#in battle. like the only girl hes ever kissed (made a move on) is the only feeemale battle companion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prentissluvr · 4 months ago

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my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst ➖⟢ cw : canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers! ➖⟢ wc : 10.6K ➖⟢ listen to : my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested ! summary : you get injured and sam realizes he's more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand.

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough.

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam.

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

“you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day's luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.”

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace.

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it's an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be.

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

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letshavedeernnertogether · 4 months ago

Text

Checkmate you

the plot is: you often play chess with alastor but alas you always lose to him. you tired of being a permanent loser and you propose him another game to revenge. alastor wants to make the game more entertaining so there's a new rule: the loser fulfills the winner's desire

words ≈ 6.3k

warnings: alastor is a mean player, reader has a crush on alastor, suddenly aggressive alastor, kissing on the chessboard, possibly grammar mistakes :(

author's note: i'm not a chess expert, i'm just a little girl who's visiting a chess club at my university. i just really wanted to combine my hatelove to chess with alastor and add something romantic

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.�� *. ⋆

You wanted revenge. You needed to revenge. You weren't a vindictive person, but you were so tired of this. You were tired of perpetual defeats, and what defeats! You were an experienced player and not so weak, although you didn't know all the theory or strategy and tactics. Surely, you had a lot to learn, but what was the most annoying is that Alastor was just the same. He'd never read anything from chess books, never learnt anything special about this game. Just like you.

Playing a game, you tried to calculate the moves, but you never foreknew the plan for you or for your opponent for more then two moves in advance. Alastor was an antithesis of you. It seemed that he foresaw any moves you could make, and he had a plan for each of them. He never thought too long about a move, because when you, for example, began to move your bishop forward, he already knew how many moves had left to checkmate you. “Darling, you should practice more.” You didn't know whether he had a strategy, but you did know it was impossible to impress him with any. Because, once again, he foreknew your every move, your every thought, your every emotion.

You were a calm player. No matter what move you or your opponent made, the expression on your face never changed. Keep your head cold, keep your face stone. You didn't think about your move for too long too but for other reasons. You prefered to have more time in reserve than dozens of moves calculated in advance, because you knew you weren't really good at this, and often you didn't notice really good moves at all, rushing to make a new move and realizing your mistake only when a chess piece was in a new place and your hand was lowered to the table. But even this didn't cause blush or pallor on your face. And this was your advantage, because everyone was convinced of your confidence, and no one ever knew what you were up to.

But not Alastor. He always knew and anticipated with pleasure your every defeat, reveling in it. Though Alastor was really a gentleman, always well-mannered, in a game he showed his more wayward nature. You liked Alastor and you even never scorned his sometimes mischievous behavior. But during a battle over the chessboard he was insufferable even for you.

He was that type of a player who said to you “Are you sure?” or “You have enough time to think twice, my dear.” when you took a piece in your hand. And all of this was said not with good intentions. His tone oozed venomous mockery, his eyes flashed with self-admiration and this toothy grin as sharp as his remark...

Both of you wore masks during a match, but you also remained silent, while Alastor just couldn't shut up. And though you were all patience, your claws dug into a dark wooden table when Alastor chuckled after another move you made. “Ah, apologize, darling! Please, continue!”. After that you had to use all your strength to keep a neutral expression on your face and not to show him how much his criticism bothered you and sometimes even scared you.

But he wasn't always this way. Sometimes, when you played for fun, just to enjoy the game, he was a courteous man again. Usually it happened when you played without a time control. Not only his smile became less strained, but you also let yourself make a joke about your not very smart move or about the way his expression changed when he weighed the best move. He adjusted his monocle and tilted his head, saying, “Just let me think, dear. And while I'm reflecting, do show me what you would do in my shoes! Oh, that's interesting…” In no control games he didn't hasten to checkmate you, didn't laugh at you (almost) and you didn't feel like being mocked.

You did like these games and their relaxing atmosphere. You could learn something new not only about chess but also about Alastor. Or even yourself. ”You know, my dear, I find intelligence the most attractive thing in a person. And I believe you're a very intelligent little thing.” Alastor told you this once during a game, making you for a whole week carrying these words in your head, smiling spontaneously when you remembered them and blushing, realizing it was the highest praise he gave you and your game.

But your last battle was terrible. Grins, chuckles, bemused looks at you, tilts of head… Maybe you weren't at your best, but it didn't mean he could behave like this. And moreover, other inhabitants of the hotel watched your game. Usually they didn't care, as they found chess boring, especially just watching others' games, but that time everyone, even Angel, were interested. They surrounded the table where you were playing, gasped when Alastor checked you, whispered when you tried to block him, sighed when he checked you again. His ever present smile turned to a grin, his eyes ran from the board to your face to see your ever-increasing despair, while your gaze was fixed on the pieces. You felt others’ gazes and it made you sweat more. To lose just in front of your opponent was unpleasantly but bearable, but to let others see your defeat was too much for your pride.

And then you lost.

You lost with the King and a single pawn that didn't even have time to reach to the opposite side of the chessboard, stopping on B7. You played whites, but it didn't help you. You played with sixty minutes of main time per player and with a thirty-second increment each move. But while Alastor was accumulating time, you were racking your brains, trying to figure out how to escape the defeat as you saw his pieces drawn up in the fatal for you position.

And now you wanted to make him feel what you felt. Hesitance. You wanted to make him doubt, to make him panic. You wished to see his eyes running all over the chessboard as he was trying to come up with the escape routes. You wanted to make him so panicked and so rejoiced at the move that he'd found that he would forget to press the button on the clock after that move. You wanted him desperated.

A thin predatory smile spread across your face when you imagined Alastor acting the same way as you, when he checked you and you knew that the last escape route was cut off. You smiled, imagining him tugging his hair in despair, and chuckled, imagining his frightened eyes and his crooked smile with clenched teeth.

But you knew it was impossible. And his face with ever present smug smile flashed before your eyes, making you drop your head on the bar counter with a dull sound.

“What's the matter, kid?” Husk asked you, dusting the counter.

“I wanna die,” You pronounced in the wooden surface.

“Mmm,” Was the answer.

‘And this is how we talk,’ you thought, lifting your head.

“Hey, Husk. Have you ever played with Alastor?” You were rewarded with a frown look. “In chess. Have you played chess with him ?”

“I won't tell you anythin’.” And he turned away to put the clean glasses on the shelves.

“I just want to win him,” You sighed. “I love playing with him, but… I’m tired. Especially after the last time.”

When Alastor put a rook opposite your King and pronounced slowly, as if he was savoring every sound of this word, “checkmate” you felt a soft palm on your shoulder. You heard Husk's voice, but didn't look at him. “You did a good job.” Charlie waltzed around the board, admiring Alastor's position. Angel shook his shoulder and told you some supporting words, but you barely heard them, looking afraid at Alastor. He didn't took you for a stupid, did he?

Husk looked at you over his shoulder, hearing your low sad voice. You looked so miserable.

“Listen, kid,” Husked said with a deep sigh, “I just don't understand why you like him so much, and I don't wanna see you get in trouble. It seems to me that you began to spend more time with him.”

Did he notice a pink hue on your cheeks when you looked away?

“Well, it's true we've become, um, closer. Because I do find him as a good company. It's always interesting to speak with him, and I really like the way he plays. He's so good at it, really!” Husk looked with a frown at you, and you smiled, remembering all the good games you shared with Alastor. “I just don't like that he's… snobbish? Sometimes.”

Husk just sniffed.

“And also I don't like that he revels in others’ failures.” Alastor’s laughter resounded in your head again. “And he doesn't just enjoy them, he literally savours my defeats! That's very annoying.”

“That's all he is.”

“So I want revenge.” You placed your hands on the counter, bending down and looking straight at the bartender. Husk started, seeing the red luster in your eyes. Your irises coloured in darker shade, but somehow they glistened in the poor light of the bar. He had a feeling that you could defeat Alastor. “I know I can't checkmate him, but at least I can make him sweat.”

Husk cleared his throat and said, “You play with him for a long time, surely, you know ‘bout his weak points.”

Your eyebrows flew high, when you understood that Husk was ready to help you, to give you some advice.

“I'm not sure about the weak points, maybe just the things he doesn't like. For example, a blitz game. It is always important to him to have time for thinking, though it seems like he knows all in advance. Hmm.” You tapped your lower lip with your forefinger, trying to remember what Alastor avoided in a chess game. Husk looked at you expectantly. Surely, there should be something else. “Well, once Alastor made an illegal move,” You said and fell silent.

Husk still looked at you expectantly, as if he was saying ‘It can't be all what you're about working with.’ And then he said, “And?”

You threw your hands in the air and exclaimed, “I truly don't know what to do!” and dropped your head on the counter again.

“Jus’ deal with it and stop playin’ with him.”

“I caaaan't.” Surely you couldn't. These games may not have always been pleasant, but it was the only chance to spend time alone with him. To know him better. To become closer.

Suddenly a new thought like lightning flashed in your mind. You immediately lifted your head, and Husk could almost see how the thoughts in your head formed a tricky plan. Your eyes lightened softer and brighter.

“It's hardly a plan, but-”

“Where you are, my dear!” You heard a static voice from behind, and then a large palm lay on your shoulder. “I'm looking for you all over the hotel! It's not often to see you in the company of our dear friend Husker!”

Husk rolled his eyes and turned to the shelves to take a bottle.

“Alastor! Just thought about you!” You said.

“You did?” Alastor leaned forward, squeezing your shoulder and looking in your eyes. Then he harshly let you go and sat next to you.

“Yes, I want to offer you something. A game in chess.” You looked at him, playfully tilting your head.

Alastor cocked his eyebrow at you, “Why, my dear, I expected it'd take more time for you to accept your last defeat.”

You winced at his words but then smiled as wide as you could and said, looking directly in his eyes, “No, I'm absolutely fine, thank you.”

“So what is your proposal then?”

“Nothing difficult! We play blitz. Time control is five minutes three seconds. Ten second increment. And we have a judge, who records all illegal moves, because two of them mean defeat. And here is the judge!”

Husk chucked on his booze when you waved your hands in his side. “No way,” He said, coming to his breath.

“Why not, my good man?” exclaimed Alastor, “I've never seen you as a judge! Must be very entertaining!”

Husk shifted his frown from you to Alastor, thinking who of you two was more to blame for his new part. His gaze fixed on you when he sighed.

“But, my dear,” Alastor looked at you, “the rules are a bit strict, don't you think?”

“Nope.” There was no way to use other rules. These were perfect. They included everything Alastor avoided.

“Hmm,” He tapped his chin with his forefinger. “How about that, I also have something to suggest!” His hand fell on your shoulder again and went down to your forearm, he leaned closer to you, invading your personal space and said, “The loser fulfills the winner's desire.”

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

On the appointed day you three met in the room where you and Alastor usually played. It was not a big room in dark brown colours with wooden furniture. It was always warm and cozy here, thanks to the fireplace with a merry bright flame. The bookcases lined the wall on both sides of the fireplace. A rectangular coffee table with a light pattern on the edges stood in the middle of the room and was surrounded with two loveseats on wooden legs. In the left side of the room there was a chess table and two soft chairs with dark red upholstery, the same fabric as on the sofas. The room was also decorated with paintings of Charlie's family and landscapes of hell, candles in the bronze scones, and an old thick carpet on the floor in the center. The windows were always curtained with heavy maroon blinds and the door was two-panel, decorated with simple right-angle carving.

It was your favorite room in the whole hotel. You liked it even more than your own quarters. You not only played chess here, it was also a mini-library of the hotel, where you always could find a good book to read near the cozy fireplace. It seemed to you that this room suited Alastor’s style better than the style of the entire hotel, and maybe it was another reason why you prefered to spend your time here. You even made this place more comfortable by bringing two blankets and a tray with a teapot and a couple of cups. Now Alastor was pouring tea for you, while you were explaining to Husk how to set the clock. Alastor came to you with a cup of hot tea for you in one hand and with his half emptied mug of coffee in the other one.

“Thank you,” You said, taking the aromatic drink.

Alastor smiled at you and sat on the free chair.

Husk was still troubling with the device, muttering curses under his breath.

It was 10 am, and usually you played much later, often ending your games in the dead of night. But last evening Alastor said that he had unforeseen circumstances that he needed to deal with as soon as tomorrow, so your game will have to be rescheduled either for another hour or another day. “Thousands apologies, darling.”

And as you couldn't wait any longer you suggested playing in the morning to Husk’s discontent. He hated mornings, while you were a morning person. And Alastor never seemed to sleep, so playing a quick game in the beginning of the day wasn't a problem for him.

You emptied your cup when Husk put the chess clock on the table and said,

“Here. You play with five minutes three seconds of main time per player and with a ten-second increment each move,” He looked questionly at you, and you nodded, saying everything was right. “You two play, and I make sure that none of you make unnecessary movements or illegal moves and all that shit. As Alastor played last game with blacks, you both decided that now it's his turn to use whites. Oh, and the loser will do anythin’ that the winner asks them to do.” Husk twitched, saying these words. His worried look fell on you, but you were looking at the chessboard and didn't notice it. “Is everythin’ clear?” You both nodded. “Great. Shake your hands.”

For the first time this day you looked at Alastor. He smiled at you with his ordinary smile, showing all his fangs. In the light of candles his eyes were gleaming with bright red and his long eyelashes casted shadows on his cheekbones. Alastor extended his hand to you, and you shook his palm, squeezing gently his long, cold fingers. A thought ran through your mind, that you were the only one in the hotel, or maybe even in whole hell, who touched his bare skin so often. The handshake was firm but tender as always. Alastor traced his fingertips over your palm, letting go of your hand, and a pleasant electrik wave ran through your spine. ‘Wonder, how many hands he shook are bloodless now?’

Husk pushed the button, and the room filled with a quiet ticking and the loud sound of wooden pieces moving on the board.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

His fingers smoothly ran through the air, as if he was playing the invisible piano, when he was thinking which move was better for him to make. His long claw-like fingers took a piece contrasting brightly with the colour of his skin. With a graceful wave of his hand he put a wooden figure in a square with a short thud. Alastor held the claw of his forefinger on the top of the piece for less than a second, before letting it go and putting his hand on the table. The chess pieces seemed very small, being gripped between his long digits with sharp red tips. The pawns seemed most fragile in his grasp, the twin pieces looked firmer, and when Alastor took the Queen, you couldn't suppress the fear freezing your heart. Alastor often resorted to castling, and every time you were impressed how smoothly and easily he made it, taking both pieces in one palm, switching them quickly and putting them down on their new places.

The very movement of his hands was flowing and natural. You did like his hands, and often you felt hypnotized with them and forgot about a good move you wanted to make or even missed the precious seconds.

So this time you didn't let yourself look up, holding your gaze on the black and white board and glancing at the clock sometimes.

He moved a pawn, so did you, he moved a knight, you mirrored his move. You understood that the Spanish game started — the same opening you did in your last meeting. But this time you were not so aggressive, trying to attack a bishop and conquer the center. You just moved forward. You captured his knight, and Alastor had no choice but to capture yours too.

You were tired of feeling weak, tired of tryings to prove to him and yourself that you were a strong player, that you had a potential. Though every time meeting with Alastor at the chessboard, you said it was just for your own entertainment, just to enjoy the game no matter what the result awaited you, you still felt the urge to win. You played with everyone in the hotel, some you won on the first try, some you had to match several times to win, but after all you checkmated everyone at least once. Everyone but Alastor.

‘Not for long,’ You thought, placing all your remaining pawns (which amount was still huge and promising) in a zigzag line. And that was the moment when Alastor's hand, a very elegant and beautiful hand, hung in the air. His brows knitted in a thin line and one corner of his grin went higher. He took a piece, that was not the one to which his hand first reached, and made a move back. You repressed a smile.

After more three moves when you shifted only your pawns and didn't even try to attack Alastor but avoided him, Alastor said,

“Dear, I thought you wanted to play chess with me, not the fool.” He captured your pawn, and you took away his piece. Alastor frowned, sacrificing his last bishop.

“Why? You don't like my game?”

“It's not a game, dear,” He said, capturing another black piece. He began gradually clearing the center, though the board still looked absolutely messy. Your pawn fence was blocking any attack of him, because if he tried to capture your pawn, you would immediately capture his piece. Moreover, it was getting tightly on the board, and none of you could make a really good move until your pawns would be cleared away.

“It's an imitation.”

“I don't understand what you are talking about. If you don't like my strategy, try to defeat me then.”

“Oh, darling, I will.” He captured your bishop, and you quickly sheltered the unprotected Queen. “I highly doubt you have a strategy, after all.”

“Play and see.” You pronounced in a deadpan voice when he replaced your other piece with his one.

Now the silence was disturbed only by the loud claps on the bottoms of the clock and the sound of pieces moving on the chequered surface.

You glanced at the clock. You had forty seconds more than Alastor. A quiet sigh escaped from your lips, and you made another move.

Your hand flew over the board with a mad speed. You pushed the bottom with a harsh clack, which made Husk twitch every time. You didn't try to count the moves, nor Alastor's, nor yours, you just wanted to win the time. And soon it started to seem that you didn't lose minutes, but accumulated seconds.

“Illegal move.”

You froze when Husk stated it and paused the clock.

Was it your move now?

Your eyes ran madly over all black and white pieces, trying to find a mistake. Alastor sat in front of you, and you could feel how his own tension lay on your shoulders. You didn't dare to look at him, because you saw the mistake. Alastor looked like he was caught in a snare.

“Sorry, kid, didn't notice it before, but you move like a fuckin' hurricane,” Said Husk pointing at white unprotected King. “It seems that you attacked him a move ago, when you moved your pawn and opened a rook checking the King. And none of you noticed this in a rush, but so did I, so…”

You were afraid to look at Alastor but also you felt blushing on your cheeks. You outwitted him!

“Ok, let's go back to the position where you made the illegal move,” Said Husk, and the pieces were moved to the position they stood ten seconds ago, showing Alastor's defective position. Husk turned on the clock, and Alastor moved a knight, protecting the King.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. Almost a minute more than Alastor, and all he had was fifty six seconds. But you couldn't let yourself breathe a sigh of relief and relax, remembering how Alastor won you in an armageddon game, even though he played black. It was incredible how this man could win in any condition.

And as the number of your pieces diminished headily, and Alastor's annoyed grin became wider, you gave up all the thoughts about strategy. Now you could only use the time.

Your hand took a piece, moved it, stretched to the clock headlong, beaten them, and after three or four seconds you repeated everything. ‘When will it end?’ Your hand trembled and you missed the button on the clock, which now you took for your last resort. You understood you had a losing position, still you acted like you had an advantage, attacking Alastor over and over again, not letting him fulfill his plan of defeating you.

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed it. The black King stood diagonally to the white Queen and was unprotected. How long was it? Why didn't Husk say anything? Did he notice it? Did Alastor notice it? You tried to give a deadpan expression to your face as if nothing had happened. You knew just several seconds separated you from the victory.

Alastor raised his hand to take a piece and froze. Did his gaze fall on your King? His hand reached to the Queen, but his claws didn't have time to grab the piece as Husk exclaimed “Time!”

You moved your eyes to the white clock face and saw a twinkling flag on Alastor's side. With a deep sigh you leaned back in your chair.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Though you wanted to triumph over him you didn't expect it could actually happen. Husk left the room, and the door was slammed by itself. You heard a click in the door, signaling that you were closed in the room tete-a-tete with Alastor. With defeated Alastor. And it scared you. He looked terribly irritated and to be honest you would feel the same. A defeat due to the elapsed time seemed to both of you dilettantish.

But you were scared not only because of his mood now. You were also afraid to tell him about your wish, especially when he was in such a mood. Last night you prepared yourself mostly to keep the poker face on you and to accept whatever his evil mind could ask you to do.

But now your mind had to command him, and you were not sure what to do with it. Yesterday you came up with a wish, but a playful one, not a wish you would actually voice him. After the game your brain felt melted, and you simply couldn't find strength to come up with something new, as you could hardly think right now. Moreover, you still felt stress and a bit of fear that didn't help you to come up with anything fruitful, but only made your hands tremble.

He sat opposite you, intertwined his fingers under his chin and resting his head on them. He stared at you with a cheshire smile and half lidded eyes, frowning. You thought that if he was a cat demon like Husk he would definitely shift his tail side to side in annoyance. You swallowed but didn't had time to open your mouth as Alastor ruined the silence,

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, I thought you were an honest player, my dear.” He said, shaking his head in disapproval, “You really think you can trick me in such a fraudulent way?!”

“Alastor, learn to accept defeat!”

“Pardon? I wasn't the one who kept silent about my pitiable state in order to later win in a completely cheating way!”

“It was you Queen, you didn't notice it! It's not my fault you blind as fuck and can't keep an eye on your own pieces! And!” You raised your forefinger like every time when you wanted to attract attention and hush your opponent, “Your illegal move was unnoticed by both of us until Husk pointed at it, and so was mine! So we're quits!”

You leaned back, crossing your arms. Alastor leaned both his hands on the table, his hair became more shaggy, and his smile was crooked, so you could see his black gums.

“Fair enough.” He suddenly pronounced and ran through his hair with his fingers. He placed his hands on the table again and tapped against the wood with the claws. “But still it was hardly a game, dear. That's not how we do it. You mixed up the pieces on the board like a child picking up chess for the first time, and made me correct all this chaos. You knocked on this hapless clock, accumulating time, but did not even use it wisely. And you even cheated, no no, my dear,” He waved his forefinger in the air when you tried to object,” you cheated when you didn’t defend your King, making an illegal move. I simply cannot forgive your shameless lie so easily.”

He stood up and you did the same, staying near the chess table. You agreed with Alastor, and knew that if you were him, you would be disappointed just the same. But still his words hurt you and you felt shame. It seemed you preferred a fair defeat to dishonest victory. Maybe not truly dishonest, but tricky after all.

Alastor nervously adjusted his sleeves, saying to you, “For I still find you quite a fraud and I guess I should give you a proper lesson, I do respect our rules, as distinct from someone,” He eyed at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling sharper, seeing your blush, “So, my little cheater, tell me your wish!”

Fuck. The wish.

“Darling, time is precious, I still have some business that must be finished.” He said when you didn't say anything.

“Um, Alastor, how about I tell you my wish later?”

He turned his head to you and looked at you, rising one brow. You felt yourself so embarrassed, you wished the ground would swallow you right now.

You murmured, “I just... I didn't expect I'll win. Yeah, I wanted to and tried to, but I didn't really believe I could… Soooo, I didn't prepare anything, and I don't know what to ask y-”

You didn't finish your sentence as Alastor harshly turned to you, pressed you to the chess table behind you, so the pieces quaked and fell on the floor with a deafening sound.

Alastor's hands were on the table both sides of you, and there was no way for you to escape, as he hovered over you and pronounced darkly and low,

“No.”

The room drowned in darkness, as if all the light was sucked out the moment he captured you, and now the only sources of light were his red glaring eyes and several candles illuminating weak yellow flame.

“Darling, you are trying much of my patience now, so do tell me your wish.”

And then the normal lighting returned, but the man in front of you didn't move away, still pressing you to the chessboard, on which you almost sat now. His face was a single inch from you and you could smell the aroma of coffee from him. His breath fanned your burning cheeks. His voice had less static filter now and was lower.

“Or do you really want to miss this opportunity, hmm? Do you really have nothing to ask for?”

Oh, you did have and you were not ready to miss the opportunity. But how to overcome fear and tell him your wish? You stared at him and thought that maybe the worst things had passed already — he saw you fiasco, but still played with you, and he saw your cheat, but still was ready to end what you started, as if everything was alleight. Maybe he actually treated you better than others in the hotel, as Angel once remarked.

So maybe you could do it easily with your daring wish?

Right now, with no opportunity to hide and looking straight into his eyes, you felt like that poor King, who was staring at the Queen, awaiting his death. But the time saved him. You didn't have the time control to come to your help. You hopelessly stared at the demon in front of you, trying to understand why he insisted so much on fulfilling your wish right now. And what was his wish?

“Well, Alastor, I have something.” You pronounced timidly, and his gaze softed. He leaned back slightly, but his arms still didn't let you move.

“I need your permission…” You started, looking in his eyes and feeling how your sweaty palms slid on the table's edge. Your hand touched a piece, it rolled through the board and fell on the floor. From the locked door you heard some voices. Your mouth was dry and you licked your lips before opening your mouth again.

“What is it, darling?”

Your knees got weak and you pressed back to the table more, and Alastor leaned closer to you, ruining what was left from your personal space. His hot breath burnt your face, and you were sure he could hear your rapid heartbeat.

“Close your eyes and don't interrupt me!” You exclaimed in one harsh breath.

Alastor leaned back, widely opening his eyes in bemusement.

“Very well.” His hands slipped off the table to hide behind his back when he made a tiny step back and straightened himself. Then he closed his eyes.

Your wish was bold, so you didn't voice it to Alastor. After seeing his rage you were ready to forget about your stupid want, but then…

He was too close to you, closer than ever. He was as close to you as he was in your daydreams.

Casting all your thoughts away, you made a step forward, rose on your toes, but even so your goal was far from you. ‘Why is he so tall?‘ Carefully you clutched the lapels of his suit and drew him closer to you.

Alastor felt your lips on him. He didn't open his eyes and didn't move at all. Your warm lips were pressed to his skin. It wasn't quite a kiss, but a tender, chaste peck in the corner of his lips, almost on his chin. You held him by his suit, and he needed to bend down a little, so you could accomplish your desire. He smiled softly, imagining you rising on your toes, trying to reach him. He bent down a little more.

You felt his skin was tight in a lip closed smile. You slowly parted your lips from him, but Alastor put his fingertips on your chin, not letting you move aside from him, and then led your lips to his.

Alastor pressed his lips to yours, harder than you and braver. He made a step forward, with one hand still holding your chin and the other one placing on your waist, and you appeared sitting on the chessboard again. The remained pieces tumbled down, and like through the water you heard worried voices and exclamations in the corridor. You could feel his smile getting wider when suddenly something cut your lower lip. It made you gasp and finally open your mouth, letting his tongue slip inside, so he captured your oral entirely. You moaned into his mouth, and Alastor gripped you tighter. He tiltied his head slightly, when you cupped his face in your soft palms and caressed his cheeks. Now you heard a low moan.

The voices became louder and more anxious, and the door-handle began to tremble. Into your cotton mind a thought creeped that it had to be the residents of the hotel, trying to open the door and see why what was going on in the room.

You were short of air, but a thought of parting from Alastor seemed terrifying. His tongue explored your oral hungry, intertwining with your own muscle. Now both his hands held you by your waist and pushed you closer to him, and you could feel and hear his heartbeat against yours. You heard another piece beating against the parquet, and something or someone hitting against the door.

You threw your head back just slightly when Alastor parted his lips from yours. His hands held your hips, eyes shining as bright as the hell moon, red and blinding. He breathed hard just like you.

Next moment the door was opened, and a group of worried demons, and one angel with a spear, burst into the room. Alastor stood already aside from you, close enough to hold you again, but far enough to stay unsuspected. You stood in front of the table among the fallen chess pieces, red as a blooming rose.

“What happened? Why you didn't opened the door?” Vaggie ran to you, ready to spear the man next you.

“Are you okay?” Charlie appeared from your right, “We heard a quarrel and then a sound of falling something,” She glanced on the floor.

“What have you done?! It's bad bad bad bad!” Niffty rushed around the table, picking up the pieces and examining the floor for scratches.

Husk glared at Alastor, who didn't take his eyes from you not for a second, since the door was opened.

Trying not to step on the pieces and shifting his face from you to Alastor, Angel came closer, “Jeez, toots! Seems like ya spent a really good time together!” You still bit your lip, hiding blood on it, and your bashful look couldn't hide from Angel's gaze. “What’s happened here?”

All the gaze turned to you, and unconsciously you moved back, bumping into Alastor.

“Nothing! We played a game and I won!” Amused looks on you. “And then we actually had a little quarrel, but now we resolved everything, so no worries, guys!”

A huge palm, so familiar to you, lay on your shoulder.

“Not everything, dear, you still have to convince me that you can checkmate me without your lie.” He stressed the last three words, lowering his voice.

“You cheated?” Angel exclaimed.

“I didn't.”

“O-ho-ho! Call it whatever you want, sweetheart, but you still owe me a game. A true game.” His dark gaze was fixed on you, hands squeezing your shoulder and you couldn't take your eyes away from his gleaming eyes. Everyone eyed on you in silence. “Now, my curious friends, there is really nothing to worry about, so you can get back to your affairs!”

Angel cocked a brow, and Husk sighed heavily. Niffty tried to find a lost Queen, and only her tiny waving legs were seen from under the sofa. After you convinced everybody once again that you were absolutely fine (and your lip was bit by you, because of a brainstorm during the game), and Niffty found all the pieces and no scratches on the parquet, you were alone with Alastor again. The crackling in the fireplace was the only sound in the room.

“Now, my dear, I have to go. Duty calls!” And before he left the room he leaned to you and said in low,” But, darling, when I come back the pieces must be on their places — Niffty always confuses the royals — because we play one more game tonight, according to the rules: a clock, a judge and a wish.” His eyes were scanning you and then he stretched his hand to you and wiped away the last red pearl from your lip just to lick it from his digit, causing a bright blush on your cheeks. “And don't you dare to fool me this time, dear.”

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

fun fact: this game in chess is based on my personal experience, when i pissed off a grandmaster by setting up pawns as a fence (it was my first day at the club, don't judge me, and!! he started it first, and i just imitated his actions, but he blamed me, and then he offered a draw) and when i won a cool player by randomly placing pieces on the board (i was so fucking tired that day, but i won, and the player said "i just couldn't understand what was your plan!" and was like "i didn't have any")

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor x you

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bookuce · 6 months ago

Text

Change My Mind

Songs that inspired:

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OC. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, and Alina is Alina. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Jey Uso x Black OC

TROPE: Friends to Lovers

WARNINGS: 👀 Language, Smut, 18+, NSFW

WORD COUNT: 2,604

PART THREE

PART FOUR

Maybe Alina was overreacting about Josh. This kiss they were sharing felt like she was wrong about every assumption she’s made about him, about them ever. One thing she knew for sure was that he was a great kisser—one of the best. Their tongues were engaged in a fierce battle for dominance before he broke the kiss. His lips would find her throat, leaving wet kisses in their wake. “Josh,” she breathes. He’d nip her skin, causing her to moan. “Nope, nope, nope.” She steps out of his embrace. “Don’t do that.” She warns, pointing her finger at him.

Josh didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying to catch his breath. That was intense, yet everything he expected it to be. She looks past him at the counter. All the drinks they needed were sitting there, ready to be brought back to their group. How long were they standing there? It couldn’t have been too long—but it felt like forever. Time ceased to exist, and they were the only two that remained. She reaches past him, grabbing her and Trinity’s drinks. Before she could step back, Josh gently wrapped his hand around her throat. He pushes his hand up into her chin, forcing her head back.

“One more.” He whispers at her. She involuntarily lets out a whimper at the action. Her body was responding in a way that disgusted her. It should not be this easy to make her submit to him. He’d press his lips to hers again, this time for a slower, more sensual kiss. She would kiss him back, a hum leaving her lips into it. If she could burst into flames right now, she would. Her entire body was hot, and Josh was the cause of it. He pulls back slightly before pressing three quick kisses to seal it. “Go on, with your fine ass.”

With the two drinks in each hand, Alina turns to make her way back to the group. She made slow strides, her balance failing her somewhat. Was it the alcohol or the fact that she was just kissed senseless by her best friend? Both? Definitely both. She neared their section, a goofy grin on her face. Everyone looked up as she arrived. “I...I have drinks.” She stutters. “Trin?” She hands the drink off to her friend, her hand shaking slightly. Jon watched, his brows furrowed.

“The hell is wrong with you?” He asks.

“Nothing,” She answers, avoiding his suspicious stare. Without further explanation, she turns away. As she was nearing her seat, Josh had turned the corner. Their eyes briefly met before he moved past her with the rest of the drinks. She moves to sit down, this time next to Austin.

Josh passed out the last of the drinks before turning to sit down. He pauses at the sight of Alina sitting next to Austin. “Girl, if you don’t get your ass over.” He snaps. Without any fuss, she moves for once. Alina would peer out to the open, taking baby sips of her drink. Jon was still observing the pair, his eyes now in squints.

“Y’all do a round of shots at the bar back there or what?” He asks. Josh drops onto the couch, his two beer bottles in hand. “Why y’all acting like that?”

“I-I’m fine.” Alina lies.

“As hell.” Josh says. Alina stifles a laugh. Josh is smiling at his lap. He brings the half-empty beer bottle up to his lips. The pair was intoxicated, and it was apparent.

“Okay?” Jon says, drawing his head back at the exchange. He was still confused.

“Y’all want to hit Waffle House after this?” Trinity asks. Josh’s eyes light up at the sound of Waffle House. “We’re all going.”

“Hell yeah, I want Waffle House,” Josh says excitedly.

“I’m going to bed after this,” Alina answers. The Samoan, seated by her, glances in her direction before looking at his twin and sister-in-law. He begins to shake his head.

“Maybe some other time, Uce.” He says, changing his mind. Alina represses yet another laugh, her hand coming up to her mouth. She shakes her head, bringing her glass to her lips. Josh was going wherever Alina was going after this, it seems. He’s already decided, and she wasn’t going to stop him. Gionna lowers her eyes at the drunken couple before looking at Jon. His eyes were wide open again but shifting back and forth between Alina and Josh. Josh leans into Alina, a toothy grin on his face. “Can I go home with you?” He whispers at her. She nods but never meets his gaze.

“Oh, y’all are fucked up.” He finally realizes.

“I’m fine!” Lina shouts.

“The finest!” Josh exclaims, making Alina laugh again. She turns to him, playfully swatting his bicep. “How bout in the AM, Uce?” He asks his brother.

“It is the AM, fool,” Jon says.

“I meant when the sun is up.” He corrects himself with a nod.

“We hungry like right now, though,” Jon says.

“Me too.” Josh agrees, winking at his brother.

Trin looks up, her lips pursed and brows furrowed. “See, you being nasty.”

Josh bites his tongue, a large smile spreading across his face. He was definitely being nasty. As soon as Alina says she’s ready to leave this place, he’s running out of there with her thrown over his shoulder. Alina peers over her glass at Trinity before tilting her head back to finish her drink.

“Well, we finna head out.” Jon says, standing up. Everyone except for the two drunk ones would follow suit, lining up behind Trin and Jon.

“I ordered you an Uber,” Gionna says to Alina. “It’ll be here in five.” Always a considerate friend, that one is. Alina would give her a friendly smile before mouthing the words thank you. Gigi leans down, hugging her friend. Josh would stand to his feet to hug his brother and sister before turning to hold his hand out for Alina. She’d take it, allowing herself to be pulled from the couch. The party would exit the club to their next destination in a single file line, leaving Josh and Alina in their section alone.

“Let’s get out of here.” He says. She gladly agreed.

—------------------------------------------------------------

The ride back to Alina’s hotel was everything but peaceful. Before they left, they had a few more drinks for the road. In the car, Josh’s hands and mouth were all over her, grabbing and pulling at her in ways he couldn’t at the club. She felt terrible for their driver, who could hear every giggle, gasp, and moan this man pulled out of her. They’d stop in front of the building, rushing out of the backseat. Alina would lead Josh out of the car before he’d toss her over his shoulder. She let out a squeal, clinging onto his back. “Josh!” She shouts as they enter the hotel lobby. Laughter from the inebriated woman would fill the space. The front desk clerk would watch them with confusion for a moment before returning to their duties. It wasn’t an unusual sight while working here.

Josh approaches the elevators that lead to the rooms above. The doors open, and he steps in. “Where we going?” He asks her.

“Eighth floor,” She says, lifting up on his back. “Put me down.” She requests, wiggling in his arms until he has no choice but to put her on her feet. She stumbles back against the elevator doors, laughing softly at the impact. Josh would laugh with her, now leaning against the right wall of the elevator.

“You good?” He asks.

She nods. “Yeah—!” Just as she spoke, the elevator doors opened, and she fell through. She’d let out a squeal as she hit the floor. The laughter from the pair would only get louder. He steps through.

“Come on, girl.” He says, leaning down to grab her. He’d get her nestled in his arms before stumbling back against the wall behind him. They needed to make it to her room quickly before the noise complaints ensued.

“Room 828,” She informs him. He’d begin to walk, his eyes scanning each door label. They’d make it to the end of the hall by the time they found her room. He’d put her down on her feet again, allowing her to search her wallet for her keycard. Once she located it, she’d unlock the door. Josh wasted no time rushing her into the dimly lit room.

Their lips were on each other’s again in a heated exchange. Alina would walk them backward toward the bed, her fingers tangled in red curls at the nape. One after another, she’d kick off her heels. His fingers would find the zipper on the back of her dress, making quick work of her outfit. The strapless black midi dress she wore would pool at her ankles. She’d step out of it, and he would kick it to the side. Her fingers find the edge of his shirt and pull it over his head. Once the shirt was off, she tossed it to the side to join her dress.

There was a look on Alina’s face, one that resembled the same stare she had when she gave Josh a taste of her drink. She’d climb onto the bed backward, all while holding his gaze. She reaches behind her back, unhooking the black, strapless bra she wore. Her full breasts would drop from the wired undergarment, the cool air causing her nipples to harden quickly. Josh would watch in awe of the woman. “Come here.” She commands. Like a sailor to the sea at the song of Sirens, he was moving towards her. He’d stop at the edge of the bed, his eyes fixated on her. Alina leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Her hands wrap around his traps and come forward, trailing lightly over his chest. “How bad do you want me, Joshua?” She presses another kiss to his lips. “Hm?” She asks.

His body responded to her touch just as it was supposed to, with goosebumps and twitches. Her hands would graze his abdomen, stopping at the top of his pants. His hands would come up to grab at her ass, but she would reach around to remove them. She shakes her head at him. “You don’t get to touch me yet.” She purrs. Her hands find his belt, quickly unfastening it. “Use your words in the meantime.” She whispers against his lips. She presses another soft kiss to them, this time while unbuttoning his pants. She’d flatten her hand against his lower abdomen before slipping it into his boxer briefs. Her hand would wrap around the growing bulge, causing the man in her hands to shudder slightly.

“Fuck…” He breathes.

“Mhm?” She hums. “Go on.”

Josh chuckles softly. “You playing with fire.” He warns her, his voice heavy.

“What are you going to do about it?” She asks, curious. She leans into his left ear. “Lose your temper with me like you do with the men that try to talk to me.” She whispers. “I can take it.” She’d capture his earlobe with her teeth, tugging at it. She begins stroking his cock at a slow, agonizing pace.

“I’m sure you can.” He responds, his eyes fluttering behind thick lashes. Her lips would find his throat, latching onto the side of his neck. She’d nip at his skin, sucking on it hard enough to create a mark. It would be the first of many tonight.

Alina’s left hand would continue to stroke the length of Josh. She could feel it throb beneath her fingertips. “I got a question.” She asks, pulling him out of the lusty haze he was starting to get lost in.

“Hm?” He moans.

“Are you my man?” She asks. His hips slightly jerk at the question, causing her to smile. “Are you?” She asks again.

“Shit, I better be.” He husked, opening his eyes. They’d watch each other through half-open eyes. “You been mine.” He breathes. Her hand would pause in the middle of his shaft, her hand still wrapped firmly around it. Alina would lean in, teasing him with the thought of her kissing him. Her lips would brush his, and he’d catch it between his teeth. She pulls back, forcing him to tug and release her lower lip. She’d giggle at him. “You don’t believe me?” He asks. She shakes her head, now briefly biting her own lip.

��Change my mind.” She whispers.

The moment the words left her lips, Josh sprang into action. His lips would find hers with a ravenous hunger she’d yet to experience tonight. She moaned into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck. His arms would wrap around her voluptuous frame as he’d lift her. She’d quickly wrap her legs around his waist, pulling her hips in tight to his. His arms would drop from her body, but she would remain clinging to him. His hands were now pushing his pants past his hips. He’d shift on his feet, removing his shoes. Lastly, his pants would drop to his ankles. Josh was now wholly bare in front of her. The only thing between them now was the nearly ruined underwear Alina wore.

He’d lean over the bed, pressing Alina’s body into the mattress beneath them. His arms would move to unwrap her legs. When they came undone, he’d reach up to remove her arms. He places those above her head. Their lips would remain attached for a few moments before breaking this kiss. “I’ma change your mind and then some.” He promises, standing from her body.

Josh has waited a year and three months for this night—four hundred and fifty-four days, give or take a few. He’s thought one too many times about how it would go down and where they’d be. What would they be after this? Lovers? Friends? Friends that just happen to be lovers? The only thing he didn’t want to imagine was them being nothing. Not friends. Not lovers. Nothing. The last thing he could ever want is for her is to not be in his life.

He would take in the sight in front of him. A beautiful woman was sprawled across a bed, ready for him to do any and everything imaginable to her. If he could, he would take a picture and have it framed in his home. His eyes would finally land on the black, lacy underwear that obscured Alina’s lower body. He’d reach forward, wrapping his fingers around the elastic waistline. Eagerly, he begins to tug them down her body. She’d lift her hips for him to get them over her ass, but in the end, he would lift her legs to pull them off completely.

To be funny, he’d draw the panties back, slingshotting them across the room. Alina would let out a cackle, her hand covering her mouth. “You better hope I can find those in the morning.” She tells him.

“You ain’t gonna need them.” He tells her. Josh would spare her one last glance before burying his head between her legs. Alina would push her hips into the mattress at the feel of his tongue lapping at her folds. Her breath hitches at the sensation, her hands finding their home in his dark curls. Fingers curl around thick locks, tugging gently at them. Her hips would begin to wind against his face, which would earn her a core-rumbling hum from the man between her legs.

Though the night was nearing its end, and daylight only a couple of hours away, their night had just begun.

PART FIVE

———————————————————————————

A/N: I ain’t wrote smut before so i’m sorry if that was mid 😭 I was trying to focus on them as individuals sharing a first than the actual nitty gritty, you know?

Y’all know what to do, bro 😭 If you need me i’ll be in the corner crying LMAO

🏷️ list: @siriuslycee @thesamoanqueen @empressdede @reci1996 @paigereeder @pytbgeezy @whatdoeseverybodywant @southerngirl41 @sayyestoheav3nn @wrestlingprincess80 @venusesworld @fearlesschimera @tbmotw @yana3sworld @truefant4sy @sisinever @alichesmi @cyberdejos2 @trashbin-nie @meannaim

#jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x oc #main event jey uso #wwe fanfiction #jey uso fanfic #wwe fic #jey uso smut #Spotify

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unofficial-writing · 8 months ago

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Promise

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe the tiniest ounce of angst, so much fluff I’m sick

Summary: After the battle you two stumble upon the mirror of Erised and now’s a good time as any to propose.

Word count: 856, short and sweet

༺═────────────═༻

You stood back by the doorway, gazing out the slim hole in the stone. Dirt and blood painted your face, likely covering smaller wounds that hadn’t been tended to yet. Even with your current appearance, Fred was completely taken by you.

His lips turned into a smile, allowing his eyes to move drift away from his girl to scan the room. “As surprising as it is, I’ve never been here before.” He announced, his green eyes landing on the object in the center of the room. A tall golden mirror. It shined as if it were new, yet had a weathered look to it at the same time.

“I haven’t either.” You responded, turning on your heels to catch up with Fred, who moved around to the front of the mirror. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket— which was surprisingly still on his person after all that had happened. It seemed so long ago that he was at his desk, engraving “I promise” onto the inside of it.

Fred stood before the mirror, seeing both you and him in horrible shape. You were both bruised, bloody and exhausted. But despite all that, your smile never failed. Smaller but never gone. The sight of it summoned a warm feeling to his chest.

He turned away from the mirror, glancing at you just in time to see your expression completely change. Your mouth fell open, staring at your reflection in awe.

Confused, he followed your eyes and his heart jumped at the picture. It had completely changed. Where you both were looking practically homeless, you now stood completely cleaned up. Fred was in a sleek black suit staring down at you— you. Oh my god, you were breathtaking. You were in a flowing white dress, a vale draped over your h/c hair and the biggest smile he had ever seen.

His lungs failed him. Seeing you in a wedding dress sparked thoughts. Just the thought of getting to marry you made his head spin.

“Are you seeing this?” The real you took his focus back, but he could only nod. “They’re beautiful! Are they ours?” His brows furrowed and your question and he pulled his eyes back down to you.

“Who?”

“Well, probably the little ginger you’re carrying! And the one George has over his shoulder.” You went on describing the scene and it sunk in what you saw. Both of you saw the perfect future together. it made his mind drift to the ring he carried.

He slipped his hand back into his pocket for it, hesitant. You smiled up at him, making up his mind for him. Throwing his big plans out the window, he pulled the ring out gently, as if it could break under his touch. “Y/n.” He started, glancing from the ring to its future wearer.

“This is less extravagant than I had hoped it would be.” He was aware that his tone gave away how nervous he was but you didn’t care. You were shocked and through your face, that was given away too.

“Since we’ve met, we’ve probably been through more than most couples, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. During these past few years, I’ve fallen in love with you in every way possible.” Your smile was brighter than the one in the mirror.

“I want to be yours as long as I’m alive, if you’ll have me.” Fred beamed. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

You were pretty much in tears now, which immediately prompted him to copy you. “R-really?” You got out. You didn’t even wait for a response before dropping to your knees with him and throwing your arms around him.

Fred managed to get out an emotional laugh, as your shaking body settled into his arms. You lifted your head to meet his eyes but he interrupted and pressed close to a thousand kisses all over your face, finishing with a sweet kiss to your lips.

To you, this was all you wanted. Whatever Fred’s elaborate plans were didn’t matter at all to you. You were overjoyed to be able to marry him. After all the jokes and teasing, it was finally real.

“Looks like I’m finally going to be a Weasley.” You smiled at your new fiancé, who pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you.

He exaggerated a sigh. “We’re gonna have to dye your hair now.”

“Absolutely not.” You replied while Fred slid the ring onto your finger.

“We’ll see, love.” He teased, running his fingers through your hair. You kissed the spot just under his ear and buried your face there.

There were a few moments of silence as both of you processed. Fred breathed deeply, holding you tightly. “I’m yours, Y/n.” He whispered, smiling when you melted into his embrace.

“Forever?” Your voice sounded like music in his ears.

“Forever.” Fred responded, brushing his thumb over the ring, which was now occupied by your delicate finger. “I promise.”

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #harry potter fic #weasley twins #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fandom #Weasley twin fic

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emeritusemeritus · 1 year ago

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Can we ever just be friends? [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: Can we ever just be friends?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader, Platonic!George x Reader.

Timeline: Non-Specified, though I envisioned GOF era Fred (the long hair has a chokehold on me)

Summary: Can boys and girls ever be friends without wanting to shag? Ginny wants to know.

Warnings: Mentions of shagging? Slightly possessive Fred? Just a silly little drabble.

“Dean tried to kiss me!” Ginny says with a roll of her eyes as she plonks herself down next to you on the couch in the common room. It was a boring Saturday afternoon at school with no Hogsmeade trip planned and so you were wasting time in the common room with your group of friends.

Hermione was sat on one of the armchairs reading, Harry and Ron were in a fierce battle of wizard’s chess sat around the wooden coffee table, their board and pieces littered all around. Your best friends George and Fred were sat on the floor near your feet, fiddling with some new experiment they were working on whilst you read your muggle book in relative piece.

You turned to Ginny with a confused look, sensing her displeasure at the fact Dean had tried to kiss her.

“I thought you liked Dean?” You asked, placing down your book.

“I like him as a friend,” she huffed, “but I thought we were friends, not anything more.” You hummed in reply, understanding what she was saying.

“What’s the issue?” Ron asks, confused. She huffs again and rolls her eyes at her brother’s cluelessness.

“I thought we were just friends, he was nice to me, all this time we’ve spent and he was just a slimeball the entire time! Boys are so frustrating!”

“Woah woah!” George says, trying to defend himself from being lumped together just by his sex, “we’re not all slimeballs.”

You fix him with a look of suspicion, knowing for a fact he was not above slimeball level and he merely sarcastically smiles back at you.

“Oh really?” Ginny says, not believing him one bit. “We’ve been best friends with y/n for years, haven’t made a move on her yet,” George says and you roll your eyes, holding up your middle finger at him.

“So you really think boys and girls can be best friends without wanting to shag each other?” She asks, still not convinced.

“Yes,” George says, nodding.

“No,” Fred says absently, realising a moment later that he’d said that out loud as he looked at you with slightly wide eyes at his outburst. You’re frozen as you look back at him, your own features conveying your surprise.

George coughs, trying to ease the sudden tension but it only seems to increase the awkwardness as you and Fred stare at each other.

“I’m gonna say no too,” you admit, smirking at Fred who bursts out into a smile, a light blush tickling his cheeks. He recovers quickly and shoots you a wink before turning back to his project, each of you following his lead as you try to carry on like normal once again, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Oh thank god,” George says sarcastically, turning to you, “now we can shag without me feeling like a slimeball.”

He’s immediately hit in the back of the head by his slightly older twin brother as you laugh.

“Get your own best friend to want to shag, she’s mine,” Fred mumbles, “I hear Lee’s free if you need someone.”

#emeritusemeritus #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #fred Weasley Drabble

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angelwhisp3rs · 9 months ago

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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ nuance

Pairing: DI!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Always at eachothers throats, they just don't know they've been doing that in a lot of ways.

Tags: Smut; fluff; p in v; oral (m); i imagined reader being 23-25 and leon in his late thirties; breeding kink; brush play (shh its hot don't judge it); reader is called bunny; daddy kink; enemies to ???; leon is a perfect soft dom; clit spanking;

Notes: hehe older leon makes heart go brr; also: i changed the characters in the header, bc jasmine and alladin looked whitewashed (i always put a filter on the header to tone down the colors on the collage bc i always think they look like a hot mess unfiltered). I wanted to apologize and explain to clear any misunderstanding, and i'm sorry to have ever caused any doubts, i aim to make this a safe space for everyone!

Minors do not interact!

Whenever they went on the field, the rest of the agency always wondered how they came back alive, seeming as if they could, they would the other by their own hands, no need for bio-weapons. They were always bickering, Leon with his cocky ways, and her with her serious and diligent one.

No one ever understood how they worked, but their results never lied: a mission that usually took weeks, was successfully squashed in days; their cases solved higher than anyone else’s in the whole organization.

Everyone kept teasing Leon for working with a “human leash”, while the women teased her for not trying anything with him, since he was so ‘perfect and dreamy’ - their words, she would rather be dead than ever say that.

It always bothered him how she was too correct. Always with a bun in her hair, and her squared glasses, she hated whenever they didn’t follow her plans, believing that Leon definitely had a death wish, and was pulling her into a suicide mission every time.

In her case, it bothered her that he was a show-off, always doing way more than it was needed, just to prove how “awesome” and “skilled” he was. While fighting with an infected with chainsaws, instead of just walking back, he just did a fucking flip. Why?? He saved the president’s daughter, for fucks sake, there was no need to prove people that the was the goat. That encounter always made her seethe, since when he ended the battle, she only looked baffled at him as his cocky smirk never fell once from his stupid, and way too handsome face.

On the field and in life, they always had their differences, wondering everyone how they kept being scheduled together, but with the interesting thing that life is, they managed to find just one place where they could meet their interests.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

“Just like that, bunny”, he grunted breathless, hips moving to meet her face, holding her hair in place.

Fucking her pretty throat as her eyes got teary, he felt how thigh and warm it always was, always begging to be fucked with his big cock. Her hair was down, her cheeks all blushy and she behaved beautifully on her knees, Leon sitting on his bed as he drilled into her sweet hole.

“Love fucking you like this. Always the perfect way to celebrate the end of our missions”

She whined in agreement, her face wet, as her spit coated his member and his heavy balls, since he hadn’t fucked his pretty toy in so long. She gagged and rolled her eyes back, loving being used as a fuck doll, seeing that hunk lose himself in pleasure as he used her smaller body.

“G’nna give my bunny her favorite meal”

He grunted out, cumming in her throat and making her swallow it all, watching as a line of spit connected her abused lips and the pink head of his fat cock. He had a relieved and proud smile as he panted, pulling her up to sit on his lap and pressing kisses to her overworked lips and sensitive neck.

“So proud, baby. Daddy's little throat sleeve, aren't you? Gonna reward you for being such a good little girl”

He spread her legs as she sat on his lap, her hips squirming on his hold, making him hiss as she ground her perfect ass on his spent and sensitive member. At that, he slapped her right thigh, making her whine.

“Don't make me punish you, bunny. Daddy just wants to play properly with his toy”

“Too needy, daddy, ‘m sorry”

Leon taking pity on her, managed to lock her legs apart with his strong ones, letting his fingertips travel through her soft skin.

“I know, baby girl. Bunny always needs her little cunt to be played with, and I've been neglecting you, hm? Don't worry, gonna reward you for being such a good doll for me”

With a slight and feathery touch, he caressed her thighs, moving up to the top of her mound, and descending to her wet and puffy cunt.

“Will you let me stretch and play with this hole, baby? Till you are too sore to close your legs?”

She whined in response, nodding eagerly.

“Yeah, it's gonna feel so nice, isn't it, bunny? Then, I'll use you some more since you are gonna display yourself so nicely for me”

As he said his filthy words, his teasing fingers began to softly touch her pussy up and down, just barely there. She was creamy for him as if he taught her pussy to get ready for his thick dick.

She tried inching her hips up, desperate for more friction, but he put his fingers away, slapping her clit. This made her keen and throb around the air, the pain feeling welcoming on her puffy, wet button.

“Fuck… I knew you were gonna enjoy that. Little sluts love to feel pain, right? And I just got the prettiest one to play with”

He spanked her cunt again, making her sob at the friction, her hunger heightening tenfold since it's been weeks since she felt any contact at all.

“Daddy, please… need you to play with my pussy”

“Behave and I will then”

Taking pity on the girl, his fingers circled her clit with a little more pressure than the last time, his other hand scissoring her lips open to grant direct contact with her. She moaned and tried to keep her hips from moving, squirming just a little as his fingers brought her into delirium.

“Good job, bunny. Let me use you, daddy's just gonna appreciate his bunny's little cunt.”

He stayed like this for minutes, till she creamed on his fingers, her thighs almost cramping from being spread like that. After she came, he massaged her legs, kissing her cheeks and jaw.

“That's it, baby, made me so proud. I know you are sensitive, but can daddy play with you some more?”

He asked as he pinched and rolled her erect nipples, making her clench again around nothing as she squirmed on top of him. She nodded, and he grabbed something from his nightstand that she couldn't see.

“Saw this on a video and almost came in my pants. Kept imagining myself playing with my baby like that as she made a mess”

He moved her to lay comfortably on the bed, letting her spread her legs again. He pressed an adoring kiss to her clit, making her moan. He chuckled, groaning at her taste on his lips.

“As much as I wanna eat this pussy, don't wanna overwhelm you. Later I will, angel”

Then, he grabbed what he had hidden from her sight: a makeup brush. The bristles looked soft, with a round top. She looked at him curious and kinda unsure: is he seriously planning to fuck her with his thin thing?

He chuckled at her reaction. “Not gonna do what you think I will, doll. And I promised I washed it thoroughly before you came, I didn't want to harm you. Do you trust me?”

She nodded, and it was the truth. As she trusted him with her life on the field, she trusted him to heighten their pleasures to highs she had never felt. She was always pleasantly surprised whenever he planned something new, so she trusted him to make it good.

Sensing her newfound trust, he tentatively toyed with her clit as he brushed it gently, her hips twitching at the new feeling, not feeling bad at all.

“Good, bunny?”

“Yeah, daddy”

Glad with her approval, he kept “brushing” her cunt as if he was a painter making his new masterpiece. He always pressed the item firmer on her swollen little clit, watching as her slick gathered on the item and her entrance.

He grunted at her moans and the sight. The video was hot, sure, but seeing this in front of him made him want to go crazy and fuck his cock into the sheets like a fucking teen.

She was sensitive already from the spanks and his fingers, and now the soft bristles made her pleasure skyrocket. He began rolling and going back and forth with it, and she knew that she was done.

“D-daddy!”

“That's it, baby, cum again. Let daddy keep having his masterpiece”

She groaned and held tightly onto the pillow underneath her head, legs shaking but not daring to close as he played with her, her heartbeat quickening by the second.

Soon enough, she came hard, seeing stars. It wasn't a completely different feeling or a potent sex toy, but the novelty and thought behind it made it so hot that she swears that she almost passed out.

He kissed up her legs, letting her lay down on her side as she shivered in pleasure, moving behind her and hugging her.

“That good, bunny?”

“Y-yeah, fuck. Don't even know why” She giggled, her mind pushed deeply into that sweet and welcoming submissive place her job never allowed her to reach, but the asshole behind always granted her.

“It looked even hotter to see. Cock throbbed so much I thought I would cum untouched.”

“Maybe you are losing your hand, daddy”

“Says the shaking bunny from a mere brush”

She giggled, turning her head back and kissing him. Her gentle hands moved to his hair to let her fingers caress it as his strong and big hands push her more into him, trying to be patient but his cock screamed for attention.

“Daddy, want more” She begged between the kisses.

“So do I, bunny. Let my fat dick kiss your womb, baby”

He raised her leg to his hips, allowing both to keep spooning as he gently slid his shaft in her, groaning at her wetness and warmth. He put his foot down on the bed to use as leverage, and as he held onto her flesh, he began thrusting.

The position was so intimate that it made his mind think things that he never had before. And honestly, it made his heart ache the same way it had done previously with Ada. Fuck, he didn't want to think about that now.

He fucked her harder to make him forget about it, which wasn't hard since that was the first opportunity he had, other than her great blow job, to properly blow his load inside his bunny's hole.

She held tightly onto his hand, the other one supporting her leg up too, as she screamed and drooled in pleasure, completely cock drunk. He groaned at his baby's situation and moved his hand to her abused clit to rub it again.

“Can't hold it, you were so hot, baby… gonna blow my load deep into that delicious” thrust, “wet” another thrust, “thigh” another one, “cunt” he thrust harder.

She was babbling nonsense, feeling the welcomed pressure on her lower tummy again, begging him to cum in her and breed his bunny. Her voice and pussy tightening around him made Leon feel like he was about to explode, so he kissed her roughly.

Both came together as they shared a kiss, her legs shaking as they felt him coating her gummy walls with his much-needed cum. He gently lowered her leg, staying inside her as he kissed her neck, tending to her gently to not make her drop.

Sex was always the best way to find a middle ground, after all. Maybe tomorrow they would be back at screaming in each other's faces, but with their voices just a little strained, since right now they only wanted to scream in pleasure.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #leon x reader #leon smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy death island

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erikahenningsen · 20 days ago

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I love your rejanis prompts 🥹 the Leighton/alicia one made me crave bitchy regina lol

Can you do one where they’re at a college party and some frat bro hits on her and she goes off on them, but then some girl on the (your sport of choice) team hits on Regina and she is all baby gay and clueless until Janis points it out to her?

Sometimes Janis wonders if there is anyone who actually enjoys parties, aside from the perpetually inebriated frat bros and jocks who wouldn't know culture if it snapped their lacrosse sticks in half.

But Regina insists on dragging Janis to these dumb parties that she says she has to attend to, like, represent her sorority or something. As if any school-sanctioned organization looks favorably upon rampant underage drinking and likely about ten different fire code violations.

Someday, Janis promises herself, she'll learn to resist Regina's pouting lips and pleading eyes.

Someday.

Janis is following Regina through the house, the air hot with the number of people crammed inside, when a guy in a backwards baseball cap steps in front of Regina, blocking her passage.

"Hey," the guy says, smirking in a way that he likely imagines is charming. "What is your name?"

"Don't worry about it." Regina tries to move past him. but he moves in front of her again.

"Hey, come on," Baseball Cap says. "I'd tell you you're beautiful but beauty comes from the inside, and I haven't been there yet."

Janis gags audibly, and the guy gives her a dirty look. It takes everything Janis has not to pull Regina into a kiss and stuck her tongue down her throat right in from of this guy.

"And you look like you can be bought in bulk," Regina snaps. "Seriously, I've seen at least ten of you tonight. Leave me alone."

Janis bites her lip to keep from jumping in. Regina hates it when Janis fights her battles for her. As if Janis could ever do that.

The smirk on the guy's face morphs into a sour expression. "Whatever, bitch."

Janis bites her lip harder.

"Nice to meet you, too," Regina says, shoulder-checking him as she passes him. Janis does the same, for good measure.

"Are you okay?" Janis murmurs to Regina, as quietly as she can while still being heard.

Regina raises an eyebrow and jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "What, because of him? I'm fine. I need another drink, though."

"Alright," Janis says. She trails after Regina to the kitchen, where every conceivable variety and brand of alcohol litters the counters.

Regina grabs two cups and starts mixing, and Janis lets her—whereas Regina is so picky with her drinks, Janis will drink anything so long as it isn't contaminated.

A tall, lithe girl with long, wavy, dark hair wearing a shirt so skimpy Janis isn't entirely sure it isn't underwear presses against the counter next to Regina, reaching for a bottle of strawberry vodka. Her skin is the kind of tan that comes from actually spending time outside. She's hot, and Janis has to admit that her younger self would feverishly stalk this girl's Instagram at three in the morning.

Wait. She has stalked this girl's Instagram. She's on the basketball team, the only school sport Janis attends. She's dragged Regina to games, but Janis isn't sure Regina ever looked at anything other than her phone.

"'Scuse me," the girl says, straightening up once she has the bottle in her hand.

Regina looks at her, but her slightly annoyed expression evaporates and she just... stares. "Fine," she says, not even getting out a full sentence.

The girl sets the bottle down on the counter and looks Regina up and down with a confidence Janis has only seen in... Regina.

"Hey," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Have we met?"

"No," Regina says. She's still holding the bottle of cranberry juice.

The girl smiles and briefly touches Regina's arm. "Well, it's my lucky night, then. I'm Haley."

"Regina," Regina says, finally having the sense to put the juice down.

"Nice to meet you, Regina," Haley purrs, eyes flicking down Regina's body briefly.

Janis crosses her arms. She's right fucking here, watching her girlfriend get openly hit on, and what is Regina doing?

Staring dumbly at this random girl like she's encountering other humans for the first time.

Someone shouts Haley's name across the room, and she turns to look at a couple of girls waving her over.

"I gotta go, but I hope to see you on the dance floor later, cutie," Haley says with a wink before excusing herself.

"Okay," is all Regina says.

"Um, hello?" Janis waves at Regina. "Remember me?"

Regina frowns. "What?"

"If some girl came up and hit on me in front of you, you'd be pissed," Janis says, raising her eyebrows. Regina's practically mounted her in a bar after a girl danced a little too close to Janis once.

"Huh? She was not hitting on me," Regina denies.

Janis's mouth falls open. "She was so hitting on you. Like, big-time."

Regina's frown deepens. "Are you serious? She was just being nice."

Janis throws her hands up. "How can you not tell?"

Regina looks at the doorway Haley left through uncertainly, biting her lip.

"Think of it this way," Janis says. "If she said all that to me, would you just be chill about it?"

Regina's eyes widen a little. "I... guess not. Sorry."

"She was hot, though, so I get it," Janis says. "Even if it was kind of rude that you just let her flirt with you right in front of me."

There is something almost comical about a girl flirting with Regina so brazenly, when Janis had to coax Regina out of the closet inch by inch, peeling back layers until she finally got to the soft, vulnerable, real Regina at the core.

"Would it make you feel better if I let you make out with me in front of that dickish frat guy?" Regina asks.

Janis shudders. "I fear he'd enjoy that too much."

Regina's nose wrinkles. "I think you're right."

"I'd be happy to make out with you in an alternate location, though," Janis says.

Regina smirks. "I know just the place."

#rejanis #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls the musical #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #regina x janis #ask #anonymous #prompts #this is my 100th mg prompt

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cherrycoloredfaith · 8 months ago

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BEAUTIFUL artwork for Kiss Off by my beautiful friend Ashley!!! she's so talented and beautiful thank you SO MUCH for being a part of this @ash-yuh

Kiss Off

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 5

Chapter 4

He left the bar first and set off down the road alone, getting to his car in a matter of minutes. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to breathe again. Driving aimlessly for nearly twenty minutes he realized he was leaving the city, going to the only other place he knew: Munson Construction. The storm clouds in his head that had vanished at the bar returned on the drive. The roads were dark, but the air was clearer out here, and Steve couldn’t get enough of it. The wind wrecked his hair, whipping it around as he took deep breaths. Steve wondered if he should just book it to Hawkins and give up on all this. Wondered if he was ever really meant to leave his hometown. Wondered if he really messed up and should have just married that girl from high school.

Parking in that same red dirt parking lot, he didn’t ask himself what he was doing because there was no point. He was going to wait it out, stay out of Robin’s hair and give her no reason to worry. Getting out of his car, he headed towards the front to lean on the hood and look out into the surrounding woods that reminded him of home. Except you could see right through them to the street lights beyond the thin cluster of trees. If he was in Hawkins, he could have looked out on a number of lakes within a few miles. Perfectly hidden and perfectly alone. Even out here, he could still hear distant cars from the busy highways, pulling him out of his reveries.

Steve wished he had a pack of cigarettes. Smoking never really tempted Steve until moments like these, where he was alone, searching for some sense of peace. Pausing, he remembered the key to the clubhouse sitting in his pocket.

Maybe Eddie had some in his locker or office somewhere? Would it hurt to take just one?

Steve tossed his keys in the air, caught them, and thought once again, fuck it, they gave him a key anyway, right?

A single light illuminated the steps going up to the door, the screen door slamming against Steve’s back as he bent to unlock the deadbolt. Once inside, he felt along the wall for a light switch and failed.

In the dark, his outstretched arms led his way around to the lockers, trying to use what little light came from outside the doorway. The red hard hat was the second locker from the right if his memory served him correctly, so once his hands made contact with the wall of open shelves, he started to rummage. He felt a small, soft cardboard box in the back of the highest shelf, thought, yes, and fumbled to open it in the dark. Just one.

Steve heard a creak of the floor and his head snapped up, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark hallway beyond that led to Eddie’s office. Nothing but pitch black.

Suddenly, a yell rang out–no, more like a battle cry. The lights came on in a flash, giving Steve just enough time to register the baseball bat swinging for his head. He cowered down, covering his face with his arms as he shut his eyes tight, preparing for the blow.

When none came, Steve peaked out of one eye at the scene before him. There stood Eddie, in Garfield pajama pants, bat still raised high, and hair coming out of its bindings–a look of utter confusion cast upon his face.

“Whoa, dude, what the fuck?” Steve exclaimed once he’d found his voice. Is this guy going to kill me?

“Me, what the fuck? No, you, what the fuck?!” Eddie retorted, not moving to lower the bat. He looked from Steve’s face to his hands where he still clung to the pack of smokes. “Did you come all the way out here for those? I could have told you where to get your own. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“No, Eddie, God, I was just–” Steve realized he didn’t have a good explanation for this situation other than the truth. “Look, my roommate needed me out of the apartment for a bit, I was just driving around, looking for somewhere to go and I ended up here.” He shrugged. “And I wanted something to do. What are you doing here?” Steve was pointedly not looking at Eddie’s silly pajama pants. The last thing he needed was to be punched by his boss for laughing at his sleepwear.

“Shit, well, no fucking point now,” Eddie sighed and rested the bat on his shoulder. “I live here, asshole.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he picked the first question that popped into his head. “Oh. So… do you normally go to sleep at 10:30 on Friday nights?”

Shutting his eyes, Eddie finally dropped the bat to his side, and Steve could breathe again. When he opened them again, he glared at Steve. “For your information, I was watching a goddamn movie.”

It finally clicked. “Why didn’t you say you lived here before? I thought that was your office,” said Steve, looking towards the dark hallway.

“Because not everyone knows. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, I just didn’t want to stay with Wayne anymore, and it was convenient. I pay him rent, but it’s nothing like what the city would cost me.” He looked defensive.

Steve just nodded, unsure of what to make of it all. Before he knew it, Eddie had walked back into his office–bedroom– and then returned with one shoe on his foot, the other in his hand, his bat nowhere to be seen. He hopped down the hallway trying to pull the other sneaker on.

“Alright,” said Eddie when he succeeded. “Come on, then.”

Steve didn’t move as he passed by, wafting a soft, sweet scent from his clothes. “Huh?”

“You need to waste some time, let’s waste it.” He was leading Steve through a door he hadn’t noticed before leading out of the kitchen. He grabbed a tin lunchbox as they headed outside. Steve followed as if on autopilot onto a surprisingly cozy, covered back porch, fit with a table, chairs, and even a couch and coffee table that made up for the missing furniture inside. It looked homey.

Eddie set the box down to plug in some string lights that provided enough illumination for them to see one another. They sat on opposite sides of the couch; once Steve saw Eddie prop up his feet, he did, too, hoping to give any semblance of a relaxed state–when, really, his heart was hammering in his chest.

When Eddie opened the lunchbox in his lap, Steve immediately got a whiff of what was inside, and he prayed a silent thank you to whatever fates led him here. Eddie looked over at Steve with a grin. “You seemed like you’d need something stronger than those.”

That was the second time Steve forgot about the cigarettes clutched in his palm; he decided to set them down and nod as a sign of his gratitude.

Then, Eddie started to roll his own joint as if he’d done this a million times. Steve even saw that he had proper rolling papers. He watched him with fascination while Eddie focused on his task. No words were spoken between them, but something about the silence felt comfortable. No, not comfortable, but… anticipating. Steve stared in awe at how relaxed he was, delicately licking the edge of the paper to hold it closed. Eddie’s hair was almost completely out of the low bun it was in and long strands dangled down, creating a curtain around his eyes. Steve had the urge to brush it aside.

“How’s the sunburn?” Eddie asked.

“The what?” Steve blinked out of his trance. His heart was pounding.

“Dude, you’ve got to snap out of it. Did I scare you that bad?” Eddie leaned in, searching Steve’s eyes for something.

“No, no, I’m fine, I swear. Thank you.” What was he thanking him for? Steve was screaming at himself on the inside, begging him to regain his cool. “I’m so sorry–for barging in like this. I can go, you don’t have to let me stay.”

“I know, Steve. It’s cool. To be honest it gets… a little lonely living out here, not being in the city. Your presence is welcomed, for now.” He shot Steve another smile and began to light the end of the joint. Steve starts to wonder if Eddie has already done this once tonight based on his low, honeyed voice, the slightest glaze over his eyes.

“Where’s Wayne’s?” wondered Steve.

“Closest suburb to the east of here. Not ten minutes down the road when there’s no traffic. I just needed some space to learn how to take care of myself, but still save some money.” He took a drag. “And to smoke without worrying about Mrs. Wheeler next door calling the cops,” he added, chuckling devilishly low as if it was something that actually happened.

Steve took the pass, inhaling deeply, trying to hide his little coughs. “What movie?” he asked as he stretched his arm back out for Eddie to take the joint from his hands.

Eddie looked over and laughed. “Can you speak more than two words at a time?”

Steve rolled his eyes and snatched his hand back, moving it out of Eddie’s grasp to take another hit. “Fine, fine! I mean, what movie were you watching before I broke into your house?”

“Technically you didn’t break in, you have a key.”

Steve flushed. “That’s another thing to get back to. Are you avoiding the question?”

“Never. I was watching Back to the Future 2,” he said matter-of-factly, chin held high as he took back the joint, fingers brushing Steve’s, sending a shiver up his arm. “Arguably, the superior of the two films. With triple the Michael Fox. ” Eddie looked up at the lights dreamily.

“Dude, what? You’re lying to me. The original is so much–wait, what?” he asked, caught off guard by Eddie’s last words.

He laughed, “Kidding, Harrington! So far, the original one reigns supreme.” He winked, but his gaze didn’t linger. “That was actually going to be my first time seeing it until…” he gestured to the two of them sitting on the couch.

The confusion Steve was experiencing at Eddie’s implications caused him to flush again. “Oh,” was all he said in response. Maybe he should ask him if he’s into guys. “So why give out keys to literally your home? Does everyone have them?” Steve screamed at himself in his head.

“Usually I don’t have to worry about anyone I work with thinking anything valuable is inside. Tonight I was sorely mistaken. And no, not everyone has one, but anyone needs to be able to get in, so…” Eddie shrugged. “It’s worked out for me so far. I keep my room locked too during the day, so don’t get any ideas.” He smiled.

Steve decided not to ask why he received one after his first day, and instead decided to change the subject. “My roommate wouldn’t really have kicked me out herself, but I knew she’d want the place since she was the only one getting lucky tonight.” Oh, God. Why did he have to bring that up?

“Ahhhh, are we in love with said ‘roommate’? Here on a feel-sorry-for-yourself evening escapade?” Eddie tilted his head to the side, peering at Steve through lidded eyes.

“No. Seriously, it’s not like that. She’s my best friend. We went to this place downtown… near Pennsylvania Avenue,” Steve was cautious with his words, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know. “I forgot the name. Do you know any bars over there?”

Eddie met Steve’s eyes, but his were unreadable. “Yeah, I know of one. Did they play a lot of dream pop?”

“Yes!” Steve exclaimed, trying not to sound too overly excited that Eddie picked up on a similar detail as him. And appeared to have visited the same bar as him. This probably meant he was cool, but he still couldn’t tell anything about him. He should just ask. “Yes, that one. Red door?”

Eddie nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Tell me more about her. Your roommate.”

Steve got lost in talking about his best friend for a moment. He was familiar with giving the usual exposition of how they met working at an ice cream parlor but had gone to school together for years. They were inseparable ever since, up until she graduated and decided to go to college, which Steve hadn’t got in. He was so grateful she was close by, but he always felt that he couldn’t follow. When Robin’s scholarship finally let her live off campus, Steve was elated to come join her somewhere new.

“So, she’s the whole reason why you're here?” Eddie asked.

“Kind of. She’s who really got me out of my hometown,” replied Steve, shrugging.

“Hmm, sounds like you might be in love with her…” Eddie repeated. “Why else would you want to move just to work such a shit job with such a shit boss?” He gestured to himself, topped with a sickly sweet smile.

“Seriously, dude, that ship has sailed. Or never even made it in the water. Or doesn’t even exist. I don’t–I don’t see her like that,” Steve answered, not sure if Eddie could pick up on what he meant. The weed was starting to cause his thoughts to swim around in his head. “This was the only job I got called back for.”

“Oh,” said Eddie. The joint had sat forgotten between his fingers as they spoke. Now, Eddie lit it once more, taking a drag. Instead of turning his head to blow the smoke away from Steve like he had before, he leaned in, locked eyes with him; he blinked slowly as he directed his exhale at Steve’s face in a powerful gust. Steve groaned, made a face and put up his hands, pretending to be bothered by it while his stomach did somersaults; he had to fight to not stare at his lips. “Guess Wayne was desperate, huh?” Eddie kidded.

“Hah, yeah, I guess so,” Steve nervously laughed to shake himself out of the trance Eddie put him in. He knew Eddie was reasonably joking, but it wasn’t far from what Steve suspected was the truth. But speaking the words out into the world of his failures didn’t hurt as much with the weed in his system. It didn’t feel so much his own fault as it was the nature of the outside world. Life outside a small town. Simple truths you learn as you age. Finding a job is hard, being gay is dangerous, etc.

A quiet silence fell over them as they finished those last puffs of the joint. It was comfortable, but Steve couldn’t help but feel the absence of the words between them. It was nearing midnight according to Eddie’s digital watch on his wrist. Was it really just hours before Steve overheard Eddie complaining about him? Saying he was going to “ruin everything”?

Steve jostled at the memory, the same concerns from before settling in. He had to ask.

“Eddie… What happened last summer?” Steve urged.

Their eyes met again. When did they get so close? Steve could see the expanses of Eddie’s brown eyes. They suddenly darkened, and it was as if Steve was being pulled forward ever so slightly.

Then, Eddie pulled his legs back, leaned forward, and propped his elbows on his knees, putting distance between them as if nothing had happened. He looked out to the darkness of the woods ahead.

“Nothing that actually concerns you. I’m sorry you heard me yell,” he revealed, defeated and ashamed. “This guy on my crew last year, he caused a lot of problems. Didn’t treat Max well either.”

Steve’s stomach flipped again; so Eddie was referring to him with that outburst. Steve wasn’t sure what this last guy had to do with him. He hadn’t caused any problems like that, right? He barely remembered what he did that day. Steve paused, taking in the information; he had that same feeling again, that there was more to be said about his guy, but before he could pry further, Eddie interrupted.

“Anyways, you might want to be heading back before it gets too late. You good to drive? I don’t have anywhere for you to crash,” asked Eddie.

Taken aback, Steve nodded, feeling dismissed. They stood to walk inside; Steve paused to assess how high he was only to find he was hardly buzzed. He was surprised, certain that he felt so much more a second ago.

Steve couldn’t tell what Eddie was thinking as his face was blank when they walked along a dirt path in the trailer to the front door. Eddie held it open for him as Steve tried to think of something to say.

“Thanks! For hanging out I mean, and the smoke.” Steve hoped he was successful at attempting to sound casual. In return, Eddie gave a familiar grin, nodding once and shutting the door behind him without another word.

Steve stood there for a moment, wondering why bringing up this guy set Eddie off so badly. He wished he could have stayed for longer, but it was getting late. Sighing, Steve brushed off his nerves and walked towards his car to head home.

As Steve drove that evening, despite abruptly being sent home, he couldn't help but to be hopeful. Steve could drop the whole last summer issue if Eddie could. He imagined himself enjoying himself at work, making Eddie laugh, making him proud. Becoming his friend. Really learning how to do the work. He smiled to himself as he walked up to his apartment. He didn’t even feel so lonely when giggling drifted up from under Robin’s door. Steve went to bed in his new room finally feeling a little at peace. He fell asleep to the image of Eddie’s smile behind his eyes.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #fanfic #art #kiss off fic #hehehehehhehehehehehe #steddie au

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year ago

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Moves & Countermoves (Part 17)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

“People of Panem, we fight, we-” Katniss freezes, staring at her own reflection. Makeup done, hair styled to perfection, holding up a stick for the camera. This isn’t real. This isn’t war.

“Does she know the line?” Plutarch asks, into the microphone, for all to hear.

“I know it.” Katniss shakes her head to clear it.

“She’s just warming up.” Effie explains. Even she has joined the effort, leaving behind her drab quarters for Katniss.

“Alright, let’s go again. Whenever you’re ready.” Plutarch instructs.

Y/N sways, soothing her tired infant to a sleepy submission on the opposite side of the glass. Daisy May is not fond of sleep, especially with the world bustling around her.

Katniss gets back down on one knee. This is take three.

“Maybe if you show her.” Cashmere whispers to Y/N.

“Might not be a bad idea.” Plutarch watches the mockingjay, with a hand to his head.

“Yeah?” Y/N is willing to try.

“Here,” Cashmere puts her arms out, “gimme the baby.”

Y/N looks down at her daughter, kissing her tiny nose and handing her off.

She fusses for a moment, in Cashmere’s hold.

“Shh,” the blonde coos, allowing the baby to take a fistful of hair. “It’s ok, my Daisy.”

The little girl sighs, closing her grumpy eyes, never letting go of Cashmere’s waves.

“Ok, Katniss, Y/N’s coming in to do a demonstration. Just follow her lead and we’ll go from there.”

“Yeah, ok.” Katniss’ eyes scan the reflective surface, searching for her.

A second later, her mentor pops through the connecting side door. She is not made up, or wearing some crazy outfit, her stylist squeezed her into; she is just Y/N. Somehow that is enough.

“I’m a method actor, obviously.” Loved her fake husband so much that their staged marriage became a real one.

Not that Haymitch is any better. Content to kiss the ground where she walks, if he couldn’t be with her.

The joke lands only with Plutarch and Cashmere. Katniss thinks she understands, but doesn’t find it all that funny.

“First thing’s first, I’m gonna move around a little, get the blood flowing, get that shortness of breath.”

Katniss moves with her, trotting in place like a show horse.

“Good, now we’ll go down on one knee.” Y/N demonstrates and Katniss follows. “Slowly and with some effort, I’m gonna rise to my feet.”

“Because you’ve just been in battle.”

“Exactly,” Y/N smiles, before her features harden.

She is a thousand miles away, just stormed the outskirts of the Capitol. The ease with which she shifts from one to the other terrifies Katniss.

“People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!”

Even with the wind and the stupid stick in Y/N’s hand, raised in the air, Katniss almost believes it. This is the type of person that fuels a rebellion.

She was the people’s victor. She won her own way, same as Haymitch. So Snow manacled them together and scarred them with his brand.

The more Katniss learns about Y/N the more her heart aches, for the indifference she held toward her for so long. To know her is to love her and it’s a shame that not many people ever did.

“Yes! That was perfect.” Plutarch exclaims, “Katniss, now you try it. Just like that.”

“O-ok,” Katniss stammers.

Y/N moves aside, switching places so that Katniss is on the pedestal.

Katniss repeats the words verbatim, copying Y/N’s performance as best she can. She only agreed to be the face of the revolution after seeing what happened to district twelve. After seeing the reaction to Peeta’s interview with Caesar, she knows this is the only way to protect him.

There’s a slow clap from the corner, growing closer until he steps into view. The top of his blonde hair covered by a dark knit hat. “And that is how a revolution dies.”

Katniss glares at Haymitch, his hand resting at Y/N’s waist, as if no time has passed between them.

“Is this how you greet an old friend?” Haymitch cocks his head to the side.

“Maybe I don’t recognize you sober.” Katniss bites out.

“I guess it looks as bad as it feels.”

Y/N turns to him, whispering something Katniss can’t make out.

He offers her a smile and a chaste kiss.

Katniss sees herself and Peeta. The way they might have been, ten years down the line. Peeta would love her like that…and she’d love him the only way she could.

It would bubble up and swell in her chest, until she burst. Just like Haymitch, pouring from an empty cup.

————————————————————————

Katniss sinks down in her chair, as the propo plays for the team. Wishing she could melt into it, disappear. No one’s going to buy this.

Y/N rubs at her back, “it’s not as bad as you think.”

“You’re right,” Haymitch cuts in, “it’s worse.” He’s always been a tough love kind of guy. Even with an infant strapped to his chest, he isn’t brimming with compassion.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “not helping.”

“Indulge me for a moment.” Haymitch holds both hands up in surrender. “Lets everybody think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you.” He moves to the digital display, in front of the meeting table. “One moment where she made you feel something real.”

“Ooo,” Effie waves a hand. “When she volunteered for her sister at the reaping.”

“Excellent example.” Haymitch uses his forearm to clear data from the screen. He’s observed enough of Y/N and her tablet over the years, this technology is no different. “Hope that wasn’t important.” He steals a glance over his shoulder, before scribbling in, ‘volunteer 4 sis,’ with the stylus.

“And when she volunteered for Y/N.”

“When she sang that song for little Rue.”

Haymitch adds it to the list. “You know Effie, I like you better without all that makeup.”

“Well, I like you better sober.” The woman says in return, causing Haymitch to glare at her.

“When she chose Rue for an ally as well.” Beetee chimes in.

“Now, what do all of these things have in common?”

“Nobody told her what to do.” Gale understands better than anyone.

“Unscripted,” Beetee agrees, “yes. So maybe we should just leave her alone.”

“And wash her face.” Boggs narrows his eyes, “she’s still a girl, you made her look thirty-five.”

Katniss smiles at this.

“The opportunities for spontaneity are obviously lacking, here below ground.” Plutarch points out. “So what you’re suggesting is that we toss her into combat?”

“I can’t sanction putting an untrained civilian into combat for effect. This isn’t the Capitol,” Coin argues.

“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Put her in the field.” Haymitch knows this is the only way.

“No, we won’t be able to protect her.” The president looks to Y/N now. Surely she is not onboard with this.

“It has to come from her, that’s what people respond to. You want a symbol for the revolution, she cannot be coached into it. Trust me, I know.” Haymitch presses on.

“He’s right,” Y/N sighs. “It’s not ideal but…it’s our only option.”

“Maybe there’s someplace less dangerous.”

“District eight, they sustained heavy bombings last week. No military targets left.”

“We can’t guarantee her safety.”

“You’ll never be able to guarantee my safety,” Katniss adds. “I wanna go.”

“And if you’re killed?” Alma’s words hang heavy between them.

“Make sure you get it on camera.”

————————————————————————

“You realize this is dangerous, let alone highly irresponsible.” Haymitch remarks, watching his wife load her gun. The bullets are color coded; black for regular, yellow are incendiary, and red for explosive. Though they’ve been asked not to fire the red ones down here.

“Yeah.” Y/N cocks the gun, squeezing the trigger and letting the bullet fly. She’s gotten better with practice, now hitting her target at dead center. “You don’t approve?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, Haymitch?”

“As your former mentor, I’m not inclined to advise you waltzing into a war zone.” You search for water. High ground, stay away from the cornucopia.

Y/N nods, “and as my husband?”

“I’m even less inclined.” Though his feelings for her have shifted over the years, the need to protect her is fierce and unwavering.

“I can’t lose Katniss.” Not like we lost Peeta.

“Yeah,” Haymitch huffs, “I get that.”

She sets down her weapon, on the steel table in the training room. “I’m a good shot.”

“You are.”

“I’ve been working on my stamina, I’m almost back to where I was before Daisy.”

Haymitch won’t deny it. “You’ve got good aim, you’re fast, resourceful and a little bit scrappy. You can survive in harsh conditions.” You’re my victor. “But there’s a hole in your uterus the size of a dinner plate.”

“Was,” Y/N corrects him. “The doctors cleared me for this.”

“I watched you almost bleed to death; twice. So you’ll have to forgive me for being reluctant to let you risk your life. I understand that this is important to you-”

She turns, cupping his cheek, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I wouldn’t want you to go either. I love you too much.”

Haymitch affords her a soft grin, “that always gets in the way, doesn’t it?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder, “somehow I just keep getting sucked in deeper.”

“You keep getting sucked in?” He chuckles. “I was perfectly content on my own for over a decade, before you put your hooks in me.”

At this she laughs, harder than she should. “Don’t make it sound so romantic now.”

Still his arms are around her. Y/N’s at the nape of his neck, toying with the hair that has started growing in with gray peppered throughout and makes him feel every bit his age.

Their lips meet, by her accord or his own; he can’t say for certain. Y/N bids him closer. Deeper, harder, more. I’m yours. Nothing more, nothing less…just hers.

“Stay off him!” Cashmere scolds from the entryway, effectively breaking them apart. “It’s like you’re trying to singlehandedly repopulate this hellhole.”

“Our contribution to this great nation,” Haymitch salutes her.

————————————————————————

“We’ve gotta be quick about this. Get in and get out.” Boggs orders, as they file out of the hovercraft. Nobody wants the mockingjay on the ground for long.

Introductions are brief. Commander Paylor, of district eight, shows them to the makeshift hospital.

Bodies of fallen civilians line the entrance, covered only by tarps. “There’s a mass grave, about two miles west. But I can’t spare the manpower to move them.”

This place is a breeding ground for infection. All the wounded in one place, nothing sterile in sight.

“Don’t film me in there. I can’t help them,” Katniss says to Cressida, as they move farther into the masses.

“Just let them see you,” the woman insists. She left the Capitol for this, she knows what she’s doing.

“Come on,” Y/N gives her shoulder a squeeze.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak but Y/N disappears into the crowd, helping nurse the wounded.

There is someone in the corner; no one tends her, she is alone and clearly suffering. A bucket of water, with a single sponge inside, sits beside her, bandages to the left.

“I’m surprised they let you out just to show face. Thought you were more important than that.” The woman from district eight says.

“I’m not here to show face. I’m here to support Katniss and what I believe in.” Y/N takes a seat, beginning to clean her wounds.

“You sure this is the side you fall on?” She chokes out. “There’s no fancy parties or big houses here.”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “I never liked the parties and the house wasn’t very homey. The only good thing about it was my family inside.”

“People used to look up to you.”

“That was a long time ago,” Y/N murmurs.

“They will again.” The woman is sure of it, “and when they do, make sure you’re ready. Make sure you stay on the right side of things.”

“I was just trying to survive, couldn’t see beyond that.”

“He’ll kill you for this.” President Snow. “For standing with us.”

Y/N nods, with a tired smile. “Yeah.”

“Then why are you here?”

“This is what I believe in…a new Panem. Where we are equals and have a say in our own lives. It’s worth the risk. It’s gonna take all of us, every person in every district, we all have to fight for it.”

The woman presses her lips together, allowing Y/N to dress her wounds. She says nothing else, looking up at the victor, from time to time. I see you.

It feels good to be seen, by a stranger who owes her nothing. Someone to see her without the tainted film of rose colored glasses.

————————————————————————

“How have things been since your release?” Dr. Aurelius inquires.

“Alright, I guess.” Haymitch is not here of his own free will. “Never gonna be good, given the prohibition you have going on around here. But I’d rather be with my family than locked up a mile away.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“My son’s name is Everest, he’s ten. My daughter, Arista is six and Daisy is four weeks old. Then obviously Y/N and her family. Katniss.” Peeta.

“Were they planned? The children.”

“Yes and no.” Haymitch scrubs a hand over his face.

“Can you explain what that means?”

“I don’t want…” Haymitch pauses, “our children are not burdens, Y/N and I have always said that. Those kids are everything and I don’t want that getting twisted. Ever.”

“Of course.”

“Snow gave us deadlines and we met them. With Everest and Arista, we had a year. In that year Y/N needed to be pregnant.”

“But not Daisy?”

“They screwed around with Y/N’s birth control. We’re fertile people, it doesn’t take much.” Haymitch admits.

“And your marriage, would you call it a happy one?”

“Yes, by my account. But I’m sure she’s told you all about me.” This is a joke, for the most part.

“I can’t say much, as it would be a breach of confidentiality. Still you should know, she speaks highly of you. She loves you very much.”

Haymitch drops his gaze.

“Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere.” Haymitch brushes it off, “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about Y/N?”

“Isn’t it fucked up how someone like that could love someone me?”

“In what way?” Dr. Aurelius asks.

“I mean you’ve met her.” Haymitch huffs, “had a few sessions.”

“Sure.”

“She’s special.”

The doctor lets him speak.

“She’s a good person. She’s smart and she’s funny and she deserves the world.” Haymitch shifts in the chair, “she got me instead. Not exactly a fair trade.”

“I don’t think she feels that way.” The doctor informs him.

“Hmm,” Haymitch mulls it over.

“From the sound of it, you have always been very protective. Now you tend the children, so she can aide the rebellion. That must be hard for you.”

Haymitch scoffs, “I want to chase her down and bring her back.”

“Then why haven’t you.”

“If you love something, you set it free or some bullshit like that.”

“You love her deeply.”

“Coin offered to ‘dissolve’ our marriage. Did Y/N tell you that?” Haymitch changes the subject.

Aurelius sighs, “she didn’t mention it.”

“Tell me, oh great one, what does that mean?”

“Her mind is made up about you, Haymitch. Whether it’s right or wrong, no matter who deserves what, the heart wants what it wants. You are what she wants.”

“I want her too,” Haymitch snaps.

“You’ve mentioned that you struggle with the fact that Y/N didn’t get to choose you as a partner. Yet each time she does, you cannot accept that she is choosing you. As though you feel unworthy, unlovable.”

“Is that your official diagnosis?” Haymitch wonders, making no effort to confirm or deny.

The doctor flips quickly between entries in his notebook. “There is no distinction in any area of your relationship, a true lack of boundaries. All of your triumphs and failures, all of your sadness and your joy, is either sourced from her or the lives you’ve created together.” Dr. Aurelius tosses both hands up. “The greatest tragedies ever written are love stories, after all.”

Part 18

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blueraineshadows · 12 days ago

Text

Sebastian Sallow🔺️F!MC🔺️Leander Prewett

11.8k words. Tags: NSFW / Trauma / Alcohol / Angst / Yearning / Dark magic / Anxiety and PTSD / Grief / Gaunt family drama

AI image of the MC created by @newbienewness with thanks 💜

Chapter Master List and Ao3 link

Chapter 17: Perfectly Misaligned

Sebastian

The darkest hours of the night felt like the lonely hours for Sebastian. It seemed as though the rest of the world slumbered in deepest rest, whilst he would battle the shadows that lurked in the corners of his mind. Guilt and shame would come out to play, and old favourites that often liked to torment him were the memories of his early teenage years. In the aftermath of his parent’s passing, he had struggled to find his way, and Solomon had been a thorn in his side throughout his tortured grieving process. Even now, to this day, he was fairly certain that he hadn’t faced the true depth of his loss. Perhaps that is why he clung so desperately to his belief that saving Anne would save him, too.

After seeing the disturbing artwork that Anne had thought hidden away, the uneasy fear had crept into his bones that Anne was damaged far more deeply than he had first believed. So caught up with his own grief and troubles, perhaps he had not thought to consider that she had her own demons trying to bring her down. He had leaned on her heavily, his guiding light. Perhaps he had been selfish, taking from her and not giving enough back. The thought sobered him, pulling his thoughts downward into a dark spiral that had him pacing the floors of Noctua Gaunt’s old home.

Back then, Anne and he had been alone. If he had let her down, then Solomon had been the only other person she could turn to. For her, not such a terrible thing because she had always been their uncle’s favourite. She had never felt the back of his hand slamming into her cheek, never felt the iron grip of his fingers in her upper arm whilst being dragged to the old shed. There had been no love lost between him and Solomon. It hadn’t been too far a reach to snuff him out as he had.

In a choice between his bullying uncle and the new girl at school with the bewitching eyes, he had chosen MC. She had seen him. She listened to him. She made him feel like he could be better, something more. It hadn't even been a choice.

Entering a room lined with bookcases, furnished with a bureau and arm chairs, Sebastian gazed around, his attention drawn to the family portrait above the fireplace. Moving closer, he studied the faces of the Gaunt siblings, and immediately he could pick out the similarities in MC’s facial features now that he knew what he was looking for. The resemblance to her mother was actually rather striking. How different her life would have been had she been raised within their walls. Would she have been happy? Likely, they would have married her off by now. They would certainly be gloating about the power she possessed, and the notoriety it would bring to their family name.

Anne’s words came back to him, her accusations that he only wanted MC for the power she held in her veins. He couldn’t deny the lure of such magic, and when he had been a fifteen year old with everything to gain, he had been lured towards her mysterious powers, of course. He could never resist discovering new magic, especially when held an element of the forbidden. He had always considered anything new to learn as an opportunity, a chance to soak up new knowledge was a good thing, and never a waste of time.

He hadn’t been prepared for the tempting package that ancient magic had come along with. MC had got under his skin, she had kept him awake at night with thoughts of her voice, her eyes, a mouth that he longed to kiss. Any teenage boy could lose an hour or so on daydreams over a girl, but she had stolen his every waking thought there for a while, even now she remained embedded in his psyche. The first girl he had taken to bed, the only one to ever hold his heart in her hands, and he figured she would always be the only one. He could fall into bed with any number of faceless girls, but it wouldn’t mean anything. Other girls were momentary releases, shallow connections that gave him nothing but hollow feelings and a sense of disconnection to himself. Not like her. With MC, there was truth. She made him feel something that transcended all of that, and made him feel like he could be better, more whole as a person. There was a power in that emotional connection that went further than any magical spell one could cast.

Stroking his fingers against the red scar on his palm, a feeling of resoluteness settled over him. She was the only one he wanted. Anne was wrong, blinded by the darkness that appeared to have swallowed her. MC made his heart pulse with that feeling of being truly alive. When she was close to him, it felt more like home than any four walls ever had. He knew he had fucked up with her, made mistakes, but underneath all the stubborn foolishness and selfish wants, he loved her. Navigating these feelings wasn’t something he could research and learn from a book, he had to learn this path alone and somehow, make her believe that together, they were better. His desire for her remained an ache that lingered, a constant within him, bound to him and strengthened by a promise made as a boy.

And she was out there in the dark searching for his lost sister while he wandered the halls of a house that echoed with the ghosts of its past.

A glance at the clock revealed the late hour, and she still hadn’t returned. It made him tense, anxious, and he pushed a hand through his hair as the need to do something tingled through his restless bones. Making a snap decision, he strode from the little study and sought out Ominis, finding him dozing in his chair by the fire. He put a hand to his shoulder, gently rousing him.

“The hour is late,” he said quietly. “I’m restless, old friend. I want to go and find our girls. Will you be alright if I leave?”

Ominis reached out a hand and Sebastian took it. His skin felt cold, and Sebastian felt a glimmer of concern for him. The shadows under his eyes gave him a look that lived up to his name, drawn and ghost-like.

“I’ve got a terrible feeling,” he said, his voice thin and laced with fatigue. He frowned, his pale eyes like galaxies of ice. “It’s like she has already gone.”

A chill slid down Sebastian’s spine and he squeezed Ominis’ hand a little tighter. “You must not think like that. Both of them are fighters. They will come back to us. I’m going to find them. Make sure you get some proper rest, and eat something while I am gone. Be ready for our return.”

Ominis nodded, but the cloak of doom seemed to linger on his pale face. Sebastian tried to suppress his own fear, swallowing it back with promises to Ominis. Fetching a warm robe and taking another restorative potion, he steeled himself to Apparate out and begin his search.

The throb echoed through her skull, rebounding off the sensitive edges of her existence whilst her stomach seemed to rage and twist violently in a storm of her own making. Every limb felt lethargic, her skin heightened with a triggering sensitivity that made her reluctant to move. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to roll from the comfort of the bed and hit the floor on her knees with a desperate groan.

As if by magic, a chamber pot was placed beneath her nose, and she released the belly full of tumult that made her shiver uncontrollably. As she retched, her vision clouded with stinging tears, and she felt gentle hands pulling her hair back from her face in soothing strokes. Blinking through the confusion spinning in her head, she tried to glance around at her surroundings, picking out things that she recognised. The changing screen, the soft rug nearby, the chest of drawers lit by the weakened rays of a dawn sunrise. She knew this bedroom, but had no idea of how she had come to be in it.

“Lee,” she choked, gasping as another wave of nausea assaulted her.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m right here,” Leander soothed, a firm hand rubbing her lower back. “Just get it all up. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

She sobbed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek and sniffing. “What happened? How did I get here?”

“I brought you here. I came and found you,” he said, handing her a neatly folded handkerchief. She risked kneeling up, the room spinning slightly as she looked up at him, slowly taking the linen and pressing it to her mouth.

She felt sour, disgusting, and she must have looked like it, too. Her mouth felt dry and itchy, her eyes were tight, and her head just rattled with a persistent throb. Leander, on the other hand, looked as impeccably neat and unruffled as ever. His hair was combed, and he was fully dressed and clean shaven.

She searched through the tangled mess of her memories, trying to pinpoint when he had found her. She remembered Hogsmeade in the rain, the chilling conversation with Anne, and Rosier taking her away back to London. Rosier.

She groaned and put a hand to her head as she remembered necking drink after drink, his hand at her waist, his lips on her neck. She shuddered and bent over the chamber pot again, dread mingling with the boiling cauldron of her stomach.

Utterly spent, she tried to get up, legs shaking. Leander helped her get back on the bed, brushing back her hair as she fell back against the pillows.

“I’ll fill a bath for you,” he said, and pointed towards a cup of water on the nightstand. “In the meantime, you need to drink some fluids. Sip it, though. Don’t gulp it down.”

He straightened the bed cover, smoothing it at her waist before giving her a warm smile. She lay completely still, a trembling husk of herself, the only thing moving were her eyes as she watched him effortlessly take care of her. She didn’t deserve this treatment. None of it. Shame swamped her and she felt dirty, panic squeezing at her throat as she feared what she may have done last night.

“How did you find me?” She asked, her voice hoarse.

“You sent me a message,” he replied, pausing to look down at her. “You were completely out of your mind on drink, and in a most notorious nightclub with dubious company. I came to get you immediately once it became apparent the state you were in.”

She didn’t miss the flicker of disapproval on his face, nor the underlying tone in his words. Her defences made an attempt to slam up, an overwhelming urge to squirm under his honey-brown eyes making her grit her teeth. That shame made heat creep up into her pale cheeks. She huffed and turned her head, covering up her embarrassment with irritation. “I sense a lecture incoming.”

“No, no lecture,” he said, moving towards the changing screen. “I’m sure the hangover is punishment enough. That, and having to face your friend, Rosier, again.”

She stiffened, her hand shifting awkwardly across her torso and up to her neck. She risked a glance in Leander's direction, but he was now filling the bathtub before the fireplace with a spell, a merry fire crackling in the hearth warming the room. She kept her silence, hating that she couldn’t remember. Alcohol was a wickedly terrible thing in its aftermath.

Disapproving he may be, but his hands and eyes remained kind as he assisted her out of bed and handed her a soft drying sheet. “Have a soak,” he urged, his touches respectful. “I’ll put some toast and tea on. I need to head into the office soon, but take all the time you need. You’re welcome here, as always.”

Remaining close lipped, she watched him leave the room, and it was only when he closed the door behind him that she allowed her shoulders to slump. Feeling desolate and foolish, she stripped and allowed her body to sink beneath the pleasantly warm bath water. Leaning back against the edge, her knees poking up out of the water, she closed her eyes and tried to think past the constant throb.

Surely, she wouldn’t have given herself to Rosier. He was pretty, yes, but he was also a scoundrel, and Sebastian’s friend. Groaning again, she rubbed her face. Sebastian was going to be pissed off. She had left in search of Anne, and would return empty handed after getting roaring drunk and potentially making a fool of herself. Not to mention spending another night in Leander’s bed.

Her gaze drifted towards the unmade bed. Had he slept beside her? Had they…? No. He wouldn’t have. Not with her so out of it. He was too much of a gentleman. Nevertheless, her hand drifted down between her thighs and she touched tentative fingers to herself. She didn’t feel sensitive, and there had been no physical residue of him finishing when she had removed her clothing. Him, or Rosier. She bit her lip, almost bringing herself to tears for having to try and figure this out. She shouldn’t have put herself in such a vulnerable situation. As if things were not complicated enough.

Sitting up, she took the bar of lavender soap and began to wash the stench of cigarettes and liquor from herself, scrubbing harder against her skin than normal as though she could erase her stupidity. She was soaping her hair when a knock sounded on the door. It opened a slither, but Leander didn’t come in.

“There is tea and toast on the table for you, or I could bring in a tray. I need to go to the Ministry. Can I fetch you anything else before I leave?”

Trying to think clearly, she cleared her throat. “You can come in,” she called, swiping suds from her forehead before crossing her arms across her breasts and bringing her knees up higher. The door swung wider.

He stepped cautiously through the door, his gaze falling to her and his cheeks instantly flushing. He averted his gaze and straightened his tie. “Oh, sorry, I er…I can go fetch the tray in. Give you a moment to be decent.”

She swallowed. “Nothing you haven't seen before. I was wondering if you could pass me the jug so I can rinse my hair,” she said softly.

“Oh! Well, of course,” he said, hurrying to fetch the porcelain jug and bringing it to her. He held it out and she met his gaze, a pang of something stabbing through her chest at the softness she saw there.

“Would you mind?” She indicated her hair and tipped her head back slightly. “You’re more likely to get all of the suds out if you do it.”

“As you wish,” he said, coming even closer. “Shuffle forward a bit.”

She did so, careful to maintain a little modesty, and he dipped the jug into the bath water. She closed her eyes as he placed his palm at her forehead, pouring the water gently over her hair before scooping up more. The action was soothing against her skull and she sighed as the water and suds slid down her back. If she opened her eyes and looked at him, she knew what she would see. Guilt tugged at her, shame for being so utterly selfish when it came to him. Feeling low like this, the need to have someone take care of her had her taking advantage of his kindness. It wasn’t fair, and she knew it. He wanted more from her, more than she could ever give. She should have left him alone, but she couldn’t. Not when he had the power to soothe the dark loneliness that harboured in her chest.

“You’re too kind, Leander Prewett,” she said, keeping her eyes closed.

He remained silent and tipped another jug load onto her head, his hand smoothing along her long locks, his touch grazing the skin of her back. She shivered and he pulled away, placing the jug on the hearth. “There, all done,” he said, keeping his gaze averted. “Hopefully you are feeling a bit better.”

She nodded, but the hollow chasm in her chest suggested otherwise. “I am, and that’s all thanks to you. I’m sorry to have been a burden on you, especially so soon after leaving the hospital. How are you feeling now?”

“All mended,” he said, drying his hands. His smile was tight. “How did you end up drunk in a club with Rosier? Where is Sebastian?”

“Recovering from a bad case of Crucio,” she said, staring into the bath water, holding herself tighter. “I left him with Ominis, and then I tried to find Anne.”

He turned to face her. “Crucio? Merlin’s bloody beard! Why? Did you find Anne? The Aurors are looking for her, too.”

Her lips trembled, the weight of it all pressing down upon her now that the effects of the alcohol had worn off. Drinking to forget was okay in the moment, but all the problems lay in wait, pouncing on you with renewed vigour when you were suffering from your own foolishness. Forgoing her modesty, she pressed her hands to her face, the swell of it all threatening to burst out of her, attempting to try and hold it all in and failing as a shuddering sob escaped. Leander had become someone who seemed to effortlessly pierce the barriers she erected around herself. How easy it had become to reveal things to him. It was trust, she realised. Looking up at his honey brown eyes finally, she knew she could tell him the truth.

“I found her,” she said, her voice wobbling. “But, gods, part of me wishes I hadn’t.”

“Hey, hey,” Leander soothed, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her, soaking his perfectly lovely suit in the process. “You’re okay. It’s alright.”

Pressing her face into his chest, she let go of the barriers, tears leaking from her eyes. Everywhere she went, she walked a fine line. She had thought the oppressive walls of prison had been hard, but out here where she could walk in the sunlight, it seemed that the shadows lurked unseen, stealing the freedom and the warmth, leaving her uncertain and small despite the power that slumbered impatiently in her bones. Constantly on edge, she felt drained. Here, with him, felt like a safe harbour.

“I’m not sure anything will ever be alright again, Lee,” she said, her voice thin. “Getting out of Azkaban has been harder than I expected. The whole world either hates me, or wants me for my power. I don’t know if I can do this. Anne said I would destroy anyone who got too close to me. What if she was right? I’m a freak, Lee. Nobody should have this much power, especially me. Maybe Azkaban is the best place for me, shut away in the dark where I won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t you ever say that,” he said firmly, lifting her chin to look down at her. He shook his head, his eyes pained. “You did not belong there, MC, and you are most definitely not a freak. Don’t ever think you are not good enough.”

She wished she could believe that, but her strength and self belief seemed to have melted into the bath water with the soap and grime. “You need to remove your rose tinted glasses, Lee.”

“No, you need to get back that fighting spirit I know you have in there,” he said, his hand gripping her jaw, his eyes determined. Whilst his hold was firm, the sweep of his thumb was delicate. “The MC I know and remember, is the girl who spent hours of her free time practising how to roll her balls perfectly across the Summoners Court board, despite saying the game was ridiculous. You hated to lose, and sought me out to show you my tricks so you could beat everyone at it, including me.”

“You let me win,” she accused, her hungover brain fog sorting through memories to a time that felt so far out of reach now. Sunny days in the grounds of Hogwarts, laughter, friendship, and all despite the burden of her trials and the goblin rebellion.

He huffed in amusement, his eyes so warm. “I did not. Maybe to start with because I wanted you to like me, but then when things got really competitive, my thirst to win got the better of me. You still beat me, though, fair and square. I think that enforced the massive crush I had on you.”

“You still have a crush on me, Prewett, whence the rose tinted glasses,” she said, the hint of a smile ghosting across her lips.

“We both know it is more than a crush at this point,” he murmured, a flicker of sadness darkening his gaze. “Somehow, we have become tangled up in something that defies explanation. I know you don’t feel the same way I do, and yet, we seem to end up in situations like this. I don’t think I could ever deny you, no matter how much it may hurt me.”

Her eyes burned and her throat felt thick as she swallowed. The twist of pain in her chest robbed her of breath momentarily as she stared at him. Safety, warmth, trust, stability. It was all right there in front of her, if she could but reach for it and take it for her own. But, it would be wrong.

“I’m not being fair to you,” she said, the truth of it searing her throat. “I know how you feel, and yet I come here and take from you when in truth, I should do the right thing and let you go. I’m dangerous. People get hurt, or die around me. I would never forgive myself if…”

Choking on the words, the terror of imagining Death stealing him away because of her darkness making her clutch at his soaked waistcoat, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to shove the image away. She felt his forehead press to hers, the warmth of him radiating over her rapidly cooling skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed, his breath ghosting across her cheek. “Even if you can’t return it, you have my affections.”

“No, you shouldn’t do that. You need to live your life,” she insisted, and yet she wasn’t letting him go, her hands still clinging to him. “You don’t deserve to live under my shadow.”

“You have to stop trying to push people away who care about you,” he said, releasing his hold on her jaw. His hand lingered though, his long fingers grazing her neck. “You don’t have to fight all of this on your own. People care about you, MC, and that is not something you can control. Let them help you.”

He glanced away, hesitating, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. “There’s something I need to tell you, something important.”

She immediately went rigid, her body instantly expecting the worst. “What is it?”

“While I was in the hospital, I had a visitor,” he said, eyeing her carefully. “A woman dressed as a nurse, but that’s not who she really was. I think she came to get a closer look at me, to make some kind of contact, because she had clearly been watching us from a distance.”

“Us?” MC frowned, her thoughts ticking rapidly. Then, the memory of the robed woman following her down the corridor that day flashed behind her eyes. Her heart quickened, the feeling of threat increasing. What new danger was this? “Someone followed me from your room that day, but they vanished. I think it was a woman.”

His hand cupped her face. “Don’t panic,” he soothed. “She spoke to me, and her intent was not to harm. It was your birth mother. Elizabeth Gaunt. She looked me right in the eye and asked me to take care of you.”

If she hadn’t been clinging to him, she feared she may have drifted through the bath water, a strange feeling of weightlessness sweeping over her that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of alcohol in her system. “My…my mother?”

“I know you’ve had a lot thrown at you lately, but this could be a good thing. MC, she looked just like you. She seemed to care about your safety.”

“Not enough to speak with me herself,” she said, her blood pulsing so fast she felt faint. “I don’t understand. What else did she say?”

“She called Rookwood a stain on this earth,” he said, his thumb still stroking her cheek. “She said she had done her research on me, and she knew who you were. I get the impression she has been watching us for a while.”

MC couldn’t pin down how she felt about this, the confusion seeming to blend with an elation that her mother had found her, but there was also a pain. Why hadn’t she approached her sooner? Why hadn’t she come to help her? Instead, she had lingered in the shadows just watching. She shivered, the bath water now chilled, weary from the night before and yet more emotional webs to fight through.

“Are you alright?” Leander’s eyes were concerned, his touch gentle.

“I…I need to think,” she said, glancing down at herself. “I ought to put some clothes on, too.”

“Of course,” he nodded, a blush sweeping across his cheeks. He withdrew from her, extracting the remaining warmth that left her shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself as he gathered up the drying sheet and held it up, his face turned respectfully away. “Here, get yourself dry and warm. Your clothes are behind the changing screen.”

She stood, water dripping from her body as she stepped out of the tub and into the waiting drying sheet. Her eyes burned with tears, her shivering not only from the chill as he wrapped the sheet around her. His simple acts of taking care of her seemed to strip away everything, leaving her raw and vulnerable. Her inner child craved it with a fierceness that made her ache, whilst the icy walls she had crafted shook on their foundations, but she remained rigid and silent.

It was only once he had left the room, closing the door quietly behind him that she allowed the tears to properly fall again. They tracked down her cheeks as she forced her hands to move, drying herself down and dressing. It made her heart squeeze even more when she found her clothes, clean and neatly folded on the chair. He thought of everything, and it made the wretchedness twist all the sharper.

Fastening her wand holster to her thigh, she took a deep breath. Her head throbbed, but she had to resist wallowing in her own self pity. She wouldn’t find answers that way. Avoiding thoughts of having to face Sebastian, she braced herself to eat something and tackle the mystery of her roots. Today, she would make an effort to find out.

Sebastian

His stomach growled in protest, hunger making him feel even more irritated than his circumstances could claim credit for as he stalked through Knockturn Alley. He was cold and damp after travelling through various known locations in the Highlands looking for the Ashwinder camp, but turning up nothing. It wasn’t unusual for the camp to move around, especially when the threat of discovery was higher, but they had clearly located somewhere he couldn’t recall, or knew nothing about. It irked him, no closer to finding Anne or MC, and nobody to hex into talking. So, he had returned to London in the hopes of gleaning some answers.

The morning saw the slightly more respectable folk moving through the Alley, and that wasn’t saying much. These folk would still likely stab you in the back than wish you a merry morning. At least there was a pale gleam of sunlight rather than the misty rain of Scotland that still had his robe clinging uncomfortably to his legs. Stopping at a tea shop that passed his standards to an acceptable level, he purchased a cinnamon bun and mug of tea to stave off the hunger pangs. He ate quickly, almost scalding his tongue as he gulped his tea. Time was pressing. Casting a swift drying charm on his clothes, he left the tea shop and made his way towards the Black Rose.

Using the rear entrance, he avoided the exclusive back room and made his way up the stairs. The whore’s rooms were silent at this hour, the girls getting their heads down to sleep before they would be up and selling their wares later in the day. The stairs creaked under his boots, and he kept his steps light as he made his way to the room he shared with Rosier. He had not slept here in a while, but he hoped Rosier would still be crashing here.

Entering quietly, he saw the spread eagled form of his partner in crime snoring softly on his bed, his boots discarded haphazardly on the floorboards, his robe slung over the bed frame. He reeked of whiskey and perfume, and a match booklet on the floor near his boots told Sebastian that he had spent the evening getting blootered in The Alyssum club.

Rolling his eyes at Rosier’s insatiable appetite for booze and women, Sebastian sat down on the edge of his own made bed and pushed his hands through his hair as he eyed the snoring man. Waking Rosier after a heavy session was always a challenge, but he needed to ask him what he knew about Anne.

The beds were placed fairly close together in the confines of the room, and he placed his booted foot against the frame of Rosier’s and gave it a few sharp shoves. It rocked and creaked, but Rosier snored on. Sighing again, Sebastian stood and poked at his arm, shaking his shoulder firmly. “Hey, swizzler, wake up!”

Rosier groaned and made a pathetic attempt to swipe Sebastian’s hand away, but Sebastian wasn’t about to give up. Grasping both of Rosier’s shoulders, he shook him hard. “Wake up, you damned fool!”

Rosier opened his eyes, blinking blearily. There was one particular skill that you needed to hone as an Ashwinder, and that was the ability to shake yourself out of a stupor if trouble came calling, which was highly likely when you were in this trade. Rosier clapped eyes on Sebastian and immediately became alert, an edge of panic lighting his eyes as he held both hands up, spluttering.

“Woah, easy, mate. Easy! I never touched her, I kept my promise, I swear! I kept it in my pants, just like you said.”

Sebastian frowned down at him, the muscles in his stomach tensing. “What are you talking about?” He asked slowly.

Rosier stared up at him, stubble darkening his chin and his eyes bloodshot from booze. “Ah, shit,” he groaned, wincing. He eyed Sebastian warily. “Is MC not with you? Maybe they haven’t released her from the lock up yet.”

Sebastian’s mouth tightened and he grabbed the front of Rosier’s rumpled shirt. “What do you mean the lock up? What the fuck are you talking about? Answers, Rosier. Now!”

“Okay, okay,” Rosier nodded quickly, still holding up both hands. “Merlin’s balls, I told her you’d be pissed off, but she kept downing the gins like a trooper. I get why you like her, Sallow. MC’s got spirit.”

“She got drunk with you?” Sebastian was incredulous, letting Rosier go and straightening up, his gaze catching the match booklet on the floor again. He bent to retrieve it, holding it up. “You took her here?”

Rosier nodded. “She got all sad after talking with your sister, and asked me to take her somewhere fun.”

Sebastian’s eyes bulged, his fist crushing the match booklet into a crumpled mess. He had been searching all of Scotland for MC, and she had been necking gin with Rosier all night. A flash of fury lit his blood, but he remained calm. He had been looking for answers, and by gods he was going to get some.

“She spoke to Anne?” He asked through gritted teeth. “You’d better start from the beginning, Rosier, and tell me everything.”

Leander

The tall stacks of files and books loomed over them, the weight of history adding to the silence of the Ministry archives as Andrew spread out his findings on the table top. The lamp light shone off Andrew’s fair hair, his gaze flitting nervously towards MC as she leaned over the documents, her face a pale, closed mask as she pulled one of the parchments closer toward her. She had been quiet since they had left Leander’s flat, insisting she wanted to accompany him here despite the hangover she was suffering through.

He had kept an eye on her as Harrington quizzed her over Anne, sending two Aurors to Hogsmeade to investigate the abandoned house overlooking the cemetery on her word that Anne was being held there. Her duty to her probation met, Leander had whisked MC into the archives to meet with Andrew, the questions that lay heavy in her eyes demanded answers, and she was determined to dig them out.

Whatever weakness she had succumbed to in the bathtub seemed to be under control now, the familiar grit and strength visible in the set of her jaw as she read the parchment. As much as Leander was glad to see her being her strong self, he couldn’t help but ache at the vulnerability she had displayed to him. There had been something in her eyes, in the way she had clung to him, that made him believe she felt something for him. If only she would bend to it. If only she could love him as he loved her.

“You said there were more of these letters from Mrs Sallow?” She asked, her gaze lifting to Andrew as she put the parchment back down.

Andrew nodded and sifted through the papers, handing her another. “These are only the ones I could get my hands on. Each letter requesting access to the Department of Mysteries and being denied. There is also this ledger, which notes a few visits to the archives by Mrs Sallow, accompanied by Miriam Fig. They were definitely researching something together, and the symbol on the final letter matches the one you drew for Lee.”

MC nodded, her face drawing into a frown of concentration. “Anne was telling me the truth,” she mused. “The Sallows knew about ancient magic. Do you know if they were ever successful in gaining entry to the Department of Mysteries?”

Andrew shook his head. “That’s where my jurisdiction ends I’m afraid. Anything the department holds on ancient magic, or this Circle of Avalon, is kept firmly behind closed doors. If I can’t be given access, then I am fairly confident that Mrs Sallow and Mrs Fig were never granted permission either. What goes on behind those doors is a closely guarded secret.”

Leander pulled a book closer, his eyes scanning the page Andrew had opened it up to. The symbol for the Circle of Avalon was there at the top, along with mention of witch trials in Muggle courts, the charges of dark sacrifices making him wince. Magic and muggles had a troubled history, both sides telling the stories very differently, but the dark arts were nothing to be dismissed. They existed, and magical folk were known to practise it. It kept the Auror Office viable. Even humans with the deeper wisdom of magic could be fools when it came to power and the abuse of it.

“Do you think this Circle is dangerous?” He asked, turning the page to see an ink illustration of women hanging from nooses on a scaffold.

“I can’t believe Miriam Fig was involved in anything dark,” MC said, shaking her head. “Which in turn means that Mrs Sallow was of like mind.”

“Sebastian finds it easy enough to dabble in the arts,” Leander muttered.

She stiffened, her chin lifting. “He had his reasons.”

Their eyes locked across the table, none of the vulnerability showing in her eyes now. She would always defend Sallow, even when it was him she came to when she needed help, it would always be Sebastian who laid claim to her. There lay the real reason she held herself back from him. Caught in his web, all the time Sallow pulled his strings, she would bend to his whims. Leander figured he would always feel bitter about it, feeling as though any chance he may have of being able to love her fully would always drown under the bond those two had.

Dropping his gaze to the book, he turned it to face her, forcing his thoughts to remain focused on the matter at hand. “I don’t know how well read you are concerning muggle witch trials, but until fairly recently these trials were held regularly up and down the country. Our kind were hunted out and executed. Most were innocent, but some did practise the dark arts. Aurors tried to keep a certain amount of control over our own, but Parliament ignored any pleas the Minister may have made about keeping our own justice.”

“I have read some of the history, and being raised around muggles, you hear the stories,” she said, her gaze dropping to the illustration of the hangings.

Leander tapped a finger to the text beside the drawing. “This was a high profile case in both the magical and muggle world. The Pendle Witches.”

“I’ve heard of them,” she said quietly, her throat working as he moved his finger to the symbol drawn on the bottom of the page. She brushed back some loose strands of hair and sighed. “Just because the symbol is there, does not prove that this Circle is made of dark witches and wizards. We don’t have enough evidence.”

“You found out about this Circle from Gaunt family journals, right?” Andrew asked carefully. “It’s not too much of a stretch to consider the possibility that dark arts could be involved.”

“Not all Gaunts are evil,” she bristled, the taut expression on her face making her appear even more pale and drawn. Andrew flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. She shook her head, her mouth a tight line. “Regardless of the true nature of this Circle of Avalon, they have ties to ancient magic, and I need to know more. Miriam Fig believed in the good that ancient magic could do, I refuse to believe she would meddle with dark arts, and it would seem that her and Sebastian’s mother were friends. Both of these women were killed researching all of this, and I want to finish what they started. I need to do it.”

“I’m not sure how much more I can dig out of here,” Andrew said, the regret plain on his face. “I have to admit, I am also intrigued to learn more. The history and lore surrounding your abilities is fascinating. In the pursuit of knowledge, I can understand the tenacity that a Ravenclaw such as Mrs Sallow would possess, despite the risks.”

“Someone was determined to silence them, perhaps going to the extremes of killing them both,” MC said bitterly. “Such a waste. If only we knew who would go to such lengths.”

“Not to mention the lengths that higher ups are prepared to go through in order to keep information hidden here, too,” Leander said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “You can't help but wonder what it is they are hiding. Where else can we look?”

MC sighed and put her hands to her head, staring at all the information Andrew had found, and yet it only raised more questions. “Most of the people who know about this are either sworn to secrecy, or they are dead,” she said, lifting her gaze to Leander again. “There are some people I can speak to via their portraits who know quite a lot about ancient magic, especially Professor Rackham. He was a Seer. I would bet a few galleons he has heard about the Circle of Avalon. How did you fare in getting me access to Hogwarts, Lee?”

“We just need to make Professor Black aware when we intend to pay a visit,” Leander said, touching his hand to his tie.

“How about today?” The determination on her face told him she wasn’t expecting a refusal.

“I shall send the owl,” he replied with a nod.

A nostalgic look crossed Andrew’s face as he glanced between them. “Returning to Hogwarts,” he said softly. “I can only imagine walking those halls again.”

“I used to think the same when the Aurors hauled me away to Azkaban,” MC said bitterly, a darkness lingering on her face as she touched her fingers to the prisoner tattoo on her neck. “It will be strange to enter there as a convicted criminal. I’m sure Professor Black will have a few choice words to say on the matter.”

“Well, you won’t be going alone,” Leander said firmly. “I will be right there beside you, and no matter what the headmaster has to say on the matter, he need only know that we are there on important Ministry business. Anything else is between you and these Keepers.”

The look she gave him still had the shadow of those cold walls she held about herself, but the faintest glimmer of the vulnerability she allowed him to see lingered in the depths of her sky blue gaze. He hoped she could see the truth in his eyes, the words he left unspoken in front of their old school chum. He had meant what he had said to her back in his flat. There wasn’t a lot he would deny her, no matter the cost. It was both inevitable and terrifying, but that was the depth he had fallen to.

“Well, I wish you luck in your pursuit of truth,” Andrew said, giving Leander a pointed look as he continued. “Just be careful. Clearly, this kind of research is a risk.”

“Don’t worry, Andrew. If anyone dares to try and stop us, they will have me to contend with,” MC said firmly. Avoiding any further eye contact with Leander, she gestured to the letters written in Mrs Sallow’s hand. “May I take copies of these?”

“I already prepared you some, along with the excerpts from the texts,” Andrew said, slipping a file from the pile and handing it over to her.

Her smile was genuine, stripping away the shadows in her eyes and highlighting the beauty she possessed. Combined with her next words, it brought a pink flush to Andrew’s cheeks.

“You are a star, Larson. Thank you.”

As they exited the Ministry, MC was quiet, her face resolute. Walking the street in search of a secluded spot to Apparate, her eyes were everywhere. Leander took note of the finely dressed ladies and gentleman going about their business, listening to the rumble of a carriage rolling over the paved road, certain they were both looking for the same thing. A woman in a robe. Knowing that you were being watched gave one a strange feeling, like delicate fingers touching the back of the neck. Every face became suspicious.

“Will your partner not be accompanying us?” MC asked as they entered a narrow alleyway. The sunlight barely reached the rough ground here, the brick walls towering upwards.

Leander had allowed Montgomery in on a few details to do with MC, agreeing to let her assist, but he still clung to the feeling that this was his responsibility. As they paused, turning to face each other, he couldn’t help the jealous need to have MC all to himself. He already had to share her with Sallow, and his greed burned hot in his belly. Shameful, yes, but hard to deny.

“No, it will just be us,” he said, holding out his hands to her. “Is that alright?”

She stared at him for the longest time, her eyes guarded. Then, she nodded, her hands taking hold of his. She felt cold, and his thumbs instinctively caressed against her skin as he offered her a reassuring smile.

“Take us back to Hogwarts,” she said, her voice low and hoarse.

Tightening his hold on her hands, he envisioned the sweep of Hogwarts Valley, the winding road that led towards the castle, and the great pillars of the entrance topped with hogs. London vanished around them, the sharp pull behind his navel making him grunt as they travelled hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye, landing in a much chillier and fog shrouded Scotland.

Reluctantly releasing her hands, they both turned to gaze across to the great castle reaching towards the sky through the fog. The surrounding trees still clung to the last remnants of their red and golden crowns, the ground carpeted with the autumn fall. The air was fresh, clean, more wholesome than the rotten smog of the city. As they began to walk, side by side, Leander felt that familiar comfort stealing over him, a feeling that only the magic of this place could create.

“It never fails does it,” he murmured, the hint of a smile touching his lips as he gazed towards Hogwarts.

She slowly shook her head, her own memories shifting in her eyes. “Of all the places I’ve ever laid my head, this one felt the safest, the most like home,” she said. “I’ve yet to find anywhere quite like it. Perhaps the closest I ever came to feeling protected was your cottage by the sea. That held the same kind of warmth.”

His smile widened. “I’m glad it could be a safe harbour for you.”

“I think it may have had something to do with the company,” she said, the barest hint of a smirk appearing as she glanced up at him. She took a few more steps, her face turning more solemn again. “I don’t deserve it, you know, the kindness you give me. I will only hurt you in the end, and it’s the last thing I want for you.”

“Neither of us know what lies before us, anything could happen,” he said, feeling the torn chasm inside of him give way a little more as she tried to push him back. “Like I said this morning, let people help you. You don’t have to be alone, and I choose to stand beside you like this.”

“Just don’t be afraid to walk away when you have to,” she said, her gaze averted. “That day will come, and I won’t blame you.”

As they walked closer towards Hogwarts, he considered the differences in their childhoods. He had the comfort and benefits of a family in his background, a stability that allowed him to grow into the man he had become. For her, she had faced everything alone, and anyone who came close either left her or died. He could understand her natural reaction to isolate herself behind her icy walls, pushing away those who could just as easily leave like all the others. Even Sebastian.

Despite the blood bond she had made with him, she had not run to him when things had crumbled last night. Even today, she had not been desperate to run back to him. For all his worries about her choosing Sebastian over him, he considered the possibility that she would just vanish and leave all of them behind, choosing neither of them. It made him shiver, the fear of her slipping away to some place he couldn’t reach her, alone and lost in her own darkness.

“Promise me something,” he said, pausing before the entrance to the castle grounds, the fog curling up from the lake to drift around their feet. He touched a hand to her sleeve, almost as though to prevent her from blending into the mist and fading from his view. “If you ever make the decision to leave, don’t go without saying goodbye to me. Don’t just disappear on me, okay? I couldn’t bear it.”

Her eyes darkened with that vulnerability and she swallowed hard. “Trust me, Lee. You are one of the few people in this world I care enough about to make that promise easily. As much as the thought of saying goodbye makes me want to choke, I would do that for you. I won’t just disappear, I promise, and if I do, then know it wasn’t by my own choice.”

“You know I would look for you in that instance.”

She met his gaze, the shadow of a smile on her lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, and just so you know, I would do the same if the situation was reversed. You’re my Auror. I still haven’t forgiven that bitch, Luella, for nearly killing you in those tunnels. I won’t forget either.”

He blushed, seeing the way her eyes narrowed with her intent, warmth swelling inside of him at her words. “I’m your Auror?” He smirked, his chest pushing out a little.

“Of course, you dragged me from the maw of darkness and removed my chains. You saved me, and continue to do so despite my unworthiness. You’re my Auror,” she said, reaching to adjust his tie and smooth her hands over the shoulders of his robe. “Now, escort your wayward prisoner into the castle, Auror Prewett. Our old headmaster awaits.”

“You are not my prisoner,” he reminded her softly.

But, maybe he was hers. She made it so easy to love her, it drove him crazy that she couldn’t be his.

“Yes, well, I have a feeling Professor Black may not see it that way,” she sighed, taking his hand and placing it on her upper arm before surrendering her wand towards him. “Escort me as though you have this under control. I’m dangerous. I know it, and they know it. Make them feel safe whilst I walk the halls.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his heart breaking a little as he stared at her wand. “You saved this school, remember?”

“When you do bad things, people forget what came before,” she said, her eyes sad, but knowing. “They only remember the wrong that you did, and as far as anyone is concerned, I killed people. I killed an Auror, and the mark on my neck is a reminder to all of what I am capable of.”

“You are more than that, MC, and you know it,” he said, reluctantly taking her wand and tucking it safely away with his own.

“You really are determined to see me through those rose tinted glasses, aren’t you? I should admire your unshakable faith in me, even if it is misplaced.”

“Do you have faith in me?” He countered.

She stared at him. “Yes, I do.”

Those three little words meant more to him than she would ever know. All his life he had strived to be someone capable, someone who lived up to the traits of his Gryffindor house. Becoming an Auror had instilled some confidence into him, but to have someone as rare and beautiful as her believe in him filled with him a warmth that could almost move him to tears. Unable to find words to express it, his hand gave her arm a squeeze, his throat choked up as he bent to press a kiss to her forehead. She was still staring at him, and he fought the desire to press another kiss to her lips.

Managing a smile, he nodded towards the school, clearing his throat and dragging back his focus on their reason for being here. “Come on, let’s see if we can get some answers for you.”

Sebastian

The early hour probably meant it wasn’t wise to hit the bottle, but his fury seethed in burning coils and he needed to drown it out, suffocate it before he did something really stupid. He poured the whiskey into a glass on the bar top, having secured a bottle for himself after storming from the room upstairs. He flexed his hand, the knuckles smarting slightly after he had slammed his fist into Rosier’s jaw. His temper had got the better of him, and Rosier hadn’t thrown any punches back. He’d merely tackled Sebastian down onto the bed, apologising for getting MC drunk, apologising for letting her be taken away by an Auror.

Not just any Auror, either. Fucking Prewett. Which meant that she wasn’t thrown into the Auror lock up for the night, and more likely tucked away somewhere cosy with that fucking smug git.

His fury surged and he threw his glass back again, the whiskey burning a trail down his throat and settling into the tense pit of his stomach. She had been gone all night, and still no sign of her this morning. She had to be with him.

He had thought they had been getting somewhere, they had been growing closer, he had been winning her back to him. Why hadn’t she come to him? Why stay with Rosier and drink herself into such a state? Surely, Anne had not got to her so deeply. His sister could spit venom, he knew that first hand, but MC was made of tougher stuff than she looked. What could Anne have said to her to make her stay away like this? Why did MC leave Anne to the mercy of the Ashwinders rather than bring her home?

Fear fed his fury. Nothing was ever simple. He threw another mouthful of whiskey into his throat and winced at the burn, his eyes dark with his thoughts as he glared into the glass. Just like his uncle, he hoped to see the answers in the bottom, but they would never show up. Self loathing dripped through his veins. Just like his uncle, he had resorted to using his fists because he had been displeased, hitting one of the few people he could call a mate.

“Fuck this shit,” he groaned, leaning his elbows on the bar and pushing his hands into his hair.

“Life givin’ you a kickin’, Sallow?”

Sebastian glanced up, the hardened face of Jez, the barkeep, stared down at him. He was a tall bloke, thin, all angles and boney joints, with a long pale face and dark eyes. He might look like a breeze could blow him away, but he took no prisoners when it came to trouble in the bar, his spider leg fingers possessing an iron grip that bit into flesh as he hauled you out on your backside for daring to mess up his bar.

“You could say that,” he huffed, pouring a fresh measure into his glass.

Jez eyed the bottle. “You plan on emptying that today?”

The bottle remained half full, or half empty, depending on one’s mindset, and Sebastian figured today was a half empty kind of day. He shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, grimacing.

Jez shook his head. “Either Rookwood has put the boot in, or it’s a damned woman,” he guessed, his black eyes narrowing. “Did daddy find out you were giving his baby girl the blanket hornpipe?”

“No,” Sebastian scowled, roughly pushing his hair back. “That’s long over, and best forgotten. It’s family business…private.”

He fixed Jez with a meaningful look, not wanting to unburden his fucked up life to someone who would likely whisper into another’s ear. Jez arched one ebony black eyebrow as he folded his tea towel, draping it over his scrawny shoulder.

“If you say so, lad. But, I’m watching you. Any trouble, and you and the pretty boy are out. Don’t care who pays the room rate,” he warned.

Sick of these arseholes dictating what he could and couldn’t do, he dug into his pocket and pulled out some coins, slamming enough down onto the bar top to cover the cost of the whiskey. “I’ll save you the trouble of evicting me, Jez,” he growled, slipping from the bar seat and draining the remaining contents of his glass. “See you around.”

The London air felt thick and heavy, the lingering smog clinging to the stench of the city and carrying a chill that made Sebastian turn his collar up as he strode through Knockturn Alley. Ignoring all he passed, he made it to Diagon Alley before he felt a strange sensation on the back of his neck, turning to glance over his shoulder, his gaze taking in the wizards and witches moving about their day. Nothing seemed out of place, but the creeping sensation of being watched stayed with him as he headed further down the cobbled street.

The whiskey burned in his belly, his frustration and anger still sizzling in his veins. He sifted through his thoughts, wondering who might be persuaded to give up Prewett’s address. He had to live in the city somewhere, close to the Ministry, close to his happy, little circle of friends. Nice, dependable, Prewett, with the good job, outstanding moral fibre, and the smug ability to offer MC something that Sebastian couldn’t ever imagine possessing.

A safe, real home.

Sebastian blinked, the backs of his eyes actually stinging. He rubbed at them, pausing a moment to lean against a brick wall. He refused to cry, sucking back his emotions and pressing them deep, he took some steadying breaths and turned his attention to a family gathered outside a nearby shop.

The little girl was pleading for her parents to let her have a cat, pointing excitedly at a basket of kittens in the window. He could see the way the mother doted over the girl, stroking her hair affectionately as the father explained that the time for a familiar would come when she left for Hogwarts. Sebastian’s attention shifted to the boy, older than the girl, his face more serious as he listened to his father, nodding in agreement, his gaze filled with the admiration and respect that came from a loyal son.

The twist of pain in his chest made Sebastian gulp, and he turned his head away from the loving family, feeling the black emptiness in his chest swallow up whatever warmth the whiskey had given to him. The barren wasteland of life felt expansive and cold, gripping at him with long fingers and dragging him ruthlessly through the hard grit, and him helpless to stop it. The shadowy wraiths of guilt and shame mocked him, tangling up with the tempting devil that made him want to hurt, destroy, obliterate. He clenched his hands, the desire to choke the life out of something making beads of sweat stand out on his forehead.

Everything was so fucked up, and he needed someone to blame. He needed to lash out, rip everything away and make it all stop. He just wanted the pain to stop.

As he tried to calm his racing pulse, his breathing quick and shallow, his gaze caught on the slender form of a robed figure standing in a shadowed corner, watching him. The hood was too low to make out a face, but he assumed it was a woman. Then her head tilted, and he caught a glimpse of ebony hair, pale skin.

“MC?” He whispered it, like a prayer.

She turned, melting away into the narrow passageway that led between two shops, her pale, grey robe billowing out behind her. No, it couldn’t be her. It wouldn’t make sense. Would it? This could be a trap.

If anyone asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them why he pushed himself away from the wall and crossed the street to follow her. His booted feet carried him forward, his heart and mind still racing, but cold curiosity won out.

The alley was winding, the paved walk tidy and not unpleasant compared to those found in the muggle streets. He caught a flicker of her robe as she turned up ahead, and his pace quickened. He rounded the bend and stopped in a courtyard with two exits. He glanced between the two, uncertain, and then she appeared in one. He caught the flash of a pale cheek, maybe a glimpse of a satisfied smile, before she backed away.

“Wait,” he muttered, feeling slightly foolish now as he hurried across the courtyard after her.

Through more alleyways, he followed her, unable to give up despite the creeping certainty that this was not MC. At last they came out into a London street, the buildings fine and arranged in a courtyard around a garden surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The robed woman entered the garden through a gate, drifting through a carpet of leaves as she passed under the trees.

Sebastian caught up to her under a canopy of gold and red, where she stood waiting. She turned, her hands lifting to draw back the hood that obscured her face. He slowed to a stop, staring as her face was revealed. He sucked in a breath, eyes wide. She was older than he had first thought, strands of white showing through the ebony of her hair, but her face could not be mistaken. He thought of the portrait hanging in Noctua’s house, the girl standing with her Gaunt siblings, his eyes drinking in the shape of this woman’s nose and mouth.

“You are not MC,” he said softly, taking a tentative step forward.

Her smile was soft, her blue eyes drenched with knowing confidence. “No, I am not,” she said, her voice low and gentle. She studied him, her tilting slightly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Sebastian.”

“You know my name,” he said, his gaze narrowing, feeling on edge. “You wanted me to follow you.”

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time, Mr Sallow. You intrigue me,” she said, completely calm. “You are dangerous. I’ve watched you duel in the underground pit, I know the company you keep, but there must be more beneath all the darkness. I think there are layers to you, a softness beneath the strength you portray to the world.”

Wariness crept over him, his hand hovering at his wand holster as he instinctively began to settle into a stance ready for a duel. “You have been watching me. Why?”

“I want to know what she is drawn to, what she has found behind your tendencies for darkness,” she replied. “I’m going to assume you know who I am, Sebastian. You are so very close to my nephew, so close that you are, in fact, family now. Your sister is a Gaunt, and in the hands of the enemy.”

“You seem to be rather well informed, Elizabeth,” he said, keeping his focus, not ready to trust her yet. She had a way of holding her head that reminded him of Marvolo, her utter calm not fooling him in the slightest. “Don’t tell me you are concerned for my sister’s welfare, or that of Ominis. If you were that fond of him, you would be present in his life. Ominis believed you to be dead until MC discovered otherwise.”

She bowed her head slightly. “You are right, of course. I did abandon my blood roots, but I had my reasons, Sebastian. Good ones. But, blood has a habit of calling you back. I know MC has a Ministry man delving into the archives on her behalf. In fact, she was there this morning with that lovely, young Auror with the red hair.”

Sebastian stilled, catching the curious look in her eyes as she watched for his reaction. So, MC really was with Prewett, just as he had suspected. It felt like a kick to the gut knowing she was chasing this research without him.

“How do you know that?” He asked, a hint of ice in his tone.

“Portraits have eyes and ears, Sebastian. It’s just a case of knowing which ones to speak to,” she smiled.

Elizabeth Gaunt was proving clever, resourceful, and she clearly had the upper hand here. A true descendant of Slytherin. Knowledge was power, he knew that better than most. The question here remained unanswered, and he maintained his wary stance, his fingers itching to hold his wand.

“What is it you want with me?” He asked. “You clearly wanted me to follow you here.”

“What do you know about the Circle of Avalon, Sebastian?”

He frowned thoughtfully, his mind sifting through the vast stores of information he accumulated over his years of reading. “From what I can recall, they are connected to the arts of dark sacrifices. I believe they have roots in paganism, and the study of magical beasts, but this is mostly conjecture by historians.”

“Oh, very good, Sebastian,” she smiled, her eyes lit with warmth for the first time since he had seen them. “I heard that you were a smart boy, very well read and curious. I’m pleased to find this an accurate description. How curious are you, though? History is always written by the winners, by hands that want people to read what they deem more appropriate to keep the sheep in line. Would you like to know the truth behind the written word, Sebastian? Are you curious enough to come with me? I can show you.”

“Why should I trust you?” He asked, remaining firm.

“Because you love her, don’t you?”

For the first time, he saw a true softness in her gaze before she dipped it. Her feet moved gracefully over the fallen leaves, her robe shifting smoothly as she came to stand right before him. Her resemblance to MC was unmistakable and it was jarring. Her eyes had the same blue hue, but there was a different kind of strength in these depths, and a confidence, a woman who knew herself.

“For years, I believed that my daughter was dead,” she said, speaking softly, a mother’s loss shadowing her gaze for a moment. “I handed her over to the Auror who found us. I was all alone in the world, my husband murdered, my family estranged from me, and my precious girl was the only thing that held me together, but I put her innocent life in the hands of an Auror. I did what I had to do to save her. He took her away, and I never saw her again.”

“You…you gave her to Solomon?” Sebastian stared at her, goosebumps spreading up his arms.

“Yes,” she said, her gaze hardening. “I gave my daughter over to your uncle. Then my despicable brother found me, punished me with his wand and fists, and took great pleasure in telling me that my filthy blooded daughter was dead. I believed him, grieved for the loss of a child born out of nothing but love, until I saw the photograph of a girl who had stopped a goblin rebellion in the Daily Prophet, a most unusually gifted student of Hogwarts. She looked just like my grandmother, like me, and I knew in my veins that she was mine before I even had to read her name. She was a Brierley, she was the right age, and I needed to know more. But, then she was taken in for murder before I could get close, and it was a different kind of photograph on the front page of the Prophet. My daughter, my child, a murderer, and who did she kill but the very same man who took her from my arms all those years ago. Fate can be a dangerous game, but also a fascinating one.”

Her smile was sinister. Sebastian held his tongue knowing full well that MC did no such thing, that it was he who had murdered Solomon.

“Knowing what I do now, that son of a bitch deserved what he got,” she said icily. “My sisters put me on a path that led to true discovery, and I have your mother to thank for it.”

Sebastian’s gasp slipped out before he could even think about holding onto his restraint, his face paling, and his eyes widening in shock. “My mother?”

“Your mother was one of life’s rare and wonderful witches,” Elizabeth said. “She was a great loss to the world, and I miss her, as I am sure you do, too. She spoke of you and your sister often. Know she loved you, that her pursuit for truth was fuelled by her desire to give you and Anne a world worth living in.”

“You knew her?” He said, his voice breaking, his grief shifting under the weight of her words.

Elizabeth nodded. “I knew her well. We attended Hogwarts together, and she found me later when I was wretched with my grief. But, the Circle helped us. When I discovered that MC had become close to you, it was as though the stars had aligned just so in order for you two to meet. Our lives seem to be fated to blend, our paths meeting at a crossroads, and should we leave that path, we will always find our way back to it.”

She reached out carefully, her cool fingers grasping his left hand and turning it over. They both looked down as she smoothed her touch over the vivid red line seared into his palm. “You bound yourself to her,” she whispered. “Blood bonds are strong, Sebastian. Family bonds, magical bonds, and the fiery burn of desire and love. Such bonds carry their own magical weight. How strong is your connection to my daughter?”

“I would die for her,” he said immediately, his gaze lifting to meet the intensity of hers. “She is everything to me.”

She studied him carefully, then nodded, keeping hold of his hand. “Well, let’s hope there will be no dying required today. I’ve found you, now we must find MC. The burdens you carry are so heavy for ones so young. You both need the truth. Will you come with me?”

She had played to his weaknesses, the promise of knowledge and discovery, cornering him with her understanding of him and her connection to his mother. She had played a good game, and he knew that the lure of this was not something he could say no to. She knew it, too, her request merely a formality.

“Do you know where MC is now?”

“I have a fairly good idea,” she smiled. “I have eyes everywhere.”

He nodded, returning her grip on his hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. “I will come with you,” he said firmly.

To be continued...

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #leander prewett #blood bound #leander prewett x mc #blueraineshadows

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