they would be in a fight. A fight that she would be actively participating in.

“Babe?” He called out, making his way across their loft. His voice getting closer to her office door. “Hey, babe,” he awkwardly raised his hand in greeting, to accompany his words, followed by his thousand-watt smile. “I got us cheesecake from a new bakery. Casper speaks highly of them.”

Nia looked at her boyfriend and she could feel the hot sting of tears forming at the back of her eyes. Immediately, she dropped her gaze, not wanting to address him or the situation at the moment. She managed to nod slowly as she continued to work her now jagged cuticle.

To the rest of the world, Alex Høgh Andersen was the model, actor, and photographer that walked on water, ate bullets, and shit ice cream. He was the sexy heartthrob that had over a million Instagram followers. The guy that couldn’t post a picture of taking out the trash without it being sent over 5 continents and 35 countries in a matter of minutes. He had over 2,000 fan sites, and countless fan fictions written about him…fans adored him the world over and he was only 25. He was fucking perfect.

To Nia, he was just her Alex. Her clumsy, silly boyfriend, who never put his clothes in the hamper and always left the toilet seat up. He was the guy that loved to cook but never cleaned the dishes. He was the one that was always singing or beat-boxing or banging on something trying to make music. He was always tried to make people laugh. He was loud, goofy, and drank too much. He smelled awful after a workout and had the messiest bed head when he let his hair grow. He sometimes smacked when he chewed and always talked with his mouth full. He was a clown, but he meant well. He was sweet, and thoughtful and always treated her like she was the most important woman in the world.

Nia never had one reason not to trust him...until now.

“Baby,” he took in the expression on her face and rounded the glass desk to where she was sitting. Kneeling in front of her seat, he turned her swivel chair to face him and took her hands in his, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She raised her eyes wide and looked at a place on the bookshelf, right over his left ear. Refusing to look into those beautiful blue eyes of his and lose her train of thought. She felt the sweat start at her top lip, something that always happened right before she was about to cry, but she fought the urge.

“Alex,” she tried to keep her voice steady, but she was pumped full of adrenaline and emotion so it shook involuntarily, “what the fuck?” She pulled her hand from him and turned her laptop toward him. Hitting the play button on the YouTube video again, she played the 13-second clip for him.

Alex watched himself, drunk as hell, outside of a night club in Ireland with friends. He asked his friend to do part of a skit from one of his favorite comedians. He knew exactly what was on this clip. He’d seen it, and still thought it was funny. “What’s wrong?”

Nia didn’t say anything, she just let the clip play. Alex’s friend, Danny, this clout chasing, promoter fuck stood in the shot with him. Out of Alex’s mouth came the line from Kevin Hart’s Seriously Funny Comedy routine, “Go night, night, nigga?”

He had said it low as if he was talking to Danny, asking him to perform the line from the stand-up. So what does the little hanger on do? Danny, who is black, does a really bad, really loud Kevin Hart impression for Alex and the camera, “Go night, night, Nigga!”

Alex then comes back in the scene and repeats it and they all laugh because it’s so damn funny. Alex disappears from the screen because he’s laughing so hard, but Danny is still there, shit-talking about having a big dick. When Alex returns, the two of them end the video with a rousing chorus of “Alright, alright, alright…”

She didn’t say anything to him, she just looked. She searched his face for some sort of understanding, some kind of recognition. Something. But when he turned back to face her and all she saw was confusion she felt her shoulders drop and the first fat tear roll down her face. “Wow.”

“Honey,” he lifted a brow, not quite sure what his crime was. He knew she didn’t like Danny, but he hadn’t even seen him since he was in Ireland last. It had to have been a few months. “This was months ago,” he reassured her, with his Danish accent punctuating his English words, “I know you think I drink too much and you don’t like to see me drunk. It’s no good when it goes viral. But, we were just fooling around. It’s nothing to cry about.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, hand brushed away her tear with his thumb. His blue eyes moved swiftly between her brown orbs. “Where did you even find this?”

“Your fucking manager sent it to me, Alex. They want me to fix this shit. I’m supposed to make all of this go away. Me...your fucking black girlfriend - I have to make this racist bullshit you pulled go away.” She should smack him. She should. It would be justified, right? “How in the fuck am I supposed to do that when you think being drunk was the fucking problem with this video?”

“I’m not a racist,” he said with genuine shock, “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. You never do.” She got up from her chair, suddenly needing to distance herself from him. “Why do I always have to be the one to educate you? You are a grown man. I shouldn’t have to explain this shit! You DON’T get to say that word, Alex. EVER.” She pointed a well-manicured finger in his direction, “It’s hurtful. It’s hateful. It’s ignorant. And coming from YOU, it’s fucking devastating.”

He was confused. What was she so upset about? What exactly had he done wrong? Turning around in his place, he slowly stood up and leaned against the desk. Legs outstretched, arms folded across his chest in a defensive position he could tell that his girlfriend of three years was upset. Not just the regular run of the mill upset, either. Something he had done had really bothered her.

“Nia,” he breathed her name with a smirk on his face, “I think you’re making way bigger a deal of this than it is. Danny was there, he didn’t care. If I had said something bad, he would have told me.” He pleaded with his face for her to trust him on this, it was all a misunderstanding. “We were just joking. Besides, I didn’t say the bad word – the one with the other ending. I changed it. We were just doing the part from the Kevin Hart comedy.”

“Alex,” she straightened her posture and spoke very clearly so that he could understand her. There was something in the way that he was dismissing what she had said to him that was really rubbing her the wrong fucking way, “You are not Kevin Hart.” She did not crack a smile when he did. She kept her face stoic and refused to drop his gaze. “You are not black. YOU don’t get to use that word, or any variation, thereof.”

Rolling his eyes, Alex relaxed his posture and lifted his face toward the ceiling. Is this what he came home for? He could have still been hanging out with his friends for all this. At least they wanted to have fun tonight. It was a Friday for crying out loud, was this how they were going to start their weekend? It was the first one in months that neither of them had to work. They had been planning this weekend for forever, it seemed. They were supposed to be Netflix & chilling, drinking wine, having breakfast in bed…nowhere in their itinerary were they supposed to be fighting over a stupid joke.

Alex’s hand covered most of his face, as he rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to argue. He wanted to change out of his hoodie and jeans, and get into some comfortable sweats. He wanted to feed Vlad and cook dinner with her. He wanted to eat in front of the TV while they caught up on this season of How to Get Away with Murder, which they promised each other not to watch until they were together. “Jesus, Nia, why do you always blow things out of proportion?”

“Why do I.. I’m sorry? Do I always blow things out of proportion? Really?” She looked around the room as if he were talking to someone else, “Are you fucking shitting me, right now? Blowing shit out of proportion? Why do you always have to be such an insensitive prick?” She watched as he threw up his hands and walked out of the room mumbling under his breath. “Yeah, say that shit in English, Alex, since you have such a grasp of the fucking language.”

God, she was doing it. She was doing everything that she never wanted to do when she argued. She was speaking out of anger. She losing the point. She didn’t have one anymore, she was just mad. “Really…I don’t know who the fuck you think you playing with, but I am not the one.”

Taking off his jacket and throwing it on the couch, Alex turned around to face his girlfriend. He paid particular attention to the way her chest rose and fell when she was heated like this. He had always thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, but now her anger didn’t match her beauty. “I don’t know what your problem is, Nia, or what you think I did, but I told you, it was a joke. All of this, it’s not fair to take it out on me. You owe me an apology for starting on me for no reason when I just walked in the house.”

He flopped down on the couch and leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache beginning right between his eyes and he knew it was from tension.

“What part of this don’t you understand? You offended me. You offended black and brown people all over the fucking world, thanks to YouTube. I don’t have to apologize for shit. You and your little fucking troll friend need to be apologizing!” She started walking around in a circle, she felt just that crazy at the moment.

Nia looked over at the corner to Vlad. His blue eye and brown eye lowered to the floor in sadness, as his parent argued. Her heart broke for their baby, but it couldn’t be helped. “Obviously your manager thinks this is a big fucking deal if they sent this shit to be fixed. Alex, you can’t go around offending people. You are in the public eye, whether you want to be or not. You have fans that are from every walk of life - do you know how many of them you just insulted? You need to be more responsible for your actions and the shit that comes out of your mouth.”

“Nia, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. I hear that word a hundred times a day. It’s not a problem. It’s in every song. It’s on American TV…Danny and your brother-in-law call me that all the time. I’m not a racist. I’m in love with a black woman.” He found himself raising his voice because no matter what he was saying, she didn’t seem like she was understanding, “One time,” he held his finger up to emphasize his point, “I do a part from a comedy that I like, with my black friend, and you lose your damn mind.”

“What the fuck, yo?” Was she going crazy? She tried to inhale clean air, and exhale the poison before she spoke, however, it wasn’t helping. All she could do was rub her temples. “Danish, American...it doesn’t fucking matter does it?”

“What doesn’t?”

“Your privilege?” She rubbed her temples slowly and tried to crack her neck. “I’m gonna say this real slow so you can translate it into whatever the fuck language you need to understand it. I don’t care how much trap music you listen to. You don’t get to say that word. I don’t care if you know the words to every Kendrick Lamar song. You don’t get to say that word. I don’t care how many black friends you have. You don’t say that word. I don’t care what my brother-in-law calls you, or me, or the man in the moon. You don’t say that word.”

She got closer to the couch and bend down so that he could hear her. Barely opening her teeth to speak, she made her point crystal clear, “And I certainly don’t care if you are fucking me or a 100 other black girls, it doesn’t make you black. You still don’t get to say that word!”

“Oh my God, Nia! It’s a fucking word.”

Was she talking to herself? Was he that clueless? Where there no words in Danish that meant anything like it? They had racism all over the world, surely there was a word in his language that used to oppress another culture to the effect that that word had been used to tear down black people, but black Americans especially. Nia didn’t know what it meant to other black people, she could only tell him what it meant to her.

“Do you know what’s like to have no identity, Alex? Do you know what it’s like to still be referred to as the term they used when they listed you in catalogs to be bought and sold like an animal? It was no different than saying the word ‘cow’ – it was a word to describe cattle. That’s what an entire country thought of people that look like me. For no other reason than the color of my skin.” She couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes. She was so beyond mad that her voice was eerily quiet. “Those people didn’t do anything to deserve it. They were just born next to the equator.” She shrugged her shoulders in defeat.

“That word stripped men of their role in the family and made some impotent and others were turned into bucks that were only good for breeding…it broke them. It made women broodmares, whose job was to have babies to keep plantations going. Families were sold apart no different than how Vlad was taken from his mother because he’s a dog.” She pointed to their puppy hoping that he would understand, “They thought it was okay to do that to my ancestors because of that word. Alex, I don’t care how much you hear that word. When you say it, that’s what it feels like to me. That I don’t exist. That Nia doesn’t exist. That I’m no different than Vlad. But, here’s the rub - in all the time we’ve had him I have never once heard you refer to him as a dog. But now you used the word nigga, and you think it’s funny. So, I have to wonder now, how do you describe me?”

He was dumbstruck.

He didn’t mean any of that when he said it. It was a joke. It was an homage to Kevin Hart. It was fucking funny. He understood that she was hurt, but he didn’t quite get why she was hurting. “I see that this hurt you. I’m sorry about that. It was not my intention.” He reached out to touch her and retrieved his hand when she pulled away, “If it was wrong, why didn’t Danny correct me?”

“That little fucker?” God, she hated him. “Because he set your ass up and you’re too fucking stupid to know it.” She didn’t mean that. She didn’t want to hurt him just because he had hurt her. But she was tired of telling him the same thing over and over again.

“How many times do I have to tell you that little bastard is not your friend? Do you remember how we met? The drunken video he posted of you doing the Haka dance that ended up all over the internet? Do you remember how I had to spin that shit to save your career?” She rolled her eyes and stood up from the couch. “Whenever you pop a bottle, that little clout chaser is always right there with a fucking camera.”

“He’s not like that, he’s my friend.”

“He set your ass up! It’s a game, Alex! Black guys play it all the time. See if you can make your white friend say the word. Only, I’m surprised he didn’t punch you in the mouth afterward. Cause that’s what they’d’ve done in the States. But maybe things worked differently in Ireland.”

“Whatever,” Letting out a frustrated sigh, Alex resigned.

“Right. Whatever.” Walking back into her office, she slammed the lid closed on her laptop before throwing it and a few files into her work bag. “Un-fuckin-believable.” She left out of the office and sat her bag on the floor by the door before she walked across the hardwood floors towards the stairs. “Move, Vlad,” she said lovingly rubbing her big four-legged baby on the head.

Vlad made no intention of moving as if he was purposely trying to stop her from ascending the stairs. Instead, the dog looked at her, then back at Alex, before turning his gaze back at her. “Vladimir, honey, I need you to move.” She watched as her 50-pound defiant child laid on the bottom step and put his brown and white head on his paws. “Fine,” she said, skipping a step to climb over him and made her way up the rest of the stairs, rolling her eyes when the dog followed behind her.

Alex followed behind them and stood in the doorway of their bedroom watching as grabbed a handful of items; a t-shirt, toothbrush, and hair scarf. This entire argument had been blown way out of proportion. Now she was leaving? “Baby, where you going?”

“Away from you.”

Tags: @oddsnendsfanfics @a-mess-of-fandoms @waiting4inspiration @simsadventures @chipster-21 @tgrrose @alicedopey @thelastemzy @naaladareia @alexa4040 @absolutelynotanidiot @pokeasleepingsmaug @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @skadithegoddess @geekandbooknerd @dreamlesswonder86 @inforapound @youbloodymadgenius @cruelfvckingsummer @mummybear @flowers-in-your-hayr @honestsycrets @jzr201 @xbellaxcarolinax @ivarthebloodyking

#alex andersen #Alex hoegh #alex hogh andersen #alex høgh andersen #alex hogh fanfiction #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #usershannygoatgruff #shannyland #shannygoatgruff #shannygoat #13 seconds #00:00:13 #need to get it off my chest #social responsibility the way I know how #my thoughts and feelings #in my feelings

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be-dazzled · 4 years

Photo

#SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance, Comedy Rating: M for sensitive language and content

It gives me sweet little pains in my heart Like a sweet little rain, that falls for a flower And that's love A new kind of love

– A New Kind of Love, Skylar Grey

The sun had already set when the little party ended at the Home for Boys. The day ended with hugs and high fives, some ugly cries too – from the big guys, not the kids. The team promised to be back the next year. Even with that promise, goodbyes weren’t really that easy. Juvia had to comfort a sobbing Mika all the way to the presidential car. She said it never gets easier.

After a laughter-filled dinner and teasing, Gray invited Juvia to walk off the carbs. He took her to the back part of the house, to the most beautiful flower-filled garden Juvia has ever seen.

Mika Mine hand-grown the flowers in her garden. She started with just some dark pink Geraniums she liked sitting around the house. Not until she found that large blank canvass behind her mansion that the Mine matriarch eventually developed a certain fondness getting her hands dirty, waking up early to water them and most of the time, talk to her plants. She said it was therapeutic, helping her cope with the stress. Gray uneasily admitted he was almost always the reason for her stress. So, her mother named that garden after him.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Juvia was sure Mika Mine’s garden would have been very beautiful under the brightest shine of the sun. She took a note to come visit the “Stressful Gray Garden” in the morning. Tonight, she took the time appreciating the living attraction in the silence of the evening. It was simply magical.

Illuminated by natural moonlight, Gray and Juvia covered the narrow pathway, bathed in cold breeze and silver light. On either side of the pathway were beautiful, fully bloomed flowers on trimmed shrubs. But they cleared the path that led somewhere more beautiful, as Gray promised.

“More beautiful than these flowers borne out of the stress you caused?”

Juvia looked around the backyard garden. Mika Mine outdid herself. Or Gray was just a stressful fellow to raise. Page Six did a good retelling of how Gray painted the town red. Looking around the fully bloomed buds around the ‘stress garden’, Juvia had a feeling she didn’t know the half of it. Different kinds and colors scattered around, giving life to Mika’s green-thumb project, like fresh from a Monet painting. If Olivia Lockser saw this, she would have begged Gray’s mother to become best of friends or maybe died of jealousy. That’s a thought.

“Yes. But not as beautiful as my girlfriend.”

Gray pulled her to a stop. As a gentleman who had his fair share of women, Gray knew that off-hand ‘more beautiful’ comment would read as ‘even than your girlfriend?’ He crossed the small distance between them and got himself that kiss that he’d been waiting for. It was just a brief brush of the lips, like a kiss shared in children’s books, at the end of the story, when the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. One innocent kiss like that came so naturally.

Juvia wiped the stain of lipstick that transferred on Gray’s lips. Then, she took his hand, taking the lead this time. They walked down the narrow path, side by side. Her small hand was clasped in his bigger one, her slender fingers intertwined with Gray’s. She leaned on Gray every now and then, wanting and needing the contact. They exchanged stories here and there, talking about nothing much really, until they reached the end of the paved path and a silhouette of a familiar structure emerged.

“That, girlfriend, is my favorite part of this house.”

The ground they stood on was abruptly cut by a grassy, shallow slope, right before the rectangular pavement began. Gray guided the ballerina down the sloping garden, watchful over Juvia who was trying not to lose her footing, and held her hand as he ushered Juvia onto the flat surface.

“Stay here.”

Gray’s absence was quickly missed. It made the breeze feel colder against the skin. Juvia enveloped her arms around her own frame to fight the chill. Her eyes never left the figure jogging towards a shed. Even through the dimness, Juvia saw Gray pushing a lever. The light coming from the lamp posts standing at each corner flooded the playing surface. In the floodlit view, Juvia could make out the unmistaken round hoop attached to the backboard; the rectangular pavement bordered by freshly cut-grass. Juvia knew enough about basketball to recognize the lines painted on the pavement. Although, it did seem to have seen better days. There were obvious wear and tear, a few repairs here and there. When the mansion decided to move forward, that particular part of the house was left behind.

She lost Gray for a moment, not finding him where has just a minute ago. Next thing she knew, her boyfriend was standing next to a covered cart near the stone bench. He peeled off the cover, bent over to pick one ball out. Gray remained standing, feeling the rubber skin in his palms, taking his time, like some sort of ritual. He then waved his girlfriend to come.

Juvia crossed the paved court, her purposeful steps synced with the bounce of the ball in Gray’s hand. But instead of running toward the ring to show off a perfect shot, as Juvia expected, Gray replaced the ball inside the cart. He met her half-way and led Juvia to rest at the stone bench.

“Man, I spent most of my childhood here.” shared Gray. He turned to Juvia, who remained quiet, and held her gaze. “This is where everything began, you know.” The usual confidence in Gray’s smile was hidden safe for the time being.

Gray left her side and covered the pavement with sprints toward the middle of the court. His absence allowed the breeze to touch on her exposed skin, penetrating through the fabric of her clothes.

“My first shot.” He dribbled an imaginary ball and pretended to shoot the same, flicking his wrist like the pro that he was. Juvia imagined the ball went in perfectly and she clapped, humoring him with his ‘play pretend’ game. Then, Gray scampered over to much nearer the ring, executing the familiar two-step footwork before he jumped off his left foot and shoot with his left arm. The ball would have hit the backboard and went into the hoop without miss.

“My first lay-up.” He made a quick chuckle. “It wasn’t a good one. That I admit.”

Gray dashed back to the center, the tip of one shoe nearly touching the white paint which Juvia recognized as the three-point line. Hoopster had his proper posture down to a T: with feet shoulder-width apart; his dominant foot ahead the other; knees bent at the perfect angle; his toned body and shoulders squared toward the basket. His dark blue eyes were unrelenting, drilling a hole on his target. Juvia has seen it far too many times, but every time Gray fell into that stance, her heart skipped a beat. Like any minute now, something magical was about to happen. That’s how he always made her feel. Gray held the ball above his head, elbows bent in the perfect degree, then he snapped his wrist, ending his signature three-point shot with a perfect follow through. Juvia was back at the lower box of the Fairy Academy Dome, her heart in her throat as she and the rest of the roughly six hundred basketball fans waited at the edge of their seats.

His sharp blue eyes, now staring at Juvia’s mesmerized ones, pulled the ballerina out of her reverie. He resumed his rightful spot next to her at the stone bench, drawing a long, slow breath. That little prancing around the court didn’t tire him out. Gray didn’t even break a sweat but showing off to his girlfriend did exercise his lungs.

“My dad always said, ‘Gray… if you. Want to set yourself apart from the others, you need a signature’. He decided, right there and then, that three-point shots would be mine.” He relayed to Juvia. “He trained me day and night until I perfected that shot.” Those perfect three point shots that eventually earned him his nickname.

To Juvia, it sounded like the Fullbuster patriarch was a believer of putting in the time. She knew now where Gray got his hard-working disposition. She believed in that too… nothing of value was ever borne out if taking it easy. Juvia believed in the hustle, too. His father may have had all the connections to make her dream a reality sooner but Juvia was never one to want everything handed to her.

“Or passed out, whichever came first.”

He tried to play it off as a joke but Juvia could see no humor in Gray’s eyes nor that forced smile – because he was talking about his father. Once, when they were just starting to get along, Silver’s name was mentioned in passing. Juvia remembered how his expression turned serious and how Gray quickly changed the subject. It was obvious back then that it was a touchy subject, one Gray would rather not talk about. Ironic, considering how Gray was considered an open book, his tales of gallivanting making headlines. But Juvia understood, that topic was too personal for Gray. This was the first time that the elusive Hoopster was the first to mention Silver Fullbuster to her, which only meant one thing – he trusted her. She knew better than laugh. Juvia sought his hands, took them in hers and giving them a gentle squeeze – one that told him that she was there. This time, she was going to be there for him, like how he was always there for her. It was Juvia’s chance to show Gray that she was going to be the one he could rely on; the one he could trust with his heart. If she could, Juvia would have eased the pain she knew was still there. A big chunk of Gray’s heart was still missing. But there wasn’t much she could do but to lend an ear. Her soft gaze told him she was ready to listen.

Gray heaved out another breath, preparing himself for the outpour.

“I miss him every day, you know. He was my best friend.”

Gray wasn’t looking at Juvia. He was staring at somewhere at the court, remembering. A bittersweet smile touched his lips, eyes looking out at the empty court as if he was watching the figures play on the paved ground – Silver and an eight-year-old Gray.

“He trained me in this very ground. Sometimes, we’d just play around all day until mom calls us for dinner.”

When Gray turned to the quiet ballerina, his eyes were different. The soul behind them was different. He was showing another side of him, one Juvia has yet to see. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul; that they held the truest, most genuine emotions. Tonight, those windows held his vulnerability.

“He wasn’t just my coach, my strict trainer. He was my dad.”

Juvia knew she was only an audience, merely a listener. She didn’t say a word and continued to listen even through the shy moments of silence that filled the in-betweens. A few strands of black hair fell over his forehead. Juvia brushed it away from his face, tucking them back to that shock of coal-black hair.

“What I am now is all because of him.”

Honor and gratitude equally shone through his dark eyes. But there was another one hiding behind that shine – loss. He lost his father. The tears he was holding back was for that important person taken from him far too soon. Juvia knew of the pain of losing someone she loved but she could never fully understand what Gray went through, still going through. It was something that sticks with us no matter what happens.

“When I was in my senior year, my school was up for a championship in the regionals. He stayed behind because he wasn’t feeling well. That was a first for him because he was always present to all my games.”

It’s been more than a decade but the memory was as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

“The neighbors called my mom. They said dad was… my dad was on the way to the hospital. He had a heart attack.”

His last words felt like a silent whisper lost in the soft gust of wind.

“She hid it from me. My mom waited until I finished the tournament. And when I got there… when I got to the hospital,” Gray shifted in his position, his strong jaw tightening at the memory, at the long-forgotten anger that resurfaced. He faced Juvia, finally letting her see that side of him he never wanted to show people. And she saw the tears in his eyes that he tried to hold back. “It was too late. He was there, lying on the hospital bed. His doctor just…covered him in that… in that white sheet.”

He brushed away the tear that managed to fall and for some reason, an awkward chuckle erupted from him.

“I don’t even know why I’m still crying over it.” He said, harshly wiping the tears with his bare palm.

“It never really goes away.” offered Juvia.

“For years I’ve blamed my mother. I blamed her because I couldn’t even properly say goodbye. Then, basketball.” Gray huffed. “God, I hated basketball.”

Juvia remembered that silent, blank space in his career. When he graduated from High School, everybody expected Gray to be the first to be picked out for the draft season. No one ever heard from him since the news of his dad’s passing.

“I should have stayed, you know. I should have been there for him.”

Regret clouded his dark blue eyes like an unkind storm rolling in.

“It isn’t your fault, Gray.”

Gray visibly gulped.

“I know that. But for so long I’ve been so angry at everyone around me.” He struggled to bit back the sob. “If I hadn’t met Natsu at that orphanage, I would have never went back to basketball.”

“Is that why the Home was so important to you?”

His only answer was a gentle smile followed by a stretch of silence. Juvia thought Gray didn’t want to continue but he did.

“I realized, basketball was only way I can feel closer to him. When I touch that rubber ball, the rough texture of its skin, the smell of the rubber, the beat when it hits the floor, suddenly, I was back here.” He didn’t need to point to the open space. “In this court, with my dad, teaching me how to properly hold my first ball.”

He gave her a small smile, a result of a mixed feeling of gratitude and regret.

“That’s why I can never hate basketball ever again.” He expelled a breath that felt like a finality, like an end. The worst part was over. “Why are you crying?”

Juvia laughed it off, looking like some crazy woman as she frantically rubbed her eyes. She told Gray she didn’t even know why. That wasn’t true. Juvia was crying for him, for all the bad things he went through and for all the good things that came after. She couldn’t feel more proud of him, of how Gray overcame that painful moment in his life. Not all could recover from that loss. But Gray was strong. A warm feeling swelled up in her chest. Juvia was grateful he was able to overcome his rock bottom. Now, he was on top of the world.

Gray reached to Juvia, cradled her wet cheeks between his palms. She leaned into the warmth of his hands. Juvia wished she could be there for him back then, to help him go. Through that darkness. That’s all in the past. All she could do was be here for him now.

“Look at us crying like idiots.”

They made a shared attempt to laugh. Then, Gray gathered her in his arms, lending his girlfriend heat against the night chill. But more so, feeling sorry for having Juvia go through all of that. Yet he was grateful to be able to get it off his chest. It wasn’t easy to be so out into the open, to even admit to any weakness. In his world, in basketball, there was no room for weakness. But even if he covered himself of layers and layers of defenses, at the very core he was still vulnerable. When he saw Juvia struggle through her dance albeit being a professional, seeing the stern, no-nonsense ballerina he first met being bothered by the small things as performance jitters or her paralyzing adoration for Aquarius, Gray realized that he didn’t have to keep up appearances all the time. That he could just be him – flawed and human.

Hoopster rested Juvia’s head against his chest, gently stroking waves of her long, silky hair while Juvia listened to his heart’s every beat.

“Man, after all the ugly crying, you still think your boyfriend is cool?”

He used to think that his pain was his weakness. It did almost ruin his career and his future once. He was never going to let that happen. He was never going to let his emotions get the better of him. So, Gray went through all those superficial relationships, if he could even call them that, and worldly fun, albeit fleeting. But now he decided it was time to break down the wall. He was ready to allow himself be vulnerable.

“Much cooler.” answered Juvia as she snuggled into his hard chest. “Much, much cooler.”

Because now he wasn’t just some fantasy Gray Fullbuster that was perfect at everything. He was real.

---

Writer’s Corner: Allowing yourself be vulnerable in front of that person you love, I don’t think it can get any realer than that. As promised, this is a double chapter posting since, as you noticed, this chapter is a little short.

P.S. We got a new design because we are entering a new age.

tags: @ship-ambrosia @juviaafullbuster @keencreatormuggoop @sasskiiia @anaken101 @mika-milano @icelyn20 @gruviafanficsyo @nay-ssi @shampooneko @hiccstridhumour @shounenmangaotphell @ftmains @sobatsu @freeezingrain @gruvia-galaxy @tinyvoidtrash @juvialockseroff @jetblackrevival @cobblepottantrum

#gray x juvia #gruvia #she's in your court #siyc #be-dazzled #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #fairytail #fairytail fanfics #gruvia fanfics #gruvia au #modern gruvia #gruvia fanfic

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

Text

Survey #326

“life by life / waste to waste / i'm the harbinger: the master of decay”

When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Do you mean like, for the wedding? Probably the venue. Or possibly the photographer. Have you ever had a teacher that also taught your parents? No. What’s something you complain about frequently? My legs. Are you afraid of falling in love? Very. Are you close to any of your aunts/uncles? Not very. Do you hate it when people smoke around you? Very much so. Do you own anything that is special edition? Yeah, things like DVDs. Do you have any funky bookmarks? I have this one meerkat bookmark where the image moves when you tilt it. Did you ever watch Pokemon? Hell yeah I did. Are there more females or males in your family? Females. Does anyone in your family snore loudly? My mom does due to having gerd. Dad did too when I actually lived with him. I wouldn't know nowadays. Do you own a camera tripod? Yes. Did you ever believe in mermaids? No. Have you ever purchased alcohol? Yes. Any essential quirks/interests/other you look for in a boyfriend/girlfriend/partner? Similar interests, like being a metal fan and gamer especially, as well as a serious animal lover for sure. Any romantic gestures you really like? Okay if someone did that little bow thing while reaching out for my hand to dance, I'd melt, lol. I also appreciate love interests holding open doors, SHOWING INTEREST IN HOW I FCKN FEEL, asking permission before doing anything in sexual exploration, stuff like that. Any sexual fantasies? Are you daring enough to share one? Yep, not sharing those lmfao. Have you ever been in love? Twice. What is your favorite/least favorite word? My favorite is "serendipity/serendipitous," and my least favorite is "retarded." Have you ever been skinny dipping? No. If I actually had a body I was confident in, I probably would in privacy tho at night lmao. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character? Oh yeah. What is your favorite thing to do? Probably RPing with my favorite OCs when I'm in a really creative mood and during a great scene. Did you go to your senior prom? Yeah, I did. Prom's honestly pretty damn overrated, but I did it and his senior prom anyway. It's the picking out a beautiful dress and taking pictures that I loved. What did you do after graduation? I don't remember. We probably went out to eat or something. Favorite home cooked meal growing up? Spaghetti. What item most embarrasses you to purchase? Nothing, really. Do you give cards to people for holidays or events? No. Name the coolest thing about one of your grandparents. Uhhhhh idk. Name two things you put whipped cream on? I hate the texture of whipped cream. Do you ever eat peanut butter straight from the jar? Sometimes if I want a snack but am trying to be healthy-ish, I'll eat just a scoop. What was the last pill you took for? Pain. Do you prefer your clothes loose or close fitting? Loose, 100%. Favorite thing you’ve ever painted? Meerkats grooming. I did it in high school on a large piece of burlap. Are there any songs that remind you of your mother? "Take It Like a Woman" by Alice Cooper, for one. How did your elementary school teachers describe you? Very smart, sweet, friendly, and nice. Game you were best at in PE/gym? Pf, none. Obsession from childhood? Dinosaurs and Pokemon. Best way for someone to bond with you? Let's talk about deep stuff regarding the world or about how awesome animals are. Top 5 favorite Vines? Oh boy. There are just way too many. I'll try to name a few: 1.) the "I can't find my berries" saga guy; 2.) *in drive-thru, asked what he would like to order* "I wanna FUCKIN DIE"; 2.) "i cOUldA DROPpeD my CroISSAnt"; 3.) "it's Wednesday, m'dudes"; 4.) "a d a m"; 5.) "I WON'T HESITATE, BITCH." God, I miss Vine. What is the first meme you remember seeing? Holy cow, I have no idea. Sci-fi, fantasy, or superheroes? Fantasy. Favorite tradition? Dressing up for Halloween, even though I don't do it anymore... Talent you’re proud of having? Writing. Favorite website from your childhood? Webkinz was unbeatable. I was obsessed. Any good luck charms? I don't believe in those. Favorite potato food? French fries. Tell me the color of your eyes, without using the name of a color: Uhhhh a cloudy sky right before rain? Ever been through a goth phase? Goth is my fucking AESTHETIC. I wish I could afford a truly gothic wardrobe, because you bet your sweet ass it's all I'd wear out. Can you remember your first phone? If so, what kind was it? I think so? It was a Blueberry, I believe. Who is your favourite character from Alice in Wonderland? Obviously the Cheshire cat. What is your favorite type of YouTube video to watch? Lately, it's been tarantula and snake channels/pet YouTubers. I still think my overall favorites are let's plays, but right now it's just stepping back a bit. What’s the next project you are excited to start? I have this pretty cool drawing I wanna do of a morbid meerkat doing a big toothy smile, doing a peace sign (but his fingers are syringes) with a crown blinking over his head. Inspired by the "Professional Griefers" lyric of "lab rat king." I just really wanna make it perfect and am procrastinating in fear of failing... Have you ever experienced a miracle? I don't think I believe in miracles. What are your top three names you like for a daughter? Alessandra, Justine, and Chloe, to name a few. Which did you like better: high school or college? High school, at least in most ways. What is the theme of your bedroom? It doesn't have a theme. My interests just kinda threw up everywhere, haha. Have you ever lived in a dorm? No. Were you raised religious? Yes. Do you do your own taxes, or do you hire a professional? I don't have to do taxes yet. What was the very first thing you ever saved up to buy with your own money? Venus was the first big thing, I think. Describe your favorite Christmas ornament: I don't know what that would be, honestly. We have so very many. What jobs did your parents have when you were growing up? Dad's always been a mailman, and he also had a second job as a carpenter for a while. Mom worked with special needs children at my elementary school as a teacher assistant. She also worked at the hospital at one point, doing some computer work. I don't remember her actual position. Are you taller than your mom? We're the same height. Would you marry someone if they were unable to have sex? Sure, that's not a big deal to me. Last reason you went to the ER? For myself, a suicide attempt/overdose. What was the last word document you typed? This survey, actually, so I could save progress as I combine them. What’s something you don’t think people take seriously enough? Global warming. Have you ever dated someone who had a child from a previous relationship? No. Is there any drama currently going on with your family? No. What was the last fruit or vegetable you chopped/sliced up? An apple. I wanted apple slices with peanut butter. What is your favorite Hostess/Little Debbie snack? Holy SHIT that is impossible. Maybe the devil cakes, but I really don't know. I love most of them. Do you/your family buy loaf from the bakery or bagged on the shelf? Bagged. White, wheat or other? Mom buys white bread, but my favorite is pumpernickel. What was the last non-fiction book you’ve read? (Not a school textbook!): I ain't got a clue. I don't really read non-fiction. What color are your headphones/earbuds? These are blue. Would you be embarrassed to find out you snored loudly in public? Yep. Thankfully, I don't snore. Do you feel guilty about killing bugs? Yep. How do you feel about coconut? Not a fan. ^ Ever cracked one open? Ha, I've always wanted to. Who did you last worry about and why? My mom. She's getting a CT scan ASAP due to chronic headaches and stomach pain, so I'm worried her cancer might be re-emerging. When was the last time you ate/drank something gross just to be polite? I don't know; I struggle to do this. If I don't like something, my face shows it. I can't help it. When did you last make up a baby’s bottle? Never. Do you have any framed black & white photos in your home? Who are they of? No. What’s the most expensive thing your car needed to get done? N/A If you had a thousand dollars to spend on a pricey brand you like but can’t really afford (until now of course), which ONE brand would you chose? I don't know. Real talk, I find most luxury brands to sell pretty ugly stuff... Do you like candy canes? Yeah. Do you still talk to any of your old teachers? Yes; one is my landlord. What color was the dress you wore to your senior prom? It was black. Ever go to another school’s prom? No. Do you like burning candles or incense? I love incense. Do you ever venture into the woods? What do you normally do in there? When I used to live in the woods, I did every now and then to take pictures. Does your significant other ever make you mix CDs? Single, but that would be so romantic. /swoons How did you dress your freshman year of high school? I was this emo/metalhead/goth creature. What is the best present you have ever received? My dog Teddy. <3 What is the best present you have ever given? I put the most effort into a scrapbook thing of well over a hundred reasons I loved my then-boyfriend Jason. Even though we're done, I honestly hope he still has it, just to remember. What is the best surprise you have ever had? Sara's parents paying for a flight up there to be with Sara for her birthday. Have you ever been robbed? No, thankfully. Ever kiss someone on the first date? No. Ever sleep with someone on the first date? Definitely a nope. Ever give someone a wrong phone number on purpose? No. What’s the strangest thing you have ever witnessed firsthand? I have no idea. It's... very morbid, but possibly dogs twitching after being euthanized. Seeing Teddy do it was such a strange, painful experience. Like there was still life in there... even though I know it was just his nerves doing their final hoorah and he was already dead. Ever seen a psychiatric ward? I've been in a mental hospital five or six times, so I'm uncomfortably familiar with them. What is the last thing you did that you didn’t want to do? Group therapy. I'm really burning out on it. Thankfully, I don't have it on the weekends. What is the last thing you convinced someone else to do? I dunno. If you could live in a different time, would you? When? Nah. Do you prefer to sleep alone or with someone else? Sleeping alone is more comfortably physically, but I usually prefer sleeping with a partner because there's this amazing feeling of safety, love, and companionship. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two. Do you prefer cold air and blankets, or warm air and no blankets? Cold air and blankets by ten miles. I can't sleep if I'm even remotely hot. How often do you dust? Sigh, not as much as I need to. What is the most "extreme" activity you have ever done? I haven't done very much that fits that description... so idk. Dr. Pepper or root beer? Dr. Pepper. I hate root beer. Last room you cleaned? Mine. Last thing you did that made you feel like an adult? Checked into the doctor's office by myself, haha... Talk about sad. What’s your favorite picture of your mom? Dad? It's not my business to actually share those pictures, but I can describe them. I fucking ADORE this candid photograph I took of my mom laughing; I will forever cherish it. It's morbid to think about, but it's absolutely a picture I'll frame of her once she's passed away. I don't have many pictures of Dad, but I do really like this picture we took together at Red Lobster once. Are you subscribed to anything (Magazines, monthly boxes, streaming sites, etc.)? Mom pays an Adobe Creative Cloud photography bundle subscription for me, but that's it. Last TV show series you finished? Fullmetal Alchemist with Sara. It was a rewatch for me, but she'd never seen it. What’s something exciting that’s happened to one of your friends recently? A childhood friend got engaged a few days back. Do you have any board games? If so, where do you keep them? We have a few somewhere. What were the last things you glued together? I don’t recall. What are your friends’ pets’ names? I'll just use Sara here since she's my best friend. She has two family dogs, Buster and Beesly, a cat named Winter, four ball pythons named Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, and Jane Marie, and Doris, a bearded dragon that I personally adore most. :') What all did you do today? I played World of Warcraft early this morning, but not for very long. I've been in a phase of being very uninterested in it lately. I've mostly just done surveys... lots of surveys. I'm just in the mood to. I've also been listening to music and watching John Wolfe play Amnesia: Rebirth periodically. If you live in a house, how many floors does it have? If you live in an apartment building, how many units does it have? It's just one floor. Would you like to live in a world with mythical creatures, even if they turned out to be evil or dangerous? Honestly... I probably would, haha. Are you scared of heights? Yes. When was the last time you lost something of great sentimental value? Did you ever end up finding it again? Never, I think and hope. What food do you find to be the most filling? Is this something you eat a lot of? Eggs or oatmeal. Not really. What do you think of people who purposefully train their dogs to fight or to be aggressive? They're fucking garbage human beings. If you suffer/have suffered with acne, do you squeeze your spots or do your best to just leave them be? Ugh, I was so bad (and still am if something pops up) about picking at it. Does your father have any hobbies? What are they? Sure. He loves sports, fishing, idk if he still plays video games, fantasy football... and I can't forget playing with his grandkids. It's hard for me to know all of them when I don't live with him and see him rarely. What did the last face mask you wore look like? It was just a white cotton one. Is there a specific song that you always request at parties? What is it? I don't go to parties. Would you rather read poetry or write poetry? Write it. Have you ever had any really infected injuries? I've had infected piercings as well as a badly infected pilonidal cyst. Is there any band out there that you like every song by them? No. Are you popular on any websites? No. What was the last song you listened to? Aaaaand now I'm hooked on "NIHIL" by 3TEETH. Are you currently texting anyone right now? No. When was the last time you played jump rope? Yikes, probably not since I was a kid. I used to love it. Who was the last person you offended? I dunno. What’s the earliest you’ve ever had to wake up for work? Not early. Do you know anyone who has changed their first name? I know trans people who have, yes. Do you know anyone who has been on life support and survived? No. At least, I don't believe so. Do your parents have a strong relationship together? They're divorced, and Mom at least can't stand him. Dad doesn't really care. Do you ever feel like you’re sharing too much about yourself online? Oh, I absolutely used to. I still might, idk. I've tried to reel it back some. How many windows are in the room you’re in? Eight, but they're just small, vertical rectangles stacked together, so it's not as revealing as it sounds. What was the last necklace you wore? My spiked choker, I think, for pictures. Or maybe the one I have with a bunch of big silver skulls. Do you think there are more dimensions than what we’re able to perceive? I don't think so, no. Does anyone in your family have schizophrenia? My half-sister on Dad's side that I've never met. Have you ever been in an abandoned house? A shack, yeah. Do you like art? I positively adore it. I could NOT imagine life without it. How about theatre? I don't care for it. Have you ever made breakfast for someone? Yes, for Sara. Do you talk to your crush? If you have one. Yeah, she's my best fren. If yes, what do you usually talk about? Nowadays I ask her almost daily how she's doing in regards to her progress of recovering from both serious physical and mental stressors. I try to always be an available ear if she ever wants to vent. Would you rather read or watch a video about something? Watch a video. In what ways have you fulfilled some of the hopes and dreams you had as a teenager? I've fulfilled none of those. What’s one stressful thing you’ve been trying to deal with lately? How have you been dealing with it? Inexplicable, chronic boredom/serious anhedonia. I've just... put up with it. I get pleasure out of essentially nothing most days, and it sucks big time. I just try to distract myself and force myself to do things I usually love, though I've been bad about actually succeeding in making me do said stuff... Is there a regional chain of store/restaurant/etc. in your area that you feel very loyal to? MOTHERFUCKIN BOJANGLE'S, BITCH. You think YOU have good fries somewhere? Oh hunny, sit down. Oftentimes, people warn us against getting tattoos or body modifications or dying our hair unnatural colors because we could be judged poorly for them. But has a more “alternative” look ever worked out in your favor? Well, I like myself better with my piercings and tattoos, and that's all that really matters to me. Do you have any daily routine/habit of that you’re really proud of keeping up? No. .-. Pick one of the following activities to do in a forest (assume you would be equally good at each one of these): Foraging for mushrooms, identifying trees, searching for specific types of bugs, trying to build something out of fallen branches and logs. Searching for bugs w/ my camera!!! But that all sounds fun. What’s the hardest class you’ve ever taken? My most recent math course that I failed horribly.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''master of decay'' by 3teeth

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