#sorry I should have tagged it as AGIT spoilers to begin with

[ryntaia]

Yes, yes, we're all very convinced, Dan.

[redeadepression]

Dutch’s Con | Arthur/F!Reader | Secret Cupid! ♥♥♥

Light Skinned, Plus Sized Female Reader!

~~

Happy Valentines Day!!!

This is my @rdr-secret-cupid gift for my cupid @thepalestcowboy / @asteroidbear I really hope you liked it. I used some of the things you suggested when you answered my ask. Sorry if it seems like I’m roasting you a little bit when Y/N is being self-deprecating!!! I swear I’m just repeating what you said and don’t worry spoiler alert. Arthur is SO into you. ;)

~~~~

Relationships: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader Words: 3443 Tags: Fluff, crushes, lewd thoughts, one bed trope, awkward Arthur (like, not smooth at all. Man’s game is rusty AF) Warnings: Reader is described very specifically to look like my cupid as this is a gift for her! :)

Summery: You and Arthur are sent on a recon mission, posing as newly-weds but *GASP* There’s only ONE bed???

~~~~

Arthur glowered at the back of his horse’s neck as she took long, laboured steps onwards towards the town of Oakseed.

He could tell the poor old girl was feeling the heat more than he was and he vowed to treat her to a sugar cube and good grooming once he arrived at his destination.

His eyes flicked to his left he heard you grumble under your breath. The humidity was suffocating, and he wondered briefly if you were suffering a little more than his poor old horse.

You were a relatively new addition to the gang but he felt he had gotten to know you well enough in the last few months for you both to work side by side. At least, that’s what he had told himself after the choice had been taken away.

You were to spend a few nights in the town closest to camp. Playing the part of newly-weds and scoping the scene for rich old bastards that would be easy to con.

Dutch had been so sure that you would work well together. Arthur had his doubts. He had voiced them vehemently and repeatedly but they’d fallen on deaf ears. Dutch had insisted that this recon mission was only to be pulled off by the two of you alone and when Hosea had put his paper down long enough to back him up, Arthur had realised he had lost.

He looked to you now, riding alongside him. The sweat he felt running down his own back was gathering on your neck and chest and the heat he felt burning against his bare arms was currently tinting your face a light shade of red.

You wiped at your forehead with the back of your palm. Smearing sweat and dirt together in a feeble attempt to stop it from dripping into your eyes.

You blinked furiously in the afternoon sun, wishing you’d thought to bring a hat. Even the sparse shade of the trees along the edge of the trail didn’t shield you from the unrelenting heat. You licked at your cracked lips. Gritting your teeth as you were reminded that you’d drank the last of your water not too long ago.

Flies buzzed around your face and you felt yourself grow agitated as you let go of the reigns briefly to swat at them.

You heard a sniff of laughter from your right and turned to face your traveling companion with an incredulous scowl.

“It ain’t that bad.” Arthur said simply, his tone light as he shooed a large fly away from his own face.

“I’m not from here… I ain’t used to the heat.” You croaked, throat dry from breathing in the dust that had been kicked up by your horses hooves.

“I can tell.” He replied plainly, mirth in his tone as he looked back to the road with a smirk on his lips.

You watched him for a moment, feeling silly for your frustration but unable to curb is as another fly made a beeline for one of your nostrils. You swatted at it, growling angrily and jolting slightly as your horse decided she’d had enough.

She snorted angrily, hooves stomping the ground in agitation as she began to disobey you.

You were never fantastic with horses to begin with. But after your old faithful had passed away on a mission, you’d purchases the first horse you came across just to be able to get back to the gang.

She was moody and stubborn. She could tell you were inexperienced and liked to test your control. That coupled with the stifling heat, you were surprised she had tolerated you this long.

You held the reigns tight, thighs clenching onto your saddle as you cooed her softly and tried desperately to stay in your seat.

Arthur was at your side in an instant. His own horse exhaled softly as he steered her towards you. The large mare not batting an eye as your own horse fidgeted uncomfortably at the proximity of the other animal.

“Here.” Arthur said gently, his calf brushing against yours as he leaned in against your side. Leather covered hands with bare fingers encompassed yours as he showed you how to pull the reigns more efficiently. “Like this.” He instructed simply, pulling back on your hands and showing you where to hold them.

“It’s alright girl.” He purred, directed at your horse. “It’s okay.” He assured; your horse seeming to calm at his words alone. His firm grip on your reigns slowing her to a stop. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly at the way his voice reverberated in your ear. “There.” Arthur whispered, slowly handing you back the reigns and turning to face you.

"You gotta’ show her you’re in charge.” He said quietly, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You nodded in understanding. His face only inches from yours as he pulled his hands away. You turned back to the road quickly, Arthur doing the same. Clearing his throat as he directed his mare back to her side of the road.

Your horse listened to your direction as you subconsciously guided her a little farther from Arthur than you had been before. It was as if you could still feel the heat radiating off his brawny form from your place across the trail.

“Thanks.” You said softly, smiling through your embarrassment as Arthur made a noise of acknowledgment.

The rest of the ride was silent. The soft clip of your horses hooves against the dirt filled the space between you both as you passed through the gateway entrance of the small town.

Arthur directed you towards the small hotel on the end of the main street. He’d stayed there once before and knew where he was going.

You hitched your horses at the post to the left of the hotel and jumped down into the red dirt with a thump. Disturbing the dust and coughing slightly as you breathed it in.

Arthur moved to stand beside you and hovered as you removed the supplies you needed for your stay.

“I can’t wait for a bath.” You sighed as you turned to him, your bag in your arms.

“Mm.” He hummed in agreement. Eyeing your possessions coolly before opening his mouth to speak.

“Listen.” He said awkwardly, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke. “We should probably only get the one room.” He said clumsily, making your brow raise at his forwardness.

Arthur watched your face chance, furrowing his own brows before raising them both in surprise as he realised his mistake. “For… For the con.” He explained in a hurried whisper. “Just… for authenticity o’course.” He added quickly, holding out his hands in front of him.

“Of course.” You replied quickly.

“Right.” Arthur nodded.

“Sure.” You smiled with a shrug, trying to break the tension.

Arthur nodded again, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he pulled his hat down further to cover the flush on his cheeks.

You stood there for a moment, unsure what to do now as you waited for him to take the lead. Arthur seemed to follow your train of thought, turning quickly and walking towards the entrance of the hotel.

“Don’t worry.” He chuckled, stopping as you drew closer to the front door. “ You can have the bed.” He clarified.

You stopped just behind him, laughing nervously.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” You said earnestly when you realised he hadn’t been joking.

“Please. I insist.” Arthur said firmly, holding up his hands once more before turning back towards the hotel. You watched him go, frowning at the way he had spoken before sighing inwardly and following in his stead.

“Okay.” You mumbled, fully aware he couldn’t hear you.

You supposed you should have known better than to put yourself out there like that. Arthur was nice enough but he was the type of man that had women throwing themselves at him without him needing to try.  You weren’t sure you were even close to his type.

You were on the larger side and your skin was very light considering the amount of time you spent in the sun. All the woman you’d seen Arthur chatting too in the last few months were incredibly thin and at least three shades tanner than yourself.

You cast your gaze onto the ground as you followed Arthur up the front steps of the hotel. A sickening feeling of rejection sinking to the bottom of your stomach as you resigned yourself to keeping your feelings for him locked deep inside.

Arthur stopped in front of you suddenly and you looked up at his handsome face inquisitively as he held out his hand to you.

You took it without thinking, letting yourself be pulled inside and silently swooning at the feel of his fingers intertwined with yours.

Arthur stopped at the front desk, nodding to you once and reminding you without words of the part you were to play in this con as you both waited for the man behind the counter to notice you.

He looked up within a few seconds and you watched in awe as Arthur flashed his charming smile at him.

“Hello.” He began simply, his voice a long drawl as he forced a chipper tone. “The name’s Arthur Callahan.” He said confidently, flashing a toothy smile as his arm slid around your waist as easily as if he had it done it a thousand times before. “And this is my wife Clementine.” He purred, pulling you against his side as he looked back to the man behind the desk. “We’ll need a room for the night and the lady would like a bath.” He ordered, placing a few notes on the desk in front of him and sliding them across to the clerk with the palm of his hand.

The clerk’s eyes widened as he jumped to attention.

“Of course sir.” He agreed, snatching the money roughly from the counter and stuffing it into his pocket. “There’s a room  ready at the end of the hall.” He said cheerfully as he placed a key on the counter and slid it into Arthur’s waiting hand. The burly man caught it with ease. “Our bathing facilities are this way ma’am.” The clerk continued, gesturing in the other direction and waiting for you to move first.

You smiled in response. Turning to Arthur and placing one of your bags into his outstretched hand. He had been waiting patiently, as a doting husband would. You caught yourself flushing as the older man turned away with your belongings.

Even if it was all one giant fantasy… You could get used to this.

 ~

 Once you had bathed you headed towards your room. You knocked softly and waited for Arthur to answer. After a minute of silence you tried the handle only to find it still locked. You knocked again, waiting a few seconds before returning to the front desk.

The man there informed you that Arthur had headed back outside after placing your belongings in your room. You frowned in confusion, following in Arthur’s footsteps and walking back outside towards the horses.

You didn’t have to look far. Stopping in your tracks as you caught sight of him. Large, muscular arms flexing in the late afternoon sun as he ran a grooming brush over your horse’s rump. You watched for a second, smiling involuntarily before walking closer.

He turned at the sounds of your footsteps, pausing his work and looking you over briefly.

You could have sworn you’d seen his face change momentarily. Cheeks growing rosy as he turned away from you and began to speak.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He said casually, petting horse’s side as he continued to groom her. “I gave Bo a once over and I figured YH/N could use one too.”

“Thank you.” You said quickly, guilt rising in your stomach that you hadn’t even considered your horse. You’d been so keen to get yourself clean you hadn’t even thought about your poor horse that had carried you all the way there.

“Don’t feel bad.” Arthur said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I don’t usually go to this much effort. I just didn’t feel too much like sitting around in the room.”

“I wasn’t feeling bad.” You lied.  “I was just coming out to give her some attention.” You said bluntly as you stepped up next to Arthur and petted your horse’s neck.

She snorted softly, looking to you for a moment before returning her attention to the food Arthur had left at her feet.

Arthur looked you up and down once more, quickly turning his attention back to the horse as you turned your attention on him.

“What?” You asked frankly, eyes roaming his form as he shrugged in response.

“Nothin’.” He answered, tucking the grooming brush back into his satchel and dusting off his hands. “Just don’t look like you was about to come outside and do some grooming.” He snickered, gesturing towards your fresh, clean clothes and damp, towel dried hair.

“Well I was.” You lied again, voice a little more firm than you’d have liked, causing him to smirk in response.

“Okay.” He conceded, holding up a hand to calm you before giving his horse a quick pet and turning back to the hotel. “it’s getting’ late.” He mumbled, gesturing with his head towards the door. “Should probably head to bed.”

You nodded in agreement, watching as a smile formed on his lips. You cocked your head in question and he chuckled softly.

“Well, you’ll head to bed.” He laughed. “I’ll head to floor, I suppose.”

You barked out a laugh, covering your mouth quickly and turning away to hide your embarrassment. Arthur seemed to feel accomplished in making you laugh. Smiling wider to himself as he headed inside.

You followed along behind him, feeling like an idiot.

 ~

 Arthur opened the door and allowed you to move into the room first. You were surprised to see he’d already set up his bedroll on the floor next to the double bed in the middle of the room. You frowned at his haste as he locked the door behind you both.

You slipped off your boots and left them at the end of the bed. Crawling on top of the covers and positioning yourself on the left side, closest to Arthur’s bedroll as he took off his own boots.

You stared at your hands, eyes flicking up to see what was taking so long and shooting back down to your lap when you realised Arthur was unbuttoning his shirt.

You licked your lips, eyes darting back up once more. You inhaled softly as he pulled the fabric over his shoulders. The muscles in his broad chest shifting with him as he let the shirt fall to the floor and his hands moved to his belt.

You looked away quickly, swallowing hard as you listened to the clinking of his buckle as he worked the leather out of the loops in his jeans.

A soft clunk signified it had joined his shirt on the floor and you scolded yourself for having the urge to look up at him once more.

You resisted the temptation. Picking at the dirt under your fingernails as you heard him approach. A small, strained grunt accompanying his decent to his bed on the ground.

The silence in the room was deafening. You suddenly found yourself wishing you had brought a book. Anything to look at other than your own hands, the ceiling or… Arthur.

You turned to him intending to say your goodnights, surprised to find him studying you with curious eyes.

“What?” You asked a little too quickly, feeling flustered at his gaze.

“Ain’t you gonna get comfortable?” He asked, gesturing towards your outfit and making you look down at yourself uncertainly.

“I am comfortable.” You answered, confused.

“I mean, more comfortable.” Arthur laughed, hands gesturing to his own bare chest and then back to you. “It ain’t comfortable to sleep in a shirt and jeans. I’ve tried.” He chuckled, feeling inexplicably flustered.

“I’m fine.” You answered tersely. Suddenly extremely irritated at the feel of your jeans cutting into your waste and feeling suffocated by the neck of your shirt. But the thought of stripping down to your undergarments in front of Arthur was too much to bear in that moment.

He already wasn’t interested in what he saw. No point in going out of your way to show him even more of your body.

“Okay.” Arthur replied with a shrug. “Just saying. You can if you want.” He remarked casually. “I ain’t leering you know?” He chuckled awkwardly, staring at his hands as the words left his mouth.

You smiled weakly, unable to stop yourself as the words fell from your own lips.

“Trust me, I know.” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat at the admission.

Arthur looked to you with furrowed brows, blue eyes filled with confusion as you turned away from him.

“What you mean by that?” He asked quietly, frown deepening as you shook your head at your own stupidity.

“Nothin’.” You said softly. “Nevermind.” You added as you slid down in the covers. Wishing for nothing more than to be able to pull them over your head and hide.

Arthur watched you for a moment longer before following your queue and slipping under his own blankets. Staring at the ceiling as he tried to figure out what you had meant.

Perhaps you were being sarcastic. Had you noticed the way he’d looked at your earlier? Had he made you feel uncomfortable with his gaze?

He mentally scolded himself. He had tried so hard to hide is quick glances but of course you had seen the way he was looking. He couldn’t help himself. The way your freshly washed hair framed your face was intoxicating.

Not to mention your choice of jeans. He’d been sure to walk in front of you on the way back to the room so he didn’t have to spend the entire time staring at the way the denim hugged your ass in those pants. They were his favourite of all the pants you owned. He couldn’t help but look twice when you stepped up next to him outside.

A silence descended upon the both of you as Arthur found himself lost in thoughts he would be ashamed of later. He cursed himself for making you feel uneasy. Selfishly wishing he could have kept his eyes to himself so he’d had the chance to see you in less clothing.

He wondered what kind of chemise you’d wear to bed if you were alone. Or perhaps you only wore a brassiere.

Arthur thought as his tongue darted out to lick as his dry lips.

He swallowed audibly, rolling to face away from you as felt the heat that had been rising on his cheeks travel lower, down his neck and towards more intimate places.

He’d already made you feel uncomfortable more than once today. He didn’t intend to be caught red-handed thinking sordid things about your body or more specifically, the things he would do to your body given the chance.

He was suddenly extremely grateful for his place on the floor. Unsure he would be able to hide his attraction to you if faced with the reality of sharing a bed.

He had found it hard enough to slip an arm around your waist at the front desk. To remain composed and casual while being that close to you. It had been torture.

He’d told Dutch from the beginning that they wouldn’t be able to sell the story. This con was going to fail. But without admitting his crush he was unable to give a strong reason why you two wouldn’t work well together.

He was pretty good at playing a part when he needed to but he wasn’t sure a person that had spent weeks dancing around his feelings for you could play the part of your new husband successfully without things getting awkward.

Dutch had put a lot of emphasis on how important it was that the two of you were in harmony to pull of your con. It was important that people believed you were in love. He stressed how imperative to the mission it was for you to be openly affectionate with one another and…

Arthur’s mouth fell open as realisation washed over him.

“Dutch you sly bastard.” He growled into the darkness. His hand coming up to rest over his eyes as he kicked himself for being so bloody stupid. “There’s no mission.” He whispered angrily, suddenly full of regret for his insistence at sleeping on the floor.

End.

~~~

Thanks to anyone that reads this! I hope you enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts. ♥

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Cruel Summer Pt. II

Summary: Based loosely off of Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift. Huge muse for this part was also Resentment by Kesha. After what was considerably one of the worst nights to ever be lived, things just seem to keep getting worse. Or will they?

Word Count: 2634

Warnings: Angst, lots of fucking angst, the reader talking a lot, manipulative speech, very slight age gap, anxiety, almost ddlg elements but not quite (Please let me know if I missed anything, I will be happy to add on)

A/N: Tags are at the bottom I know this had been long awaited and I’m so sorry it took so long. I had to rewrite the beginning so many times because the first part just seemed to flow so beautifully and I was having troubles encapsulating the grace. Will be added to AO3 at some point. NO spoilers, takes place before the events of Knives out. Read Part One Here

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs, likes, comments, and constructive criticism welcomed and highly appreciated.

Golden rays of sunshine creeped over rooftops, illuminating the room as it fought the cold of the night out that had settled in every crevice - a cold that was a constant reminder of the half empty bed. Soft sheets and expensive pillows that we no better than the pictures that were facedown on the dresser. A light snore and ball of exuberant warmth curled at the end of the unnecessary king size bed that somehow managed to ignite joy while drowning the feeling with sorrow. Even in the early morning hours, just minutes after the sun had risen, there was only one thing to be thought about, one person; Ransom. 

An insistent vibrating disturbed what little peace had fallen over the room, uncharacteristically early to the weekly norm. Even after it would stop, moments later it would begin again and it seemed that it wasn't going to go away anytime soon. A crack in the foundation, a rumbling earthquake that rocked the stability and what had started becoming a little better everyday was ready to crumble and fall. 

Paying attention to details should be a strong suit for someone who had two books published and one in the works - it was a talent that was nearly mastered by this point. But, emotionally drained and foggy brained from the expense that was a Thrombey family dinner, one that would surely be the talk of the family for months, and a restless night filled with discomfort and anxiety left any common sense buried under endless amounts of exhaustion. 

A quick swipe of a thumb, the light press of the cell phone to your ear, and suddenly everything froze. The feeling as if suddenly bathed in freezing water while fiery coals scorched your feet, butterflies lifting your chest higher to cloud nine while a pit opened in your stomach, heart racing with some wild mixture of dread and excitement; "My house at 3. Don't be late, baby girl."

That godforsaken drawl, the smirk that was evident in his voice, the fucking nickname. The line went dead, a heavy silence flooding the room like a tsunami. Thoughts raced in circles, picking apart and trying to guess what he could possibly want. 

Was he going to rub it in your face that he got under your skin? Made your blood boil? Of course he knew how he affected you, he knew you too well, better than anyone would like to admit. An apology? No - that's too far fetched, even after everything Ransom never was the one to apologize, even if he also knew it would be best. Possibly he had gathered the rest of your things, finally ready to rid himself of them. It's not like you took much when he told you to leave, and it was unlikely he would have taken the time himself to go through everything. He probably paid the maid extra to do it overnight so he wouldn't have to.

Either way, after last night, Ransom was the last person you wanted or expected to hear from. The sting of the incident, salt that was rubbed roughly in an aging wound, still fluttered deep in your chest. His words, the family's reaction, the countless notifications still untouched. Nothing anyone could have told you or showed you would have prepared you for what you had felt in that moment. 

Heavy limbs moved numbly but swiftly, mind working like the rusted innards of a clock, slow and almost confused. It didn't make sense as to why he would want to see you, he had done enough damage as is. The confusion quickly boiled over, simmering down to a fluttering anxiety of constant what ifs running their courses through your mind. 

The growing pup stirred at the feel of you moving from the bed, quickly laying his head back down when he saw you trudge into the bathroom. After a much longer than anticipated shower, the feel of the too warm water running down your skin and feeling as though it was washing away every single issue and emotion, a wave a vague normalcy set in. 

For at least a little you could believe this was normal, that it was just like last summer. Get up, get ready for the day, get some work done, then pamper before heading over to see Ransom. Just this time, there was a slightly different agenda. It wouldn't be all heated kisses, starved touches, and craved intimacy, it wouldn't be whispers of sweet nothings and the comfort of a protective embrace - even if every fiber of you craved it like a bad drug, it couldn't happen again, at least not that easily. And who was to say that was even his plan.

Anticipation made the hours go by slower than what was deemed truly plausible, and no matter what the possibilities of what was to come just wouldn't stop taunting every corner of your thoughts. Embarrassingly so you found yourself preparing much earlier than necessary, restyling yourself a handful of times to make sure stunning couldn't even come close to describing how effortlessly perfect you looked. If Ransom wanted to play games, you were determined to have the ball in your field for as long as possible. And to top it off, you made sure that nothing you had on was bought by him. 

But you could only hope that your efforts weren't in vain as you made your way to his house, a place of memories in the middle of pretty much nowhere. An almost 40 minute drive making way for doubts to slowly creep in and settle in the back of your mind. What if he could tell you tried too hard? He could so easily read you, it was as if you were one of your books. Or what if he thought you were trying to impress him? The only time you ever went out of your way to put much effort into your appearance was when you wanted him to really notice you or if he was taking you out. Maybe going in general was a bad idea and this was just some sick joke of his. 

But there was no time to back out as you pulled up in front of the house, his sitting silhouette evident through the glass window. Ransom noticed you immediately, moving to sit whatever was in his hands down and made his way to the door, already standing on the porch before you had even gotten out of your car. 

A slight uneasiness settled between the two of you, his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised as he watched you, almost expectantly. The look was reminiscent of how your parents would stare you down when you were younger, when you had done something wrong. 

You stood outside your car, staring at him and matching his stance, only adding to the annoyance that was written on his face. "What do you want, Hugh?" The irritation in your voice was evident, and you were more than thankful your words didn't fail you. Stomach twisting in intricate knits, chest fluttering, palms becoming clammy; it was a genuine miracle you hadn't tripped over your words. 

His set jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he registered how you spoke to him, how you addressed him, "Just get in here. We need to talk."

A scoff fell from your lips as you made your way inside, "Always the gentlemen, aren't you," you spat, rolling your eyes as you walked towards the kitchen. Despite not intending on staying long, you threw your belongings on the island and leaned against the marble countertop, watching him as he stalked towards you, a nearly predatory look in his eyes. "What exactly do we need to talk about? I feel like last night made our positions pretty fucking clear."

He tsked, shaking his head. "You just don't get it, baby girl, dya?" 

Ransom opened his mouth to talk again but you cut him off, agitation finally bubbling over and bordering on rage, "I don't get it?" The words were hissed out and soaked in utter disbelief, "What exactly don't I fucking get, Ransom? The fact that you like to start shit? Or the fact that months after you told me to get the fuck out, you show up to a dinner you don't ever go to to cause a fucking scene, then tell me to meet you at your house the next day? What twisted memory of yours triggered you to suddenly act like you care about me? Why the fuck couldn't you just leave well enough alone?"

The taught muscles of his jaw twitched, intense blues boring into your own gaze. "You're such a spoilt fucking brat," he groaned out. "We had an agreement. No one was supposed to find out, but you had to go and-"

"I had to go and what?" You cut him off once again, only fueling the tension between the two of you and prodding the beast of emotions that was storming inside both of your bellies, "You are the one who opened your mouth, you are the one who fucking started this, all of this. From that night in the fucking bar, to you telling me I was the best thing to ever happen to you, to opening up your mouth last night. You always start it. And you're just pissed I finished it before you could get me to break in front of you."

A lump in your throat was beginning to form, jaw clenching as you swallowed, a feeble attempt to keep your emotions from getting the best of you. The rage was quickly turning into sorrow and hurt, the fire in your chest turning into an ache that couldn't be ignored, "You're just disappointed I waited until I got home, got away from you, to break down. Because you didn't get the satisfaction of seeing the pain you've caused."

There was a sudden twist in the atmosphere, hurricane breaking for a moment of relief before harsh waves continued to crash against the shore, "You act like I wanted to hurt you," his voice was grim, face painting in slight disgust, "Everything was great between us - You are the one who broke the rules. Not me." 

Ransom's head cocked to the side some, gaze moving over your features quickly, examining and calculating, "And even now," a small huff in disbelief as he shook his head, large hand moving to run through his hair which you had just noticed was free of any products. Odd, even for him. "Even now, you still came, you're still here. And I'm still thinking of giving you another chance."

Something buried deep within you snapped, a flood of pain filling every nerve and forcing tears to well in your eyes. "You're giving me another chance?" Any illusion of resolve and strength that had been built up had disappeared as quick as a snap of fingers, uneven breaths doing their best to keep the floodgates closed. "Ransom, you broke my fucking heart," each word filled with more hurt and distrust than the last, each a cut to the man who stood before you, his face softening as he watched you, "You're not the one here who should be giving out second chances, you're the one who should be receiving them."

The realization hit him, a douse of cold water to the face as his mind worked. Silence, albeit slightly uncomfortable, fell between the two of you as the gravity of the last few moments came crashing down. Just as it became too much to handle, lip quivering as the overwhelming urge to cry started becoming harder to fight off, his arms wrapped around you and pulled you into him. 

Time seemed to slow, a few broken sobs slipping out, body shaking with the force of each one. The natural scent of him filling your senses, no expensive cologne, the feel of the soft sweater an unwanted comfort. Ransom's arms hugged tighter, lips going to your hairline, and staying like that until reality hit you. A weak push, one he could have easily ignored and overpowered, and he stepped away, his features much more readable, looking far more vulnerable. He was much more vulnerable, much more vulnerable than you were ever used to.

Shaky breaths fell from you, trying to clear the fog that was beginning to form over rational thoughts. Wiping your eyes you looked at him, "What exactly is it that you want, Ransom? Why did you really ask me to come over?"

He looked almost taken aback, confused and dazed by the question, but more so by his own train of thought. His mouth opened then closed, repeating the action a few more times before groaning out exasperatedly. "I don't know, for things to go back to how they were?" It sounded far more like a suggestion than an answer. "Come on, (Y/N), we were good together." 

The words came off as if he was trying to convince himself that this was what he wanted. You waited, seeing if he would try to convince you, persuade you like he believed he so easily could, how he used to. "I- No," you shook your head, "I can't do that to myself again, I can't let you do that to me again."

"Do what?" He practically snapped, jaw setting as agitation made home in him once again. He didn't expect it to be so damn hard. He no undoubtedly assumed that he'd immediately have you wrapped around his finger like nothing had changed. "Treat you like a fucking princess? Treat you how you deserve to be treated? You and I both know that you're never gonna be able to find someone who can give you what I gave you, nothing that's going to have that same thrill we did."

Shaking your head you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. "See Ransom, you're the one that doesn't get it. I want that more than anything. I want the spontaneous trips and heartfelt gifts. I want the late night conversations and finishing each other's sentences. I would give anything to be on your jet flying to whatever place you're insisting I need to see. I want it all," your voice was practically a whine by the end of it, "But I don't want the sneaking and the hiding. I don't want the separate houses. I don't want lying to everyone."

Running a hand through your hair, you took a shaky breath, trying to calm your nerves. "I need someone who isn't going to just care for me behind a closed door," the calmness of your voice even scared you in the moment, and seeing that Ransom practically froze you could tell he was feeling the same, "I need someone who is going to be there for me how you were, but isn't ashamed of it. That won't get mad when I take cutesy pictures of us on the beach, that won't pretend to hate me in front of their family and friends, that I don't have to pretend is someone else when I'm talking about them. I don't want things to go back to how they were, I want them to be better than they were."

You walked past his nearly frozen stature, heading for the door. "I love you Ransom, and probably always will. But I love myself more than that and I can't let myself be hurt like that again." 

The words echoed off the hallway, ringing in his ears and sitting like a heavy weight on his chest. Your reached for the door, stopping suddenly as his voice reached back out, "Wait - I- fuck," he let out a shaky breath. "Don't leave. Not yet at least. Can we sit and talk over dinner? Please."

Taglist: (Slash through means unable to be tagged)   @sweetlittlegingy @star-spangled-steve @jessiejunebug @fresa-luna @thegirlwithpaperheart @jesaigne @introvertedmouse @sinner-as-saint @sp2900 @qrndevans @dammitcaswhy @livsheph @darcia22 @paranjaperiyauniverse @dramaticsassmaster​ @rose-k @lovemesomeavengers​ @steeeeverogers​ @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​ @bemysugarbean​ @dreamlesswonder86​ @ambrosixx​ @heyiamthatbitch​ @daazzeey​, @fresa-luna​ @bitchcraftandwitchery​ @thatoneslytherinbeater​ @breezyfreezey @quesadellacatburglar @renxzs​ @imsonick​ @sambucky8​ @honeybabybubba​

[op-peccatori]

In Hushed Whispers | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+/Explicit/NSFW

Word Count: 5k

Summary: It started out as a mission, as a wicked game–and then things spiralled out of your control. With a past shrouded in darkness and a need to protect him, will you be strong enough to step into the light?

A/N: I’ve been daydreaming about a Black Swan!MC concept for so long and finally found the willpower write something for it. This was was supposed to be a lot cooler and hateful, but I’m not cool and it’s Victor XD MC’s a producer, but that’s more of a cover, or a surface job. 

the title is a quest from DA: Inquisition! I don’t own it, or any of the characters from Mr Love: Queen’s Choice.

(warnings/tags below the cut)

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language (mild), Black Swan!Reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, semi?-public sex, the answer is yes, goodbye black swan cuz that D is too good, too much talking (imo) during sex, slight spoilers for chapters 12-13? (and onwards)

It's clear enough to those look closely.

There was an undercurrent of tension in your interactions, in every traded look, in the eyes that tracked each other through the crowds around them. You can see the inquisitive looks they shoot your way, curious and envious, and you can't control the slight quirk of your lips.

You know what they’re probably thinking. They’re not wrong, but they aren’t quite right.

Even as you mingle with the crowd, greeting the elite of Loveland City with a bashful smile fixed in place, you can feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. For someone with such an impeccable poker face, he really isn't all that subtle.

'Or maybe it's just me.'

You barely stifle a grin at the thought, brushing back soft curls before glancing back over your shoulder once more. He stands there, just barely keeping up with the conversation taking place around him, his eyes smoky with discomfort and temper. A sly smile from you prompts him to finally tear his gaze away, and you turn back to the elder couple who had stopped you for a chat. They’ve been watching you watch him curiously, but they only smile knowingly when you give them your full attention.

"Father always spoke very highly of you, Mrs Waldorf," you recall fondly, the wistful twist of your mouth genuine. "He also said Mr Waldorf was quite lucky you found his attempts at poetry endearing."

"That brat was the one who helped me with them!" The mock offence in the elderly man’s tone had all three of you chuckling. You feel the weight of his gaze on you once more, and a flicker of wicked thrill unfurls in you. This conversation, with people who had so clearly been fond of your late father, isn't a forced one, and your smile is far from strained as you excuse yourself from it.

Your dress, sleek and sequined, sways around your legs as you work the room, avoiding people you're not quite in the mood to interact with, and him. It's not as if that you're afraid to face him, because that would be ridiculous; it's just that the thought of looking into those eyes would require acknowledging everything reflected in them.

Victor has never been one to shy away from confrontations, though, and although you have been expecting it with anticipation bubbling in your throat, your confident stride still falters when he steps into your path.

There’s a clear pause, a slight shift in the air between you as you drink in the sight of him up close. The strong lines of his well-built shoulders, enhanced by his perfectly tailored suit, the all too familiar patrician features set in smooth lines; the tie you had picked out for him yourself.

You hadn’t quite expected the way your breath catches in your throat.

"May I have this dance?" The deep timbre of his voice dissolves any protests you could muster up. You can’t say no, not without raising brows all around the room. You take his proffered hand with a faint smile, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor, all too aware of the people watching you.

There are mostly couples dancing here, you note, trying to keep your mind off the warmth of his hand as it settles on your waist, guiding you into a simple waltz. He's closer than is polite, familiarity and ease clear in his body language.

"Don't you think people might get the wrong idea?" you whisper, glancing up at him as he looks around, seeming to finally notice the others twirling and twisting across the marble.

Victor’s tightening grip on your waist is answer enough. The cut-outs on the waistline of your dress don't seem as cute now, with his thumb stroking your soft skin instinctively. 

"You're being reckless." You don't keep the sharpness out of your voice as a frisson of unease begins to build in your chest. If anything, you'd thought he would do the smart thing and do his best to avoid you tonight.

"I didn't think I'd see you here tonight," Victor finally says, his expression clear and eyes glinting with danger.

"Anna couldn't make it." You shrug lightly; it's true enough, as the older woman had called you with sighed apologies and a lot of crying in the background. One of her kids was sick, and her wife was caught up with other work. "Why, aren't you happy to see me?"

His mouth purses at the feigned hurt in your voice, and he tugs you closer. You ignore the thrilled shivers racing up your spine as he leans in.

"Let me rephrase–I didn't think I'd see you ever again."

Your lips curl into something that almost resembles a smile. "Careful, there. It almost sounds like you didn't want to see me again," you tease, smirking at the way he pulls back to glower at you.

"So you are capable of logical reasoning. And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," you agree. You fall into an easy sort of synchronization, spinning around the floor with effortless grace. This isn’t your first time dancing with him, but it still makes your heart thrum with delight. "It's your own fault. You make it so hard to stay away."

He doesn't roll his eyes the way you know he wants to, his hand flexing around yours the only hint of his agitation, and your eyes dance wickedly at it. If you'd been alone, you have no doubt he would have you pinned against a wall by now.

"Your actions say otherwise," he mutters, drawing you away from the filthy route your mind had taken. "You just-" He cuts himself off, clearly unwilling to say more. But you know what he would have said, and you're irritated by the way your heart lurches painfully in your chest.  

"I thought you needed time to process everything," you murmur, taking in the way his shoulders tense further. "To think things through." All the lies, manipulations and secrets. You remember his expression clearly, and how quiet he'd gone that night. Really, it’s a wonder he’s even speaking to you.

"There's nothing to think about. I've already declined the offer," Victor informs you frostily. You make sure to knit your brows at his words, forcing your lips into a strained smile. It's a nice touch, you think.

"It's an open one, there’s no expiration date. We're quite generous, don't you think?" You wonder if the words sound as bitter as they taste in your tongue. Generous is not the word you would use to describe yourself or your 'friends.' While it’s true that they’re reluctant to kill him because of his EVOL and influence, the option isn’t completely off the table, much to your personal displeasure.

"Quite generous. I'm afraid it's still a waste of your time, though. I won't be changing my mind." The firmness in his tone leaves little room for doubt, and you know he means it. But the people you work for haven't spent hours in his company, studying him, touching him, working with him, shivering at the things he whispered in their ears. They don't know how infuriatingly stubborn he is, and how deeply you admire him for it.

But what crawls from your heart and into your veins isn’t admiration, and it’s on that note that you decide you’ve put on enough of a show.

You slip your palm from his grip, stepping away from him as the progressively lighter notes of the song fade and your dance comes to an end. "Well, then, I think we're done here for now. I'll see you around, Mr CEO." Your smile feels syrupy in how sickeningly sweet it is, contrasting greatly with the yearning that twists your insides, demanding that you do whatever it takes to feel his touch once more.

With a quick wink, you spin on your heel and walk away, grabbing a flute of sparkling champagne off a passing waiter as you go.

‘That should be good enough to keep them off my back.’

You wait until you've exited the ballroom to drain the glass completely, leaving it on a table outside. You don’t think, sweeping past random corners until you're in a deserted hallway, the sound of your heart thumping madly blocking out most sounds, even of your heels clicking against the marble floor sharply.

Still, you hear the heavy footsteps as they grow closer, echoing in the empty halls. You're not surprised when a hand seizes your wrist, jerking you around to face the perpetrator. You glare at Victor even through the elated satisfaction coursing through you.

"We're not done." You should be more discomfited by his fury; instead, as it often does in his presence, a certain kind of hunger pools in your belly. His grip is unyielding, his determination even more so.

It makes you want to purr.

"Oh, I’m sorry. Did you have more to say?" you ask casually, eyes wide and breath hitching when he squeezes your wrist tighter. His steps closer in response, moving into your space and prompting you to back up until your back hits the wall. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne, his warm breath tinged with alcohol, growing heavier as he struggles with his words. The space between you is negligible and all the confidence you'd adorned yourself with before coming here seems to have fallen somewhere.

“A thing or two, yeah.”

Victor tugs at your wrist, pulling it up to press it into the wall above your head, his touch gentler as his thumb rubs the skin over your racing pulse. He takes your other hand in his free one, pressing his lips to your wrist as you watch, skin tingling pleasantly. He pushes it to join its captive counterpart, pressing them into the wall with one hand while the other comes to rest on your hip.

"For someone so prone to running, you seem to be doing rather well in this position," Victor murmurs, lips hovering over your ear as you try to maintain control over your expression. He has you trapped, and you've never felt more on edge and desperately turned on.

"You make an enticing captor." He's got you, but you could get out of this position if you really tried. That makes you think he's not really trying. Does he have more questions? You can't think of any you would want to answer here, where anybody could stumble across you, which begs the question: what does he want?

Victor's lips press into the skin behind your ear and your stomach tenses.

"That didn't stop you the last time." He traces the shell of your ear with the tip of his tongue, his nose brushing your temple as he inhales deeply. “You vanished into thin air.”

"For someone who doesn't want anything to do with us, you sure seem to be complaining about being left alone a lot," you taunt. But you deflate when he doesn't rise to the bait, only pulling back slightly to observe you. You’re close enough to count every single one of his thick lashes, to see the tiny mole on his right earlobe. There is none of the hate you've been expecting, not a hint of the fury you'd glimpsed earlier. It leaves you scrambling because you don't know what to expect now.

"I don't want anything to do with them," he agrees, pressing his forehead to yours. Something in your chest trembles at the action and you feel so raw, so vulnerable, you don’t know what to do with it. "I never said anything about you."

"I-if you refuse them, you refuse me." His lips brush yours and you realize he doesn't have to use force to keep you here after all. "We're kind of a package deal."

"Are you?" Uncertainty sprouts in your mind at the way he smirks, as if your words amused him. "It didn't seem like it when we were together."

You can't bring yourself to respond; you begin to struggle against his grip, but he pushes his hips into yours, pinning you in place. He’s too close, and it’s messing with your head. It would be so easy to just give in, to sink into him and let him in. You want it so badly it frightens you.

"In fact, it almost seemed like you were happy to forget all about them. Isn't that why you never even attempted to convince me to join them?"

Them, them, them. But he was right. You had known, within a few weeks of your acquaintance, that Victor would never join Black Swan. You had convinced yourself that growing closer to him was the smart thing to do. It was the classic seduction. He's stubborn, but he's loyal.

It's just that once you got a taste of it, you wanted to keep that loyalty for yourself and not share it with anybody else, least of all your charming colleagues. Your greed had won out over everything; with every meal he cooked you, with every scathing word followed by encouragement, with every warm kissed pressed to your fingertips and the arches of your feet–you were in too deep, and you still are, and you’re still fucked.

It had been a happy dream while it lasted, but you had to come back to reality eventually. Could you really give everything up for this man?

The answer scares you, it’s implications terrifying and Artemis was right, you are an idiot. 

"Do you understand now?" he whispers, lips dragging along the length of your jaw, your eyelids fluttering at the way he nips at your skin.

"I do." It tastes like defeat, like something broke and you're choking on the pieces, but you get it out. For him, you’ll swallow every bitter piece. It's not the pleasant realization they write about in books. "I'll...I'll let them know your answer won't be changing."

He pauses. "And?"

"And I'll stay away. I won't bother you again." The words are said so quietly you wonder if he even heard them, something in you wilting as you say them; you get your answer when Victor begins to laugh–at least that’s what you think he does. Now this, this strikes fear in your heart because it's not the startled laughter you pull out with silly words, no. This is a breathy sound edged with jagged fury–it's caustic and you feel his chest vibrate with it as he nearly collapses against you, chuckling like you've said something stupid and for once, he doesn't find it cute.

"Stay away? y/n," he stops laughing abruptly and bares his teeth at you in a very unsettling attempt at a smile, "you're a fool if you think I'm letting you walk away from me tonight."

For a moment, there's a strange buzzing in your mind. Your emotions pull you in different directions. A part of you wants to rip into him, to make him bleed and show him what you do to people who threaten you. Another, bigger, part of you wants to moan and plaster yourself to his side and beg him to say that again.

All you really do is stare at him, speechless.

"And they're fools if they think they can take you away from me," Victor adds, and crashes his mouth against yours, hungry and careless with it. Once again, in a concerning trend, any resistance you wanted to play at dissolves. It’s not gentle. You squirm against his grip on your wrists, trembling with the need to run your fingers through his dark hair and hold him against you. You moan when his tongue brushes yours, wiggling until you feel and hear the amused sound in the back of his throat before he releases you.

It's easy to twist and manoeuvre your bodies until you're pressing him into the wall, rising on the tips of your toes to lick into his mouth fervently, reacquainting yourself with the taste of his tongue.

It's a little too easy to lose yourself in his touch, to let everything else fade and fill your senses with just him.

His hands smooth down your back to cup the swell of your ass, pulling you flush against him. Almost every inch of him is pressed against you and you’re starving, with a terrible ache that weeps for him, and a part of you curses him for ruining you. Your blunt fingernails curl into his hair, digging into his scalp, and you will never get enough of the little groan he lets out.

Your hands rove across his torso greedily, your teeth sink into his lip and your breath stutters when you feel his hardness pressing against your stomach.

You freeze, shaken by how completely you lost your composure, and with the way Victor seems to be smirking you know he’s thinking along the same lines. His tousled hair and blown out pupils are an effective deterrent against the part of you that thinks this is a terrible idea; your hair is wilder than it had been before Victor got his hands in it, your lipstick smeared over your mouth and his.

“Come home with me, y/n.”

A tempting offer. You glance behind you, peering down the dark hallway. You don’t think this fear will ever leave you completely, of looking into the darkness and wondering who’s watching you from within.

You know what happens to those who stray. Helios is the greatest example of it, and you firmly steer your thoughts away from that particular pit.

“I took a different route. They didn’t see me," he nuzzles the juncture of your neck before sinking his teeth into soft skin.

You're mortified by your startled yelp, and can't help but look back again reflexively. “They're not here. I wouldn't put you in that position."

You snort, but the effect is ruined by the soft moan you let out when he soothes the stinging skin with his tongue. "I didn't think you cared."

“Wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong,” he retorts, not missing a beat, his fingers massaging the base of your scalp while the other draws nonsensical patterns on your waist. Although you know he meant what he said, with how handsy he’s being it’s clear Victor’s going to be difficult about this; he wants you in his bed tonight.

'And many other nights, apparently.'

You’re more than a little unnerved by the sheer warmth that sends through you.

“Is it just the sex?” you ask carefully, locking eyes with him, battling with the urge to blush at the way he’s looking at you.

“No.” He doesn’t even pretend to think about it, doesn’t consider anything other than the simple truth. He doesn’t say another word, but his eyes were always his most expressive feature–along with his hands. 

You nod slowly, because as delightful as that is, you’re not ready to dig deeper. Into his feelings or yours. And you have no idea what to do here; you've lost control over your own actions. You know what the smart thing to do would be–but that would result in losing Victor. For good. There is no part of you that finds that acceptable.

Or you could continue the mission. Get close to him. Keep trying to convince him. It’s unlikely he’ll change his mind about that but it’ll give you time.

“This is a terrible idea,” you say anyway, because you should at least try to put a stop to it. You can’t believe you’re trying to be the sensible one in a situation that involves Victor Li.

He flicks his tongue against your bottom lip, swift and teasing. “I don’t give a fuck.”

‘Seriously, who seduced who here?’

You lace your fingers through his, stepping away and pulling him along hurriedly. It would be best to continue this in the bedroom, for now. Just for tonight, you'll do what he wants. You'll do the smart thing later.

But, as is apparently the recent trend in your life, your plans don’t quite work out.

It wasn’t your fault, as your teasing was mostly innocent while Victor drove at uncharacteristic speeds. Just a squeeze of his thigh, a few careless whispers of how much you had really missed him. Hiking your dress up and letting out a loud mewl when he cupped your clothed sex possessively.

You end up in an empty parking lot near his building; with his suit jacket thrown onto the back seat, you sprawled over it, your mouths meeting frantically as he pushes the hem of your dress up until it bunches up over your waist. He shifts back, opening the door and stepping one leg out, the other folding on the floor of the car.

The cool breeze has goosebumps erupting all over your skin; you shiver from it, and the way the moonlight highlights his dark hair and torrid gaze. 

Warm hands curl around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the seat, and you let one foot drop to rest on the floor as he watches in approval. The other is pushed up into your chest, leaving you spread shamelessly for his consumption.

Control was never really an option, you had realised sometime when his hands had slipped beneath the edge of your dress to rub your cunt through your soaked panties, which now hang precariously from one ankle. He knows where to touch you, and you know it’s only been a few months, but it still brings a stinging feeling to the back of your eyes.

You’re desperate to feel his mouth on you, to work you open with his talented tongue; his lips find the tender skin of your inner thighs instead, kissing and sucking blushing tokens of his affection across them. You twitch and moan as he fixates on this, his possessiveness clear in his actions, and a distant part of your mind thinks it’s not going to be as easy as giving yourselves this one night.

Its voice is suppressed by a long, languorous lick along your slit.

‘Oh-‘

“Fuck.” Your back arches as he presses the flat of his tongue against your clit and a steady hand on your folded knee pushes you back down. He laps at you with a zeal he only ever displays when his head is between your thighs, his mouth slurping every drop of your arousal, and you writhe beneath his touch, failing to suppress your moans.

A hand reaches for the edge of the seat, clutching it for dear life, while the other slides into his silken hair as you rock your hips into his mouth with an urgency that takes over every part of your brain.

He works you closer to it, swirling his tongue around your swollen nub; your gaze is unfocused, all you need is to reach the edge, and if he groans like that again you might just come-

A pitiful whine escapes you as he pulls back, his smirking mouth glistening with your arousal you tug at his hair insistently. Your angry motions still when he reaches for the buckle of his belt, sliding the accessory out of the loops.

Before he can even think about tying you up, you snatch it out of his hands and throw it behind you. It hits the door with a sharp clack that sounds jarring in the silence of the car and its surroundings.

He climbs over you carefully, keeping one foot on the floor of the car while the other leg comes to rest on the seat. It’s a tight fit, and you could giggle at how he moves around so cautiously to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling. He reaches for his zipper and your amusement flees quickly as you reach out and shoo his hands away eagerly.

Your teeth dig into the pale expanse of his neck as you pull his straining cock out, wrapping a hand around its base, pumping it slowly; he doesn’t even attempt to control the mouth-watering groans escaping his mouth, his hands braced against the seat on either side of your head.

Stopping was never really an option either, you acknowledge, as you tease your slit with the swollen head of his cock, your lips parting with anticipation. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, tie hanging loose, marks peppered over his chest, his dark hair in disarray.

You try to maintain the eye contact as you guide his cock through your entrance, engulfing it with your heat, walls clenching around him as your head tips back involuntarily. It’s one of the best sensations in the world–feeling Victor’s cock push through your tight cunt, and you wouldn’t give him up for any power in the world.

Victor leans in, slotting his mouth over yours, a hand urging your knees up while the other tugs the straps of your dress down, baring your breasts. His hand, warm and trembling ever so slightly as he bottoms out, cups your breast gently, thumb stroking over a taut nipple.

As you try to get him to move, he stops you, keeping you still as his fingers dig into your skin.

“V-Victor?” You wiggle your hips and he squeezes your breast firmly, as if warning you to cease your attempts. “Wha-“

He shushes you quickly again, pressing his forehead to your shoulder; you’re quite annoyed for just a second and then you notice the tension coiled in his muscles as he tries to keep his bearings; he moves his hand from your skin to the headrest, knuckles white from his right grip, to keep from drilling into you violently and ending this quickly.

You card your fingers through his hair before tugging on it, until he lifts his head so you can kiss him sloppily. He relaxes as you wrap your arms around him, holding him close for a moment as you place one last kiss on the corner of his mouth, nuzzling his cheek soothingly.

“There were moments,” Victor begins, hoarsely and slowly, “when I thought I would never get to feel this again.”

He presses his lips to your forehead. 

“It was foolish, because I knew you would come to me eventually. But I was forced to acknowledge that there was a chance that my rejection had...consequences I would rather not think of.” He looks down at you, a tiny smile dancing along his lips. “So, please, y/n–” Don’t leave. Don’t run. Stay.

You still, meeting his gaze, pained and unwavering in it–and it hurts. It hurts so deeply you can’t breathe for a moment, because he’s letting his guard down and letting you see how much you hurt him. All those games, all those moments spent cursing yourself for falling so hard–it was real for you, but it was real for him too. And maybe he’d known who you were from the start, or maybe he hadn’t; your mission had hit a roadblock once he found out, and you’d taken that chance to disappear, to pretend you were reevaluating things. You thought the distance would do your aching heart some good while BS decided whether further pursual was required.

You’d never thought, even for a moment, that he would want you to stay.

Victor doesn’t resist when you push him back, watching as you slip out of your dress and drape it over the front seat, until he’s sitting with you in his lap, holding on to you as you reach for his cock and sink down over it. With your hands braced against his chest, you begin a slow grind against his pelvis. Your lips twitch with the urge to smile at Victor's near blissful expression, his hands stroking along your waist and thighs fervently.

You can't help but lean over him, one hand coming to rest on the seat, smiling slightly at the way his lips part as you lift your hips and drop down, repeating the motions languidly. You press a kiss to his cheek, and another, repeating the action all over his face until he catches you in a kiss that has your heart throbbing harder.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, a flush riding high across his cheeks. You clench your walls around him and his hips buck involuntarily, prompting a quick glare from him. “I never meant t-to leave like that.”

"Or take your sweet time to come out of hiding?" he mutters, and you laugh shakily, kissing the top of his head. “Ah-don’t laugh. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I’m good at hiding,” you quip with a breathless smile, rocking your hips faster, now determined to see him in pieces underneath you. His hands hold onto your hips just as you get into it, keeping you from moving faster, and you nearly hiss at him in your frustration.

"Just don’t hide from me.” His eyes glitter dangerously, daring you to argue.

"Don’t give me a reason to,” you snap, only for your scowl to be wiped off your face when his hand wraps around your throat, yanking you forward until you're eye to eye.

"I will never give you a reason to leave me," he promises darkly, squeezing until a strangled protest escapes you. “I take care of what’s mine, sweetheart.” He doesn't release you, adjusting his body beneath you until he gains a solid foothold, and within the next second he's snapping his hips up into yours, all traces of gentility vanished.

Your eyes roll back, skin flushed and sweating; with every thrust, he seems to be obliterating your entire thought process. You meet his unwavering gaze, your eyes teary as you try to match his pace; you watch him soften slightly, only for him to tighten his grip on your windpipe and reach between your bodies with his free hand.

Bright spots start to appear on the edges of your vision. Your head starts to feel light and a part of you is once more delighted by the practised way his fingers work your clit–and then you stop thinking. For a long moment, you're floating, drifting, quaking, and then you tune back in time to see Victor's pace start to falter, hand unwrapping from around your throat, his eyes alternating between unfocusing and staying fixated on you as he bounces you in his lap.

He spills into you with a throaty groan, unaware of your hungry eyes committing the sight and feeling to memory. He pulls you in, holding you close, and you sag against him tiredly.

His thumb strokes the tender skin across your throat in a silent apology as you both lay there panting, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you relax completely. It terrifies you, letting your guard down so thoroughly when you’re not even in his bed. It’s just for a moment, though. You want to give yourself this moment to relax.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you murmur because you’re a fool who can’t relax when there’s danger lurking in every corner.

He hums, in agreement you think, tugging his jacket out from under him to wrap it around your shivering form. He reaches for the door, pulling it shut as you wonder how you’ve been here for this long without getting caught. “We’ll deal with it. Whatever comes our way.”

There’s a lot to consider, a lot of plans to be scraped and a lot of people to be contacted. But sitting here, in the silence of his car with his arms tight around you, you think you can do it. You think it might just be possible to protect both of you from Black Swan.

And if not you, then him. Because just as he can’t let you go, you can’t let them sink their claws into him. You’ll destroy every single one of them before that happens.

‘Guess I really am a fool.’

[klove0511]

Stricta Dormire

Sastiel CC: Round 6, Theme: One More @sastielcreationschallenge

Prompt: Music

Ship: Sam/Cass

Rating: T

Word Count: 3583

Tags/Warnings: Temporary Character Death/Fairy Tale Type Character Death, Sam!whump, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Season 14 spoilers

I'd like to thank everyone who read this fic and gave me feedback! Thank you so much @katekvnes, @ohnoitsthebat, and @cerberus-s!

Summary:  When Sam is hit by a spell, Cass is the only one that can save him. Meanwhile, Dean is grieving his brother, unaware of the struggle going on within Sam’s mind.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676872

The world blurred, and Cass found himself in a dark, crowded room that suddenly filled with light and noise from somewhere behind him. He whirled and saw a stage, with musicians. Some sort of performance, then. He cast about, looking for Sam. There, a few feet to his left, looking younger than Cass had ever seen him. Cass’s jaw clenched. He was running out of time.

He pushed through the crowd to stand next to Sam. “Sam!” he shouted, trying to be heard over the din.

Sam looked around, and his look of confusion told Cass when he’d been spotted. “Who are you?” Sam asked.

Cass hesitated. This Sam was an unknown to him. Dean was nowhere in sight, so it was entirely possible this memory was from Sam’s time at school. It wasn’t a period the Winchesters talked about, and Castiel knew enough to assume it was associated with painful memories. Still, one thing he could count on was that the brothers would do anything for each other. He hoped that had always been as true as it was now.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m a friend of Dean’s.” True enough, in any case. Sam could always tell when he was lying.

Sam looked him over, appraising. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So why are you here?”

The suspicion in his voice hurt, but Castiel reminded himself that Sam didn’t know him. He didn’t remember their relationship, their history. “I need your help.”

“Ask Dean and Dad. You’re a hunter, right? I don’t do that anymore. Can’t help you.” He turned back to the music.

Castiel frowned. “I cannot ask them to help me.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“Dean requested my help first.” Also true, if a tad misleading. Castiel could still hear the desperation in Dean’s aborted prayers, knowing Castiel was too far away to help.

Sam was immediately on alert. “What about Dad? Are they ok?”

Castiel rushed to reassure him. “Dean is uninjured. Though I have never met your father, I am sure he is fine as well.” That was stretching the truth so thin he was sure Sam would call him on it, considering John Winchester was dead. Still, he was enjoying his heaven, and that was, in many ways, doing fine. The direct approach had failed multiple times now, however, and at least this version of Sam was still engaging him.

“You’ve never met him? Is Dean hunting on his own? Where the hell is Dad?” Sam was becoming agitated, something Castiel was not prepared for. He had understood Sam’s relationship with his father to be tumultuous at best, outright hostile at its worst. He was not ready to discuss John’s whereabouts, especially because they were not in the least relevant to the situation.

“Dean was hunting, but he was not alone. There was a witch.” Cass saw Sam open his mouth to ask more questions or protest further and hurried to cut him off. “She cast a spell on his hunting partner. Neither Dean nor your father were affected by the spell.”

“And Dean asked you for help.” Sam nodded, seeming to accept this abbreviated version of events. “That doesn’t really explain what you’re doing here.”

Castiel took a steadying breath. Hurdle one cleared. “That is more complicated. Perhaps we can go somewhere quieter?” On command, the concert melted around them, and a forest took its place. He swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected his request to be met so readily, and he feared he’d entered another new memory. Luckily, Sam was still next to him and appeared to be unchanged. Perhaps it would work this time.

 48 Hours Earlier

The witch finished her spell as Dean pulled the trigger, and he watched helplessly as power pulsed from her hand just before red blossomed on her chest. One of his worst memories repeated itself when he turned to check on Sam just in time to watch his brother crash to the ground.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, falling to his knees by Sam’s side. Bad, this was bad.

He hadn’t been paying attention to what the witch had been saying. The spell could have been anything. It had obviously knocked Sam out. Except his hand, which had instinctively gripped tight to Sam’s shirt, wasn’t moving.

“No, no, no, no,” he muttered.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he fumbled to feel a pulse in Sam’s neck. Nothing. Dean’s eyes burned. He pressed a hand over Sam’s heart and willed it to beat, to no avail.

“Come on, man. Don’t do this,” he said, as tears blurred his vision. The knowledge settled heavily in his mind. Sam was gone. His mind automatically turned to Cass, but he shut that down fast. They were hours away, and Cass hadn’t had the power for a resurrection in years.

 Castiel had just begun a new episode of The Good Place when he felt it. A tug on his grace almost like a prayer, then sharp, blinding pain. He gasped as it subsided, and he barely caught the tail end of a prayer from Dean. Something had happened to Sam. He pulled out his phone and dialed. He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he’d hoped. It went straight to voicemail. So did Sam’s. He tried not to worry. The Winchesters were excellent at taking care of each other.

 Hours later, Dean’s phone rang again, for probably the twentieth time. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Cass.”

“What happened?”

He couldn’t do this, not over the phone, not with Cass. Except he didn’t have much choice, did he? Still, the words wouldn’t come. Finally, he managed to croak, “Sam.”

Apparently that was enough for Cass to interpret. After a moment he heard Cass say, “How?” His voice sounded rougher than usual.

“Spell,” Dean replied.

A pause. “Is the witch dead?”

Dean breathed, trying to steady himself. The hope in Cass’s voice almost broke him. “Yeah, she is. Sorry.” No chance the spell would break with her death. No hope this was a mistake. “I’m on my way back.”

Cass didn’t quite managed to stifle the wounded sound that escaped from him. “What can I do? Should I contact Rowena?”

God, no. Anything but her. “No. Just—Can you call my mom? You don’t have to tell her. Just get her to come back.”

“And Jack?”

Shit. Dean hadn’t really thought about Jack and how he would take this. What with Jack’s recent return to life and having lost—and regained—Sam himself less than a year ago, he guessed it was going to be bad. No way was he going to understand why Dean was letting Sam go, how he knew this time was for keeps.

“Up to you,” Dean said. “I can tell him if you want.”

“No. I will tell him.” There was strength in Cass’s voice this time. “Be safe.”

 Sam looked at the trees critically. “We were just at a concert. What the hell is going on?”

Castiel recognized this as the best time to come clean. “We are in your memories. You, Sam, were the one hit by the spell.”

“I don’t hunt,” he said, shaking his head in denial, but Castiel could see recognition growing in his expression. “I know you.” He squinted, looking to the side as he poked at his memories. “Your name is…Cass. You hate me.” He frowned, as though the statement didn’t taste quite right.

Castiel flinched. “That could not be further from the truth. I care for you very much.”

“You said my voice was grating.”

Castiel grimaced. Sam had remembered a particularly embarrassing memory for the angel.

“You called me an abomination!” Sam said.

Cass tilted his head in acknowledgement. There were no excuses for that. “The beginning of our relationship was difficult. It has…gotten better.”

Sam turned away, brow furrowed. “What’s with the trees?”

“I’m not sure. You have told me several stories that involve forests, but I would expect to see another version of yourself if we had entered a memory such as the last one.” Cass looked up. Sun filtered through the trees and warmed his face. Sam had only told him one kind of story with a calm, beautiful forest like this.

 Dean drove fourteen hours straight, only stopping for gas. Sam was lying in the backseat, and Dean didn’t want to leave for the time it would take to get food. He wasn’t hungry anyway. He just wanted to be home.

By the time he arrived at the bunker he knew he was running on fumes, but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t feel tired or hungry, just numb. It didn’t matter. He had to finish taking care of Sam, get him cleaned up.

“Let me help.” Cass’s voice startled Dean so much he almost dropped Sam as he was pulling him from the backseat.

He should let Cass help. He knew it, he did, but it wasn’t in him to pass this job to anyone else. Not even Cass.

 Castiel watched Dean disappear into the bunker, struggling under Sam’s weight. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to help, but it stung. If he’d still had wings, if he’d kept the power that had allowed him to revive Bobby once upon a time, this wouldn’t be happening. Mary wouldn’t be grieving her son; Jack wouldn’t be short a father. He wouldn’t—No. Self-pity served no purpose here.

Mary was on her way and would be arriving any time. Jody and the girls would be arriving tomorrow. He would start building the pyre, as Sam had once done for him, then perhaps the humans would send him out to run errands. Jody had said she would spread the word through the hunter community, and Mary and Bobby were contacting the people from Apocalypse World, recalling them to the bunker. There would be many people, and as he had learned so painfully, humans needed to eat. Himself, he needed to keep busy, especially since Jack had refused to speak to him for the last twelve hours.

He popped the trunk and rummaged until he found an axe. This, at least, he could do.

 “I believe you come to this forest when you are near death,” Castiel said. “This spell is killing you, and we are running out of time.”

“Then what are we waiting for? What do we have to do?” Sam turned back to face Cass, his eyes wide and his forehead wrinkled in concern.

Cass looked away. “If I understood the spell correctly, it involves accepting the worst of yourself.”

“Ok, great, I accept it. Now what?” Sam flung his arms out in frustration. “If I’m dying, why the runaround earlier?”

“I’m sorry. This was not my first attempt to help you. Previous attempts have gone rather poorly,” Cass said. Sam quirked an eyebrow, obviously waiting for further explanation. “You have to actually remember the worst of yourself in order to accept it.”

Sam groaned in understanding. “And, of course, I barely remember anything. That the spell too?”

“I believe so, but that is only part of the problem. The you I met in more recent memories, a version of you capable of remembering, was not ready to accept this solution.”

“When you say the ‘worst of me,’ what exactly are you talking about?” Sam asked.

“If I am correct, then it means accepting the worst of your memories, the worst things that have happened to you. Taking them back into yourself.” Castiel met Sam’s eyes. “You don’t understand what that means. You barely even remember me, and we are—“Cass stopped. They had never formally defined what they were to each other. More than friends, than family. More than simply lovers.

“We’re what, Cass?” Sam asked softly. Before his eyes, Sam melted and changed, and gone was the twenty year old with shaggy hair and a bright smile. Instead Cass faced his Sam, complete with worry lines and stray gray hairs.

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath and said, “Everything.”

“Show me, one more time? Help me remember?” Sam said, so softly Cass barely caught it. Then the world blurred, and they were in a bar.

 Some time later, Dean wasn’t sure how long, Sam was clean and dressed. Dean sat a vigil by his bed, still unwilling to leave his side. It was Mary that got him to move.

“You should come eat something,” she said. “Let others say their goodbyes.”

It was hard, but he let her tug him to his feet and led him out to the common rooms. They were, inexplicably, filled with people. His shock must have shown because she said, “After Castiel called me I had him call Jody. Word spread fast. We should,” her voice faltered a moment. “We should talk about the funeral. I thought tomorrow morning would be good, but I didn’t— Not without your input.”

Dean grunted. “That’s fine. These—They’re all here for Sam?” He recognized some as the hunters from Apocalypse World, others as hunters he and Sam knew. Others looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them, and many more were totally unfamiliar. People were everywhere, talking, eating, laughing. How could they laugh? Sam was dead. Dean’s world had ended, and his home was full of laughing people.

Anger bubbled up until he heard Sam’s name. He listened, eavesdropping without making any conscious decision to do so.

“And then he blasted the ghoul to pieces! Never even broke a sweat. I’m telling you, it was epic.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Sam and Dean helped me with a demon up in Syracuse?”

“Sam saved my ass from—”

“He was amazing. He saved—”

“I’ll never forget—”

Snippets of conversation floated around him. They were all sharing stories about Sam, about how his little brother had touched their lives. And it—Sam—was making them happy. His eyes burned. His pain had in no way diminished, but he suddenly understood why people held wakes. It felt good to know Sam would be remembered.

Eventually, someone recognized that he had joined the crowd. Before he knew what was happening, Donna was smothering him in a hug. Then Jody and the girls appeared. Someone pushed Dean into a chair, and someone else brought him food. Jody ordered him to eat, her eyes shining. Dean pushed the plate away, claiming he wasn’t hungry.

“When was the last time you ate?” Alex asked.

He thought about it. “Breakfast,” he said.

“This morning?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He shook his head. He may not be sure how long it had been, but it had been long enough to know it wasn’t the same day. “Before.” He waved his hand to indicate, just, everything. He couldn’t say it yet. They were burning Sam in the morning, and he couldn’t say that Sam was—that Sam was dead.

“Dean, that was two days ago. You need to eat, even if you aren’t hungry,” Jody said. She sighed. “Believe me, I get it, but,” she hesitated, “Sam would want you to take care of yourself.”

“Where’s Cass?” he asked.

Claire spoke up. “Pretty sure I saw him in the kitchen with Jack.”

Dean nodded. “I should go check on them.”

Alex pushed him back into the chair. “Eat. I’ll go grab them for you.”

 Sam and Cass looked around the bar as the music on the jukebox changed to a new song. “Do you remember this night?” Cass asked.

Sam took a moment, then replied, “Our first dance. Our first kiss.”

Cass slid his hand into Sam’s palm and led them to the dance floor. Everything around them lost focus. Even the potent smell of alcohol and sweat seemed diminished. It felt like they were the only ones left in the world. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”

They danced; Sam made a small noise in acknowledgement.

“I am not really Castiel. At least, not all of him.” When Sam started to pull away he hurried to explain. “Several years ago, you asked me to possess you, just for a moment, so that you would always carry a piece of my grace with you. After everything you have experienced, I could think of no higher honor, so I agreed to do it. To know that you trust me so completely—” He shook his head. “I am that piece of grace. I’ve done my best to keep you safe over the years, given you healing when I could. But I was always connected to my larger self. The spell has cut me off from that completely. I suppose, in a way, I am now your grace, and no one else’s.”

Sam frowned as they swayed to the music. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cass sighed. “Because I believe I also contain your worst memories.”

“Hell,” Sam said simply.

“It drove you mad, nearly killed you once already,” Cass said.

“I didn’t have you then,” Sam answered, tracing Cass’s jaw.

Cass leaned into Sam’s touch. “I may not be able to protect you.”

Sam leaned forward, resting his forehead against Castiel’s. “I know,” he swallowed and clenched his jaw, “but I trust you. And I’m ready. Can we have one more dance first though?”

 Dean stood quietly in the doorway to Sam’s room, roll of linen in hand. It was time, and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to go through with this part. He swallowed, licked his lips and ducked his head. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I’m sorry, man. You know, I never really thought we’d get here. Me, doing this for you. Always figured it’d be the other way around. And sorry I’m not letting Cass help. I know it’s hurting him, too, seeing you like this. I—I just need to be the one to do this. After all those other times—” He worked his jaw as a tear finally escaped, sliding down his face. “Right. Let’s do this.”

He gently unrolled the shroud and laid it over Sam’s still form. Taking the ties he’d brought, he started tucking the ends of the shroud under his brother’s feet and tying it tight.

 They danced to another three songs, in fact, before Sam really felt ready. Cass gently cradled Sam’s cheek, taking one last look at this marvelous boy he’d fallen in love with. Sam’s eyes were closed, his body tense as he braced himself for the pain of Hell to come flooding back. Cass leaned forward, brushing his lips against Sam’s before pressing in firmly, deepening the kiss. He let go of the essence of himself, pushed all that he was into Sam’s being. The bad, yes, but also the grace. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to protect Sam’s soul this way.

 Sam took a huge gasping breath and sat up straight. He flailed under a sheet, coughing the stagnant air out of his lungs. He panicked a little when he realized his legs were restrained and struggled to free them. Then he felt hands on his shoulders, exploring his face, his head, his sides. He looked up, found himself staring into Dean’s shocked green eyes.

“Sam?”

God, Dean sounded broken. Sam remembered his time in the woods with Cass, mostly, and before that the witch. He knew something had happened. It must have been a close one. “Hey,” he said, not sure how else to respond.

In another moment, Dean had him in a near stranglehold, muttering, “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Sam held on and murmured reassurance that he’d do his best. When Dean finally pulled back, Sam managed to get a glimpse of what was tangled up around his feet, and he realized this one had been much closer than he’d thought. “Dean? What--?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze and immediately started untying his legs and pulling the shroud away. “Yeah, sorry. I—Sam.” Words had evidently failed Dean. “What the hell happened?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Sam said. “But from my end, I was, uh, swimming around in my memories, I think. Kind of lost. Cass saved me.”

“Cass?”

Sam gave Dean the short version of what he remembered, leaving out the part about regaining everything involved with Hell. He would tell Dean, later, when he hadn’t just come back from the dead. Right now, he just wanted to see Cass. Luckily, Dean had entered full mother hen mode, and was busying himself with gathering the supplies he’d brought in and talking about grabbing Sam a plate of food, seeing as how he hadn’t eaten for the last three days. After a minute, Dean was out the door.

A moment later, Cass’s face appeared in the doorway. When he spotted Sam sitting up, his head dropped to the side in confusion.

Seeing Cass again felt like seeing a miracle. Sam grinned, and he knew his dimples were out in full force. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened after that kiss, but he couldn’t feel Cass’s grace inside him anymore. He’d never noticed it before, when it was present, but now there was a palpable loss that ached. Being in the same room as Cass made that ache vanish.

“Sam.” Cass’s face was unreadable, but Sam could feel confusion, awe, and most of all, love radiating off him.

He didn’t know what was going to happen now, but he knew it was going to be ok.

[thorne93]

What Are We Gonna Do? (Part 4)

Prompt: Imagine that you’re Spencer Reid’s wife, and you get the news of his arrest in Mexico. But you’ve been keeping something from him and the team. How will it affect Spencer?

Word Count: 1256

Warnings: Language, violence, anger, drama, angst

Notes: This picks up right at the beginning of Season 12, episode 13. Spoilers from here till then. Thanks to my beta @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​

Tags: @ultrarebelheart​ @cocosierra94 @marvel-imagines-yes-please

~~~~~~~~~

The next day, you made it into the office and informed Rossi, JJ, and Garcia of his mom’s state and how he was doing.

 “So what’s our next step?” Garcia asked.

 Rossi informed her of the bail pending trial. “And no matter how high they set the bail, I’m springing for it,” Rossi offered.

Tears pricked your eyes as you leaped to hug him. “Thank you so much, Dave. You really don’t have to do that.”

 “Sure I do.”

 “Are you sure you wanna be here, Y/N?” JJ asked gingerly as she stroked your back softly. “No one would judge you if you wanted to be home.”

 “I think it’s better if I’m here,” you said. “Except if I keep crying,” you laughed.

 “You cried all night, didn’t you?” JJ wondered sympathetically.

 “Yeah,” you said with a nod and the tears started flowing again.

 “Aw sweetie, your eyes are so puffy.”

 “I know.” You laughed as you tried to wipe all the tears away.

 “Why don’t you go with Emily?” JJ offered.

 “Okay.” You nodded and gathered your things to meet Emily at the federal jail. God, just saying those words and applying them to Spencer sent ice straight into your chest. You focused on driving and checking in and when you found Emily you two went back to see him.

 Seeing him in that cell...the cell...Not just a holding cell in some shitty Mexican jail. The real deal, iron bars, solitary...it was enough to bring you to your knees. You’d give anything to trade places with him.

 “How’s Mom?” Spence asked.

 “She’s good. Cassie’s keeping her medicated.”

 “Good.”

“JJ brought the kids by, she really enjoyed that,” you tried, your throat already swelling.

 “Hey, hey, don’t cry,” Spence pleaded.

 “I’m sorry, babe, I can’t help it. Seeing you like this...knowing you’re in here alone, it’s killing me.”

 “Maybe you should go home? Or go back to the office to occupy your mind? I know how agitated you get when you aren’t doing something,” he said with a half smile.

 “No, I want to be here with you.”

 “I know. I’m such an idiot.”

 “Don’t, Spencer, don’t,” Emily chastised, saving you from having to yell at your husband. “You were trying to help your mother.”

 “And I fell right into Scratch’s trap.”

 “He won’t win,” Emily vowed.

 “He already has.”

 “Hey, what did I say about giving up?” you demanded, fearing that his short time inside this hellhole had already started to mess with his beautiful mind.

 “I know, Y/N, but it’s so hard. Look at where we are. He’s going to win.”

 “No, no he’s not,” you promised with dark intent, your mind running wild with fantasies on how to torture that little prick when you got your hands on him. “Mr. Scratch? How do you like your face scratched off with rusty nails?” you thought evilly.

 “We all know you didn’t do anything wrong,” Emily continued, snapping you out of your violent daydream.

 “We know that doesn’t matter. What matters is what the prosecutor can prove and Scratch has stacked the deck against me.”

 You were searching for some sign of hope in your husband’s brown eyes but none came. If there was a flicker, it was being snuffed out rapidly. Prentiss and Spence talked legal consult, asking your opinion. You said it was Spence’s life and his choice to choose whoever he wanted to represent him. He agreed to use Fiona and you felt relief. Emily left you to say goodbye to him alone.

 “You have to hold onto hope, for me, okay?” you begged. “Please, Spence, I can’t do this alone,” you said a tear rolling down your cheek.

 “It’s so hard,” he admitted.

 “I know. Just...you have something to look forward to when you get out, okay? Focus on that,” you said.

 “Alright. Tell Mom I love her and I miss her,” he requested.

 “I will,” you vowed.

 “And I love you so much, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 You smiled at him. “Spencer Reid, if I have to start World War III just to get you out of here, I will not hesitate to do that. I love you.”

 He smiled at you and you begrudgingly left with Prentiss. She made the call to her friend as you worked on paperwork in the office and by lunch time, you were ready to meet with her.

 “Hi, Fiona, this is Dr. Y/N Reid. Spencer’s wife and a member of the BAU,” Emily introduced as you stood in a small room together.

 “Hi, nice to meet you.”

 “Are you going to help my husband?” you asked once you let go of her hand.

 “I’m going to try. I want to see how he responds first and we’ll see if we work as a client-attorney relationship.”

 “He didn’t do this,” you asserted.

 “We just need to be able to prove that in court,” she said.

 “Then I’ll make sure that happens,” you vowed, your eyes steely on hers as she and Emily began to talk.

 A few minutes later, Spencer was escorted into the room and after the introductions were over, she asked that she be alone with him. You wanted to object but you knew you couldn’t. You left with Emily into the hall, watching Spence every second. The interview was going well at first, but then you saw Spence getting upset. His brow was perched up and his neck was getting red, he was angry. Your protective nature started to kick into overdrive as you watched. The scene escalated as Spence slammed his hand down on the table, his voice raising. She handed him her card and they seemed to be working something out then she left.

 You raced up to her as she came out. “So? What does it look like?”

 “I’ll get the arraignment scheduled asap and he’s pleading not guilty,” she informed you.

 “Then what?”

 “Then we move for posting bail pending trial.”

 “Okay,” you said numbly as you nodded.

 ---------------

 Emily tried to get you to eat something but you couldn’t. You knew you should be, given the circumstances but you just couldn’t fathom the thought of anything in your stomach. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d eaten. She took you to a restaurant and asked how you were holding up. You shrugged numbly, not sure how to answer that.

 When you got home, you nearly collapsed. The sights, the smells, the everything that was Spencer Reid. First thing was to check on Diana. You and Cassie tended to her before you started to clean. You cleaned the kitchen, dining room, living room, both bathrooms, and the master. It seemed like it was taking you forever but it only took an hour and a half.  

 After that, you decided to shower, relishing in some moments alone to wallow in your fears and worries. You cried a lot in the shower, thankful that no one would bother you or see you cry. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, but the hot water had turned to freezing cold but you did nothing but stand there. After that, you tried to watch TV, just to rid your mind of all of the questions and concerns running through it, but it did nothing but intensify your worries. You laid down, more tears hitting the pillow as you laid in the empty bed.

 None of it felt real, and you prayed it wouldn’t ever feel real.

[ohyangchon]

Compromise (Defendant x Pied Piper)

A Korean fan, 96taru tweeted a mashup of Defendant and Pied Piper’s villains, and how they would react meeting each other. They proposed something rather interesting though (either that or Bing mistranslated), so I’m putting pen to paper to see how it works. 

My iteration of Heesung is taken from the Impairment series of my own Pied Piper tag. It’s not canon, simply my take of what happens to him post-drama. He is also a major spoiler for the later episodes of Pied Piper, so tread lightly. 

Minho is also my own iteration, taken from my interpretation of the tweet’s translation. 

OOC Edit: This mashup was created because both actors (Yoon Junsang and Uhm Kijoon) are good friends in real life. 

There was a slight noise as Heesung rolled through the narrow corridor, a table with some materials mounted across his lap as he controlled the movements of his wheelchair by sipping and puffing to create motion. Just as claustrophobic as I remembered the rooms to be, the mechanical voice hummed to nobody in particular, and he finally stopped short in front of the heavy metal doors where Seungchan was waiting for him. 

“You’re late,” he snapped, and Heesung rolled his eyes, “We’re meeting a death row convict, and you’re taking this like a joyride.” My apologies for hardly being outside, retorted the scathing mechanical voice, Heesung giving a minor tilt of his head as the doors clattered open for them. Two guards warned them to not spend too much time in there, for the criminal was ‘incredibly unstable and manipulative’. Seungchan shot Heesung a look at the description, and Heesung merely blew a raspberry at the other man as they both entered, Seungchan sitting in the foldable chair with his usual lazy posture while Heesung parked across the other man in the room. 

Truth be told, Heesung despised men like the one across him- men who bought off people of power to silence their wrongdoings, and assumed they could get away with whatever they wanted. He barely hid this compared to his companion, however, cracking his jaw in annoyance at the frail, cowering figure that had finally witnessed the brunt of how cruel the prison system was to people like him. Seungchan leant forward, placing his hands on the table and watched the other man flinch visibly at the noise, immediately detecting the apprehension from the other. They weren’t here to discuss reconciliation or cooperation from him: they just wanted to get him mentally stable to serve a life sentence. Heesung would’ve rather he died. 

“Your father had a history--” Seungchan began, peering at his file as the other man finally looked up, his unfocused eyes seeming to dilate in fear at the mention. “Don’t mention his name,” snarled the prisoner lowly, “Don’t even talk about it.” Maybe we could discuss your twin, then, Heesung added thoughtfully, effortlessly going in for the kill, The twin who stole everything you wanted. He watched the fear melt away into full-blown rage with a detached calmness, merely staring when the prisoner jumped to his feet and swung his handcuffs blindly at the duo before him. “Don’t say his name,” he repeated, the threat uttered through gritted teeth while Heesung shook his head, “I don’t know who you are or what you want. I’m not telling you anything.” 

One could almost feel the shreds of Seungchan’s patience fade away: if only Myungha was here. “Cha Minho-sshi, we’re not here to get you to tell us anything. We’re trying to lighten your sentence,” the man ventured benignly, his tone barely betraying the annoyance he felt. Heesung showed disgust at this- it was so typical of Seungchan to throw morals away for money, but he knew where the other was coming from. Lightening the man’s sentence meant securing a huge chunk of funds for the Negotiation team, a startup fund they desperately needed, and as much as Heesung felt it deviated from his crusade, he let Seungchan be. Maybe I could speak to him alone, he typed to Seungchan, eyes drifting to his direction as he watched Minho stew from the corner of his eye, It might be something ‘psychopaths’ could connect to. 

Seungchan clenched his jaw at this: as much as he knew how good Heesung could be with criminals that aligned with his thought process, he still didn’t trust Heesung to be amendable with someone that was staunchly against all he believed in. Still, he figured if Heesung was requesting this, he probably had something in mind. With a squeeze on the other’s shoulder, the man got up and excused himself, going to the other side of the one-way mirror to see how things would go. It was when Heesung was alone that he allowed the contempt to creep into his expression, not that he had always been able to control his emotions very well in the first place. 

I heard you were assaulted in prison, the mechanical voice began, emotionless as it projected through the room: Heesung’s grin widened as the prisoner froze, before beginning to shake uncontrollably, Friends of someone you killed. Who was he again? Lee Sunggyu. Just a little boy who went down the wrong path. Whose life you ruined. His face returned to passiveness once more, an unmistakeable scowl of disgust etched upon his features- the moment he had done his research and stumbled upon the articles about the boy, whatever negotiation he had wanted to conduct with this Minho was gone. He had as little patience as Seungchan, and he couldn’t be as magnanimous as Myungha. 

Heesung watched, however, as the fear seemed to ebb away from the other as quickly as it came. “I countersued them for battery and assault,” Minho added, his vacant eyes twinkling with remorseless malice, “They had it coming. Ruffians need a good lesson to beat them into shape.” Another jaw clench passed through Heesung, before he quickly relaxed. Your corneas were damaged when you fell on the shattered glass used to assault you, continued Heesung, trying to tamp down his fury, Which is why we’re opening this conversation in the first place. You could cooperate with us, or wait for the gallows to find you- we wouldn’t be here if your...ah, lover hadn’t contacted us. 

That was enough to elicit a reaction from Minho, whom immediately dropped the malicious swagger to something almost concerned. “H-how is she? Is she eating well? Did she come back from America yet?” His questions were heartbreakingly earnest to those who knew of his plight, “How about my son? He should be starting elementary school by now. I hope she took my suggestions to enrol him into an international school. They have a bilingual system, he needs it.” I’ll answer that...if you want to cooperate with me, Heesung added plainly, and he watched Minho bob his head furiously in assent. “I-I’ll cooperate. I’ll do anything. Let me hear her voice,” he begged, raising his handcuffed wrists to give Heesung the gesture of ‘one’ with his index finger, “Just once. And my son’s. Please.” Heesung took this opportunity to turn to the mirror, waiting for his earpiece to crackle with Seungchan’s familiar voice. 

As the room fell silent, Minho grew increasingly agitated, sweeping things off the desk with his hands before burying his face into them. “Stop lying to me...stop lying to me...she never contacted you...did she?” he finally whimpered, the voice of a broken man. With the explicit approval of Seungchan, Heesung’s eyes darted over to the voice calls, blinking to allow the voice to waft through the room. 

I’m sorry to have to call you for this favour, mister Joo. This...this is Na Yeonhee, the female voice began, I know I shouldn’t, but please...save Minho. He can’t keep staying in prison, and I know you’d be able to talk him through things. You, miss Yeo and mister Yoon are the only people I trust that would be able to break him down. He’d listen to no one else- record this conversation and tell him...tell him that I’d wait. Please don’t let him die. He shut off the rest of the conversation: it was but mere discussion of prices and Seungchan selling his soul to save Myungha’s dad’s lifeblood, before he shot the visibly shaken Minho a slight half-smile. 

Will you cooperate, the mechanical voice stated flatly, and Heesung too began to speak. “We...can help,” he slurred out, managing to keep his tone even while he struggled with his words. Under the fringe that obscured Minho’s eyes, Heesung watched a fire ignite in the other, as though something his ‘wife’ had stated had finally a switch in him. “I’ll be good,” eked out Minho in a small, terrified voice, “Do your worst.” Heesung felt his malicious smile return to him once more, triumphant in the face to this. He waited for Seungchan once again, allowing the other man to give him directions, before his eyes searched the tablet before him, casually blinking and typing out his next words. 

Let us begin then, the voice rang out, and Minho turned his terrified but unfocused gaze to Heesung, seemingly convinced that they were holding his ‘wife’ hostage, My name is Yoon Heesung. You might be familiar with my name elsewhere- 

I am the Pied Piper, and this is my job now- to punish people like you.

We might not be on the same page now, but we will eventually be. They always end up on the same page as me. 

[ichika27]

TWEWY 09

I did not find a good spoiler-free screenshot for the first image so we got this one where they see the aftermath of an awful scene.

Episode 9 already. How time flies! Alright, spoiler warning for the game as always.

Okaaaay... they’re starting with this? They decided that the beginning of the episode is the backstory of Beat and Rhyme? I’m surprised cause wow... what a way to start!

Beat tells Neku how he and Rhyme got to the UG - they were arguing and Beat wasn’t listening to Rhyme who has been trying to get him to stay. Then in the middle of it, an out of control car came and was about to hit Rhyme. Beat tried to save her but he failed and they both got hit. He also reveals to Neku that they’re siblings.

They left out some details though: that Beat got into an argument with their parents and he walked out on them as usual (saying it happens a lot and the reason why which would’ve added a bit more characterization for Beat). Rhyme followed him and then the car came. He tried to save her but couldn’t. They also left out the line where Beat says “But I couldn’t stop a car.” which, to me, feels like it should’ve been added cause that is really sad to hear from a kid. He tried, man. He tried.

They also showed Beat and Rhyme’s “first” meeting in the UG. This was immediately after the death flashback so the part of the convo where Beat says he doesn’t know if Rhyme hates him for what happened because she doesn’t remember him. There was also no mention of him realizing that maybe memories of him were her entry fee and that he fears that even if he successfully brought her back (if he became composer), her memories of him would still be gone.

Beat calls himself an idiot because of what had happened to them. Neku gives Beat some encouraging words along the lines of “Yeah, you’re definitely an idiot if you joined a game with only one other player left. But you still made a pact with me and not many would’ve done that.”

The duo promises they’d win the game so they could get back the ones they lost - Rhyme and Shiki.

The two of them had to hide though cause they’re being hunted by every reaper around. It would hinder them in their search for Konishi.

Imagine if the game version had this part as a gameplay where you have to sneak around. I’d have found that nerve-wracking lol.

They soon notice something strange: they can’t scan people from the RG anymore. Everyone’s literally “No thoughts, head empty.” (hey, they took away the “memes” from the story so I’m putting some here lol) and they’re also wearing the red skull pins. Neku and Beat thinks there’s a connection.

Beat notices that the red skull pins look like the player pins so they must’ve been made by the same person. They also know the red skull pins were made by CAT which means the player pin must be, too.

Neku is worried and is starting to have some doubts. Joshua told him 2 things in Week 2: the composer created the player pins and that CAT is Mr. Hanekoma. The thought of Mr. Hanekoma (someone he looks up to) being the same person as the Composer (who is the one who organized this whole game) is distressing to Neku so he suggested they focus on the mission first.

Kariya and Uzuki are eating together at a fast food place again (they really took away our ramen, huh?) and are talking about the mission Konishi gave Uzuki. She has some qualms but she’s still gonna do her job and get that promotion.

So the two face off against Neku and Beat with Rhyme at stake.

Rhyme isn’t in her pin from here unlike in the game which I questioned at first but later I think it was a good idea (I’ll talk about this again later). The challenge is to outright fight the reaper duo which is different from the game where they instead had to play Reaper Sport 4 which is tag.

Sorry for the very blurry photo. This is the best I could do.

Neku and Beat defeat the reaper duo with this attack that even the reapers think is unusual. (This is the 3rd phase of their fusion, if I remember correctly. So is Neku riding a board there or...?)

As promised, the reapers give back Rhyme... not! The fake Rhyme disintegrates in Beat’s hands which is awful. Unlike the game where Rhyme is in her pin form and Beat just tells them the pin is fake, here, Rhyme is in her noise form so the scene feels a lot worse. She’s “alive” and not just a pin so when she disappears like this (and on her brother’s arm no less), it has more impact.

I might have issues with the anime’s pacing but if there’s one thing they decided to do right is that the dramatic scenes look more intense.

Kariya realizes that Konishi duped them. Uzuki is pissed that the promotion if a fake cause she really wanted it and was willing to work for it. She also mentions that she knew Kariya declined promotion. Kariya explains that he likes working in the field to watch the people and Shibuya cause he really likes this place. Also he enjoys hanging out with Uzuki which he can’t do if he is given a different job. This shuts up Uzuki who is kinda surprised by what she heard.

They took out, if I remember correctly, Uzuki saying she wanted to help change things for the reapers cause she think everyone should be enjoying their work. The two also has this talk within Neku and Beat’s earshot who are kinda getting annoyed with what was happening.

As an apology for the trouble, Kariya gives them another keypin. He says “Sorry.”, too but the scene felt different from the game. Th game version sounded... nicer? I think it’s cause they didn’t seem as agitated and the way Kariya says it felt like he really didn’t like how they unknowingly tricked Neku and Beat. Uzuki apologizes in the game, too but not in the anime.

Beat still gives them the warning about Konishi though (even calling them senpai while saying it haha). Personally, I just think the scene felt friendlier in the game but that’s just me.

The red skull pins are taking effect now incapacitating both Kariya and Uzuki as Konishi appears to observe and figure out what’s going on. The duo gets up later with red eyes.

I wonder if they’re gonna make them say the quote. You know: “To right the countless wrongs of our days...” and all that (I copypasted that from a wiki cause I forgot but I had to reference it here).

Mr. Hanekoma is fixing up Minamimoto’s taboo sigil. Guess who comes out of this?

It’s starting everyone!

---

I noticed they never explained in this episode or the last why Neku was the only player left for Week 3. No mention of the other players becoming Neku’s new entry fees. I dunno what’s more suspicious that would get people to question if this was a rigged game: giving that bs explanation or giving no explanation at all. Or maybe they’d mention it when they finally face Kitaniji. You know, to shock and guilt trip Neku again cause the anime enjoys making things hit worse sometimes.

I wonder if they’re gonna have Neku and Beat visit Wildkat next episode?

Eri shows up again this episode by the way. She was with a crowd trying to get their hands on the red skull pins and she even gets a few lines. I’m glad she shows up here (and Beat sees her and is given an explanation of what Shiki’s entry fee was).

I know many are excited to see Taboo Minamimoto. The guy is one of the popular reapers from the series and I realize by how much when I see he’s got the same kind of merch as the main characters do. Oh and he also becomes playable in the long-awaited sequel game. I hope the anime-onlys who end up liking him, too enjoys seeing him again.

Are they gonna end Week 3 next episode or will there be another one? Cause they gave Week 2 four episodes instead of just three like Week 1 and they’re also gonna have to add stuff for the” A New Day” segment to connect this with the sequel game. There’s not enough episodes in this show.

I’m excited for the 4 people fusion at the end though. I wonder how they’d pull it off with the fusion pin not shown at all in the anime.

I’m excited for next week’s episode. I wonder how they’d handle the ending to the story? It’s sad it won’t end on a good note since if they adapt “A New Day” (which they have to for the sequel), well, you know how it’ll go.

I’m also very excited to see Joshua again. I hope he enjoyed his stay at the other world (if it still has tin pin and ramen then he’s probably good).

Well, til next week! Thanks for reading.