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outoutdamnspark · 2 years ago

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Welcome to the Shatterdome

Part of my Echos in the Deep Submas/Pacific Rim crossover - written for @antidotesprout because they drew THIS AMAZING SKETCH of the twins in jaeger pilot suits~

{I originally posted this as a reply on the sketch post itself, but uhhhhhh tumblr mobile kept eating it. Or not letting me take it out of my drafts. So if you managed to see it before, no you didn’t. 😭}

Reader Insert Character momentarily introduced near the end; this au will be polyamorous Emmet x Reader x Ingo - no blankshipping!

CW: none.

(There is a moment of platonic brotherly hand-holding. Shippers DNI.)

===

“Raleigh, this is Hercules Hansen, an old friend from the Mark-1 glory days.”

Herc reaches out to shake Raleigh’s hand, grip firm and voice warm as he says, “I know you, mate, we rode together before.”

“We did, sir,” Raleigh agrees. He returns the handshake with quiet respect, a faint, nostalgic smile creeping up his face. “Six years ago, my brother and I. It was a three-jaeger-team drop.”

“That’s right; Manila.” The older ranger’s face falls. “I’m sorry about your brother…”

Raleigh looks down and away; the smile fades, eyes no longer focusing, and he can almost feel the echoes of electric pain sizzling along the circuitry scars covering his shoulder and side. “…Thank you, sir,” he murmurs, and unlike so many other times he’s had to say it, this one, he means.

Herc nods, mercifully knowing when to let a conversation thread die.

It’s as if the universe knows they all need a shift in mood, somehow, because the silence only rings for a moment before there comes a distraction in the form of a flash of white in the corner of Raleigh’s eye.

Herc must see it, too, because he turns to look and the smile returns - this time, in amusement.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he chuckles. “Small fucking world.”

From the side there approaches a towheaded man in a pale grey shirt under a short white jacket; he strides towards them unnervingly fast, taking too-long strides and swinging his arms beside himself as if to further quicken his pace. His face is split into a wide, nearly uncanny grin.

He stops abruptly just a bit too close to the trio, and looks from Pentecost, to Herc, and then finally to Raleigh with a gaze so pale a blue that his eyes look almost white.

“Ah, Mr. Trewyn,” Pentecost says with a nod. “Good to see you made it.”

“Marshal Pentecost,” he says by way of greeting, his voice oddly monotone. His grin stretches further, crinkling at his eyes.

Pentecost, not surprisingly, seems utterly unfazed by the man’s strange mannerisms. He simply makes a half gesture with one hand, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

“Gentlemen, this is Emmet Trewyn, San Diego. He and his brother Ingo held the California coastline six consecutive times. 0% civilian casualty rate.” He glances over at Raleigh. “Other than you, Mr. Becket, they make up the last of the Mark-3 pilots.”

Emmet brings his hands up to hover in front of his chest, pressing his fingertips together and splaying them out wide. “I am Emmet,” he intones. “You are Hercules Hansen and Raleigh Becket. I remember you from Manila. Verrrrry fun battle, yep.”

“Fun’s a word for it, sure,” Herc says, laughter in his voice. “Good to see you again.”

Raleigh lets out a quiet, amused huff of his own. “Spectre Arachne, right?” He holds out a hand for Emmet to shake. “I didn’t actually get to meet you face-to-face. Better late than never, huh?”

Emmet eyes Raleigh’s hand warily, leaning back a bit. “Spectre Arachne, yep. That was us.”

He does not move to return the gesture, so Raleigh lets his hand fall limply to his side.

“Holy shit, you’re Herc Hansen!”

The group is spared any further awkwardness from Emmet’s touch-aversion as yet another person comes bounding up to them - this time a girl, probably somewhere in her early teens, with blue-black hair beneath a black newsboy cap that’s just a little bit too large for her head. She slides to a stop next to Emmet, bright red scarf trailing behind her, and grins up at Herc with stars in her eyes as she bounces on her heels in excitement. “Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!“

Herc grins right back, holding out his hand, which the girl takes with gusto. “Always a pleasure to meet a fan, little lady.”

The girl absolutely beams. “I saw the news coverage of Sydney the other day! Striker Eureka was so cool!” She pulls back as the handshake ends and brings both her hands up near her chest, happily flapping out the excess energy.

Emmet, on the other hand, stands pouting behind her. He tilts his head at the girl and bends slightly at the waist to try and catch her eye as he gives her what is unquestionably a kicked puppy look. “I am Emmet. I am also a ranger. Why do you not think I am cool?”

She doesn’t even bother looking back at him, just rolls her eyes skyward in the way only a teenager can do. “You’re too much of a dork to be cool, Uncle Em,“ she scoffs.

(Raleigh very nearly doesn’t suppress his sniggering in time.)

Emmet lets out a scandalized gasp, pale eyes shooting wide. “Rude!” he accuses, throwing his hands up incredulously. “Rude niece! Disowned!”

Pentecost ignores Emmet almost entirely, sparing him only an unamused glance before turning away to leave the man to his dramatics.

“Miss Akari here,” Pentecost says with a subtle kind of pride, “is the final part of our research division; youngest kaiju expert in the field.” He gives the girl - Akari - a quick, pleased nod.

Herc lets out a low whistle. “Expert, huh? That’s impressive,” he says, tone nothing but encouraging.

Akari flushes and ducks her face into her scarf, bashful despite the elation in her eyes - like she’s reminding herself it’s okay to accept the praise. “A-ah, well, you know, it’s ah…” she starts, laughing nervously. “See, every new kaiju that comes through has been different, right? New attacks, new defenses; it’s almost like they’ve been evolving, or-or maybe learning from the ones that we’ve successfully killed. Adapting. But that doesn’t make any sense? Cuz, like, evolution takes aaaaages, and the kaiju just… take a single generation!”

She tugs her scarf down, stimming excitedly with the soft fabric, bunching it up in her hands and twisting it around her fingers.

(Behind her, out of her line of sight, Emmet contradicts his own earlier actions and watches his niece with a proud, proud smile.)

“Newt thinks they’re all clones, but I feel like that can’t be right, either - at least, not like, natural clones, because then we wouldn’t have such drastic physical differences, and especially not so soon,” Akari continues. She looks between the three men that aren’t her uncle with eyes that shine with all the passion of a hyperfixation. “So it’s gotta be something else, maybe - or if it’s not then maybe there’s a pattern of some kind! - so I’ve been working with Dr. Gotltlieb to try and make a predictive model on what traits we might see in upcoming specimens. That way, we might be able to keep from getting blindsided anymore and find a way adjust our own battle strategies and out-evolve them!”

She pauses for breath - and then stills. Akari seems to realize that she’s just been babbling, because she quickly tenses, hands fidgeting with her scarf, and ducks her head to hide beneath the shadow of her too-big cap. “I, uh, yeah.” She clears her throat. “And-and then, you know… stop them for good.”

(Emmet silently reaches out and pats her shoulder comfortingly.)

Unwilling to let Akari feel ashamed for something so genuinely impressive, Raleigh looks over to Pentecost with a crooked smile. “Oh I like her.”

Pentecost simply hums in agreement; Akari flushes even redder under her hat.

Doing as Herc had done before him, Raleigh reaches out his hand, careful to keep it in her line of sight since she’s still looking down. “Nice to meet you, Akari; I’m Raleigh.”

Akari’s head snaps up so fast Raleigh’s sure he hears a click. She stares at him, mouth dropping open in first confusion, then realization, and then glee. “Raleigh, like… Raleigh Becket?” she gasps, awestruck. “Like, the Raleigh Becket?”

Raleigh chuckles. “Only one I know of,” he jokes.

She squeals. With more strength than her slim frame should be able to contain, she grips his hand with both of her own and vigorously shakes it, all the while looking up at him with open delight. “Ohmygosh, you’re actually Raleigh Becket!”

Hand still clutched in hers, he leans down slightly so that he’s a bit more at her much-shorter level; the girl is tiny compared to the four grown men around her.

He tilts his head in Emmet’s direction, seeing the other man tilt his own in curiosity at the gesture. “Take it easy on your uncle, yeah?” Raleigh stage-whispers to Akari in faux conspiracy, smile creeping just a little wider. “Arachne had our backs like a badass when we all dropped together in Manila.”

Akari’s eyes somehow get bigger.

Emmet, close enough to hear Raleigh’s poor excuse for a secret, lets out a triumphant - though monotone - “SEE?!” which Akari completely ignores.

“You guys fought together!?”

Delighted, disbelieving, she whirls around to the side, opposite the group, back in the direction she and Emmet had come from, and calls, “Dad! Dad, why didn’t you tell me you rode with Gipsy fucking Danger?!”

For a third time, everyone looks up to see yet another person making their way over.

It’s another man, dressed in a charcoal grey turtleneck under a long black duster jacket. He looks almost identical to Emmet, save for a few minute differences, and Raleigh can only assume this must be Spectre Arachne’s second pilot; he feels the pang of long-worn sorrow as he remembers that they’re a pair of brothers.

The man - presumably Ingo - has the same tow-colored hair, with the same angular sideburns framing his face. His hair is slightly longer, though, and looks to be pulled low and back. His gait is also much slower than Emmet’s had been, steeped in weariness, and his shoulders hunch where Emmet’s do not.

Most notably, in contrast to his brother’s openly-cheery expressions, Ingo’s face is pulled into a stern, heavy frown - almost to the point of scowling.

As he gets closer, Raleigh can see that the man’s right eye is tightly closed, and for a moment he wonders if it’s blind, or possibly missing - especially once he’s near enough for Raleigh to see the telltale lines crossing his skin.

Two angry red circuitry scars - the same as the ones that decorate Raleigh’s left side - crackle lengthwise from the man’s hairline and down his right temple to just past the cheekbone. A third deviates from the others to cut a path down through his eyebrow, though thankfully only clips the outer corner of his eye on its way to join the rest, and not directly through the center.

Ingo steps up next to Akari with a quiet, affectionate, “language, little one,” and plucks the hat from her head, fitting it over his own. He tugs the brim down until his right eye is bathed in shadow before slowly blinking the eye open. It’s intact save for the faint pink line down the outer corner where the scars line up, missing the pale iris by far too small a margin. His pupil takes an unnaturally long time to adjust, and Raleigh realizes that, while Ingo likely still has sight, there is definitely some nerve damage left behind.

Ingo looks up from where he’s ruffling Akari’s hair and gives them all a polite nod. “Good evening, Marshal!” he says brightly. “And to you as well, gentlemen!” It’s strange to hear such a warm greeting coupled with such a dire looking expression, but with the way his eyes crinkle happily and the corners of his lips curl haltingly upward in a faint smile, Raleigh guesses there’s probably some sort of partial facial paralysis there, as well.

Pentecost acknowledges Ingo with a cordial, “Good to see you still in one piece, Ingo.”

The man, now indeed confirmed to be Ingo, appears to take amusement in that, because the creases of his eyes grow deeper as he replies, “Such as it is.”

Before Herc and Raleigh can get out a greeting of their own, Akari grabs her father by the hem of his coat and tugs on it excitedly. “Daaaaaad!” she play-whines. “You know famous people and you kept it to yourself?”

Emmet mutters a huffy, “We’re famous, too…” but once again, is mostly ignored.

Ingo blinks down at his daughter in silent confusion, brows creasing together so tightly that the thin slivers of his near-white irises seem to glow in the shadow of his hat.

He looks back up at the people around him. The faint, cat-like smile he’d apparently struggled to create a moment ago disappears, replaced instead by what looks to be a true frown. It pulls the rest of his face down with it, leaving him looking uncomfortably distressed as he shifts his gaze from Raleigh to Herc and then back again, not a hint of recognition in his eyes. “I… do?” he says, quiet and lost.

Ingo turns to face his brother, who, in perfect sync also turns to look at him. They stay that way for a moment, locking eyes, not saying a word as some sort of silent communication passes between them.

Raleigh recognizes it, is sure Herc and Pentecost do, as well. It’s something all pilots with a soul-deep drift compatibility are wont to do: a mental sifting back and forth of the shared memories they’ve left inside one another’s heads. He used to do it sometimes with Yancy without even realizing it.

(It still hurts sometimes, even with years behind him, to feel that emptiness where his brother once was when Raleigh unconsciously tries to reach for him during his lowest points.)

In unison, the Trewyn brothers blink.

“…Manilla,” Emmet finally murmurs in a perfect, robotic monotone.

Ingo blinks a second time. “Ma-? OH!”

It’s like the light finally reignites behind Ingo’s eyes, because he whirls back around to face the group again with another feline smile - this one actually tugging enough at his lips to expose the tiniest glint of teeth. “Gipsy Danger and Striker Eureka, yes!”

Ingo straightens up a bit more, his spine audibly cracking as he rolls his shoulders back. He reaches up with the hand not resting on his daughter’s shoulder to grip the bill of his cap, tipping it in proper greeting. “Forgive me,” he says, face as apologetic as he can make it. “Please do not take my lapse in memory as a slight against you,” he says, tone expressing what his face cannot. “I sustained a head injury during my and Emmet’s final mission together.” He appears to wince. “My memory has been… hm. Unreliable, these past few years as a result.”

He lowers his hand from his cap to his temple, brushing his fingers gently over the scars; the moment his hand is at his side again, Emmet wordlessly snatches it up in one of his own and grips it so hard his knuckles turn white. Akari presses herself into her father’s other side.

“No offense taken, mate,” Herc - ever tactful - says kindly, pointedly not acknowledging the rest of the Trewyn family’s sudden anxiety. “Better a little banged up than the alternative, ey?”

Raleigh nods in agreement.

He’s about to tell Ingo that, to be fair, this is their first in-person meeting and not just through voices over a comm, but before he can, Pentecost speaks up and any further discussion is quickly laid flat.

“Sorry to cut this short, everyone, but we still have a schedule to keep.”

He leans to the side a bit, ducking his head to gently catch Akari’s attention. It works, as the girl lifts her face from her scarf and looks up at him.

“Miss Akari,” he says. “Shall we?”

She pauses, then nods. Leaning more heavily against her father and giving a final, soft nuzzle into his coat, she straightens up and steps away.

Ingo, in turn, gives her shoulder a brief squeeze before letting her go.

She maneuvers her way around Herc to join Pentecost at his side, while the marshal turns to look at where Mako stands a short distance away, Herc’s dog Max at her feet, speaking with another person Raleigh doesn’t yet know.

“Miss Mori,” the marshal calls, and both she and her companion, who is dressed in what looks to be a set of black mechanic’s garb, immediately look up.

Mako steps quickly over to the group; the second person follows more slowly, keeping several paces behind.

Raleigh watches their approach, absently waving farewell to Herc as the older man says his goodbyes and takes his leave, Max trotting happily beside him. He hears Ingo begin to do the same, wishing his daughter luck with her presentation, but Pentecost actually stops him before Ingo can finish.

“Just a moment if you would, Ingo, Emmet.”

Mako stops in front of Raleigh, and from over her shoulder, Raleigh spots the second person make their way to Pentecost’s other side, facing the Trewyn bothers.

“I’ll show you to your jaeger now,” Mako says quietly.

Raleigh holds up a hand, asks her to excuse him for a moment. He pivots to catch up to Pentecost before he can get too far away, hearing the tail end of the marshal introducing the new person to Emmet and Ingo but unfortunately not in time to hear the person’s name.

“… is Miss Mori’s right hand in the Mark-3 restoration program. You have them to thank for your presence here.”

“Marshal!” Raleigh calls, catching Pentecost’s attention, as well as a raised brow.

Just as Raleigh catches up, Pentecost looks back over at the person beside him - Mako’s ‘right hand,’ evidently - and dismisses them with a quick, “If you’d be so kind.”

(Akari seems to take this as her cue to leave as well, speeding off in a separate direction to parts unknown.)

The person whose name Raleigh doesn’t know eyes him warily for a moment, but gives the marshal a sharp nod of acquiescence and steps away, closer to the brothers. “Follow me, please,” they say quietly, motioning for Ingo and Emmet to do so. “Your jaeger is this way…”

Raleigh waits for the three of them to depart before giving Pentecost his undivided focus.

“You still haven’t told me what I’m doing here…”

#echoes in the deep #submas #pacific rim #hopefully the writing is okay I'm not used to having that many people in a scene #I don't know how I feel about the reader introduction but eh we're here now #OH!#also to assuage any fears no I do not intend to kill the twins off #they make it to the end with Mako and Raleigh I promise! 0w0b #subway master emmet #subway master ingo #pokemon akari #pla akari #stacker pentecost #Raleigh Becket #Herc Hansen #Mako Mori #spark writes #pacific rim au

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something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago

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The Years

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

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

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

___

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh boy, were you in trouble.

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bowandcurtsey · 3 years ago

Note

I'm quite new to Tumblr so please correct me if this isn't the way to request something💃

What do you think about Fuegoleon with a commoner reader that has like 0 passion, like his opposite. Said reader doesn't have any self confidence (maybe because of trauma? 👀 Cuz ✨angst✨) like doubts just doesn't put effort into anything just because it never went well?

(I'm sorry if I explained this bad! I'm so bad at explaining 👁💧👄💧👁)

I hope you have the best day ever! 💕

Also, daily reminder to go outside!

Even if your just reading this, nature is beautiful, and spending time on your hobbies outside is smexy 😩

-anon °•

Hello bby !! Thank you for requesting this! And yes! I go outside when I go to work.. But I'm hell of an indoor girl. HAHA But okay I'll make a little extra effort to do my stretches because my back be feeling like 70 these days. (￣ﾛ￣;)

Also for anyone with similar experience, please trust me, one day things will go well. And one day you'll find something that you love doing (❁´◡`❁)

Also, I hope I got your request right, because it doesn't rly feel that angsty to me, just hella fluffy. And I didn't add in the commoner part because I don't see how it would be of any difference whatever reader's social status was.

If it wasn't what you were expecting, please feel free to send your request in again sweetie!! <3

Fuegoleon Vermillion x f! reader

Initially, it didn't really matter to him, he was just crushing so heavily on you, whatever you did was goddess like to him, and he just loved you anyhow.

He thought that he would have to respect you and that maybe this was your character to not dive head first into anything and go all crazy like how their Vermillion culture was.

As you dated long enough, he soon realised that you were indeed not passionate for anything at all. You gave your best, but you just lacked the enthusiasm and energy when you did or achieved anything.

Of course he didn't love you any less, he was just wondering why. Like, was it because nothing much spiked your interest or did you not find anything in particular that you like yet?

One day, he decided to just be honest and straightforward with you about this matter. Your softie Fue would definitely ask you in the most gentle manner, maybe while you were laying in his arms and he was stroking your head.

"Honey, do you have any.. hobbies?"

"hmm.. I don't think so.. why?"

"Just wondering is there anything that you are passionate about.."

"I think I'm passionate about you?" you joked with a chuckle, somehow know where this conversation was going.

He was tongue tied at your response, feeling a rush of heat creep up his cheeks. "I-.." he paused a for a moment, thinking what to say, "I just don't want you to live your life unhappy with whatever you're doing.. I hope you find something that you really enjoy doing."

"Oh Fue.." you sighed a little, the butterflies running amok in your belly at his sincere and sweet words.

"It's just..." it was your turn to ponder for a moment, "It's just everything that I try, always turns out bad. Nothing ever went well. And I end up causing trouble for people around me because they had to help me."

"Oh honey, I'm sure you'll find something, don't just give up.."

"No dear, I think I'm scared of trying anything new. It gives me anxieties even when I have to change to a new environment..." you frowned a little, thinking of all the bad memories, "I just... prefer constant. And I don't want to get too excited about whatever I'm doing currently because I'm afraid of jinxing it and making it turn bad.."

He pulled you into his lap all of a sudden, caging you in his strong and warm arms.

"Dearest, I'm here, to hold you on your bad days, to comfort you when you're at your down and to be by your side regardless of anything. You deserve to do something that you like, even if you're not particularly good at it. We always learn as we go."

His hands reached to cup your face, nudging your face to face him. He gave you the warmest smile that you believed would melt apart any ice in this world.

"y/n, look at those birds that fly in the sky, they didn't come out of their eggs knowing how to fly. They also didn't know how to hunt for food the moment they hatched. They learnt as they grew." He said as he tucked your hair behind your ears.

"I'll accompany you to try anything you want. Whatever you have always thought of trying. Or anything you enjoyed doing but didn't particularly excelled in." He patted your head, "okay?"

"Okay.." You nodded to your man.

Afterwards, Fue became your own personal cheerleader and motivator. He'll suggest a list of things for you to try out together with him. Some he has done and some he has never tried himself.

You both enjoyed the process of trying, whether you both did well or not, he would always be laughing and smiling with you.

Some days, when you didn't particularly do well, like the time you went fishing together and you somehow hooked onto a jellyfish and whilst helping you get it out of the hook, Fue got stung but he made sure to encourage you and tell you that's it's okay and that it was normal to meet accidents.

Some days, Fue was the one that didn't do as good as you did, like that time when you both went ice skating and Fue was on his fours or his bum for almost the entirety of the 3 hours you were there. But as usual, he always held his smile and twinkle in his eyes.

He made sure you understood that it was the process and not the results, and that in every journey there was just something to learn, be it in a good way or bad, and that at the end of it all, it was just a step to knowing yourself better.

-end-

Fue boy ｡ﾟ(இ ‸ இ✿)ﾟ｡ Best boy.

#black clover scenarios #black clover headcanons #black clover imagines #black clover imagine #black clover fanfiction #black clover x y/n #black clover x you #black clover x reader #fuegoleon vermillion hc #fuegoleon vermillion x reader #fuegoleon vermillion x reader #fuegoleon x reader #black clover fuegoleon #fuegoleon vermillion

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minubell · 3 years ago

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Tolkien Secret Santa 2021

This is my gift for @officialtolkiensecretsanta, written as a gift for @foxindarkness (For some reason tumblr isn't letting me tag you, I'm so sorry!!!! I'll be sending you an ask when I wake up)

Characters:

Maeglin, Celebrimbor

Word Count:

1341

Maeglin falls.

His back strikes the side of the mountain with a loud crack that knocks the air out of him, rattles his spine, and makes his vision go dark. By the time his sight starts to return to him, he smashes against the rock again, this time striking his left arm and shoulder. With the spike of pain his vision blurs again. His body bounces, hits the mountain one last time, and then he is falling down through the air like an arrow as the fire reaches and rises up to meet him.

Down.

And then, almost blissfully, nothing.

…

Maeglin lays upon the ground, broken, miserable. His fingers, the only thing he still has the capacity to move, curl uselessly, grasping at nothing. The air is thick with smoke and unbearably hot as the fire creeps closer along the ground. Everything hurts. Somehow, he is not dead yet.

…How is he not dead yet?

Is this just one last torment, adding to the long list of torments he has suffered his entire life? The torment that is his entire life?

He coughs on ash, and that sends an entirely new wave of pain through his body. He is laying in an area miraculously devoid of flames for now, but with each second the fire creeps closer and closer. Apparently, it was not enough for him to die in the fall, to have it end in an instant on impact. No, whoever decided that his life was a series of never-ending tragedies had proclaimed he would survive that, and die slowly in the flames.

The soot stings his eyes so he lets them close. He can hear screaming over the crackling of the fire and the ringing of his ears. His fingers relax, not because he willed it but because he has no strength to move them anymore. Something falls upon his wrist-likely a piece of rubble or perhaps a stone, enveloping his entire hand, but there’s no pain, and he’s thankful for that small mercy at least.

This is fine.

This is what everyone would have wanted.

This is how it was always going to-

Something pulls at his wrist.

Maeglin jerks his eyes open at the touch, and finds the red sky blotted out by the face of an elf. His vision blurs the features too much for him to discern who, but he still has enough physical awareness of his own body left to feel as the stranger tries to lift him off the ground by his hand, and the sharp snap of pain down his arm that makes him set his teeth together and hiss.

“Leave it,” Maeglin grunts, barely able to bite the words out as the stranger gives another insistent tug, adjusting their grip and pulling until Maeglin’s torso lifts up off the ground. The fire rages around them and some debris from above rains rubble down around them. This small patch of unscorched earth will soon be consumed by the flames. They’ll both die if the stranger stays here and tries to help him. For some reason he can’t fathom, that thought is distressing to him. “Leave me.”

The stranger doesn’t respond. Or maybe Maeglin just can’t hear it over ringing in his ears and the desolation of Gondolin. Either way they refuse to set him back down, doubling down and dragging Maeglin up further by the arm, pulling him until his body drags across the stone, away from what should be his final resting place.

<<<>>>

Maeglin comes back to himself in a cave.

There’s a split second where his eyes open and he finds himself staring up at the rocky roof of a cave where he is just confused.

Then the pain sets in.

It washes over him from head to toe, making his teeth grind together and his eyes tear up. He tries to draw a breath in, but he only manages half an inhale before his ribs creak and a jolt of pain runs down his back. He almost cries out in pain from it, but there’s a hand suddenly clamped over his mouth and a face close to his.

“Shhh.”

“Celebrimbor,” Maeglin whispers with a grimace, after the hand has been removed from his mouth. He’d had more than half a mind to lick it, but Celebrimbor had moved his hand away fast enough to avoid such a fate. At least now he knows the identity of his mysterious ‘savior’.

“We are not safe yet,” Celebrimbor replies, voice carefully low and cautious. Ash is smeared across his cheek, and there’s a smear of blood across his face, though Maeglin isn’t certain if the blood is Celebrimbor’s own or someone else’s. “The armies of Morgoth are still lurking about. We’ll need to stay quiet to avoid discovery.”

“About where?” Maeglin grunts, trying to turn his head and flinching at the flare of pain. “Where are we?” “A cave.”

“Oh, really?” Maeglin drawls. His sarcasm seems to be working against him, however, since it dislodges some soot from his nose which drives a cough that rattles his ribs out of him. Celebrimbor’s face is suddenly right in front of him, and there’s a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that could be perceived by comforting by anyone other than Maeglin. Maeglin, however, knows better and flinches away with a scowl, batting the hand off his shoulder before Celebrimbor can try to hurt him further. “Don’t touch me.”

“I know you’re injured already,” Celebrimbor murmurs, and he has no right to look as hurt by being brushed aside as he does.

“I’m fine,” Maeglin snaps. “If you touch me again, I’ll bite you.” Celebrimbor frowns but reluctantly shifts backwards, disappearing from Maeglin’s field of view. If he could turn his head slightly to the side he could probably catch sight of him again, but any kind of movement draws out agonizing pain. Which means for the time being he is stuck staring at the roof of the cave, trying to ignore Celebrimbor.

At least Celebrimbor is making it easy for him by being quiet.

<<<>>>

So… the minutes pass in silence. Perhaps hours. Maeglin doesn’t bother to even try to keep track of how long he lays there.

The only noise is an occasional drip-drip-drip of droplets of water from the ceiling.

Now that it’s deathly still, Maeglin is left uncomfortably with his own thoughts and enough time to digest what had actually happened. For everything to settle under his skin, where it slots in uncomfortably with the pain.

Gondolin is gone, and that’s entirely his fault.

…

Somehow he survived, and he shouldn’t have.

…

Except it isn’t ‘somehow’, is it?

“Why,” He starts to ask, and finds his throat is uncomfortably dry. From inhaling smoke, most likely, and certainly not any kind of emotion. “Why did you save me?”

The cave is silent for a few moments before-

“Do I need a reason to save someone?” Celebrimbor replies softly, from somewhere to his side.

“You need a reason to save someone like me,” Maeglin huffs.

“No, actually,” Celebrimbor replies, and there’s a rustle of fabric and a few quiet footsteps, then Celebrimbor is looking down at him again, expression pinched into something that looks like pity. “I don’t. If you’re looking for some kind of special reason, I don’t have one.”

“Well, you should have just left me there, then,” Maeglin bites out, and that look of pity only grows. It’s almost maddening to look at, so he turns away as much as he can, pointing his gaze at some part of the cave wall nearby. “

“Maeglin,” Celebrimbor sighs, and there’s a shift of dark hair in the corner of Maeglin’s vision that he ignores. “Maeglin,” Celebrimbor repeats, and suddenly there are hands on the sides of Maeglin’s face, gently cradling his face, guiding him to stare back at Celebrimbor. “Everyone is worth saving. That includes you.”

Maeglin turns his head to the side, and bites Celebrimbor as hard as he can on the thumb.

#tss2021 #maeglin #celebrimbor

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1dmonthlyficroundup · 3 years ago

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1D Monthly Fic Roundup

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for August 2021! Below you’ll find 23 One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup.

Happy reading!

He Carries The Key by @lululawrence

[Niall/Louis, OT5, 8k, Not Rated, tumblr post]

Niall was mostly home, ready for a shower and a chat with Louis, when suddenly Niall was flooded with emotions from the pack bond.Shock. Surprise. Confusion.But mostly fear.Something was wrong with Louis.

Plus One by mynameispiaivy / @missrefridgefreetorator

[Louis/Luke Malak, 3k, Mature, tumblr post]

Louis is invited to an event and he has to bring a "plus one".

Better Mistakes by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10

[Harry/Louis, 117k, Explicit, tumblr post]

“Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world-”

“Oh but it fucking is,” Louis said, shaking his head. “How the fuck am I going to tell Matt I’m pregnant with a baby when we’ve not had sex in months? He might be a bit thick sometimes, but he is gonna know there’s no chance this baby is his.”

“You don’t have to, uh, tell him it’s mine, right?”

Louis scoffed. “Why, are you scared he’s gonna come and kick the shit out of you?”

“He wishes,” Harry laughed, looking back down at the test. “Shit, I … I can’t believe this. Louis, I didn’t mean for this. Honestly. It was just sex for me. We have great sex, and I didn’t see why I should have to turn that down, not when you clearly wanted it as much as I did. I didn’t want this to end in a baby.”

Louis knows he shouldn’t be sleeping with his boyfriend’s enemy. He knows that. But there’s something that draws him back to Harry over and over again. Falling in love wasn’t part of the plan...

Thou, Sun, Art Half As Happy by @lululawrence

[Louis/Harry/Nick Grimshaw, 7k, Not Rated, tumblr post]

Hello, I’m sorry if this isn’t a post that is allowed on this channel, but I was hoping for the best since it is regarding a photography project I’m working on at the moment. I’m working on a set of sunrise kiss photos and therefore am needing a willing kissing partner. I’d hoped to be able to provide one for myself, but it hasn’t panned out, so here I am! I was hoping to find someone here, since I know most of you (at least peripherally) and can generally vouch for you not being creeps. Plus this way I know you will understand needing to continue to tweak the camera settings and reshoots etc that others might not.

Anyway, I’m looking for someone who identifies as male or male-ish (sorry, ladies) who is between the ages of 18 and 40. I’m a 29 year old male-ish myself, for those who would like to know before replying.

If you’re interested and are free the early morning of August 7th and would like to kiss in the sunrise with me for the sake of some (hopefully) interesting and fun photos, let me know via DM and I’ll give you the location.

OR the one where Louis needs a kissing partner, two show up, and it all might turn out for the best that way.

call my name and save me from the dark by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Louis/Harry, 4k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

“I don’t know if it was a nightmare,” he confesses to the ceiling, the darkness making it easier to speak up even when he still has to close his eyes to stop himself from tearing up. “It feels more like a memory. But it can’t be.”

Harry shifts, and Louis can feel his chin perched on his chest, doesn’t need to look at him to know that Harry’s studying him. “Why?” He prompts, when Louis doesn’t immediately continue, and Louis swallows, tries to shrug off the apprehension, the fear that Harry will think that he’s gone mad.

“Because I heard them pronounce me dead.”

Feels like home by @neondiamond

[Louis/Harry, 2k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis comes home from work with an exciting surprise. Daydreaming and celebrations ensue.

this is my jam by @disgruntledkittenface

[Harry/Louis, 4k, Mature, tumblr post]

The guy’s eyes are so blue that Harry can’t tear his gaze away, even as he moves to the beat. The searing light shade is magnetic; he finds himself leaning in and yelling, “This is my jam!” only to earn a laugh from thin pink lips that Harry’s definitely going to be dreaming about tonight.

“Your jam?”

When the guy yells back over the music, his blue eyes sparkling and his lips twisted in a smirk, Harry’s chest literally puffs out with pride at earning his attention. His obvious approval. Tongue-tied, Harry nods and closes his eyes as he lets go, the music reverberating around them. All of the usual inhibitions that keep him in the corner at parties fall away and he bounces around the center of the dance floor, waving his arms above his head. Somehow his towel stays on, even as he starts to think he wouldn’t mind if it fell off. Fuck it. He finally made it here, he’s damn well going to enjoy it.

Harry goes to a gay bathhouse for the first time. 90s AU.

I Know My Arithmedick (2 + 2 = 4sum) by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

[Harry/Louis + Louis/multiple partners, 3k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry wants to watch Louis fuck someone else. Louis loves giving Harry what he wants. It’s simple math, really.

doG…and his friend by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright / yeah_alright

[Louis/Harry, 3k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

When Joan has to move out of her small, nice home and in with a random roommate, she obviously brings her dog/boyfriend, Doug, with her.

Doug makes a friend. And maybe more.

I Heard You Talking by @lululawrence

[Louis/Harry, 10k, Not Rated, tumblr post]

It had been an hour of their noise that Louis had been dealing with, and for some reason the fact that these grown men were being this rowdy in the quiet carriage over a game of Uno was the breaking point for him. He stood up and turned around, making his way down to where the group of five were somehow gathered around a table.

Louis stopped at the table and cleared his throat, mouth open and ready to politely request they keep it down when the man who was sitting with his back to Louis turned.

He was stunningly gorgeous.

Blinking a ridiculous number of times in an attempt to pull himself together, Louis coughed and spit out, “This is the quiet carriage.”

God, he was nearly forty and that was the best he could do in front of a set of pretty, green eyes?

Or the one where Harry is famous and Louis doesn't have a clue. Good thing his son is able to help him out.

All That You Need by @haztobegood

[Louis/Harry, 2k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Pre-heat was always one of Harry’s favorite times to spend with Louis. It was a time to rest up and indulge in extra cuddles, like basking in a ray of sunshine before having to dive off the deep end. Louis lavishes him with tender touches and soft kisses. Harry wants to savor this time as long as possible. The unquenchable need will come later, but for now, his desires are simple. He just needed to be closer to his alpha. As close as possible.

sickly sweet fonding by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

[Louis/Harry, 1k, General, tumblr post]

A few members of their crew start piling up the dirty dishes and taking them over to the sink. Harry walks around the cameras, and smiles brightly at Louis.

“What do you think, Lou? Do I have it in the bag?”

Louis eyes a bowl of bright pink lumpy batter being cleaned from Harry’s side. “Of course you do.” He wraps an arm around Harry’s waist and steers him away, all while ignoring the dramatic gagging Niall is doing. He doesn’t think it’s just the batter making Niall gag.

or the one where Louis fonds over Harry's horrible baking skills

Fractured Moonlight by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

[Louis/Harry, 1k, Mature, tumblr post]

Louis huffs because he doesn’t want to deal with this. “Listen, I appreciate your concern.” He doesn’t. “But it’s not your duty to look after the sad man at the bar. Okay?”

'Ere comes the milk by stretchmybones / @onlyfor-thegays

[Harry/Louis, 1k, Explicit]

Louis is obsessed with Harry's mommy milkers.

everything comes back to you by stretchmybones / @onlyfor-thegays

[Louis/Harry, 8k, Explicit]

Harry and Louis are childhood best friends. What happens when Harry has to move towns just as they are starting their secondary gender presentations? What happens when fate brings them back together years later in the most unexpected of ways?

He Still Takes My Breath Away by @parmahamlarrie

[Harry/Louis, 32k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

Camp Infinity is the perfect place for a lot of things; hiking, swimming, sports, eating, and falling in love. Harry Styles is a bit too familiar with the last one from his years of being a camper. This year things will be different. He’s 21, a grown man now, and ready to see Camp Infinity from a different point of view; working as a lifeguard. However, his whole summer turns upside down when a familiar British lad makes his return into Harry's life.Or the one where Harry is a lifeguard and Louis is the head of recreation. And, sometimes, you just need a little push to realize what was right in front of you the whole time.

Also known as – The Summer Camp Fic

tread lightly on my ground by fairytalelights / @lookslikefairytale

[Louis/Harry, 20k, Explicit, tumblr post]

No, that's the tragic part of this, the part that makes Harry feel like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. The father of his baby is exactly right, exactly who he always imagined himself having kids with. He just imagined them married, bonded. Happy. He didn't imagine them barely talking, tip-toeing around each other because neither of them is brave enough to talk about what happened between them. He didn't imagine the father of his child not loving him back.

or, the one where Harry is having Louis' baby, but Louis doesn't know it's his.

Getting a Head for Heights by @ladyaj-13 / LadyAJ_13

[Louis/Greg James, 3k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

The problem is, Louis thinks Greg would be quite good to date, so it would really help if everyone would stop reminding him of that fact so he could unthink it. He’d be a gentleman, at least until Louis talked him out of it, and he’s funny and nice and hot and they’re both into music and football and drama. He’s also a freakish giant of a human, and the problem with dating is that sooner or later you have to stand next to each other.

We Go Together (series) by @beelou / cherrylarry

[Louis/Harry, 3k, General, tumblr post]

A grease au

Hot Boy Summer (series) by @louisandtheaquarian / zita17

[Harry/Louis, 35k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

Louis is an overworked bartender hoping to save up enough extra tips to buy a new air conditioner before he literally melts during a scorching NYC heat wave. Harry is the new neighbor that wakes him up by moving in his sole day off at 6am. An NYC enemies to neighbors to lovers AU featuring a rickety fire escape, the 2021 Euros, Lirry bickering like a divorced couple, and enough OT5 clichés to rot your teeth. (If Harry's pastries don't get them first.)

across the river is where my heart is by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 8k, General, tumblr post]

The first time they see each other is when they are toddlers, playing out in the yard. Louis remembers sitting on the perfectly trimmed lawn and getting yelled at for picking at the soft blades of grass; she remembers looking over, across the narrow but deep and wild river, and watching another little girl, out in a different garden, picking flowers for her mother.

She remembers carefully raising her hand and waving—her little heart beating hard in her chest, as if she had done something dangerous, something forbidden, even though back then she could not understand the true divide the River made amongst them.

bright eyes, blue denim by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 2k, General, tumblr post]

Louis' favourite jeans have suddenly disappeared from where he always got them. Harry is a store manager with an affinity for customer care, particularly when the customer has bright blue eyes and happens to be very flirty.

whatever you feel like doing in this moment by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Harry/Louis, 2k, General, tumblr post]

Louis gets all that he's ever wanted during his favourite game at their group's weekly improv show.

#28th appreciation #tracksintheam #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dsource #one direction fan fic

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gyusbambi · 4 years ago

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trapped; chenle

genre: angsty fluff, dark academia, arranged marriage, pianist chenle, literature student y/n

note: hello, everyone. i just wanted to let you know that this is my first writing on tumblr and english is not my first language. therefore i am sorry if there are mistakes. also this might not be that good. still, i hope you will enjoy this and it’d mean a lot to me if you could like or give feedback? my chats are always open if you want to say anything. have fun!

words: 7,6k

“it’s time for you to get married.”

complete silence dominates in your father‘s old-fashioned work room, where you stand in front of his wooden desk with a confused expression. lines form between your eyebrows as you slightly tilt your head to the side, expecting your dad to continue talking. however, the old man seems rather unbothered as he simply flicks through his folder with documents. anxious about his frightening statement, your glance darts around the dark room. you take a quick look at the portraits of long forgotten people hanging on the walls, as if you could get an answer from them. dark brown wallpapers, a wooden rocking chair in the corner, antique curtains, a huge bookshelf and a beige vintage sofa decorate your father’s work room.

taking a deep breath and letting it out again slowly, you finally are brave enough to look up at him. still, you nervously tap your fist against your right thigh, opening and closing your mouth several times before forming words: “w-what do you mean it’s time for you to get married?”

you scold yourself internally for lightly stuttering. however, the man in front of you pauses before looking up with a look of puzzlement: “what part of it don’t you understand?”

“i’m only 18!”

an exaggerated sigh leaves his mouth while he crosses his arms and leans against his chair, “i thought we’ve already talked about this, y/n.”

“you’re right. we’ve talked about this once.” slowly getting irritated with every second passing by, you can’t help but raise your voice.

rubbing the brow as if to ward off a headache your father replies with a sharpening tone:

“look, young lady. i’m pretty sure you are aware of the importance of business relationships. if we want to grow successfully, we need to take this wonderful opportunity and get closer to the na’s.”

with disappointment you look down, chin almost dipping to your chest. after that you close your eyes for a moment. once again you feel trapped. sadly, you’ve felt so miserably hopeless over the years, as if you were locked in a cage. never have you experienced the feeling of freedom. you almost envy the several birds flying past your window every night. they seemed so carefree, enjoying every bit of freedom. on the contrary, you always have to follow your father‘s orders - from the way you act to the man you have to marry.

“you’ll get married to na jaemin, the son of mister na. he’s a kind gentlemen. it’s the best for you, my daughter.”

finally breaking the silence, your father speaks up while trying to make eye contact with you. whereas you try to avoid his eyes as much as possible in order to hide your teary ones. as much as you want to conceal your discouraged emotions, your hopeless eyes eventually meet the cold ones of the old man and you say one last thing with your shaky voice before finally leaving his room: “when will you ask me what i want?”

the library is the place where you find joy and peace. several bookshelves filled with various literature, beautiful framed windows, beige tones as well as the slight darkness creeping in your academies library cause you to ease up on your terrible thoughts. besides the calming atmosphere, you couldn’t miss out on the smell of books or the sound of raindrops falling outside.

books help you get lost in your own dreams, in your own fantasy. they distract you from your awful reality you so desperately want to avoid. therefore, you once again find yourself sitting at the back of the academy library with a novel placed on the desk. while flipping through the pages, you remember why you‘re there in the first place. obviously you have to confess you‘re a coward. a person shamelessly running away from their problems, while their whole life is falling apart.

after a while you finish the novel are way too excited to start the next book on your literature list. satisfied with the atmosphere in the library you leave your seat to make your way to your favorite section. in fact, that section wasn’t exactly located in the library but in the room right next to it. it was separated from the other sections and even had a piano placed in the middle of it. most of the time that area seemed empty, leaving only you searching for your favorite books.

when you eventually enter the room, you don’t see what you expected. instead of an empty place filled with complete quietness, you find a young man sitting in front of the piano. he plays beautiful tones, his look absolutely focused on the keys. for a moment, you are taken aback. instead of moving forward, you stand there like frozen. curiously, you take a closer look at the person running his fingers lightly over the keys. the young man seems so concentrated, so passionate and calm, he doesn’t even notice you standing right next to the door. he has dark hair, his bangs slightly covering his forehead. his skin seems soft and light. somehow it reminds you of snow, so clear and pure. he wears a black blazer with a white button up underneath.

certainly, you have never seen this man in the academy before. moreover you know that nobody really plays the piano in this neglected part of the library. therefore you are surprised, amazed as well, not only from his piano skills but also from his appearance.

it is only a few seconds later, when the pianist’s dark eyes leave the keys only to meet yours. a beat skips. at first he keeps on playing but soon it comes to an end. therefore a strained silence settles, while you two just stare into each other’s eyes. the eyes you were longing to look up were round and dark like the night. no single sound can be heard. only your heartbeat in your chest which speeds up. everything else stops existing. it’s only the two of you. yet, soon enough you start to worry. why can’t you focus on anything else? why can’t words leave your mouth? with the strained silence still taking over the room you blink a few times and get aware of the strange situation. before the pianist takes the chance to speak, your feet quickly move towards the specific bookshelf which is placed a little further from the piano. with your heart still beating like a drum, your fingers run over the old books on the shelf. at the same time you hide from the young man, who strangely makes you feel nervous.

you expect the pianist to continue playing. however, the room is still filled with quietness. shortly after you hear footsteps. maybe he left?

before you can distract yourself even more, your eyes scan through the books in front of you. when you finally spot the one you were looking for, you instantly reach for it. as you grab the book from the shelf, you spot someone through the gap between the books. there he is, on the other side of the same bookshelf, his fingers running over several novels. instantly your eyes meet and the familiar feeling starts growing in you again. surprised, you pull your book tight against your chest. neither of you say a word, which starts to make you nervous. however, a small smile appears on the pianist’s face as he grabs a certain book from the shelf, his eyes never leaving yours while doing so. as a result, you attempt to avert your gaze in order to hide the sudden shyness, but the rosiness of your cheeks give it away. in the end it’s just you standing there, watching him leave the room with the book in his right hand.

it’s the next day and you can’t deny that you’ve been thinking about the mysterious pianist from the library. the memory of him playing the piano or gazing at you through the bookshelf is enough for you forget about the uncomfortable situation you currently find yourself in.

“...right, y/n?”

your father’s sudden voice brings you back to reality. renjun, your best friend, nudges you from your right side in attempt to draw your attention. unfortunately, you didn’t pay attention to the conversation your father was having with the people sitting in the same room as you. instead you preferred to doze off by replaying the same scenes from yesterday in your head over and over again. several seconds pass, yet you still can’t seem to reply while you push the food around on your plate.

“y/n?” your dad calls your names once again.

with huge embarrassment you finally look up to find him slightly glaring at you with disapproval in his narrowed eyes.

“hm?” first you pretend to have unheard him, yet soon his glaring basically forces you to continue after clearing your throat nervously,

“i-i’m so sorry, i wasn’t paying attention.”

“of course you weren’t.” jaemin scoffs playfully yet so quietly that apparently you are the only one who hears him. completely annoyed with his actions, you can’t help but give him a hateful glare. after that you feel renjun’s hand on yours under the table, trying to calm you down.

renjun, you, both of your fathers and the na’s are currently sitting on the same table for dinner. obviously, they so desperately wanted you and jaemin to get along. however, his annoying behavior and your lack of interest cause the complete opposite.

“that’s understandable, y/n. you must be stressed out from all the exams. our jaemin is going through the same thing.” mister na says with a caring tone and offers you a smile.

“actually, i’m not-”

“i heard you study literature! that sounds quite interesting. in fact, jaemin is into books too. he spends the whole day in the library, you know.” jaemin can’t finish his sentence when his father doesn’t hesitate to interrupt him.

“would you look at that! y/n is exactly the same.” your dad laughs while patting your shoulder which leads you to smile awkwardly. all you want in that moment is to escape.

clearly nobody in this room is actually interested in what you do. only attempting to bring you two closer. involving jaemin in every single matter made it obvious enough. you like reading? jaemin does too! perfect, just marry each other already!

it is true that you see jaemin in the library almost every single day. besides that, you are pretty sure that he helps around there as well. usually you two would simply pass by each other without greeting. sometimes jaemin would sit near your table, eyes shifting towards you once in a while. at the dinner table you eventually glance at him with curiosity, only to find him already looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“i heard family zhong has returned? his youngest is already attending the academy...”

now everyone is engrossed in their own conversations again, enabling renjun to talk to you. your friend leans in, sliding a chair closer. head tilting to the side, eyebrows slightly furrowed, he speaks up with a soft voice:

“what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing. why?” you shrug, attempting to hide your lack of concentration.

“nothing?” renjun repeats your words with a questioning voice,

“tell me one thing you picked up on this conversation.”

with arms crossed in front of his chest he patiently waits for you to answer. resigned, you sigh before facing him eventually,

“yesterday i was in the piano room and there was someone who played the piano.”

“so?” renjun chuckles after the short silence.

“the thing is i have never seen him before. in the academy i mean.”

“he must be a new student then.”

“probably. he-” you trail off suddenly, the scene of his eyes meeting yours for the first time appearing in your mind.

“what? was he attractive?” renjun jokes with amusement while bumping shoulders with you.

however, when you don’t seem to reply, he almost chokes on his food with widen eyes,

“don’t tell me you fell for a stranger.”

shaking your head you look away from renjun with red cheeks.

“no, renjun,” your groan,

“it just felt different when we saw each other.” you remember that moment precisely which causes a fluttering in your stomach.

suddenly, renjun throws his head back in a bray of laughter while grabbing at his ribs like he has a stitch in his side at the same time. everyone turns their head to the laughing boy sitting next to you. soon, he covers his mouth with a hand to hide his amusement before apologizing politely.

“what the hell, renjun, are you out of your mind?” you whisper angrily.

“i couldn’t help it. how can i not when you literally sound like a fourteen-year-old girl crushing on someone for the first time.”

“the only thing i tried to explain you was that he looked- he looked alright but that’s not what i was trying to tell you- stop it!” you stutter while moving your hands in attempt to express yourself but punch your friend’s chest when he can’t keep a straight face.

“what’s so funny, huang?” jaemin asks with a raised eyebrow.

“oh, i just remembered how you call mark lee your oppa.” renjun smirked. you press your lips together to hold your laugh.

finally the family dinner comes to an end which enables you to breathe again. renjun waves at you with a worried smile when you leave with your father. just as much as you, your friend is completely unhappy with you forcefully getting engaged to na jaemin.

at the dinner table he told you about the new student from one of the richest families returning to the academy. apparently that certain person studies music and is known for his incredible voice. jaemin, on the other hand, chose not to talk much, besides leaving a few teasing comments now and then.

like always the neglected area of the library is completely empty. the utter silence is nothing new to you. everything remains the same in that specific room, yet one certain matter seems remarkable. truly speaking, you are a little upset when you don’t spot the particular pianist in front of the old piano. instantly you try to avoid the unfulfilled expectations in your head. they make you feel foolish, silly, delusive. how could you let yourself fall into your peculiar fantasy once again? perhaps your father is right when he claims that the books you read influence your expectations on the real world.

letting out a sigh, your hands brush over your dark green dress while your eyes scan through the rest of the library. instead of leaving that room, you spontaneously decide to try and play the piano yourself. after you take a seat, your fingers run over the cold keys. there happens to be a little dust, which you quickly brush away. at that moment, the memory of you playing the instrument for the first time appears in your head. you remember precisely how your beautiful mother wrapped her arm around your shoulder, the other hand over your small one. she placed your fingers on the right keys and gave you a loving smile before finally pressing them. although she had shown you multiple times, you still preferred to watch her play it herself. unfortunately, you never actually learned how to play it, since after your mother’s death, you haven’t dared to play it ever again. yet here you are, sitting in front of that specific instrument with absolute cluelessness.

a few minutes pass and you still sit in the same spot, pressing random keys on the piano. while doing so, images of your mother appear in your head. right when you are about to give up and leave the abandoned room, suddenly the sound of someone clearing their throat catches your attention. startled you snap your head to the sound of a stranger only to find the young man, you were admittedly longing to meet, standing at the entrance. the sight of him causes you to let out a small gasp. when you don’t speak, the pianist becomes uneasy.

“am i interrupting you?” he asks with his finger pointing to the piano, his eyebrows slightly raised while waiting for your answer.

"no! no, i was just playing around.” you nervously chuckle before looking down at the instrument in front of you, unable to meet the eyes of the stranger.

“ah,” he nods understandingly, “do you usually practice here?”

you shake your head, eyes not leaving the piano, “i can’t play. normally i’m here for the books.”

“true.” he mumbles, keeping his head down. you fail to notice the small smile creeping across his face.

chenle remembers perfectly how he spotted you on the other side of the same bookshelf. the small space between the books enabled him to glance at you. the sight of you holding your book tightly against your chest with red cheeks was enough for him to smile with amusement.

“i mean i kinda caught you playing random tones.” he rubs the back of his neck without making eye contact.

you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh, “you can admit that i’m miserable.”

“practice is the key. mind if i join you?”

“sure!” you respond a little to fast.

eventually the young pianist takes a seat next to you and places his hand on the keys. it doesn’t take him long to start playing a beautiful melody, making it look so effortless and easy. you are more than impressed when he finishes the short play and turn his head to face you.

“you’re really good!” you compliment when your eyes leave the piano keys to meet the ones of the stranger. his smile widens when suddenly an idea pops up in his head,

“thank you. do you want me to teach you a little?”

“that would be great.” you nod as you give him a thankful glance.

in a matter of fact, there has always been this desire to play piano deep inside you. with the hope that maybe, just maybe, a connection between you and your beloved mother could develop. when you think about it, it’s almost like the young pianist knows what you have been thinking about. even the simplest melody would make you satisfied. perhaps, the complete stranger could help you build a connection between your mother and you. somehow, he looks into your eyes a little longer, as if he’s trying to read you, before eventually focusing on the piano again.

“alright, so let’s start off with the notes.”

suddenly he slides closer to you in order to wrap his right arm around your shoulder and places his warm hand on your cold, small one. your skin tingles from the sudden contact of his skin with yours.

“now you need to...”

nervously you just stare at your hands on the piano, unable to meet the eyes of the young pianist, who sits way too close to you. you can feel the soft fabric of his blazer on your right arm. his knee touches yours under the piano. you can also feel his breath on your neck when he explains how to play the instrument. however, you can’t focus on what he’s saying. you imagine what would happen if you look up at him.

“... you still here?” the young man chuckles and you feel embarrassment when you realize that he must have noticed your lack of concentration.

when you look up to give him an answer, the closeness of his face makes you forget what you wanted say. again, you feel your face reddening.

the young man himself, is flustered as well when he notices rosiness on your cheeks. he is totally taken back by your long lashes, your beautiful eyes and your cherry tinted lips. besides that he really likes your sweet scent.

“i’m sorry! i zoned out a little.” you admit while you look into his eyes.

“that’s okay. we can try again!”

you take the nice offer and he teaches you one more time.

almost an hour passes, when you find yourself sitting in the library with the mysterious pianist, talking about several topics. for you, it’s great to have someone who communicates about books, music, art or theories, instead of business, money or work.

you both talk about your majors in the academy and you find out that the pianist, surprisingly, studies music. after you mention that you’re a literature student, he gets quite excited. with interest he wants to know more about it and expects you to talk more about it.

it’s when you two laugh about the ridiculous history professor, when suddenly your closest, and only friend, renjun enters the room with a worried expression on his face. however, his face changes to shocked, when he spots you and the stranger sitting on a table near the window.

“y/n, are you here? na jaemin wants to-”, he trails off before raising his eyebrows,

“zhong chenle?! what are you doing here?”

“renjun-ssi! aren’t you excited to see me?” the boy next to me tilts his head slightly with confusion and you notice the playful frown on his face.

“dude, i didn’t know you already arrived.” renjun doesn’t talk much but pulls the other boy in for a hug.

this is zhong chenle? the boy from a rich family who returns to the academy?

“i missed you, man.” chenle pats renjun’s back.

yet, renjun pulls back only to hit his shoulder playfully,

“why didn’t you let me know? since when are you here, huh?”

“i’m sorry, hyung. these days are very stressful for everyone, you know?”

renjun nods understandingly and finally pays attention to you, trying to hide the fact that he forgot that you are here too.

“you are zhong chenle?” you question with a confused voice as you furrow your eyebrows while pointing to him.

chenle sighs before nodding, “yes. that’s me.”

“y/n probably expected you to act like a rich snob.” renjun chuckles before you cough and send him a glare.

“hold on, don’t tell me the mysterious pianist you’ve been tal-”, before your friend can finish his sentence, you abruptly stand up in order to slap your hand on his mouth,

“shut up, renjeon.” you mumble, knowing renjun despises this specific nickname, originally created by na jaemin.

“are you two friends?”

“yes, we happen to be friends.” you answer while renjun gives you an annoyed look, still offended by the way you decided to call him,

“in fact, i’m your only friend.”

you are used to his odd behavior and decide to ask him something that has been in your mind since he came into the library,

“were you looking for me?”

“oh, right.”, renjun remembers and shakes his head to focus, “apparently na jaemin has something to talk about.”

the uncomfortable feeling appears again. soon you decide to leave the two boys and say goodbye before making your way to your fiance, na jaemin.

soon it turns out that na jaemin wants to talk to you about your upcoming marriage. of course, this matter makes you annoyed. for a certain reason jaemin seems to be serious about the whole situation. the young boy never fails to impress everyone by his charm, looks and intelligence. more important than that, he never disappoints his family. always coming up with the best ideas for their company, developing relationships with important people and giving his best in the academy. yet, you are quite confused when you find out that na jaemin wants to marry you. even in a situation like this, he can’t risk disappointing his family?

however, you certainly don’t care about his image and for sure won’t accept to be a part of his family.

“look, y/n, i know you don’t want this. trust me, i don’t want this either but it’s the best for us-”

“i don’t care about what’s best for us, this is my life and i should at least be allowed to decide if i want to marry.”

“would you stop being so selfish for once?” jaemin hissed.

“selfish?” you scoff, “i pity you, na jaemin. all you care about is how others think of you. i will never marry you.”

you once again you find yourself in one of your favorite places. this time it isn’t the peaceful library, but the flower garden. indeed, you adore the lovely smell of several flowers and the view of the scenery while you sit on the fresh grass, enjoying every bit of nature. just like the library, this place radiates peace. with a smile on your face you look around, checking if anyway was watching. when you don’t see anyone, you happily pick up some daisies - they’re your favorite.

from the building in front of the flower garden, chenle spots you through the window. the young pianist pushes the curtains further to the side as he watches you pick up a few flowers. you’re wearing a long sleeved white dress which reaches just above your knees. whenever he observed you, he saw a confused, worried and slightly shy girl. however, now that he looks at you, you seem like the happiest.

chenle doesn’t even notice a smile creeping across face, as he continues staring at you. he even considers walking downstairs just to meet you. as a matter of fact, the previous day keeps popping up in his mind. he enjoyed the moment he shared with you in the library: how his hand was placed on your soft one, how the redness appeared on your cheeks, how you talked about music and literature. desperately wanting the feeling of his rapid heartbeat to appear again, he doesn’t think twice before running towards the flower garden.

instead of greeting you he decides to walk up to you until there was only a few inches left between you. unawarely, you look at the flowers in your hand with keeping your head down. while doing so, you fail to notice chenle lowering his head slowly, almost touching your right shoulder. however, when the young man eventually whispers a hello in your ear, you let out a yelp and jump before turning around.

suddenly you are met with chenle standing right in front of you, your bodies almost touching. shocked by his sudden appearance, your eyes widen and your feet stumble over his. for a moment you close your eyes as you lose your balance and feel yourself fall. yet, before your back hits the ground, chenle is able to wrap his arm around your waist, holding you there, safe from falling. your fists are pressed against his chest, the daisies completely squeezed in your sweaty hand.

once your eyes meet his, a heavy feeling in your stomach appears. at the sudden contact of his body with yours, you feel your skin tingle. soon your pale face turns as red as the roses in the flower garden.

“woah there, did i scare you that much?” chenle chuckles as he looks into your eyes with amusement. you can feel his chest rising slightly while he does so.

for a moment you can’t find the right words as you try to avoid making eye contact as much as possible. after glancing around as if you‘re looking for an exit or escape, you finally look back to the pianist before speaking,

“why did you do that?”

“for fun.” he shrugs with a small smirk,

“what are you doing here anyway?” chenle asks although he already knows the answer.

“i wanted to walk around a little and... i also picked up some daises, i guess.” you mumble the last part, as your eyes leave his to look at the squished flowers in your hand, still in the same position,

“and you?” you ask, eyes moving back to his face,

“what are you doing in the flower garden?”

now it’s chenle’s turn to look for the right words. somehow, he does not want to admit that the only reason he came here was you.

now that he also notices that your bodies are still attached to each other, his arm around your waist while your hands lay on his chest, the situation seems to get difficult for him. with his heartbeat fastening, he clears his throat to answer the question. however, before he can even open his mouth, you take a step back slowly, your hands now swinging by your sides.

it is stupid how you both fail to notice the redness on each other’s cheeks.

“s-sorry.” you stutter as your eyes focus on his chest.

chenle raises his eyebrows, “no! it’s not your fault, i-”

“i mean the flowers,” you interrupt him as you point to the daises sticking to his sweater.

the pianist immediately looks down and can’t help but laugh at the sight of daisies pressed against his chest.

soon you both sit on the grass and talk about this and that. you have no idea how you ended up in this position, but your head rests on chenle’s thigh, his hand playing with your soft hair, while you look up to the sky.

“what do you want to do after academy?” chenle asks and starts playing with the daisies you had pressed against his chest before.

nobody has asked you this question before, not even your own father.

what do you want?

no, it is always you following your dad’s rules. not even once you have had the chance to decide for yourself. in fact, your whole life is entirely planned by other people.

what are you supposed to answer? that you will forcefully get married to a successful man you don’t want, and follow him around everywhere?

“i want to become a journalist.” you reply instead. with chenle, you want to talk about your dreams.

he looks at you with surprised eyes, “that sounds awesome! i can tell you’ll be successful.”

“you think so?” with a small, delighted smile you lean in a little.

“of course! your writing is excellent, you show so much passion and you’re quite ambitious. not to mention you pay attention to detail.” he braids the daisies in your hair but you don’t even realize, completely taken back by his words.

chenle smiles, unable to meet your eyes. he remembers how you couldn’t stop talking about writing and reading with so much excitement in your eyes. how you envy the lives of main characters because they seem to exciting, whereas yours is boring and somber.

“thank you, chenle. this means a lot to me.”

his eyes land on you and he finds you smiling with joy. this makes him happy and he can’t deny the butterfly in his stomach caused by that smile of yours.

little did he know, this was only the beginning.

somehow chenle and you start meeting each other more and more. the both of you keep seeing each other in the library and end up studying together. sometimes you write names of several flowers on his wrist, while he writes song lyrics on yours. you introduce chenle to many novels and he likes to play the piano for you. sadly, you fail to notice him peeking through the book he’s reading only to watch rays of the sun shine on your face.

in the flower garden, you usually lay next to each other, watching the clouds on the bright sky. every so often, you rest your head on his leg while he runs his hand through your hair. both of you pick up different flowers everyday and take them home. chenle even makes flower-crowns and you put daisies in his shirt pocket. yet, once again, you don’t notice him staring at you while you are busy observing the birds flying in the sky.

nevertheless, you catch sight of a rosiness on his cheeks every time you happen to look in his eyes a little longer than usual.

or how he casually holds your hand while you study in the library, his thumb running over yours.

or how he glances at your lips once in a while, thinking you’re too focused on fixing the collar of his jacket.

you are sure of your feelings for the pianist. however, you are unsure about his feelings. perhaps, he only sees you as a friend? what if you embarrass yourself in front of him? because of this, you decide not to say anything and continue hopelessly spending time with the music student, who you adore more than anything. in a matter of fact, it just makes sense falling for him.

unfortunately, it just seems so impossible to be with him, especially because you are engaged to someone else. chenle doesn’t know about your upcoming marriage with na jaemin and you have no clue when you should tell him.

however, that day comes sooner than you thought it would.

it’s when you both walk home from another study session at the library. before you turn around to leave chenle, you wave at him with a bright smile on your face. yet, it doesn’t take him long to call your name which causes you to turn around. with a questioning face you turn to face him and wait for him to continue.

“i need to tell you something.”

the nervousness on his face is impossible for you to not notice. the way his hands slightly tremble, his ears turning into a red color and him gulping make you worry.

and that’s when you choose to tell him. the moment just seems perfect and if not now, then when?

“me too,” you say,

“i have to tell you something really important.”

“well, then you go first.” chenle rubs his neck while avoiding your eyes.

you draw your mouth into a tin line and press your lips together before taking a deep breath and finally answer,

“i’m engaged to na jaemin.”

of course, you are so overwhelmed and nervous that you fail to notice chenle’s face fall. his stomach drops as he stares into your eyes so deeply.

why would you say that right when he was about to confess?

but perhaps it was better this way. things between you would be very weird, if he confessed his feelings. still, he feels terrible. the girl he has been loving the whole time is engaged to somebody else.

“it was my father’s decision, not mine.” you try to meet chenle’s eyes but he looks away,

“oh, i see. that’s... great? congratulations.”

“what did you want to tell me?” you try to change the topic since you suddenly feel uncomfortable.

“me? ugh-,” the boy in front of you is slightly panicked, attempting to find a possible response,

“nothing important haha.” chenle tries to laugh it off.

you frown, “are you sure?”

he just nods, not able to form the right words.

“alright but i need to tell you something else. i’m aware that this might not be the right time or place, after what i just said, but i just need to tell you-”

right when you want to reveal your feelings for the young pianist, you hear a voice calling his name. his father is calling him, and he has to leave.

“sorry, y/n. see you at the ball.”

the next day you get ready for the dance, which takes place near your academy. in fact, it’s the most important dance out of all of them. pretty much all families are invited, including yours of course. unfortunately, you are aware that parents tend to play cupid in order to bring their children together. in this case, your father puts effort into his appearance and also gives you an expensive dress.

when you finally arrive at the ball your eyes immediately find the man you so hardly fell for. simply he stands there, a drink in his right hand, eyes shining while talking to your friend huang renjun. chenle is wearing a velvet burgundy suit which makes you feel dizzy.

however, during that night, you notice how chenle avoids you. whenever you try to approach him, he finds someone else to talk. whenever you walk towards his direction, he turns around immediately and walks away. now and then you glance at him from distance and when he finally turns his head to your direction and meets your eyes, he looks away in milliseconds.

even so, renjun eventually meets you and it’s his turn to play cupid. right after he greets you with a huge smile, he grabs your arm and leads you to where chenle is currently standing, thankfully alone.

after you both awkwardly greet each other, renjun decides to check on his other friend lee donghyuck. right when you are ready to talk to chenle, suddenly na jaemin shows up in the same room. apart from that people around you start to dance with their partner. it doesn’t take you long to realize that jaemin, your fiancé, is walking towards you.

he wants to dance with me.

your gaze flits around the room, never settling on a person or object for long as you plan an escape in your head. finally chenle decides to speak to you when the young boy notices your nervous behavior,

“what’s wrong?”

immediately you grab onto him, refusing to let go:

“i have to leave. now.”

“what? why?”, chenle watches you with curious eyes until you eventually make eye contact with him.

there is a tightness in your chest when you play with your fingers nervously,

“na jaemin is coming our way because he wants to dance with me. don’t look.”

although you clearly warned chenle so that he could avoid your narcissistic fiance, he still looks behind you curiously.

“i said don’t look!” you speak through your teeth with forced restraint.

“why don’t you dance with him? he’s your fiancé after all.” the pianist only ignores your words, more interested in your feelings for the young man called na jaemin.

“i don’t want to dance with him because i don’t like him. it’s my dad’s decision, not mine. remember?”, you sigh while looking for a way to escape.

“then dance with me.”

all of the sudden chenle’s right hand grabs your waist, pulling you really close to him. after that his other hand takes yours which makes you let out a small gasp. with confusion your eyes widen, not believing the situation you find yourself in. nervously, you gulp when he looks down to you with a small smirk on his face. instantly your cheeks turn a darker shade of red, eyes not leaving his beautiful dark ones. chenle’s hands on your body make the butterflies appear in your stomach once again, your heart races and you aren’t exactly bothered by the familiar feeling until you notice your surroundings.

all the guests in the room are focused on you both, whispering to each other with surprised faces. even the couples dancing are shocked by zhong chenle dancing with y/n, who’s already engaged to na jaemin, that they end up stepping on each other’s feet. your fiancé himself is just standing there with an angry expression, eyes not leaving zhong chenle, who dares to dance with you.

“chenle, w-what are you doing?” your tongue gets tangled when you attempt to whisper.

he shrugs, “i want to dance with you.”

your right hand holds into his shoulder while the other one squeezes his hand,

“everyone is watching us. are you sure this is a good idea?”

“they’re just jealous you’re dancing with the most handsome man in the room.”

chenle’s sudden change in behavior makes you frown and step on his foot intentionally. however, he only tightens his grip on your waist and pulls you even closer as you continue to dance with each other,

“oh. is this better?”

the feeling of his soft hands on the fabric of your dress makes your skin tingle. how could he pull you close to him so easily?

the music plays in the background when you are too focused on his face, now only a few inches apart from yours. you have difficulty focusing on your steps due to the sudden lightheadedness which leads you to stumble and step on chenle’s foot once again.

he smirks, playfully shaking his head: “you want me even closer?”

your eyes widen when he bends down to whispers in your ear,

“we’re in public, y/n.”

you think it’s the end for you when you feel his warm breath on your neck which makes your heart nearly explode in your chest but he just looks into your eyes deeply, his lips forming a smile when he notices the rosiness on your cheeks,

“do i make your heart flutter?”,

he only chuckles at your cuteness, completely unaware of your feelings for him.

“you wish.” you manage to say after clearing your throat, your eyes now on the people dancing around you.

after that he spins you around just to catch you in his arms again: “i wish.”

at that exact moment, when you both stare into each other’s eyes deeply with love and attraction, everything and everyone around you seems to disappear. all at once the music in the background, the sound of people laughing and the people themselves stop existing. chenle holds you in his arms, his grip on your waist tightening even more, his face really close to you. there’s a fluttering in his stomach when his gaze falls on your soft, rosy lips. you do the same when you notice his eyes on your lips and none of you dare to say anything. yet, you blink a few times before deciding to express your feelings for the pianist,

“chenle, i-”

out of the blue na jaemin dares to interrupt you and the popular zhong. swiftly he pulls you out of chenle’s grip by grabbing your arm. surprised by his sudden actions, you watch jaemin glare angrily at the boy in front of him, hand not letting go of your arm.

“what do you think you’re doing, zhong?”, jaemin speaks carefully in a controlled tone, trying to remain calm. however, you don’t fail to notice his fist pounding against his thigh lightly.

“who are you to tell me what to do?” chenle laughs annoyed.

“i’m her fiancé, you asshole.”

“then maybe you should ask your fiancée what she thinks of you. i bet you already know, right? things can’t always go your way, jaemin-ssi.”

after snapping at him, chenle pulls you ouf of jaemin’s grip and leads you out of there.

it is your wedding day. although you could never believe that in the end of the day you’ll have to get married to a complete stranger, you now observe yourself in front of the mirror, hair falling down your shoulders perfectly, make-up done, pearls around your neck and the heavy dress on your body. you absolutely hate your reflection, your eyes still puffy from crying the previous night. the soreness in your throat makes you feel even more uncomfortable. nonetheless you have to marry na jaemin in a few minutes.

after chenle left the ball with you, he confessed his feelings for you. therefore, you told him about your feelings as well. that moment was incredibly magical to you, yet also quite stressful. needless to say, you talked about your engagement with the other male and chenle told you to not worry about it. he told you that he would certainly find a way. however, unfortunately, nothing happened till your wedding day. you both met each other secretly now and then, sharing kisses in the neglected library when chenle played the piano but got distracted by you.

by all means you enjoyed spending time with your lover but had to admit that you got more worried every day. zhong chenle promised you he’d never leave you but now you enter the big room, where people watch you walk towards the other side of the room. you want to cry, run away, scream. how could chenle just leave you like this?

right when you are about to take jaemin’s hand and give in, the gates suddenly open which catches everyone’s attention. there he is, completely out of breath from the running, eyes looking for yours. soaked from the heavy rain, he runs his hand through his wet hair. your eyes widen when he runs towards you. the guests gasp as he reaches for your hand and stares into your eyes deeply,

“come with me, y/n.”

not knowing what do, you raise your eyebrows and continue looking at the young man in front of you. before your father can burst out in anger, chenle swiftly grabs your arm and starts running. you hear everyone in the room gasp and panic, na jaemin calling your name several times. nevertheless, you run away with your lover, nearing the huge gates which lead to an exit. while rushing towards his horse, your long dress gets dirty from all the rain.

“you came!”, you manage to say with excitement, while running.

“of course i came! i told you i’d never leave you!”

“what are we doing now?”

“we’re running away from here, love. i know i-” chenle trails off for a moment, still breathless from running the whole time,

“i haven’t talked to you about this but you have to trust me. i planned everything. is that okay with you?”

chenle jumped on his horse and offers a hand to you. eventually you nod without thinking twice and get on the horse.

before you both leave, he turns around to you slightly, his eyes staring into yours with so much love before his hands caress your face. your hurt flutters when his lips touch yours, your eyes closing immediately. breaking the kiss, he tucks your hair behind your ear,

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too, chenle.”

and you both head towards north, where you live happily ever after.

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bjy-on-ao3 · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, I really love your writing on Ao3! I was wondering if you could write an Adachi x reader where Adachi slips it in while reader is sleeping? Maybe halfway through being fucked reader wakes up but pretends to be asleep anyway because they are enjoying it? I imagine that they'd probably already have a preexisting sexual relationship and have talked about the sex that they are okay with (that could be a creative choice for you tho idc. manipulative adachi sexy). best wishes!

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page)

Here you are, anon! This one really struck a cord with me, and I knew I had to fill it, eventually.

Summary

Adachi gives Reader a pleasant morning surprise to indulge a desire they previously confessed to him.

Tags/Warnings

Biting, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Hair-Pulling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Somnophilia, Vaginal Sex

Rise & Shine (F! Reader/Tohru Adachi)

The early rays of morning scattered through the window blinds, bathing the otherwise dark bedroom in pale stripes of yellow and gold. The cloying spring heat had yet to creep in, some remnant of the coolness of night lingering, lending a refreshing feeling, rather than one hot and clinging. Tohru Adachi stirred on the bedsheets of the mattress next to the mostly shuttered window.

He started to disentangle himself lazily from the light sheets, but stopped. A look of confusion spread across his face when he noted sitting up wasn’t as easy as it should have been, the cause your prone form tucked so securely against him. He remembered falling asleep at your apartment after some drinks at Shiroku and a couple rounds of fun, but you had fallen asleep with ample distance between you. Adachi decided you must have unconsciously snugged up to him while the both of you slept.

Though he was confused, that didn’t mean Adachi wasn’t exactly displeased. Neither of you had bothered to re-dress at all before passing out the night before. That left you naked, pressed against him, at least before he tried to extricate himself from your grasp. His eyes roved unchastely over your bare skin, exposed where the sheets rode down past your hips. Lying flat on your stomach after he had escaped your cuddling, your arms splayed on the pillows, legs spread haphazardly. He eyed the swell of your chest pressing into the soft mattress and the tantalizing curve of your ass, his gaze lingering as his hunger was roused.

In that moment, Adachi recalled a conversation that had taken place between the two of you not long ago. You had opened up to him a little with your fantasies and wants, admitting with a thoroughly hot face and hushed tone how badly you wanted him to use you. You hadn’t described exactly how, though, only that your desire for him to use your body however he pleased existed. He remembered how excited the confession had made him, immediately diving into imaginations of how he planned to take you up on it. Somehow, though, the thought had slipped his mind until that instant.

The gears were turning in his head, and Adachi’s lips curled in a sinful, lecherous grin as he came to a decision. What better way to grant your wishes and use you only for his pleasure than to fuck you while you slept, when he had little reason to worry about your satisfaction or concerns. His cock jerked to life at the thought, and his mind was made up.

He drew the sheets the rest of the way off, flinging them to the side where they would remain unwanted and forgotten for some time. The full sight of your body laid out nude before him met him, and another punch of hunger seized him, his reacting in along with it. For a second, Adachi wondered if you would even notice. He couldn’t remember if you were a light sleeper who woke at even a hardly intrusive touch, or if you slept like the dead and would drowse through it all. But he was going to find out very soon. =============================================

It was the touch of something solid and cool between your legs that eased you from the warm, comfortable haze of sleep. It prodded at the soft pink of your cunt before slipping inside with little resistance. At first, you thought you were having some kind of vivid wet dream, but you recognized the strange dark line of half-consciousness, so it was no dream. Something had buried itself inside your cunt, wet and welcoming even while you dozed. The sensation of whatever it was wriggled and curled, easing in and out for a moment before withdrawing altogether.

The thick fog of sleep threatened to lure you back into its clutches with the retreat of whatever had been intruding; you had nearly convinced yourself even if it wasn’t a dream, you had imagined it. Just a figment of your muddled, half-asleep mind. But whatever it was returned, clamping over your thighs and carefully prying them apart to spread your legs wider. The tip of something far more hot and hard poked at your slick lips, the sensation giving your growing consciousness a jolt. You froze, making yourself remain still despite coming further to, and the thick intrusion sank past your lips and your entrance.

A low, blissful groan caught your attention when the hardness filled you completely, and your cunt clenched reflexively around it. Several debauched noises longed to free themselves from your throat at the aching fullness, but you quashed them, forcing yourself to feign sleep. The groan no doubt belonged to the man you had fallen asleep beside the night before, there was no denying that. You were led to a conclusion even your hazy mind could make: Adachi was the one buried deep inside your cunt, basking in the tight embrace of your soft, wet flesh around his cock.

The realization didn’t alarm or upset you, though. In fact, it only made your cunt feel wetter, and your walls tightened around him again, eliciting another erotic, gravelly noise from Adachi, A wicked heat blossomed in your gut and made your heart drum in your chest, your pulse beginning to race. It almost embarrassed you how much being fucked while you ‘slept’ turned you on, and you wondered fleetingly if he noticed how readily your body responded to him. Would he think nothing of it and just assume you were still dreaming and none the wiser?

Any thoughts were drowned out, though, when Adachi’s hips pulled back and he thrust back into your heat, the start of a steady rhythm. He rocked his hips languidly against your backside, obviously in no rush. A series of small, carnal, and oh-so-arousing sounds drifted from his lips as he pumped his cock in and out of your core. Sounds quiet enough that if you had really been asleep, you doubted you would have noticed at all. You struggled not to react too noticeably to them or from the roll of his hips. But you couldn’t help squirming here and there, a muffled, sleepy whimper escaping every once in a while. You hoped Adachi chalked them up to simply unconscious and involuntary reactions.

Whatever the case, your wriggling and tiny, nearly incoherent gasps and murmurs spurred Adachi onward, and his pace increased, fucking you more thoroughly into the bed. Each deep thrust made you want to swoon and melt and moan. The weight of Adachi’s body pressed into your back, his skin already growing slick with beads of sweat, radiating heat against you.

“Y’know,” he growled casually in your ear, “you’re a really bad actor.” His pace didn’t stop, and he his came to tangle in the sheets beside your shoulders, giving him more leverage to pound into your cunt more roughly.

You ignored him, unsure if he knew you were awake and was telling the truth, of if he was searching for some kind of conscious reaction to find out. Things were too enjoyable though to let them end so easily. Until Adachi could prove you were awake, you were more than pleased to let him have his way with you.

A moment of silence punctuated only by the sounds of sex passed, and then a low, contemplative hum droned beside you. “Well, I guess if you’re really sleeping through this, I can do whatever I want,” he said coyly, and to some it might have sounded almost like a threat. Right then, to you, it was a sinful promise you silently bade him to fulfill.

His hips snapped harder against you, and it was even more of a struggle to fight back the noises that wanted to break free, each thrust so deep it provoked a guttural response. He adjusted himself, tilting his hips and pressing his body more firmly against yours. You didn’t know if it was out of mere convenience for him, or on purpose to overwhelm you and shatter your charade, but the new angle brought on a greater ordeal.

Each rough stroke of his cock, besides sinking so deep, brushed against a much more receptive spot that made your gut twist in a distinctly pleasant way. You tried to disguise the way you turned your head to push it into the pillows as an unconscious reaction, though you unsure how long Adachi would continue to buy your act, if he didn’t already know the truth.

Each time he drove back inside, you lost more resolve to keep pretending, and to disguise and smother your moans and the way your body so badly wanted to meet his thrusts. The molten feeling that had grown in your belly served only to weaken you further, welling up inside and proving more demanding and wild than the sounds of pleasure seeking escape.l

You pressed your face into the pillows more as a particularly stubborn moan bubbled up, much louder than any of the others, trying in vain to stifle it. Though as soon as the sound left your lips, smothered as it was, your little game of pretend was over. A rough hand tangled in your hair, grabbing tightly and jerking your head back and away from the pillows. Your new position left you no choice but to moan freely into the air, already hot and thick with sex and sweat. The stubborn moan seemed like the bursting of a dam, and there was no stopping the myriad cries that followed it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Adachi hissed in your ear, amused and breathless. “Pretending you had no idea what I was doing and getting off on being treated like the little cock sleeve you wanted to be?”

With your act revealed, you had no reason to try to fool Adachi any longer. You gave into the carnal heat swelling inside you, crying out and finally slamming your hips back to meet his. “Fuck, yes! Use me, please,” you begged, and Adachi’s stinging grip in your hair tightened reflexively. “I want to be your plaything; use me however you want!” your voice broke with your admission, shattered by a stroke that stole your breath away and made your made briefly go blank.

The words were a catalyst, stoking Adachi’s already boiling lust to even greater heights. He rutted harder against you, feeling the urgency of an orgasm dawning on him, your shameless enthusiasm speeding it along. He relished the outpouring of bawdy shouts and moans bubbling from your mouth now that he had called your bluff. His fingered remained snared in your hair, pulling your head back almost painfully and ensuring there was no chance to muffle a single sound more.

You could feel Adachi’s desperation mounting behind each thrust, even through the lingering haze of sleep clouding your awareness. You felt it in the tension of his body, pushing yours so forcefully into the bed, and in his fingers, both in your hair and on your skin. But you were already ahead of him. The sheer excitement of being fucked in such an obscene fashion made your body tense and burn white hot. Each time Adachi filled you up again, it forced another cry from your lips, and the liquid heat wound tighter and more intense.

Your breathing hitched, becoming quickly ragged and sharp, and Adachi’s was just as labored in your ear. You bucked back against him mindlessly, seeking the last little push you needed and thinking of nothing else. When you came, his named rolled off your tongue in waves, interrupted by moans that pitched more desperate and airy as he fucked you through your orgasm.

He bent his head, and his teeth scraped the nape of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he could find to leave a colorful, stinging mark. The sharp sensations added to the ripples of pleasure dancing through you, and your voice cracked in your ecstasy. His tempo slowed, gaining force where it lost momentum, until the smack of his skin on yours was clear even through the chorus of groans and cries ringing out. When he finished, he bit down again, harder, so hard a moan turned into a brief yelp, even though he hadn’t broken the skin.

With each spurt of his cum that filled you, Adachi groaned, long and low, the noise feral and thick. The sounds made you shudder, and your cunt squeeze him tighter, even though your orgasm was wearing away and coming to an end. Finally, Adachi was spent, and you were left sweat-slicked and nearly panting, his grasp on your hair loosening. You couldn’t think beyond the feel of him still sheathed in your cunt, or the sound of his heavy breathing beside you. Even smothered beneath his weight, your mind had room only for the pleasures of the afterglow.

You rested limp and pliant against the bedsheets as Adachi released your hair, and when you lay your head on the pillows again, they felt blissfully cool. You were too tired and out-of-sorts to move when Adachi withdrew, vaguely noting the sensation of something warm and thick trickling down your thighs.Adachi didn’t bother laying back in bed, instead rolling to the side and getting to his feet. You summoned the energy to roll over and watch him as he went about getting cleaned up before searching for his clothes and re-dressing.

After several minutes, Adachi had sorted himself out and made himself presentable - or at least what counted as presentable for detective with his routinely messy hair, crumpled clothes, and crooked tie. By then, you had regained steady breathing, watching him lazily and propping yourself up on your elbow. He took one last glance over himself, patting the pockets of his slacks for his phone and keys and ensuring he hadn’t forgotten anything, Satisfied everything was accounted for, he walked to the beside, bending down and taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger before tipping your head to meet his gaze.

“I’ve gotta get going now, sweetheart. Be good while I’m gone and maybe I’ll indulge more of your sick little fantasies the next time I come over,” he promised, punctuating his words with a kiss. It was a gesture that might have seemed sweet or affectionate, were it not for the sharp, hungry bite he left on your bottom lip.

Then, he was gone without another word, leaving you with a burning face, an aching cunt oozing cum, and many angry marks that would soon turn various shades of blue and purple. Yet, you were left also with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction that outweighed everything else. You slid back down onto the bed, recounting what had just happened. Even just the memory sent your arousing spiralling out of control all over again.

It was going to be torture waiting for the next time you could get together.

#writing #fanfiction #tohru adachi #persona 4 #ao3 #archive of our own #fic friday

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gusu-emilu · 3 years ago

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raven sun (Ch. 2/4)

for @mdzsbingo prompts “rarepair, mission, hostile, paranoia” (cont.)

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Wen Ning becomes possessed by a vengeful spirit. Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng is the closest target.

Rated M, contains nonsexual but dubconny dom/sub elements in later chapters

When A-Yuan and the juniors were in need, Wen Ning had frozen. Had been useless. Had required help instead of offering it.

What if they hadn’t been able to fend for themselves?

He doesn’t want to imagine it.

Read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning’s first thought is that he must be possessed.

Resentful energy churns inside him, responding to something. But he doesn’t know whether it’s the figurine spirit reaching inside his mind, or just his imagination.

All he knows is that Jiang Wanyin is shaking him, that voices are calling, that he needs to protect A-Yuan.

It all presses in on him, crushing him, even as the world spirals into the distance.

He tries to use calming breaths to steady himself, the way Jiejie had taught him to, but it doesn’t ground him the way it used to when he was alive.

Vaguely, he thinks to open a satchel of strong-smelling herbs to shock himself into clarity, but he won’t sense the aroma well enough with his deadened senses…

White fog spreads.

The ground fades away.

Rain.

Lightning flashes. Chenqing sings. Voices scream.

Bones shatter under his fingers—

Something is wrong with the melody.

He plunges his hand through a golden peony.

Stains it red.

Never meant to kill him—

The crimson silk fades, replaced by candles and curtains.

Blood weeps from his palm as he holds back a saber’s blade.

He is a blade, comes Jiejie’s voice.

A very precious blade…

A bell chiming.

Slowly, Wen Ning’s sense of sight returns.

He’s kneeling on the ground, head spinning. He looks up to see Jin Ling, who abruptly stops ringing the clarity bell.

Jin Ling breaks into a grin. “Finally!”

“J-Jin—” Wen Ning stutters out.

“You’re okay!” Lan Jingyi exclaims, his grin even wider than Jin Ling’s.

“We were so scared,” Ouyang Zizhen says.

A lighter set of bells jingle. Something wet slides across Wen Ning’s face, and suddenly half of his vision is obstructed by something gray and fluffy.

“Fairy, stop that! He just woke up!” Jin Ling grabs the dog by the scruff of her neck and tugs her away.

Wen Ning thinks he might be shaking. Someone wraps their hands under his arms and helps him to his feet. They push in on the sides of his arms, squeezing him, providing comforting pressure that helps him center his awareness.

He glances over his shoulder to see who is hugging him, and finds A-Yuan smiling, a hint of concern in his eyes. At the sight of his nephew unharmed, the tension inside Wen Ning relaxes, relief washing over him.

“It’s okay. Everyone’s safe,” A-Yuan says. “We’ve suppressed the spirit.”

Wen Ning nods, not quite able to speak.

“How do you feel?” A-Yuan asks.

“…I…I’m okay…”

Jin Ling crosses his arms. “You better be! Could you have taken any longer to wake up? I was ringing that bell for ages.” But the joy in his eyes belies his sharp words.

“Yeah, please don’t do that again, Wen-qianbei,” Lan Jingyi says. “Jin Ling almost cried.”

“I did not!”

“If it makes you feel any better, I almost cried too,” Ouyang Zizhen says to Jin Ling.

Wen Ning senses his hand clenched around something cold and hard, unable to let go. He stares down at the object as he pries his fingers off one by one, surprised to realize it’s the empty sheath of Jiang Wanyin’s sword.

Dazed, he gives a raspy laugh, somehow finding all of this absurd. “What happened?”

As soon as he asks, anxiety takes root in his stomach again. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

What had he done? Had he put anyone in danger?

“I think you…froze,” A-Yuan says. “By the time we finished suppressing the spirit and came over, you’d completely lost consciousness. It took a while to wake you up.”

“That’s all?”

A-Yuan nods.

It doesn’t give Wen Ning much reassurance. Guilt twists inside him, guilt at having frozen when the juniors needed protection.

He raises the silver-violet scabbard in his hand. “How did I get…” Jiang Wanyin’s sword.

A pang of worry grips him.

Where is he?

“You—” A-Yuan starts to say.

He’s cut off by Jiang Wanyin’s stentorian voice. “Doesn’t matter. I’d like it back now that you’ve stopped daydreaming.”

Jiang Wanyin is off to the side and scowling, arms crossed, leaning against a tree to support his injured leg. Jin Ling takes the scabbard from Wen Ning and hurries it over to him. He sheathes the sword in one clean motion, then turns his face away from the group as Jin Ling returns.

A feeling of foreboding sinks in Wen Ning’s chest, but seeing how calm the juniors are, he tries to let go of it. “How did you suppress the spirit? I’m…I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to—”

“Don’t apologize!” Ouyang Zizhen says.

Lan Jingyi nods emphatically. “Yeah, that was one of the coolest night hunts ever, and we did everything ourselves!”

“You mean…Jiang-zonghzu didn’t—”

“No, we handled it all,” A-Yuan explains. “We figured out that we could use our outer robes and an entire wad of Spirit-Replenishing Talismans to trick the spirit into sensing an unshielded body to possess. Once the spirit left the figurine and attempted to possess the decoy, a guqin melody was able to immobilize it.”

Grinning, Lan Jingyi holds up a wriggling Spirit-Trapping Pouch. “It’s in here. It’s very unhappy.”

Wen Ning swells with pride. “Great job! That was a clever strategy.”

“We easily outsmarted that spirit on our own.” Jin Ling lifts his chin. “I don’t know what these three were calling for help for.”

“Oh really?” Jiang Wanyin cuts in. “Then why were you calling the loudest out of anyone? Next time, if you don’t need help, don’t act so desperate for it.”

I was worried about you, Wen Ning hears beneath Jiang Wanyin’s words, and is unsettled to discover he can read him so easily.

“Jiujiu—”

“Be quiet!” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

Jin Ling scoffs and turns away.

Jiang Wanyin sighs, pinching his temples. “I’m glad you’re all safe. But, if you don’t mind the interruption to the Ghost General’s welcome back party, we still have a lot to discuss.”

Frowning, he locks eyes with Wen Ning, his gaze oddly intense. A few uncomfortable moments pass before Wen Ning looks away, which makes him feel like he’s lost some kind of contest.

They all gather around Jiang Wanyin to straighten out the remaining logistics of the night hunt. Namely, how to appease the figurine’s spirit so it’s no longer a threat. As usual, Wen Ning and Jiang Wanyin let the juniors do most of the talking, giving them the freedom to work through the options themselves.

Despite how happy Wen Ning is for the junior’s success in capturing the spirit, shame and guilt creep around him like thorny vines, cutting into him.

When A-Yuan and the juniors were in need, he had frozen. Had been useless. Had required help instead of offering it.

What if they hadn’t been able to fend for themselves?

He doesn’t want to imagine it.

More lingering questions float through his mind—why did he wake up holding Sandu’s sheath, for one thing—but he tries to lay them to rest for now, focusing on the juniors’ conversation.

“We could pay respects to the family that used to live in the farmhouse,” A-Yuan suggests. “Maybe if we ensure that their graves are attended to, it will lessen the spirit’s anger.”

Jin Ling shakes his head. “It’s worth a try, but that won’t solve the actual problem. The figurine gained its resentful spirit by watching the family turn against each other and murder each other.”

“Hm...that’s true,” A-Yuan replies. “A peaceful burial won’t erase the anguish the spirit had witnessed before the family died.”

A few moments of silence pass as the juniors think.

“What if we show the spirit a family that gets along well? Lan Jingyi says.

Jiang Wanyin narrows his eyes at him.

“You mean…” Ouyang Zizhen strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Show it that not all families end in betrayal and carnage? Let it see that there are ways to live in harmony, even when disagreements arise?”

“Yeah, I guess so!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jin Ling says. “What, should we put on a skit for the spirit? Have Wei Wuxian come raise the family’s corpses and force them to act out a reconciliation?”

Something primal inside Wen Ning reacts to the word “force,” causing his shoulders to tense.

“Don’t speak nonsense,” Jiang Wanyin snaps. “This is serious.”

Jin Ling sniffs. “Wei Wuxian probably could help us—”

“I thought you wanted to do this yourself.”

“—just not with a method so stupid,” Jin Ling mutters the rest under his breath.

The juniors continue discussing how to appease the spirit, although their conversation is more subdued. Wen Ning pays careful attention, considering their suggestions quietly to himself. But he can’t keep his mind from wandering.

He also finds himself stealing glances at Jiang Wanyin, wondering what he might be thinking.

Jiang Wanyin always tenses whenever one of the juniors mentions Wei Wuxian. And if Jin Ling mentions Wei Wuxian, his discomfort is even more noticeable.

It’s no secret that Jin Ling spends a lot of time with Wei Wuxian—night hunting with him, hosting him in Jinlintai, visiting him in Cloud Recesses. Wen Ning has heard the stories firsthand from Wei Wuxian, who speaks so much about Jin Ling that Wen Ning can vividly picture moments he hadn’t even been present for: the time Jin Ling shot an arrow across the full length of a Lanling garden, or laughed so hard he snorted hot soymilk out his nose, or got teary-eyed while cooking lotus pork rib soup with Wei Wuxian.

Sometimes he catches the tail end of a conversation between Jin Ling and his uncle, some remark implying that Jin Ling has been trying to get his uncle to talk to Wei Wuxian.

But despite Wei Wuxian’s closeness to Jin Ling, he and Jiang Wanyin are still barely on speaking terms.

But this matter is beyond Wen Ning’s concern. What matters to him most is Wei Wuxian’s happiness, however he chooses to seek it.

Although…Wei Wuxian does have a habit of sabotaging his own happiness.

Wei Wuxian has hinted that he misses his shidi. But Wen Ning doesn’t know whether the man he misses is the Jiang Wanyin of the past or present.

Sometimes he wonders how much he’s responsible for their fallout.

There are times he regrets revealing the truth to Jiang Wanyin.

Regrets allowing the core transfer to happen at all.

He takes a breath and centers himself. He has endured losses of his own. However much he questions himself, however much he wants to undo the past—there is only so much he can control.

Wen Ning’s undeath has been a continual parley with control, a fraught dance of his emotions and resentful energy. He has learned that control is never a simple thing.

He wishes it were.

He tunes back in to the juniors’ conversation and tries to piece together what he’d missed. It seems that the question of how to appease the spirit is still unresolved, and now they are discussing where to keep the spirit.

“We can take it to Cloud Recesses and find a way to appease it there,” A-Yuan says.

“We could.” Ouyang Zizhen shrugs and glances at Jin Ling. “The outskirts of Lanling are closer, though.”

“We are in Yunmeng Jiang territory,” Jiang Wanyin says flatly.

The juniors all look over at him.

“There’s no need to discuss where to house the spirit. I will take it to Lotus Pier for the night.” When a ripple of disappointment runs through the group, he adds, “For safe-keeping. You can still finish your work with it in the morning.” He nods toward the wreckage of the farmhouse, which is still smoking from the explosion. “The ruins reek of resentment. There’s a lot to clean up in the meantime. You should start now.”

After the juniors exchange glances, Lan Jingyi hands the Spirit-Trapping Pouch to Jiang Wanyin before heading back to the wreckage with Ouyang Zizhen.

Jin Ling and A-Yuan hang behind.

“I’m fine,” Wen Ning says to A-Yuan. “I’ll come over in a moment.”

Reluctantly, A-Yuan nods and follows Jingyi.

Jin Ling approaches his uncle, gesturing down at the curse wound on his leg. “Are you able to fly back to Lotus Pier?”

“Of course.”

Wen Ning quietly doubts that. But he walks away slowly to give them space.

“But your leg—”

“I said ‘yes.’”

“Why do you always—"

“Respect your elders!” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

Jin Ling huffs. “Fine! Whatever!”

Wen Ning looks back at them. Jin Ling starts to leave, but Jiang Wanyin puts his hand on his shoulder and stops him. They stay like that for a few moments, Jin Ling staring moodily at the ground, Jiang Wanyin shifting his jaw, his expression conflicted but surprisingly soft.

Wen Ning picks up his pace, heading toward A-Yuan at the wreckage.

“…You did a good job,” Jiang Wanyin says quietly, voice fading as Wen Ning moves farther away. “I could hear everything while you and the others were suppressing the spirit. You’re acting more and more like a leader on these night hunts.”

Jin Ling mumbles something, flustered.

“That is, when you aren’t spouting nonsense and making a fuss. You’re lucky that Lan Sizhui sticks around you. He has a lot more sense than you.”

��Hey!—”

“Now get to work.” Jiang Wanyin’s voice is gruff, but Wen Ning thinks he can hear a smile in it.

His face slightly pink, Jin Ling runs past Wen Ning, with Fairy trotting along behind him.

Wen Ning still doesn’t harbor the friendliest feelings toward Jiang Wanyin. Especially not after their unpleasant conversation about possession earlier.

And yet, sometimes…he doesn’t seem that bad.

But in the end, that isn’t what matters. What matters is that Jiang Wanyin is still injured, and Wen Ning has both medical skills and unanswered questions.

He turns around.

* * *

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, come visit me on AO3!

#mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #mdzsbingo #mxtxnet #jiang cheng #me posting fic 3 times in 4 days?? who am i #wen ning #chengning #ningcheng #mdzs #cql #the untamed #emilu fics #emilu creations

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

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Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt—everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.” She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

#night manager jed #elizabeth debicki #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki avatars #vita & virginia #elizabeth debicki imagine #elizabeth debicki fanfic #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #elizabeth debicki x you #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #wlw imagine

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fangirl-ramblings · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: Arthur x gn!reader

Characters: Reader, Simon Pearson, Mary Linton, Arthur Morgan

Word count: 3306

Summary: You and Arthur have recently made your relationship official by moving into his tent...but is he really into you...or is he still holding onto his past?

Notes: SFW, Angst leading to fluff

After requesting several wonderful stories from one of my favourite writers and people, I was super honoured to have the chance to be able to write something for the super talented and lovely @littlestarofthewest - Merry Christmas from your secret santa 😘😘

Also a huge thank you to @horsegirl1h (who helped me plot this out) @verai-marcel (for wrangling in all my stupid grammatical mistakes) & @mileycyprus-hill who took a quick look over this and gave me a much better character note on how to improve Arthur's feelings in this story and give me a far better title I could ever think of myself. Thank you all 😘

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

The First Shall Be Forgotten

You slowly opened your eyes, only to find the cot next to you still empty. It was fairly late when you'd finally taken yourself off to bed last night, but you had found yourself unable to keep your eyes open as you'd sat around the scout fire. Your hope of Arthur riding back into camp and joining you in lying down for the night had turned into a wishful dream of waking up with his strong arms wrapped around you, but it turns out it was just that - merely a pleasant dream.

It was only a few months since you'd started dating, with most of that time spent being inseparable, but lately you noticed that Arthur was staying away from camp longer and longer. Yes - the events of Blackwater had changed the gang's luck and the likes of Dutch and Strauss kept giving Arthur more and more tasks to do, but you'd felt like that most of these jobs could be done well before nightfall. Surely Arthur wasn't avoiding you because he was bored of you already….could he?

You sat upright, shaking your head free of any more of those nasty thoughts, quickly making the decision that you should get dressed and help out around camp before Miss Grimshaw marched over to berate you for wasting so much time idling about.

There was a chill floating in the air this morning in camp and so you found yourself shivering as you looked around for your light jacket. Opening your shared trunk, you proceeded to pile a mixture of both yours and Arthur's clothes on to the cot in your quest to find your missing coat. Though you soon found yourself distracted as you lifted one of Arthur's shirts up, tutting to yourself as you saw just how worn and dirt stained they all were. You swore that that man would wear these offending items until they fell apart on him...and some were close to doing so, judging by how often they'd been patched up.

"Ah, there you are," Pearson's cheerful voice booming from behind you, making you jump out of your skin, "I need a helping hand gathering supplies in town and was wondering if you could come along with me for the ride"

"Me? Surely there's someone more capable about?" Although Valentine was only a short ride away, the idea of being Mr. Pearson's captive audience for that short length of time was not high on your list of priorities for the day.

"Well, I don't know if you noticed but we are stretched a little thin on the ground right now," his hands gesturing to the almost empty camp area in front of you, "Mr. Smith & Mr. Escuella are yet to return from Blackwater with young Sean and, as you well know, Mr. Morgan is still yet to return from wherever he has took himself off to. As for the girls..." you tried to stifle a chuckle as he trailed off to glance nervously over at where Tilly, Mary-Beth and Karen were currently sitting at their wagon, making sure they couldn't hear this conversation, "...I'd rather not ask them. Uncle told me of the trouble they got up to on their last visit into Valentine."

You couldn't help but burst out laughing at Pearson's fear of trying to keep three excited young women from creating chaos. "Sorry, sorry," you apologised, wiping your eyes as he looked at you with confusion, "Well...since you have no other options, I'll join you. I've been wanting to pick Arthur up a new shirt anyways." Spotting your jacket at the bottom of the truck, you quickly threw it on, leaving all the other clothes heaped on the bed, "Shall we go now then?"

"Goddamit, why does there have to be a train in the station?" you grumbled as Pearson pulled the horses to a stop at the crossing, which was blocked by one of the carriages belonging to the offending train. After being waylaid by the shop boy slowly loading the wagon with all the goods Pearson had chosen for camp - not that any of these ingredients would do much to improve his cooking, you cruelly thought to yourself - your head was starting to ache from listening to Pearson's constant tall tales. All you had wanted to do was get back to camp and sleep off your headache, but that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon, thanks to this stupid train.

"I know what you mean, I was hoping to get back and make a start on preparing supper," Pearson sighed before suddenly cheering up, "But, hey, at least it gives me more time to tell you about my time at sea. There was this other time..."

Internally, you found yourself groaning, trying to zone out the older man as he recounted yet another story, that this time seemed to involve him somehow, inexplicably fighting a walrus - single-handedly - to save his crew.

You glanced around, finding yourself admiring all the different horses hitched up around the station...until a familiar sight caught your eye.

"Hey isn't that Brutus?" you interrupted Pearson mid-sentence, gesturing towards the big, black Shire horse that Hosea had gifted Arthur a few weeks ago. Arthur had rarely named his horses after losing his beloved Boudicca in Blackwater and was more than content to just refer to this one as "Boy", but after overhearing Hosea called this giant a brute, you'd jokingly suggested the name Brutus, a name that had tickled Arthur and agreed it was the perfect name for this beast.

Put out a little by the fact you had rudely interrupted him just as the story was getting good, Pearson grudgingly glanced over to the direction in which you were pointing.

"Er, it does look like it. So anyway after I killed the Walrus with nothing but my bare hands…"

'So this is where you've gotten to Morgan,' you thought to yourself, once again not listening to Pearson's story. 'Here's hoping you're on your way home too.'

Smiling to yourself that your lover would hopefully be by your side once more, you absent-mindedly found yourself scanning the crowd of people that was starting to thin out as they slowly stepped onto the carriages...until you saw him standing with his back to you.

A smile started to creep over your face as you recognised Arthur's dirty blond hair, broad frame and filthy blue shirt. Just the fact you could see how dirty it was from this distance made you glad that you'd made the decision to buy him a new one now, as that one needed throwing out, never mind a good wash. Anybody would think that man spent most of his time rolling around in the mud than riding a horse around.

With his hands on his gun belt, he shifted his weight to one side and the smile on your face was replaced with a look of confusion as a young lady was revealed to be standing next to him, deep in an intimate conversation.

Unconsciously scowling at her, you were unable to shake the feeling that you've seen her somewhere before, but for the life of you, you couldn't quite place where.

You squinted your eyes to try and focus your vision on her delicate features before a feeling of rage bubbled up from your stomach as she kissed Arthur's cheek, in a way that suggested more than just friendship.

"And I'll tell you - I used that walrus meat to feed a crew of 50...and not one of them complained the way you and the rest of camp do about my cooking" Pearson waffled on down your ear, distracting you from your thoughts about this mysterious woman and how you wanted to jump down and throttle her. Instead you suddenly had the urge to wrap your hands around the cook's neck.

Turning to face him, you barked, "Maybe being at sea for weeks at end with no food makes people more appreciative of the slop you always manage to serve up - no matter the ingredients."

You instantly felt regret as the words left your mouth and you saw the hurt in the older man's eyes.

"Christ, I'm sorry Mr. Pearson. I didn’t mean to take it out on you..." You paused, thinking about telling him about what you just saw, but you doubted this old sea dog would give a damn about your love life and so explained "I just have a real bad headache and it's put me in a bad mood."

He nodded softly and turned away so you wouldn't see him wipe the sting of the tears from his eyes.

Feeling guilty from the hurt you just caused, you looked away to the source of your own pain, only to find Arthur had disappeared from the platform and the train was now pulling out the station. Had he gotten on board with his mystery woman? Gone off to start a new life with her and left you and the outlaw life behind him? These thoughts rattled around your head as Pearson told the horses to giddy up and the pair of you headed back to camp in an awkward silence.

Jumping down from the wagon, you helped Pearson unload the wagon - still with an uneasy tension in the air, before you tried to broker the peace between you both by offering to help prepare the next meal as a peace offering.

"No, it's quite okay," Pearson patted you shoulder to show there was no hard feelings, "You go sleep off that sore head of yours"

You nodded appreciatively, finding yourself thanking him and apologising once more as you picked up the wrapped parcel containing Arthur's new shirt, and headed back to your tent.

As you walked over, you rolled your eyes in annoyance at yourself as you caught sight of the mess you'd left behind this morning. Picking the mountain of clothes up, you threw them in straight at the trunk at the end of the cot, surprising yourself as you heard a loud clatter of something hitting the side of the chest and then dropping onto the floor.

Peering over, you saw that a few shirts and a pair of trousers had missed their target and were now scattered over the floor... alongside a wooden photoframe, laying face down on the ground, that definitely wasn't there before.

Picking it up, you recognised the image of a younger, but still very handsome version of Arthur standing on the left.

'You've always been a good-looking bastard haven't you?' half smiling as you took in his handsome features, 'No wonder you have a long list of admirers to spend all your time instead of me.'

Well before you and Arthur had started dating, you had seen this photograph before. You recalled picking it up from his bedside table back then too, in order to get a closer look of how attractive Arthur's always been.

But sometime between then and making your relationship official, Arthur must have removed it and hidden it out of sight from you. Just as you were about to ask yourself why, you spotted who else was in the picture.

'No…no it can't be,' you thought to yourself as you stared at the beautiful, dark haired woman standing next to him in the image. But, as much as you didn’t want it to be, it certainly was. Looking straight back at you was a younger version of the same woman from the train station…the same woman who had ripped Arthur's heart out and tore it into a million pieces all those years ago when she called off their engagement - Mary.

Time seemed to slow down as your mind went into overdrive. Did he simply remove the picture as a thoughtful gesture so you wouldn't wake up to a younger Arthur and his ex-fiancee looking at you…or did he hide it because he still loved her and her alone? Were you just a stopgap - something to fill the emptiness in his heart until she came back to him? Is that the real reason Arthur had hidden the picture and not gotten rid of it completely? So once he had managed to win her back, he could toss you aside and place it once more on his bedside to stare lovingly at while he held her in his arms?

You hadn’t realise you were crying or just how hard you were gripping the frame until you heard the sudden sound of glass cracking and a mix of your blood and tears began to streak all over her stupid, perfect face. Standing frozen to the spot, you stared and stared at her image, slowly disappearing under the physical manifestations of your hurt and betrayal, until you heard Arthur bellow out your name as he rode back into camp.

"Hey you. Boy, did I sure miss you while I was gone," he cheerfully greeted you as he strode towards you, "I tell you, there's some strange sights out there that I've been dyin' to tell you all 'bout."

"Tell me?" you snarled, acting the wounded animal you currently felt like, "Don't you have other people you'd rather spend your time with?"

"What? What's got into you?"

Your heart panged as you saw the hurt cross his face as he saw how upset you were.

"Listen, if this 'bout me spendin' so much time from camp recently, then I am sorry - but I did miss you somethin' fierce y'know" he assured you, placing his arms around your waist.

"Just like you've missed Mary for all these years?" Just saying her name out loud felt like you had tasted venom on your lips and needed to quickly spit it out.

"Mary? Where's all this comin' from?" He flustered, averting his eyes downwards as not to meet your steely gaze. Upon seeing you holding the photograph, he exclaimed, "Christ alive, you're bleedin'. Here lemme fix you up."

"I'm fine," you snapped at him, pulling your hand away from his gentle touch. Any other time, this small act of affection - the big mean outlaw gently cradling your hand in his - would have made you melt on the spot, but today your inner rage wasn't having any of it. Instead you blurted out, "I saw you. At the train station…with her."

Realising he had been caught out and couldn't bluff his way out of this sorry mess, he sat down on the cot and tried to explain.

"Okay, yeah, I was at the train station with her, but it really ain't what you think…"

"I saw her kiss you."

"You mean when she kissed my cheek? That was her sayin' goodbye. Her and her brother are headin' back East to find their father."

You sat next to him, the photograph still in your hands.

"Still doesn't explain why you were with her in the first place."

"No it doesn't, does it." He sighed, running his hand down his face. "I was on my way back to camp, ridin' through Valentine when I thought I'd check and see if there was any post. Lo' and behold there was just the one - a letter from Mary askin' if I could help with a small problem of hers."

"So you must have been in contact with her if she knew you were in town."

He shook his head. "No. No, she'd recognised the girls after their last trip into town and wrote to me on the off-chance I was also in the area."

"Why?"

"Her kid brother, Jamie, he'd gone and got himself mixed up in this weird cult up in Cumberland Forest. Christ, you shoulda seen them all listenin' on as this lunatic spouted some nonsense about turtles or somethin'," laughing, he patted his leg until he saw your stony expression still waiting for the answer to your question.

"Get to the point please, Arthur."

"You're right, sorry," he said as he nodded, "Jamie was the only one in her family who stood up for me and I owed it to *him*, not Mary, him - to help get him away from those crazy fools."

You fidgeted slightly next to him. You wanted to believe him, but he seemed to be avoiding the main topic of conversation.

"So say I believe you about your reasonings for helping her…why did you keep a picture of her?"

Silence filled the air for a second before he simply answered. "I shoved it in there so you wouldn't have to keep lookin' at it when we lay together...and I guess I forgot all 'bout it."

You looked away as more tears fell down your cheeks. Gently placing his hand under your chin, Arthur turned your face to face his, looking deep into your eyes he told you,

"You’re overthinking – I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.”

"Prove it." You pleaded.

"Okay then...this should show you she's nothin' to me now." He took the broken frame from your grasp and carefully removed the picture from the frame, lingering for a moment before crumpling it up in his hand and walking towards the campfire.

Though his stride was purposeful, you couldn't help but feel he faltered once more as he looked at the flames, but those fears disappeared as he turned to look back at you with a warmth in his eyes and a smile stretching wide across his face. Looking straight at you, his hand opened and the picture fell into the flames, where it lay for a few moments as it slowly rendered into nothing but a pile of ashes.

Making his way back over to you, he picked you up and spun you around his arms.

"I'm all yours...are you mine?"

Bonus scene: Arthur's POV

He slowly removed the picture from the frame, partly being careful not to cut himself on broken shards of glass and partly because he wanted to make sure he was making the right decision. He was convinced that after Mary called it all off between them, he'd never smile, let alone love again. But then you'd walked into his life and brought light back into the darkness he'd found himself in.

But maybe there was a reason he'd held on to this photograph for all this time - a reminder of the good times that existed between them. Heartbreak has a funny way of erasing those memories, but seeing the woman you once considered the love of your life in person has an equally funny way of making those feelings rush back.

But no, the heartache he'd felt for all these years outweighed the fleeting moments of happiness he'd felt with Mary. And that kiss on the cheek to say goodbye that she'd given him at the train station? It certainly didn't give him butterflies like it used too. Looking at her image one last time, he crumpled it up and walked over to the campfire.

Though he had confidently strode over to flames, he once more had doubts he was right to finally let Mary go. Turning to face you, everything suddenly became very clear in Arthur's mind. Everything he ever wanted: someone who loved the group of people he considered family, as well as loving him for the man he was - despite his faults, someone who was willing to stick with him through thick and thin, make him laugh when he was down, and never fail to make him smile, that special someone he wanted to grow old with with...he already had that with you.

Without thinking, he opened his hand and let the battered photograph waft downwards, enveloped by the flames and turning to nothingness as he made his way back over to you, picking you up and spinning you around his arms.

"I'm all yours...are you mine?"

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #merry christmas #(i hope this copied over correctly 🙈🤣)#rdr secret santa 2020 #secret santa gift

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