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soobadnoonecanstopher · 1 year ago

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Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 3.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M

Word Count: 6.4K

Warnings: Unresolved sexual tension, apologies to anyone named Chet, contagious giggles, gratuitous use of the word cunt, an unspecified age difference, an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.

Author’s note: remember all those years ago I said I’d write a Baekhyun x Noona fic? This is that fic.

Inspired by the Ray LaMontagne song Can I Stay

Tag List: @andimoon @his-mochi-cheeks

Story Links: Can I Stay? Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[WARNING- This is Part 3! part 2 was just posted a day before this. DON’T SKIP PART 2]

‘Noona, can I stay?’

Of course you wanted to tell him yes. Of course you had grown attached to him in ways you could never tell him. But how much power did this man really think you had in this company? Between the two of you, he had so much more influence here; heaps more than you had.

“Baekhyun, that is not a decision for me to make. You are a great assistant, but you are a more important person than just my assistant.” You made your best attempt at it. The sooner he understood the magnitude of his potential the sooner he would let go of this fixation on staying in this department as your assistant and the better off he would be. If for the sake of his future in this company, he should probably move on. Although, you also realized that part of what made you so damn good at your job was the years of experience you had with it.

“And…if the decision was yours?” His eyebrows were lifted and his expression challenged, as if he asked some mysterious, unsaid veiled question instead of this very obvious ‘Can't I just stay as your assistant’ question he was actually asking. You wondered what had made him so determined to get a response from you.

“I think with a couple of years here with me, you would get too good and surpass me.” You pursed your lips in contemplation. You saw his incredible potential the minute he walked through that door on the first day.

“And then I would have to kill you.” You said it with a straight face and it took him only a minute before his eyebrows dropped and he let out a half exhaled breath mixed with a loud laugh.

He’d spun on his heels and taken a step back from you, before turning back to look at your face again, his wide grin quite evident on his face. “This is the first time I’ve heard you make a joke.”

“What makes you think I am joking?” You deadpanned, no longer even looking at the man and he laughed out loud again.

“Oh my god,” he said out loud to himself. “I think this might be a new step in our relationship.”

“I beg your forgiveness, you kick me in the chest. I ask you to hold on to me and you threaten me with death.” He was talking only for himself now. Amusing himself with his little jokes like he often did. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of into it. I guess that ‘What Rihanna Song Are You’ quiz was right. Chains and whips do excite me.”

“Are you done?” You interrupted, actually unable to take any more after your started leafing through the pages and pages of work you had accumulated on your desk.

The more you looked the less you wanted of all of it. You began handling everything with rougher hands and eventually resorted to angrily tossing things into a miscellaneous pile you had just created that made no logical sense. If these things annoyed you the most, they landed in that pile. After a while, after every other toss a swift hand would come into your field of vision and pull something out of the pile.

You didn’t know where it went, but the pile was shrinking and your mood was feeling lighter because of it.

The only pile left after Baekhyun’s mystical sorting just needed signatures. You could do that and walk at the same time if you had someone watching for obstacles in your path.

“I have a meeting with Choi’s First AE in ten minutes and I needed all these signed like yesterday. Let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Now, Baekhyun. Sign and walk and don't let me fall into an open manhole cover.”

He did pretty good with it. “Step up,” He called out beside you and you stepped up when he told you, finding the perfect rhythm and finding the step he warned you about. “Four steps, then turn right,” he said again while also grabbing the folders and flipping to the signature pages that he had already pre-marked with brightly colored sticky tabs last week when he was desperately trying to get you to sign them. Apparently he had been getting emails about them. They were overdue. There might have been phone calls too. Not dangerously late, but you did feel guilty for the delay. Why didn’t you think of this before? You’d probably wasted hours of your life just walking. Those walking hours could have been used for signing. You were pretty sure you were a genius.

That was until your forward progress was abruptly and jarringly halted by a firm arm wrapped around your waist and you were pulled back violently. A loud sound like a beast’s roar echoed against your eardrums and you gasped out loud. Your stomach leapt up into your throat as a panic rose up inside of you from the shock of it.

You’d just stepped off a curb. He’d warned you about the step down, that wasn’t the unexpected part. The danger came too suddenly for either of you to prepare for right after that. You smelled the exhaust of a retreating motorcycle. You could see the crazy driver speeding off in your peripheral vision. You felt the trembling and the shaking inside of your chest as you tried desperately to breathe though the tightness of the arm squeezing around your waist, pulling you back to safety.

“Shit,” Baekhyun swore out loud sometime during the commotion and you’d cried out the same.

It took a few moments of steadying yourself. When your mind sharpened to what happened you found yourself having stumbled back two or three steps with Baekhyun’s arm still wrapped around your waist, the firmness of his forearm digging into the softness of the skin directly below your breasts and his hand you felt laid flat over your rib cage, fingers digging in hard. Tight and firm everywhere. You felt bound up entirely. A clattering of documents bounced onto the floor by your feet and your eyes blinked hard and fast as you tried your best to calm your breathing down. He was still holding onto you when you could feel the panic subsiding and your breathing returning to normal.

Baekhyun’s upset seemed to take longer to pass. You felt the rapid up and down breathing of his chest echoed through your back and his face was buried in the space just over your shoulder, against your neck and into your hair. You could feel the heat from his breath on your neck. It was warm and sticky.

You gave a light tap over his arm that still held you tightly around your waist. Trying to get him to loosen the hold and let you go. It took some convincing though. His arm was very firm and he was holding you very tightly. Close call with literal death aside, a new danger was quickly making itself evident. He felt incredibly warm and nice with his body pressed up against you like this and you recognized the need to separate yourself from him if you were going to keep any remaining bits of your sanity and self resolve intact.

“Are you okay? You aren’t hurt?” He asked from somewhere buried behind you and you urgently nodded. He needed to let you go. He smelled so good.

You tapped his arm again, faster and more insisting, nearly begging now.

“I’m okay,” you said as calmly and as convincingly as you could manage with the limited oxygen you had in your lungs. You could finally feel the tension in his body relaxing a little. But only a little. The longer he held onto you, the more you felt something else making the air around the both of you feel so heavy — something else making the heat spreading between your bodies somehow feel warmer.

Baekhyun was not letting you go, and this was changing for him too, it seemed.

It took no less than a miracle that you did not moan out loud when you felt the deep inhale he took into his lungs with his face still buried deep within your hair. That deep inhale was paired with the smallest sound that came from somewhere deep inside of his chest that, if you were thinking strictly with your rational brain, you could maybe contribute to the relief. He made that sound out of relief that you were not hurt. He pulled that warm breath into himself deep and slowly, savoring it for much longer than necessary out of…relief. A wave of warmth ricocheted through your chest and down into your belly and you closed your eyes through it, desperately reminding yourself that you and him were now, well out of harm’s way, standing on a sidewalk at your workplace where anyone with eyes could see this.

Your tapping was harder now. It woke him up.

As soon as his arm was loose enough, you made a quick and clean break of every and all bits of contact with his body. As abruptly as this happened, you extracted yourself and you ignored the way his eyelids fluttered slowly open and that fucking pink hue in his cheeks and lips that turned his face into one of the most attractive faces you’d ever laid your eyes on.

You squatted down, picking up everything that had fallen and soon enough he joined you, grabbing things from your hands to add to his piles without saying a thing about what maybe he also felt building between the two of you whenever you happened to get too close to each other.

It couldn't happen. It no longer mattered whether or not you believed it was happening. You knew for certain that whatever was or was not happening, it needed to stop here. You simply would never put yourself into any position for this man to need to touch you ever again. You could not trust yourself.

A moan. You almost moaned. You could practically feel the sound ready to come out of your chest if you’d only allowed your mouth to open, it would have. You were insane. You were a crazy person, a goddamned lunatic and a menace. He was your assistant for god's sake.

You steadied your breathing and your resolve and decided to allow yourself two entire minutes to sign the rest of these things on the spot. So what if you were late to your meeting. Punctuality be damned. Sure, the almost dying part was a little scary, but even you had your limits of what you could stand. You had almost moaned! What next? An orgasm right here on the sidewalk? Lock you up and throw away the key now.

You made it on time to your meeting. He was the First Assistant Editor to the Picture Editor Sophie Choi, with whom you had been working very closely with for months on this project. Sophie’s 1st was a man who simply went by Chet. No last name, just Chet. Apparently it was his thing.

He was nice. He was always polite with you even when he had some bad news to deliver, he always relayed whatever news, projects updates, or requests for your team he had for you with an empathetic and professional filter. Unlike some other utterly obnoxious 1st AEs that you’d worked with in the past, Chet was alright.

He was also tall and extremely handsome if you were into muscles, backwards ball caps, and men who looked like they probably moonlighted as underwear models in the back pages of GQ magazine. Not that you had ever seen him in his underwear, but you did follow his instagram and you always made sure to give him that little heart when he posted his pictures.

Chet was a hugger. When he saw you his smile was charming and inviting as he called out your name and he wrapped his big arms around you, pulling you in like a long lost friend. You weren't exactly friends with him. While you’d been invited for drinks with him and his team on many occasions your schedule had always been too swamped to take him up on the offers, but he was still just as friendly with you.

You didn't require Baekhyun to attend this meeting but he was weirdly insistent on tagging along after the quick introductions you made between the two men. They both shook hands and there were some formalities and awkward pleasantries exchanged between the two. Baekhyun whispered to you that he was sure that he should attend this meeting for learning purposes. You were sure nothing important other than networking was about to happen, but he insisted that everything was important in its own way. He was stubborn and after a few back and forths you finally just gave in to the man. If he wanted to waste his lunch hour, who were you to argue?

Chet made a kind of too loud joke about some rumors that you’d been saddled with some fresh meat intern and you were quick to assure him that Baekhyun had actually turned out to be the best assistant you’d ever had. After the harmless joke, you risked a careful glance at Baekhyun. If he’d taken any offense, he certainly didn't react. He spent much of the meeting sitting in the back of the room typing furiously on his cellphone, no doubt answering many emails on your behalf. Baekhyun was always busy on that phone, keeping your workload down as a side effect.

The meeting was about halfway through when your stomach growled noisily and embarrassingly, reminding you that yes, you were indeed human and you probably should eat something today.

“Why don't we take this downstairs—” Chet lifted an eyebrow in your direction, “—have some lunch… on me?”

You considered it. It didn’t sound like a bad idea. You had all of the materials already and you skipped dinner last night and now that you thought about it, you skipped breakfast this morning too. Your nerves about the presentation had kept your appetite muted. The last meal you had was something shoved into your mouth by Baekhyun sometime yesterday afternoon.

‘Eat this,’ he had said at the time and you blindly opened your mouth and received whatever he shoved in there.

“Some lunch sounds lovely, Chet. Thank you.”

“That does sound lovely, Chet. Thank you,” Baekhyun mirrored from the back of the room, obviously inviting himself along. You couldn’t be completely sure, and you definitely wouldn’t swear to it under oath, but there was something funny about his tone.

Chet’s wide smile had a microscopic hiccup as his eyes moved between you and Baekhyun and then back to you again.

“Great!” He said over-enthusiastically, almost manically and you also detected something just a little funny in his response as well.

You didn't know what, but something was up with these two men.

Lunch was delicious. Baekhyun took the spot directly beside you, took it upon himself to unwrap your utensils and he placed them just so beside your plate and Chet sat across from you and took it upon himself to unwrap your straw and place it inside your glass for you.

You weren't sure what kind of an imbecile you had appeared to be, but clearly they thought you needed help with something as simple as feeding yourself. You smiled politely to both men. Maybe they were both just overly polite people? Although you knew for a fact that Baekhyun wasn’t that polite when it was just the two of you alone.

Something was definitely up with these two men.

Oddities aside from them, you didn't realize just how hungry you were until you took the first bite of your pasta. If this was going to be your only meal of the day you were going to have some carbs dammit.

Baekhyun had grabbed a chocolate dessert with his lunch plate. You recalled him mentioning once that he wasn’t that into sweets but you didn’t want to pry. You did steal occasional glances at the chocolate layers and one such glance had your eyes bouncing up onto his face where he chewed lazily on his sandwich without any care in the world for how lovely those chocolate and vanilla cream layers looked and must taste.

His eyes slipped to the side and he looked at you as he chewed and swallowed casually. He put his sandwich down and his hand slipped over to the dessert plate. With a single fingertip he touched the edge of the plate and he pushed it quietly and carefully in your direction until it sat there beside your pasta as if it had belonged there all along.

Your eyebrows lifted and you widened your eyes in his direction, mouthing a silent and hopeful ‘me?’

He nodded his head once giving you the tiniest scrunch of his nose and he picked his sandwich back up and continued to eat until it was almost gone.

You had abandoned your pasta, you’d had your fill of it. You took the first bite of the chocolate cake and you were pretty sure you could weep. You were also pretty sure you had completely and thoroughly just fallen in love….with the cake. You could so easily be bought and sold with a good chocolate cake. Baekhyun was the winner. Whatever the competition was, if any at all, whatever these weird vibes between them were, as far as you were concerned, it was over with the first bite.

Then lunch and the meeting were actually over and you didn't catch any more strange interactions between Baekhyun and Chet. Perhaps you’d imagined it all. With your belly full and your workload even lighter you graciously accepted the goodbye hug from the tall well meaning man and you even promised that you’d make an attempt to meet him for drinks once this project wrapped. You did, afterall, have an end date in sight at last. And even if you only saw him at the wrap party where there would be drinks, you wouldn’t technically be lying to him right now. He accepted your promise with an extended pinky finger waved into the air as you walked away cheerfully.

Your mood was grand. It was probably the cake and the pasta.

“Ahh, he’s great.” You remarked out loud and from your left you heard a stifled scoff poorly disguised as a cough from Baekhyun. You turned to look at him with wide questioning eyes.

“Chet.” Baekhyun said his name out loud once with an audible emphasis on the T at the end. As if that T was its very own punctuation mark. As if it was its own hilarious punchline.

“What? He’s nice. He’s so good to work with and he’s never given me any trouble at all.” Why you felt the need to defend Chet to Baekhyun you couldn't quite explain.

Technically, Baekhyun hadn’t even said anything bad about him. He just kept saying his name as if that in itself was the problem.

“Chet.” He repeated the name again, slower this time and then he laughed outright into his hand as if it was the funniest joke he’d heard all day. You’d expected one or two chuckles from him. But strangely, and concerningly, it didn’t stop. And worse, it was weirdly contagious. You fought it all you could but you accidentally allowed a few giggles to escape when he was in the thick of the fits of laughter. It had gotten so bad in the elevator up to your office that you had to smack him on the arm to get him to stop laughing and breathe before he passed out. His eyes were watering from it. He was wheezing and he was gasping. You reached up and wiped a tear stain from his cheek and patted him right on the face kind of hard, almost a slap, anything to get it to stop. It didn’t.

You were feeling dizzy as well. You felt drunk on this madness you both found yourself trapped in. It was silly. It was childish. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed so hard. Even something as simple as eye contact with Baekhyun from across the quiet office would set you both off again. And he’d reach for the box of tissues and cover his face completely all the while loudly cackling. You had been overworked, exhausted and stressed maybe and this was a side effect of all of it. Maybe you’d both finally just lost your minds.

He eventually wound back down, calming and then busying himself with actual work.

“Chet.” He said out loud almost an entire hour later, bursting into noisy laughter all over again. You had to actually bite down on your lip to keep yourself from laughing. You were sick of it. Your stomach muscles ached and you were so very, very tired of the giggles.

“No more,” you begged, holding your face in your hands. Your cheeks were sore, everything hurt. Finally you just gave up and left the room to go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face. What was this? You wondered if you’d ever be able to meet with Chet again and just act normal. You definitely couldn't ever meet him with Baekhyun again, that was for damned sure.

Sometime in between redoing your entire face full of makeup that the laughter and the face washing wiped it out, and taking your seventh brisk lap around this hallway you decided it was time to put your foot down.

You were in charge here. This was your department, you had twenty seven subordinates that, on a daily basis, treated you with the utmost respect and followed your orders to the letter. You had made a decision that it was time for Baekhyun to do the same. You didn't care what he called you or who his father was.

You marched back into your office to face him with a plan in place ready to set into motion and you found him in a spot you absolutely didn't expect.

He was sitting behind your desk, in your chair doing a little sideways back and forth wiggle in your spinning office chair. He was humming a soft tune to himself as he carefully and slowly wrote something down with your pen on your pack of post-it notes, underlining and dotting and crossing letters. Your office phone had been moved. You guessed you received a phone call while you were out.

When he saw you walk through the door he looked up at you briefly before looking back down at what he was doing.

“Assistant Byun,” you said firmly. He hummed out in response and continued to write without looking up at you. You were fired up and ready for this and no amount of his distraction techniques were going to work on you this time. You knocked twice on your desk. “Assistant Byun?” You’d called out again and his eyebrows shot up in the middle of his face.

“Yes, yes, I am here. Your Assistant Byun is here, what do you need my esteemed and magnanimous Manager Noona?” He was still in a playful mood it seemed.

“Byun Baekhyun, from today onward you, nor I, are not allowed to say the c-word inside of this office. Do you understand me? The c-word is banned.” You put on your angry and serious voice and Baekhyun’s eyes widened and he looked straight into your face.

“I’m not allowed to say the…c-word?” he paused and his eyes looked down at the post-it note that he had just pulled off the pack and was holding gingerly between his thumb and his index finger.

“The c-word. You are not allowed to say the c-word anymore.” You harnessed the annoyance for the time wasted today. You thought about the hours of work you’d have to do at home to make up for today and you used that to make yourself seem as authoritative as possible. You meant business now. Play time was over. This was serious.

Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrowed and he dropped his chin in confusion.

After a long moment of thought he spoke.

“Cunt?” He whispered.

You closed your eyes and inhaled a deep breath. You had completely forgotten about that c-word.

“No, Baekhyun. Not cunt, Baekhyun.” You gritted your teeth.

“The other c-word from earlier, from the past three hours Byun Baekhyun, the other c-word. You can say cunt,” you hissed in annoyance with a hand wave, “You are forbidden from saying that other c-word.” Your frustration from the day was mounting. You rubbed your temples with your fingertips, willing the headache you felt building to subside.

“So, I can say cunt in this office?” His voice was louder now and you closed your eyes, threw your head back and inhaled a deep breath. “Cunt is okay? The other c-word is not allowed, but cunt you are okay with. That right, Boss?”

“Yes. You can say cunt if you have to say cunt. Do not, under any circumstances, say the other c-word in this office. Am I clear?” When you opened your eyes he was leaning his head far back in your desk chair in a lounging position. He’d pulled the lever below the seat so the seat back leaned way back and he was watching you with that little post it still held gingerly between his fingers and there was a look of smug satisfied amusement on his pretty face.

“Did anything happen while I was away? Why are you in my chair?”

“Well,” he began, sitting up straight and pushing himself up onto his legs as he made his way back around from behind your desk where you were pretty sure you had never given him permission to be. Not that it mattered, he already had access to everything you had access to, just for the sake of the assistant’s job.

“Well?” You urged him to continue and he looked down at the note again, reaching once more for the pen he scratched something off very thoroughly and you caught a quick movement as he wrote something in its place. He stood up now, straightening his shoulders, looking as put together and professional as ever and he straightened his back as he began reading word for word from the post-it note.

“Cunt called while you were out and asked if you would like to meet him tonight for drinks. I was sure to let him know that your schedule tonight is full and would be full all week, and I made sure that he knew that you do not have space to fit him in for drinks tonight, as you will be busy all night long, with the wrap. Cunt sounded unreasonably upset and just a little bit like a c-word. You are more than welcome, but not in any way obligated, to call him back. From Baekhyun.”

He looked up from the note with wide innocent eyes and his lips pulled into the smallest little pout and you reached forward and grabbed it from him quickly. Sure enough the entire thing was there, word for word. He’d crossed out Chet, replacing it with the word with Cunt every time.

You were pretty sure you were about two seconds away from a complete nervous breakdown.

You knew when you were beat. It was close enough to quitting time that you merely wadded up the note and tossed it into the nearest trash can and began packing up your laptop and a few things you knew you could work on at home. You knew you had a hard deadline coming up tonight by midnight that you absolutely could not miss but everything was on your laptop, you could simply get it all done and submitted from home.

Your quitting time meant it was also Baekhyun’s quitting time. He helped you pack up a few of your laptop accessories, lifting a few peripherals into the air in silent question. You nodded or shook your head for what you would need and they either went into the bag or they went back to the desk. This quiet communication between the two of you was one of your favorite things about him.

The ride down the elevator to the lobby was peaceful. Today felt like running a marathon. This job was usually stressful and eventful but today had been a whole other monster entirely. You could feel the stress and tension in your shoulders and you longed for a long soak in your bathtub.

Baekhyun walked out of the elevator beside you but in no way did you both have the same destination. You knew he would go out to his car and you would make your way down to the subway. You knew he lived on the opposite side of town from where you lived. The distance had to be maybe a 40 minute drive with this office being a center point. You hoped he got some good rest at home and you knew with your workload you’d have to settle for a 30 minute nap at most.

You’d cleared the elevator hallway and stepped into the open hallway when you saw him. It was Chet, and you caught the back of him seated in a chair having a rather casual and loud conversation with a buddy. You’d recognize the 2nd AE’s toupee atop his head from a mile away. This was definitely not something you needed right now.

Your steps paused and you backed up a quick two steps, hiding behind the wall that divided the elevators from the lobby. You could clearly hear the two men laughing and reminiscing about whatever it was two buddies talked about.

Baekhyun who had been just a step behind you caught your rapid evasive motions and his eyes also zeroed in on and instantly understood the danger in the lobby.

“Oh shit,” he said under his breath. “He doesn’t even work in this building. I bet he’s waiting for you.”

“What do I do? I don't want to go out for a drink. I have a midnight deadline. Is there a back door?” Your voice betrayed your panic and Chet’s noisy words broke through the occasional squeaking of the wheels on the cleaning lady’s bucket as she mopped the hallway floor and curiously glanced at the two of you hiding here behind this wall.

‘Man, she’s got this new cockblocking assistant. Real fucking annoying, one of those pretty boys. I mean like I’m pretty but I’m still manly, you know bro? Anyway, I’ve been working on this chick for like six months which is fucking bullshit, for me, you know that. She’s a fucking tease, a sexy tease, but still. Dude, she likes all of my posts. Yeah, tonight’s the night. I’ve waited enough.’

The air felt thin and you could feel that suffocating sinking feeling in your stomach that sometimes came with these horrible realizations about people you thought you knew. Behind you, you felt his flinch as every muscle in Baekhyun’s body seemed to tense up and he took a step forward.

You reached out a hand and wrapped it securely around his arm and you pulled him back hard.

“I still have to work with him,” you said firmly and you did your best to keep the trembling out of your voice.

Baekhyun was frozen and his ears were bright red with a look of anger like you hadn’t seen before from him set deep inside his eyes.

He was eerily quiet save for the sound of his steady breathing and his fists were white from how tightly he clenched them. What was this strong reaction? It wasn’t like he had that much allegiance to you. Maybe he just hated the sight of those womanizing, degrading types of men who treated women like conquests and objects.

Baekhyun looked around at his surroundings and his focus stopped on the old woman with the mop and squeaky wheeled bucket. He was reaching into his pocket and he pulled out a crisp bill, you couldn't quite make out the denomination but it had to be at least $100 and he walked up to the woman with a smile on his face. A few words were exchanged and she quietly nodded and accepted the offering from him, turning and walking away quietly with the mop in her hand, leaving behind her bucket in the center of the hallway, close enough to where Chet sat for you to instantly understand Baekhyun’s intention.

Baekhyun was casual about it. You watched on in awe as he returned halfway to where you were and then made a quick circle, working up some speed he pulled out his cellphone and acted as if he was glued to the thing, completely immersed as he moved fast. He kicked the bucket with enough force for a wall of dirty mop water to go flying. The water was nearly black and it traveled with impressive speed, hitting Chet and soaking almost up to his waist. He yelped out in surprise and Baekhyun yelped out in surprise as he really sold it and fell down onto the floor, grabbing at his shin as if he were in great pain. The cellphone he had in his hands flew and clattered onto the carpet and Chet stood up half surprised, half enraged but too soaking wet to do much other than hobble around.

“What the fuck!?” Chet howled toward Baekhyun who was already being helped up by several concerned onlookers all who looked back at Chet in admonishment for instantly rushing to blame Baekhyun, who was clearly injured here. Chet was just wet. A few of the more sympathetic bystanders tossed a few take-out napkins in his direction.

“Who left that there?” Baekhyun called out in concern and groaned in fake pain.

“Oh no, Chet! Your pants, Bro!” Baekhyun said loudly and you had to cover your mouth with both hands to hide the loud snort of laughter that erupted from your mouth. The commotion itself lasted until Chet grumpily wobbled out of the front door, probably headed back to his own office for a change of clothes. The old woman returned shortly after that with her mop and began soaking up the remains of the liquid and Baekhyun straightened his posture, miraculously recovered from his injury and he sauntered his way back to you with a smile on his lips.

“My dearest Manager Noona,” When he reached you, he did so with his palm lifted into the air and a sweet little addition to your title on his lips, “Chet seems to have been called away on an urgent matter and is regrettably unable to join you for drinks this evening.”

“Oh no. What a shame,” you replied with a bright smile for him. You can't remember ever being quite this smiley at work before Baekhyun. If someone were to see you, they’d think you’d gone crazy. Maybe you had.

At least today was Friday. At least after you met your midnight deadline you had a late start tomorrow, you would be able to sleep in. You’d be able to eat breakfast and you’d be able to have a meal at a table like a civilized human. Your Saturday was relatively light compared to what today had been.

You said your farewells to him and you made your way to the subway, settling into the seat as you casually considered the quickest and most efficient way to make your deadline tonight. Your hand passed over the pockets, feeling for the blue external hard drive you always kept there in the pocket of this bag that had vital attachments that had been cleared and vetted by every important department at work to submit to the production teams. You felt with both hands over that space in the bag and found it suspiciously flat and terrifyingly empty. The pocket was empty. The hard drive was not in there. You were already nearly home and you searched your recent memory for clues, where had you left it. Where would it possibly be?

You searched through your memory and came up blank. Where had you seen it last? A feeling dawned suddenly and you remembered something Baekhyun had told you while you had been mentally occupied with something far more important at the time.

‘The blue hard drive is…’ His voice echoed…but you could not recall the rest of his sentence. Is where? Where was it?

You pulled out your cell phone and sent a text.

‘Blue hard drive’ you said those three words and only those three words and your phone was ringing.

You lifted the phone to your ear and before you even said a word Baekhyun was speaking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I have it. I have the blue hard drive. Shit. This is make or break isn’t it? I forgot to give it to you. Where are you now? I’m turning around. I’m coming to you.”

“I just got home. I’ll text you the address.” You hung up the phone without saying anything else and you quickly sent him your home address. As soon as you’d done it you felt uneasy anxious butterflies swimming around inside of your belly when the realization of this hit you.

Baekhyun was coming to your house and you were about to have a full blown panic attack at the thought of that man alone in here with you.

Byun Baekhyun was coming to your house. He’d given a little thumbs up to the text message with your address and that meant that he was already on his way.

[To Be Continued]

Story Links: Can I Stay? - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

#Baekhyun fic #Baekhyun fanfiction #Exo Baekhyun #Baekhyun #exo fic #exo fanfiction #exo story #baekhyun story #baekhyun smut #girl dinner

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kagedbird · 11 months ago

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TESSDE AU (+ Lucia :]) (??? part 2)

Everyone walks out to the front doors where the priests have been waiting. There are three total, one Imperial, one Breton, and one in the front, an Argonian.

Allora: *clears her throat and nods, looking them all over* …Hi. You wanted to see me?

Argonian: *bows with the other two, smiling wide* Honoured to be in your presence, Great One. I am Athrodite, thirteenth generation of Jeelius, priestess of Arkay. I now run the Temple with my fellow priests, Hilio, and Elona.

Hilio + Elona: *dip their heads reverently* Honoured to be in your presence, Great One.

Allora: *strained, uncomfortable, giving a very awkward smile* …Nice to meet you too. What can I do for you? I apologize for the, ah… sudden destructive stuff that happened yesterday, if that's what this is about.

Athrodite: Your actions yesterday were only a fragment of why we are here. It has been a long time since a chosen of Akatosh has been on our doorsteps. We would be most honoured to have you pray at our Temple, in your draconic scaled form.

Lucien: *blinks, frowning* I… with all due respect, I don't think she should do that.

Allora: *looks to him curiously* Yeah?

Lucien: It's not as if there's a fantastic history of those going in there with monumental status such as Pelagius Septim the First and Calaxes Septim being assassinated in there, as well as Martin Septim's sacrifice, turning him into stone.

Allora: *wrinkles her nose* Yeah. No, I don't feel like having another attempt on my life again so soon. Sorry.

Hilio: Please, Great One, we promise you nothing will come of it! We merely wish to have Arkay's light shine upon our once beloved Temple again.

Allora: I don't really worship Arkay though. I helped Auriel out with vampires and stuff, and got his bow. I guess I'm his champion as well�� but Akatosh has my soul. *pauses* …And two others, but it's not that important right now.

Elona: Arkay's blessings have reached you, and He is of Akatosh's closest kin! Please, Great One, we implore you!

Davidicus: *furrows his brow* Are you referring to her as the great ‘One'? As in what the Temple is named after?

Athrodite: Never have we felt this magnitude of power radiate from one so clearly. It is She who must be given such a title.

Allora: *waves a hand, shaking her head* I'm really not… all that…

Athrodite: So humble, Great One. Rarely do we meet anyone such as you with your sense of ease in self.

Lucia: *frowning, looking up at Kaidan, who was carrying her* Papa? Can we go with her if she goes?

Kaidan: *frowns, shifting from foot to foot* …I don't know if we should bring you there, or if it'd be worse to leave you behind…

Allora: *frowns* Yeah, no. I'm not leaving Lucia anywhere. If you want me to go pray, we all go.

Athrodite: *perks up, tail swishing* Yes, yes, of course! The Temple has not seen so many people in ages, it will be most pleased!

Lyra: *crosses her arms, frowning* I should report this to the head of the Imperial Guard before we go. Some added protection couldn't hurt.

Inigo: Should we really bring armed forces to a prayer? Mr. Dragonfly thinks that is like mixing Sweetrolls with vinegar. It just does not work. I agree.

Taliesin: Yes, I have to agree with the dragonfly on this one as well. If we just go in and get out, then the process will be much smoother, and far less contrived.

Allora: *turns and takes Lucia in her arms, feeling anxious* Let's just go all ready. I want this over with, so I can focus on relaxing. As is what we were here to do, but never seem to be able to anywhere we go.

Athrodite: *bows with the other two again* Thank you, Great One, thank you. This way, if you please…

#skyrim #TESSDE AU #Lucia #Athrodite oc #Elona oc #Hilio oc #Allora #Dragonborn oc #Lyra Flavius #Davidicus Flavius #Lucien Flavius #Lucien Skyrim #Kaidan Khim #kaidan skyrim #inigo the brave #inigo skyrim #skyrim taliesin #Too many damn NAMES ugh

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yellowfingcr · 8 months ago

Note

It is a story shared between camping parties; a simple exchange to be offered to carry the night. Not unlike the many nights in which they'd shared countless thoughts, experiences and blissful ramblings. It was rare, rarer still that she could smile so openly, and laugh, even rarer when sincerity found purchase within her breastbone, somewhere-- somewhere. As a pair of wandering beasts; they'd been hunted for, pursued, and they sought each other time and again-- and always they managed to find the other. Together they lay upon the grasses beneath a stagnate night sky; a stand-still moment that only they manage to accomplish even as everything felt as though it were hurdling faster still to an inevitable climax. The firelight sits low, casting shades of dancing warmth across the pair. Helena turned gradually onto her side to better face Heysel. Her chin propped upon her upon an open, inky-black palm-- the glint of her silvern gaze cut thin as a blade in the dark, narrowed with a light of curiosity and perhaps, in the depths something undefined-- difficult to define in that gaze and steely statuesque features. In many cases, when The Grave opens, it is always final. A weighty, firm and sometimes nurturing proclamation of what was to come for them, should one be yearning for it-- even without words, even without voice as garden and grave. This time, rather than the weight upon her tongue as curse, solace in confession or spellwork leveled toward a fading life or predisposed enemy, it is the lightness that she only permitted in the graces of company, of the very few she could call her friend. How often she is that wondered about what the other had thought of The End-- or an ending, for such a world? What did she strive for? Where would she go? How far from her would she go? Her wishes had always been as enigma. What would she tell her? The truth-- or the idea of a truth? What followed in that moment was an inquiry that she posed toward her Goldfinch friend. Her lips lose the shadow of a smile, “Rarely is it that I inquire too much, but I must admit that I have often wondered what you see at the end of all of this. What is it that you long for?” A sincere question, and then another. “Should either of us succeed.. how far will you go from here?”

The night is liquid and sloshing brilliant under the starlight and the grass is gentle and the air is smoky sweet- and the company, how wonderful, sweeter still- and Heysel still can’t do it.

Gods above and beneath it pains her, she promises it does. Since she’d started her project unkind she has armored herself in papercuts; perhaps out of penance, partly, because to her moral creature the desire that moves her is profoundly immoral. And though this act of immorality is of such magnitude that no forgiveness will ever be obtained- this is what the woman who was Goldfinch thinks, though she knows matters of ethics have subjective metrics- maybe it will be a small apology, somewhat. Maybe if she walks the scalding sands barefoot and dry-throated the scales will tilt ever so slightly in a nod of understanding. Maybe if she grows gaunt from gnawing upon all the things she cannot say in hope to spare hurt to those who love her a splinter of fairness will be found. She knows the foolishness and futility of it all. Awareness has never stopped her before. It is not stopping her now, though some part of her wishes it would. But then again, partly; perhaps.

Starfished upon her own cloak, Heysel slides her gaze towards her friend, and swallows. She can’t do it but she can try- to part the curtain, just a touch. Just because she's asked. A question is not a thing to underestimate.

“Looking good tonight,” she begins, a too smooth smile appearing upon her lips, like the ripple of an escaping fish. “As most nights. Of course. I doubt you’ve ever felt yourself in a dearth of compliments. I can easily imagine the opposite problem, honestly. How many times can you hear about the calligraphic beauty of your features before it becomes irritating? You have a guillotine’s grace to yourself! Steel’s serenity and firmness of decision! It ends up tiring, I’m sure.”

A wink. She’s meandering, and holds no doubt the woman with her recognizes it for what it is.

“I… ah. You might have heard me say the word secret-keeper, before, but it’s no fancy linguistic construction of mine. For assassins and infiltrators that word is a very specific myth, as in, as far as I know there is no record of it ever being a real thing; but, well. You know reality isn’t wholly reflected in the vagaries of paper. Plenty of real is shared and dies only inside ears.”

“A secret-keeper was an individual within which a deadly, awful secret was ritually entombed. Think of a very terrible secret. Something a queen or king or lord could not possibly bear to carry, and needed, needed, to live without. You would fetch the queen and the container to be, often a court assassin. You’d teach the awful information to the killer. You’d physically transfer it to them: lifting flaps of skin and engraving it upon muscle, coded in bee-sting small cypher. Then through spellwork remove it from the queen’s memory, so that she would be free; and then through spellwork make it so that the killer could not ever talk about it, but remember, in mind and flesh, until death.”

A beat. She rubs a blade of glass between her fingers, her attention to Helena, through Helena.

“You see the problem. Why all this work if there are countless easier ways of making someone forget? Why all this pain- gods, the amounts of pain- and labor to place it unto a living person? Why not do so to a corpse? Why not reach for an absolver, a confessor of some kind? What’s the point? And the answer I leave to you."

In the way the woman who was Goldfinch looks at her friend, hunger behind black glass, appetite for her reaction. What do you yes you make of this, devourer of sins? Where will what I'm telling you go, burial ground?

She too turns onto her side, a mirror to her position. Beast to beast, face to face, a heart, the ribs cradling it in bone. And breathes out and then she whispers:

“I long for tenderness, Helena. I long for love and beauty and a place in which soft things may flower without fear. You may laugh!” Her grin, moon-wide! “All of this out of the lips of a killer who worships violence! It is funny. But I want something good, for you and I and all, so very terribly. I want a world in which this is true. And maybe for a world in which you likewise tell me what you yearn for. Grave that you are! You never share anything you can’t truly part with. But I out of all people cannot reproach you for that.”

Quiet warmth upon her face, an apologetic mirth of sorts, dragged far from shore by a strange weight in her eyes. She reaches out, to take and squeeze, squeeze the ash-dark palm of Helena’s hand, then retracts it. A small contact, the smallest of messages: I care for you. Believe me when I say I do.

“I hope you obtain what you desire, my friend. I hope I do, as well. That’s as far as I want to go, I think. To a place of sure tenderness, and never look back. And I'll pay what needs to be paid for it. It's just- it's the right thing to do. For once, it needs to be the right thing."

#hexenjagd #er au #// thanks! a reply so long for so little information #cryptic4cryptic conversation! but that's the heysel way

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luxardy · 1 year ago

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GOÍN, EN ROUTE TO PIOCILY

Good evening. I write from the ferry on the return trip from Cabeza-Norte. At this time, I am overcome by pain. Everything hurts. I did not know so many things could be sore at once. My bag feels like it has increased in weight by countless magnitudes. Even writing this entry is proving to be difficult, just the motion of the wrist makes me ache. I may lay flat here on this deck and not move ever again. If only. These are pathetic thoughts, I must at least complete this entry before I succumb to my exhaustion.

On the note of pathetic thoughts, I want to apologize to anymore misfortunate enough to have read my memoirs for my time at the Grand Temple of Fertility at Delta del Rio Mandra. I had and have nothing but shame for both the state of that place, and how I interacted with it. Such a despicably dark artifact as the Mandra Ox has proven itself capable of driving one to such pitiful thoughts and actions. The Ox has been sealed away, where it can pollute the thoughts of people no longer. Not to say I am not holding on to it. I find myself thinking of ways it may be useful to me...

Excuse me. Such pervasive influence... Perhaps a bit of delirium on my part. Regardless, my visit to Delta Mandra was an embarrassingly low point to begin my epic, and it has been bothering me for some time now. I am writing this only to preface, and prepare you for my reconciliation, the awe-inspiring second chapter of my quest, where I was not a slight bit pathetic in any manner, at all. Swear it.

But first, I recount the prelude to my grand heist of Monte Ructar, beginning in the port town of Goín, Marlusca.

Setting out to Goín was a bit of a blur. I was still in quite the frazzle from the mishap at Delta Mandra. I practically sprinted from Polvoriento to Goín. Even when arriving I felt too close. I ran so fast, in fact, made it there far before the ferry to Piocily was scheduled to arrive. I had some time to burn in Goín. Which I really did not want, but alas. Maybe I'd find something to keep my mind busy.

Goín is a cute little town. I've been many times. It serves as the primary port for the Marlusca heartland. I find the markets of Goín to be nearly as lively and even more interesting than those in Polvoriento. Many different faces, flags, races, and items blur all about, buying and selling whatever happens to flow in from Undira's great blue prison. I would come to buy odd thingamajigs and doodads from sailors and foreign merchants, and resell them in Polvoriento and other towns around the Marlusca Valley.

Goín also serves as the ferrying point to Piocily for the Marlusca Valley, as it is the closest point to Piocily on the mainland. From what I understand, though, this isn't the primary place most use to get to Piocily. Piocilians speak a different language tha Luxardish, Piocilian, a language they have in common with the folks in Vestellar, which is why most exchange happens in that region.

I surveyed the marketplace, just like I did in Polvoriento. Before, I resisted the urge to dig in and peek at the city's offerings. This time, with the ease of time, my curiosity won. The familiar haggling with Escaravan and Thynglish vendors for their nicknacks was unusually soothing. I sought things for myself, to keep, to study. I am free of the trader's burden, and can look to find myself just one treat, one reward for my future contributions to knowledge. I deserved it.

Yet, as I spy, just a load of junk and fish. I muttered my complaints to the God of Stink, whoever is responsible. Deeply disappointing, the yield of Goín on this day, but I fell to my trader's burden, and I bought a fish anyway. I sought the strangest looking fish, a dark-scaled beast with striking eyes. It reeked like death, but I can't explain my choices. A dead fish in my bag, enabling the accursed God of Stink, or worse, to play hitchhiker. Great.

As if on cue, a foghorn rang out. Yeah, I get it, it smells. I then realized that it was time to go. I picked up the pace, packed up the fiah, and shuffled on.

With hope that my fellow passenger have forgiveness of my compulsive buying, the ship disembarked into the Gnathonean, with sights set on Cabeza-Norte.

I cannot write any longer. I am about to pass out. I suppose a chapter 1.5 will suffice. I resume tomorrow, back in Goín. The wait will be worth it, I promise. Monte Ructar was worth all these aches. Once in Goín, I must begin the hike up the Molareos to the Roncevalois border and the Temple of Breath. Hold yours, for a bit longer.

Tália

#ostrich project #ostrich #ulina

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archived-kin · 4 years ago

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three names

note from kin: apparently that domestic diluc piece really did wonders for my writers block because i managed to churn this entire thing out within one night

anyway i know little to nothing about childe’s backstory so do be warned that i am only very loosely following the information we get from his story quest/voice lines/etc!

(also as a heads up childe is referred to as ajax throughout this piece! for those who don't know, ajax is his birth name)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, childe, zhongli

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): death (brief and not descriptive), mentions of blood

genre: angst i guess?? it isn’t SUPER heavy but this is very much Not A Happy Piece

You’ve known Ajax for what feels like forever.

The two of you grow up together on the streets of Morepesok, spending the short hours of daylight chasing each other down icy streets and pelting each other with snowballs until your fingers are frozen solid under their mittens and you’re both lying exhausted under the trees. He’s still a somewhat skittish and shy young boy, always hiding behind you while you ask the local farmers for permission to play in their fields and leaving all of the decisions to you when it comes to your childish games.

You know exactly how to get those blue eyes of his to light up like no other, though. Ever since the two of you were tiny tots, Ajax has always been enchanted by stories of adventures, of heroes who journey far from home to conquer evils beyond his childish comprehension, fighting with both sword and mind to quell any hardships or troubles that come their way. He listens to his father tell him these stories with a sparkle in his eye like no other, and begs for a new chapter as soon as one is finished.

You take advantage of this love of adventure to coax him into playing with you - him, the hero and you, his trusty sidekick, braving fight after fight together until the great sea monster is defeated, or until the brainwashed former friend was released - until the world bows down at your feet. You stand beside him and smile as he cackles, foot set atop a stone and brandishing a stick to the sky like a sword.

While Ajax longs for battle and glory, however, you secretly prefer the stories about the fisherman who wins the favour of the sea gods by saving a seal from a net, about the fae who collects the treasures of the land in an attempt to preserve the remains of a race she has loved and lost, about the dragon who follows the rainbow far into the east to find a companion who has fallen under the control of an evil sorcerer. Where he finds interest in tales of clashing blades and rumbling cannons, you find interest in the warmth of a campfire, surrounded by laughing companions that have shared a long journey together. You don’t love these games for the fights and the victories like he does - you love the games because it means you can be with him.

You suppose that this difference of interests is the reason you stay behind when he leaves on his own ‘heroic journey’.

The two of you are only fourteen - still children, for Archons’ sake - and Ajax has long since lost interest in the mundanity of his daily life.

“All we do is eat and play,” He mutters with a pout, poking at the snow with a stick. “It’s boring.”

You tilt your head in confusion and trot up to stand beside him, face half-hidden behind a scarf wrapped like a vice around your neck. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs a little then, and offers you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry, [Name]. You’re an exception.”

You still don’t understand what he means, not exactly, but it still sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The next day, he knocks on your door, dressed in an over-large coat and his favourite hat, a backpack strapped firmly to his back and a rusty shortsword in his hand. He beams at you as you open the door, and announces that he’s running away to find an adventure, and that he was wondering if you wanted to come with him.

You ask if this is another game he wants to play. He shakes his head and tells you that this is for real - that he’s going to explore far and wide, to seek out the quests that he’s heard so many stories about. He’s going to be a hero, and he wants you to be his sidekick, just like always.

But you have always been a little too timid, too afraid of going so far out into the snow, too aware of the dangers of a reckless jaunt like this. And so, bowing your head in shame, you answer that you can’t

He freezes for a moment then, disappointment clear on his face, but he replaces it with a a grin almost immediately. You don’t know it at the time, but this is the last time you’ll ever see him smile like this again.

“Don’t worry about it!” He reassures you. “I’ll bring back lots of souvenirs for you when I come back! Like a dragon head!”

“I don’t like heads.” You mumble. “Too much blood.”

He doesn’t falter. “A dragon claw, then!”

The two of you exchange brief goodbyes, neither of you aware of the magnitude of what Ajax is choosing to do, nor the consequences it will bring, and then he leaves. And you let him, watching his little figure disappear and melt into the blinding white of the snow.

It’s a mistake that continues to haunt you for the rest of your life.

He turns up again, two days later, lying unconscious on the outskirts of the forest by the village. A mere two days - but somehow, you’ve always felt as if he’d been away for much, much longer.

Ajax is never the same after that. He’s more distracted, more absent - he never wants to go out for walks in the fields with you anymore, nor does he have any interest in playing games or hearing stories. He still lets you follow him around and sit beside him, but he speaks less and less, and spends more and more time thinking.

You don’t give up on him, though. It doesn’t matter how much his blank gaze scares you sometimes, nor how unsettling the look on his face is after he shreds yet another hay training dummy to pieces. You hang around him anyway, talking about every little thing that comes to mind, and sometimes, he replies with the same silliness that he did when the two of you were younger.

It bothers you, the way that he swings so abruptly between the old him and the new him. Sometimes he’s just the boy you’d spent your childhood playing with, chasing you down the street only to stuff snow down the back of your jacket, then making you a hot drink afterwards as an apology when you declare that you hate him. But sometimes he isn’t.

His face stills, and his eyes go cold. He stares emptily at the snow beneath his feet, not responding when you call his name, and he returns to his garden sooner or later, to slaughter another line of training dummies. The way he gazes down at the wreckage, the way his hand clenches around the shaft of an arrow or the hilt of a blade, the way that he seems to hunger for more - it scares you.

Perhaps it is unsurprising that he joins the Fatui as soon as he turns seventeen.

He doesn’t tell you - he doesn’t tell anyone, not at first. He simply slips away and leaves, sometimes for days on end, and returns without a word as to his absence. You believe him when he tells you that it’s a series of job interviews in a different town, even congratulate him on the opportunity. You believe a lot of the lies he tells you.

It isn’t until you come upon him in the middle of one of his assignments that the wool is finally pulled away from your eyes.

You’re out in the city on a shopping trip by your mother’s request, carrying several baskets of fresh produce that just don’t grow quickly enough in your little seaside town, when you spot his auburn hair disappearing into a secluded alleyway. You follow quickly, opening your mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when you see what he’s doing.

A woman is lying beneath his foot, and he is crushing the breath out of her with the heel of his boot. There is a blade in his hand, glinting softly in the darkness of the alleyway.

The woman sobs breathlessly, begs for her life to be spared, her face contorted with fear and despair. But Ajax doesn’t flinch. In one, smooth movement, he points the blade to her neck and slashes.

You don’t know if the scream that echoes around the alleyway is yours or hers.

It’s only then that he finally turns around and sees you, and the mask covering the upper half of his face is all too familiar.

Your eyes fall upon the dead woman, her mouth still open in her final plea for mercy.

“Ajax,” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What have you done?”

The bloodstained blade in his hand clatters to the ground. “[Name]... what are you doing here?”

You don’t answer him. Your entire body feels numb. “You’re… you’re one of the Fatui.”

It isn’t a question.

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it to the ground carelessly, and approaches you, hands held out as if comforting a frightened child.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” He says quietly.

“Were you ever going to let me find out?” You ask. Your eyes move back to the woman’s corpse despite everything in your brain screaming at you to look away, and your hands start shaking.

Ajax notices. He steps in front of the body, as if trying to shield it from your view. “Of course. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, that’s all.”

“Why… why would you…?”

He meets your gaze. He shrugs. “I wanted to fight.”

There is blood staining the left side of his face. Your eyes are drawn to it in the same way they were to the corpse, and you feel a sudden burst of anger on her behalf. “How was this a fight? You trapped her in an alleyway - you didn’t even give her a chance to struggle!”

“This is different.” He states, as if it’s obvious, and his eyes go cold. “The woman was defying the will of the Tsaritsa. She needed to be disposed of.”

“Is that all you are now? A puppet of the Tsaritsa?!” You’re practically shouting now, tears threatening to start streaming down your face. You want to punch him, slap him, anything to make him realise what path he’s rapidly beginning to go down, but there isn’t any strength left in you. Not after what you just saw. “What happened to you?!”

“I changed,” He says simply, and his sea-blue eyes are frozen over completely. This isn’t the boy that you grew up and loved - and it occurs to you that he might not have been for a long, long time. “I grew up and I changed.”

“Ajax—” You begin, but he places a finger to your lips.

“It’s Tartaglia now.”

Perhaps if you look close enough, hope hard enough, you’ll be able to fool yourself into thinking there was some kind of emotion on his face - something, anything that proves that he still cares - but there is nothing but emptiness in his gaze.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t sleep for a long, long time, unable to put a stop to the unrelenting march of thoughts streaming through your head like a gushing river, like the endless depths of the ocean, like the deep blue of his eyes...

You distract yourself as best you can. You move out of town while he’s out on another mission and take your parents with you, settling down in a small village at the base of a mountain. There, you busy yourself every hour of the day, taking solace in the ache of your muscles and the fatigue that weighs heavily on your limbs. The people of the village come to know you as the helping hand, the eager assistant, always raring to go when asked for a favour.

And yet, even as you sit around a table in the local bar, surrounded by warmth and chatter and familiar faces, you can’t help but feel an emptiness opening in your chest. Old Dmitri, manning the bar as usual, slides a tankard over to you with a sympathetic smile, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You ask yourself that question more times than you can count, digging it deep into your skin, carving it into your mind, unable to help wondering, and yet... you never find an answer. What is wrong with you? Why does Ajax’s absence cut into you like a knife, keeping you awake deep into the night, plagued by dreams of cold, dead eyes and red blood pooling in the white snow? Why is it that, no matter how many times you remind yourself of the man in that alleyway and the body of the woman he’d just slaughtered, of the man that was not Ajax, of Tartaglia - you can only remember the grinning boy of your childhood?

Your parents don’t know why your eyes are always red-rimmed when you come down for breakfast in the morning, nor why you refuse to look at your surroundings when you go out into town, keeping your eyes focused determinedly on your dragging feet. They don’t know how many hours you spend staring out into the deep sky, wondering if Ajax is watching the same stars as you are, whether he even thinks of you at all.

Everything around you seems to taunt you, and you realise something.

You have to leave. You have to run away, to find a home in a place where the streets don’t stir up memories of days long gone, where the crunch of the snow beneath your feet doesn’t remind you of the sound of tearing flesh, where you can just be without Ajax haunting you around every corner you turn.

And so you set off for Liyue. You journey to the land amidst monoliths, seeking golden soil warmed by the sun to escape the cold snow and icy rain. You do not stop moving until you reach the land where the mountains stretch high and the streets of the harbour are painted with red and yellow, where the people are unfamiliar, the buildings are unfamiliar - where everything is unfamiliar. You’re tired of dwelling on past memories, tired of putting yourself through the same pain.

You settle in quickly, taking up a job at Wanmin Restaurant and eventually saving up enough to afford more than the little hotel box room you first are resigned to stay in. You move in with a new friend of yours, an apparently refined gentleman who seems to have no shortage of money but still always forgets to bring it when he needs it, and you start to remember what living in peace feels like again.

You take a deep breath as you watch the bustle of the city from the open window of your bedroom. The cool evening breeze in Liyue Harbour is soothing, unlike the biting nightly winds of Snezhnaya. Perhaps you can finally let go of Ajax now, you think.

Somewhere in the heavens, Fate mocks your hopefulness.

Two years later, your friend, who has only become even worse at managing his money despite your constant nagging, invites you to a dinner with him and a new acquaintance he’d like to introduce you to. You agree, unsuspecting of the true identity of his so-called ‘friend’.

You take one step into the private room that Zhongli had booked and realise what a terrible mistake you’ve made when you see a familiar figure sitting at the table.

He doesn’t turn around at first, too occupied with trying to take a sip of his tea without burning his mouth. Zhongli smiles at you, painfully unaware of the amount of old trauma he’s inadvertently stirred up.

“I’m glad that you made it,” He says pleasantly, and gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is the acquaintance I was telling you about. His name is Childe.”

There is a long silence. The initial shock of the moment wears off, only to be replaced by something resembling anger.

“So it’s Childe now, is it?” Ajax stiffens as he hears your voice come from behind him. “How many names does one man need?”

He turns around agonisingly slowly, failing to register the dangerous tilt of the teacup in his hands as it comes close to tipping its contents all over the table. You stare blankly back at him from the doorway.

How long has it been since he last saw you? He doesn’t know. Ever since the two of you had parted ways in that alleyway, you’d all but disappeared. The window to your bedroom had always been dark and empty when he stopped by your home, and neither you nor your parents were anywhere to be seen, no matter how thoroughly he’d searched the town. It had only been when Tonia had mentioned your absence in one of his letters that he’d realised that you weren’t just avoiding him. You’d left. Left the town where the two of you had grown up, left the home you’d lived in for so long, left behind all the friends you’d made over the years - just to run away from him.

There are new scars on your face, a new poise in the way you hold yourself. A sheathed dagger glitters at your belt, and even now you toy with its hilt in a way that tells him that you are familiar with it. You’ve changed so much, and he aches to think that he had been unable to see any of it.

He hadn’t wanted you to go, he never had. You’d always been his best friend, someone he looked up to, someone he enjoyed the company of, someone he cherished - someone he loved. But he’d had a duty to attend to, a new mistress to serve, a new title, a new responsibility. He couldn’t keep fooling himself into thinking he could keep the relationship he had with you forever.

That day in the alleyway - he’s never been able to forget the look on your face when you realised who he had become. It’s been burnt into his memory ever since then, flashing before his eyes just before he strikes, and even now, five years later, he still gets reprimanded by his fellow Harbingers for faltering just before he makes the kill. They always ask - how can Tartaglia, who takes pleasure in watching the life drain out of his opponent’s eyes after a battle well fought, hesitate like that?

He never has an answer for them.

Zhongli looks back and forth between the two of you, his brows knitting together slightly. “Do the two of you know each other already?”

“You could say that,” You reply, though your eyes don’t move even an inch from your old friend’s face. His expression is crumpled, almost vulnerable, a far cry from the stone-cold indifference he wore the last time you saw him.

“[Name],” He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve lived in Liyue Harbour for two years. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Several seconds pass by with no response.

“It seems the two of you have much to talk about,” Zhongli observes, and gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

He’s out of the room before either of you can object. Damn him and his perception.

You don’t sit down at the table. Instead, you move to the window, looking out over the city that you have come to love.

Ajax joins you. He hesitates as he approaches, as if debating whether or not to settle right beside you as he would have in the past. Eventually, though, he decides to keep his distance.

“Liyue is beautiful at night.” He says quietly. “Language is a nightmare to learn, though.”

That earns him a short laugh from you, and he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat as he hears it. “You can say that again. I don’t think I even have a proper grasp of it now.”

“You’re speaking pretty fluently,” He replies. “I’d say that’s a proper enough grasp.”

“It’s all just conversational, really.” You don’t look at him, instead choosing to look down at Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun as they walk through the street below you together, exchanging jokes and nudges. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think I know it pretty well. I had to learn for—”

He cuts himself off, but you already know what he’d been about to say.

“For your Fatui duties here,” You finish for him, and though you don’t move, somehow he feels as if the gap between you has widened. “There’s no need for pretences, Childe.”

He freezes at the way you address him. It’s become familiar to him after using it as an alias for so long, but it sounds so wrong coming from you. It feels as if you’re distancing yourself from him, from the childhood you shared together. As if Ajax, your childhood friend, never existed - only Childe, the Fatui Harbinger.

“Don’t…” His voice breaks, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You sound so detached, so distant - and he hates it. “Would you prefer Tartaglia? That’s what you told me to call you last time we met.”

He feels as if you’ve stabbed him in the chest. It probably would’ve hurt less if you did, actually, but he knows he deserves it. “...no. I don’t want you to call me Tartaglia, either.”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway. “I want… I want you to call me Ajax.”

Silence.

You finally turn to look at him, surprise painted on your features. “...what?”

Your eyes are just as he remembers them. He never wants to see them as they were on that day five years ago, filled with despair and tears that threatened to brim over.

He takes a deep breath and repeats, “I want you to call me Ajax.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Your face shifts, as if you can’t decide whether you want to be angry or sad or something else entirely. You open your mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opens again, and Zhongli pokes his head in.

“My apologies,” He says a little sheepishly, “But the attendant informed me that we should start ordering our dishes now if we don’t want to accidentally go over our time slot. That is - if you two are alright with having dinner with each other?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your eyes stay on the man gazing almost wistfully at you, your expression becoming thoughtful.

It’s been five years since you’ve last seen him. Five years of sleepless, tormented nights spent tossing and turning, of days spend exhausting yourself just so that you don’t think of him, of a journey filled with obstacles and monsters just to find a place to be at peace in, and just as you finally think you might be moving on, he shows up again.

Maybe you should be angry. Maybe you should be drawing your dagger and threatening him to stay the fuck away from your city and to take his Fatui agents with him. Maybe you should punch him right where it hurts most for all the pain he’s caused you.

But… you’re tired. You’re tired of hurting, tired of remembering. And maybe there’s a little part of you that hopes - a little part of you that still clings to the boy you played with on the streets of Morepesok, the boy that you lost the moment you let him leave on that journey.

And so you come to a conclusion.

“I’ll stay for dinner. What about you, Ajax?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #angst #first angst piece of the blog baby!#i hope it wasn't terrible :'))#yuta this is for you i know you like a bit of the tartaglia on a rainy day #it isn't raining but you can have this anyway #you still need to do the dishes by the way i'm tired of looking at your dirty-ass plates #enjpy darlings!#unedited

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

Text

Tattletale | (dark)stepbrother!Sam Wilson x reader

summary: your step-brother was kind enough to let you stay at his apartment just off-campus when you began your freshman year of college where he was a senior. unfortunately, his kindness ran out when he learned about your secret side-hustle.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: smut!! (noncon/heavy dubcon and stepcest, they’re not biologically related but were raised from adolescence as siblings), facefucking, slapping, choking, degradation, coercion, DP (with a toy), anal play, possessive behavior, unprotected creampie, lots of crying/implied dacryphilia

this is a dark fic containing triggering topics, please do not read if this would be triggering for upsetting for you in any way.

Your step-brother (and roommate… and technically your landlord) wasn’t usually home when you got back from your Econ class, so you jumped a bit when you saw him nursing a beer in your shared living room; apparently, he was waiting for you.

“Hey, Sammy,” you greeted sheepishly, suddenly feeling self-conscious when his eyes raked over your body— it was hot out, so you just had on a tank top and cut-off shorts, but now you wish you’d covered up more.

“Hey,” he nodded back, setting the beer down and leaning back on the couch, “you got time to talk for a minute?”

His tone made you a little nervous, but his casual body language set you at ease. He probably just wanted to ask if you could stay somewhere else over the weekend so he could have a girl over, or maybe he needed your help with one of his more difficult assignments— though frankly, you probably couldn’t help much with a senior-level project. “Sure,” you shrugged, setting your backpack down and slipping off your shoes to join him on the couch. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, really, I just feel like we don’t talk as much as we used to,” he explained with a little sigh. Something about the way he glanced to the side for a moment made you wonder if he was being completely transparent. “Remember when we were younger and we talked all the time? Or when I moved away to start here and we called every day? I miss that…”

You smiled a little, moving closer on the couch to rest your hand on his. “Me too,” you admitted. “I just figured you saw me as your annoying little sister.”

“I do,” he laughed, “but, you know, we used to be really close! You used to tell me everything. And now… now I don’t think you tell me everything.”

Your suspicion that this was more directed than he let on was growing, but you wanted to be close again, too, so you let it continue. “Well, we’re older now so it’s not quite the same…”

“I guess it’s normal for siblings to grow apart when they’re adults, but, I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t see it coming with us. And now that I’m letting you live here I thought it would be like old times; to be honest, that was part of why I had you move in in the first place.”

Just as you started to shift away, he flipped his hand and grabbed your wrist, stopping you from pulling away. “Sammy,” you whispered in shock, leaning back as much as you could even as he moved in closer.

“I think it’s the least you can do to be honest with me, sis,” he hissed.

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you protested, your gut sinking in fear of being reprimanded by him. He was so friendly 99% of the time, but you were still terrified of those few memories you had of him getting angry with you. Disappointing him was one of your greatest fears.

Sam laughed, but he didn’t exactly seem amused. “Stop playing dumb, honey, I think you know what this is about.”

“I… I don’t…” you stammered, your heart dropping further when he reached for his phone.

“Got a text from Steve today,” he explained as he unlocked it. “Wanna guess what it was?”

You swallowed dryly, more sure than ever that it was what you dreaded most. “I don’t know, Sam…”

“I’ll give you a hint,” he grimaced, reading something from the screen. “Kinky virgin horny for cock, 18, freshman at NYU.”

You looked away but he instantly grabbed your face and turned you to look at him. “You know, I let you live here while you were in college so you could get an education. Not be a fucking slut. Did you think I wouldn’t find your OnlyFans? Steve found it first, god knows what he did with these pictures before he sent them to me. Is this what you wanted? Any guy— even a guy we know— to get off to these pictures?”

Your shoulders slumped and your chest deflated as you started to cry. “I’m s-so sorry, Sammy—”

“Don’t call me that,” he sneered. “How stupid are you? Did you think these would stay private? Guys trade these all the time, they’re never secret for long. How long have you been doing this, huh? Must’ve been a while considering the sheer magnitude of content. Looks like your first post was on your 18th birthday— Jesus fucking Christ, you couldn’t wait a minute could you? I was there that day… when did you sneak off to take this little number, huh?”

You didn’t want to look as he turned the phone to you, but his hand tight around your wrist was a reminder not to struggle too hard. You remembered taking the photo, and it had been during your party. The idea of how wrong it would be to strip down in your parent’s bathroom to snap a picture in the mirror had only been more encouraging at the time. For some reason you hadn’t considered that someone would find it; you cringed at the idea that Steve saw you entirely nude, let alone your brother. It was humiliating.

“And what about this one, huh? How fucking slutty are you?” he spat, pulling up another picture and shoving the phone in your face as you were confronted with the image of you on your bed with your legs spread, fingers toying with your clit. “You really don’t leave anything to the imagination.”

“Sam, I didn’t— you weren’t supposed to—”

“Just stop talking. I can barely look at you right now,” he shook his head. “This stuff is seriously depraved, sis. The idea of all these guys drooling all over my little sister… and you actually encouraged them, the fuck is wrong with you?”

Tears poured down your face, and you felt like the anger radiating off of him would burn your skin somehow.

“And don’t give me some stupid fucking sob story about how you’re doing this to pay for school when I know damn well that mom and dad pay for your classes and I pay your fucking rent. You didn’t do it for money; you did it for fun. You did it ‘cause you’re a shameless fucking slut.”

“‘M not,” you denied, “Sam, really— I’m still a virgin, I don’t— you know I don’t do that.”

“You just fantasize about it. And chat with strangers online about it. And make videos going on and on about how bad you wanna get fucked.”

You shuddered as you realized: “You watched one of my videos?”

He grinned and pulled you closer. “Baby… I watched all of them.”

Completely at a loss for words, you silently tried to squirm away only for him to wrap his other arm around you and pull you closer, ignoring your sobs of fear and confusion.

“You’re actually sorta talented, for a dumb little virgin who had no idea what she’s getting herself into,” he purred against your ear, starting to push up your tank top.

“N-no,” you whimpered, “Sam, stop— I’m sorry. I’ll delete the account, I’m sorry.”

“Too late for apologies, little sis,” he cooed, “it’s not just the account. It’s that you made those posts from my apartment, you took those pictures in the room that I gave you. Not to mention the way you walk around in these tight clothes, teasing me just because you can. This goes way deeper than a few dirty pictures, sweetheart, and you know it.”

When you tried to wriggle away again, he seemed to exert nearly no effort at all to be able to spin you around and pull you down into his lap, where the shape of his hard cock pressing against your ass was obvious. “Sam, s-stop, this isn’t funny.”

“Damn right it isn’t funny, I’m dead fucking serious,” he growled against your ear. “What was it that you said in your most recent video, the one where you were wearing a collar and using that gaudy pink vibe on your clit? ‘I need your cock to ruin my hole, daddy’... am I remembering that right?”

Hesitantly, you nodded, and he laughed darkly against your ear as he pulled your hips into his.

“Say it, then. Like you said it in the video.”

“Sam, no—”

“No?” he repeated incredulously. “You can’t say no to me, honey. Cause if you do, I’m gonna send all these pictures and videos to mom and dad, tell them all about how their precious little angel is selling her ass on the Internet with the phone they pay for and the laptop they bought. What are they gonna say to that? Think they’ll take you back after that, let you stay with them when I kick you out? As if. So unless you think one of these creeps online is gonna give you a place to stay, seems like I’m your only option.”

You choked on a sob as you cried harder, hating that he was right.

“So you need to start doing what you’re told, or you’re gonna end up doing a lot worse with someone much less generous than me, got it?”

Terrified of him but unable to imagine the alternative, you nodded.

“Then. Fucking. Say it.”

“I…” you began, sounding weak and weepy compared to the original video you were quoting, “I need your cock… to ruin my hole… daddy.”

“Eh, needs improvement but it’s a start,” he shrugged, throwing you down onto the couch and climbing on top of you. When you tried to protest, or at least turn around to face him, he slapped your ass harshly and it stung even through the denim shorts. “I have needs too, sis. Can’t hardly get any when you’re here all damn day being a fucking cockblock. And frankly, since you started dressing like this and acting like a whore, I haven’t even been able to think about anybody else… can’t get hard for anyone but my slutty little sister.”

He leaned down to press his body against yours, pinning you against the cool leather by your shoulders.

“Steve told me about your account weeks ago, babe… I’ve been getting off to your cute little pictures ever since.”

It made you wince, but it made him laugh. Shame and fear and disgust swirled in your gut and made you nauseous, his grip on you tight enough to leave a bruise as he dug his fingertips into your skin. When he sat back up, he started pulling at your jean shorts roughly, ripping them slightly as he shoved them down to your thighs.

“Wow, look at this pretty little ass,” he groaned. “A thousand guys have seen it, but it’s better in person.” He slapped you again on either cheek, hard enough to make you yelp. “What’s the matter, sis, I thought you liked being spanked? You talk about it all the time. You talk about how you want me to spank you raw and leave marks all over your body, hurt you and break you and claim you.”

“I— I wasn’t talking about you,” you defended, remembering how you always addressed the viewer when dirty talking in your videos, but keeping it generic enough that any guy could imagine it was him.

“Then who did you think about when you got off? Who was it that got you wet for your videos?” he pressed. “Because you’re wet right now… and I’m the only one here.”

You shook your head, you tried to speak to deny it, but words escaped you as he flipped you around and hovered above your face.

“Do you get wet for anybody, baby, is that it? Will you spread your legs for any cock? Or do you just have a special place in your cunt for your big brother?”

Your stunned silence earned you a slap to the face, sending your head spinning to the side as your cheek stung and burned. Just as the heat of the impact really started to get to you, he hit you on the other side, and again, until you finally gave him an answer: “You!” you yelped suddenly. “You, Sam, just you!”

He laughed a little, leaning down and capturing your lips in an unexpected, dominating kiss. It was awkward and sloppy, exactly the sort of kiss one would expect when it was forced; just as passionless and confused on your end as a kiss to your step-sibling should be. But he moaned against you and forced his tongue deeper into your mouth, hands coming down to grope your tits through your tank top and bra. Trying to push him away was beyond useless, and he slapped you again without even breaking his lips away from yours. Soon he was reaching to pull down your top— no, wait, he was tearing through it, and your bra snapped like a rubber band against his strength. When he grabbed your breasts again, without any clothing in the way this time, your nipples were hard and sensitive between his fingers; it was so obvious that he smiled into the kiss, biting your lip playfully. “Wow, you really do like this. Your step brother’s forcing himself on you and you’re such a whore that you’re actually into it.”

He slapped your breast, just hard enough to sting, and you cried out; he did it again and your back arched.

“Yeah, I knew you just needed to be put in your place, little sis. Just needed me to fix your attitude, that’s all.” He wrapped his hand around your neck, not squeezing enough to cut off airflow but obviously threatening it, before leaning down to whisper in your ear: “get on the ground, on your knees.”

Even for what was left of your virginal innocence, you knew what he wanted. Wordlessly, your only sounds the weak little sobs that shook your chest, you slipped out from beneath him and onto the floor by the couch. He shifted to sit in front of you with wide legs, thick thighs spread as he looked down at you with an expression of anticipation.

“Get on with it, honey, I know you know how. Seen you choke on your toys a thousand times.”

After taking a stabilizing breath to cope with what was happening, shivering from the cold air on your exposed upper half, you sat up slightly and reached for his belt. You’d felt it pressed against you before, but now you could see the shape of his cock threatening to burst out of his jeans, so thick and long that you were confident he heard the little gasp you let out. And yet, you knew you had to trek forward, so you began to unclasp his belt before unzipping his fly. He lifted his hips to help you pull his pants and boxers down, but other than that he was too busy stroking the side of your face with his fingers in a move much too delicate for the situation. You stopped breathing for a second when you saw the size of him, his cock bouncing up when you released it to slap against his stomach.

“Sam, I can’t,” you sighed, starting to back away, “I’ve never— it won’t fit.”

“Nah, baby, it’s okay,” he encouraged gently, pulling you closer, “you can take it just fine. Just open your mouth, sis…”

He guided the tip of his cock between your lips, still swollen from his bruising kiss, and you whimpered when you felt his warm skin against your tongue, tasting the salty pre-cum that leaked out slow and steady.

“Yeah, just like that, now go ahead and suck on me,” he instructed, groaning when you closed your lips and hollowed your cheeks, using your tongue to tease the slit like you’d read online was a good thing to do. He chuckled and bucked up into you, holding your head as he started to pump his hips and slowly fill your mouth to the brim. “See, you can do it— now choke on it.”

When he pushed in until you gagged, your first instinct was to push on his thighs and try to get away for air, but he held you down as he hissed through his teeth.

“I know you can take all of me in your throat if you just stop fucking fighting,” he hissed, slapping you one more time which caused your throat to open up in shock— and it was just enough for him to shove in deeper, groaning at the feeling. “Yeah, that’s it… fuck…” he sighed, moving his hips faster. The struggle for air made your eyes water (although you hadn’t really had much of a chance to stop crying in the first place) as your grip on his thighs tightened. “I bet your pussy is getting so wet for me right now,” he chuckled, “I bet you love choking on my cock, huh?”

You tried to shake your head but you couldn’t really move much; he pulled you off of his length by your hair, just in time to give you a much-needed sputtering gasp for air.

“Fuck, I’d love to fill that pretty throat with my come,” he smiled— a sinister sort of grin that made you shudder as you looked up with him, feeling spit and pre-cum on your lips and chin— “but I know what you want. Since you’ve spent all year begging to lose your virginity on the internet, I figure I’ll be nice and give you what you’ve been asking for.”

Before you could even begin to consider a response to that, he hoisted you up and threw you back onto the couch, spreading your legs as you looked away in shame.

“Yep, I was right, you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he laughed. “You nasty little slut, are you actually getting off on this? Wow.”

A renewed sense of ‘dear god this cannot happen’ shot through you as he leaned down and slid his cock over your folds, teasing your clit with his swollen head. “Sam, stop, please…”

“I’m kind of getting tired of you begging,” he hissed as he leaned down, glaring right into your eyes as you froze beneath him. “I’m obviously not going to stop,” he explained as his hand slipped around your throat, “you dumb fucking bitch.”

Your ability to fight back was taken with your opportunity to breathe, his strong fingers cutting off blood flow to your head quickly as he clamped down on your neck. Instantly you clawed at his hand, your vision starting to go a little spotty, and he laughed at you coldly before letting go. And when he finally did, his hand moved instead to hold both your wrists above your head while the other guided his cock into your pulsing entrance. When he pushed his hips forward, the air was punched from your lungs as your back arched, a sharp pain reverberating over your body from the stretch of him inside you.

“Fuck!” he groaned, pushing in deeper, slow but consistent. “You’re tight, baby, you really did need a cock to ruin this hole, huh? Fuck, ‘m gonna, just hold still…”

But how could you hold still, when every instinct had you moving your hips to try to push his cock out, your hands tightening into fists as they tried to fight against his strength. Of course, now that he was inside, he had a second arm to hold you down with, but the terrifying thing was that he really only needed the one. “Sam!” you sobbed, your own voice sounding foreign with the way it wavered and cracked.

“Yeah, baby, that’s me inside you,” he purred, “that’s your big brother’s cock tearing up this little pussy…”

When he roughly shoved the rest of himself inside, the tip of his cock found the end of you and your eyes shot open. He smiled down at you as he examined your face; twisted in pain, and glistening with tears turned greyish-black by your mascara.

“None of your toys ever went this deep in you before, huh? Poor thing, should’ve known you were all talk… you don’t even know how to take those big cocks you drool over. I can’t even imagine what you’ll be like when I put this in your ass.”

He cackled at the pure terror that danced over your expression, and the way your walls tightened around him briefly.

“Relax, sis, not today. I’m just sayin’, if you want me to keep my mouth shut to mom and dad, you’re gonna have to keep me happy. Lucky for you, I’m very happy right now, snug inside this sweet little cunt of yours…” he trailed off, leaning down to kiss your cheek and moving to suck on your ear, bite your neck, lick up and down over your pulse. He was waiting, you realized, for your body to relax so he could move inside you with less resistance. You were a little surprised he didn’t just jackhammer into you with no regard for your pain, but you had a feeling that part was coming soon anyways.

He reached down to pull your legs up, guiding them to wrap around his hips, and the new angle forced his cock a little deeper which made you squeal. The sound morphed into a stuttered moan, however, when he pulled back out of you slowly, savoring every detail of your walls as he sighed against your skin.

When he slammed back home, your nails dug into your own palms.

“Baby,” he whispered, “you’re close, aren’t you? Just from this. You always came so fast in your videos…”

Irritatingly, he was right; your walls were flexing as more slick coated his thick shaft, dripping down until you could hear the wetness whenever his hips slapped into yours. You couldn’t help it, considering how he pushed right into your g-spot with every stroke inside you, hitting every sensitive place harder and better than any toy ever had.

“See, baby? We were made for each other,” he cooed. “You were made to take this cock. You were meant to be my little fucktoy.”

You hated the way his words only added to your pleasure, pushing you right up to the edge— which his cock slamming all the way into you one last time finally sent you over.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped when he felt the force of your orgasm, smiling pridefully as your eyes fluttered shut and your head fell back against the couch. “So sensitive, sweetheart, and so fucking wet for me…”

He fucked you faster and— somehow— deeper, chasing his own release with aggressive thrusts into you. Each of his low grunts against your ear sent shivers down your spine, your legs around him tightening to pull him closer.

Just as you thought he might find his rhythm for a while and maybe, if you were lucky, be finished with you soon, he pulled out quickly and patted your thigh. “Hands and knees, baby,” he instructed, watching you shakily turn around and lift yourself on weak arms. It was short-lived, though, as he pushed your face back down into the couch cushion, forcing your back into a dramatic arch that made you feel like your body was on display for him. As if that wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, you couldn’t even see him much anymore, which meant you had no idea what he was reaching for when he leaned back— but you heard what it was when he turned it on. “Oh, you recognize this?” he mused. “It was my favorite of everything I saw you use.”

He rubbed the vibrator over your folds slowly, chuckling a little when you jolted each time it brushed against your clit. You didn’t really understand why he would want to fuck you with a vibe when he seemed to have been enjoying doing it himself; but then he slid it up a little higher, to your other hole, and you gasped. “S-Sam,” you pleaded.

“I know you took it here before. I watched you do it. I even heard you the night you filmed it— these walls are thinner than you think, sis.”

Shame burned on your face as you imagined him listening to you put something up your ass for the first time, only for him to see the video the next morning when you uploaded it.

“Do you think it’s gonna feel different when I put it in while I fuck you?” he mused, pushing the vibrating tip of it into your hole. Thankfully it was pretty slender, so the stretch wasn’t bad, but the vibrations were strong enough that you could feel them everywhere, and you realized he would be able to feel them, too, while he was inside you. “You’re gonna be so fuckin’ full, sis, stuffed to the brim just like you wanted.”

He pushed the toy in deeper until your hands clutched at the sofa beneath you, which was apparently his cue to guide his cock back into your drenched pussy. Just as he promised, you felt so full that you had no idea how to cope with it, your legs shaking as you tried not to collapse beneath him.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, moving himself and the toy at alternating paces inside you as you mindlessly drooled onto the cushion, your overstimulated body barely able to handle the sensations he was forcing upon you. “You like being my little fucktoy, don’t you? You’re so pretty like this, so pretty being used just like you deserve.”

“Sammy, please,” you sobbed, barely intelligible as you couldn’t really string your thoughts together anymore.

“You want more, huh? Needy little slut,” he snarled, but the way he said it almost sounded like a compliment. It certainly made your heart swell as if it was. He fucked you faster, then, and pushed the vibrator as deep into your ass as it would go until you were sobbing and blubbering and basically just a complete mess beneath him. “Keep squeezin’ me so tight and I’m gonna come inside you, sweetheart,” he moaned.

Some part of your brain was still aware enough to know that that was not a good idea, but you didn’t even really think to tell him not to because you knew he would anyway. Finally, you had accepted that he was going to do whatever he wanted with you and your resistance only brought out his crueler side.

“Fuck, come again for me,” he demanded, “come on my cock while I come inside you— that’s it, cream on my fucking cock while I fill you up, slut.”

It was jarring, the way his words suddenly knocked you over the edge again as you cried out, fresh tears filling your eyes and joining the damp spot beneath your face on the couch. You felt both your holes clenching around the intrusions he had filled them with, your head going fuzzy and your limbs going numb from the intensity of your peak; waves of warmth washed over you as you slumped down a little bit, the distant sound of his praises just barely reaching your ringing ears.

His free hand held your hips tightly while the other kept pumping the vibrator into you, and even through all the overwhelming stimuli going on at the moment, you could feel his cock beginning to flex deep inside you. Each pump of his come painting the deepest parts of you coincided with a low moan from him, the sound so cruelly perfect and forcing your channel to clamp down on him, weakly, one last time.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned as he caught his breath, turning off the vibrator before slowly pulling it out of you and tossing it aside. He kept his cock inside for longer, though, as he rubbed your ass and back gently. “You’re gonna be such a good little fucktoy for me, sis, I just know it.”

He let you drop when he pulled out of you, your spent body limp and leaking on the couch as he stared down at you.

“I think you need a shower, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “But first, you need to give me the password to your OnlyFans so I can help you delete it, okay baby? We don’t need anybody else looking at what’s mine.”

#sam wilson smut #dark!sam wilson x reader #sam wilson dark fic

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genshin-impacted · 4 years ago

Text

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (4)

Word Count: ~2.8k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy.

Notes: female!reader (she/her), Zhongli/Reader, Zhongli POV, mutual pining ofc, fake politics, can I call this slow burn yet

[Previous] [Next]

Chapter 4 Synopsis: Of the secrets that people keep, how much can they say without saying anything about it at all?

You are falling for your tutor. That much, at least, is clear to you. Your quickened heart rate, the way your heart flutters when he smiles, and how your mood lifts when he praises you-- if wisdom is to know thyself, then you consider yourself wise enough to know that you see Zhongli xiansheng as more than just a teacher.

But what of him? You wonder, how does he think of you? Does he know what he means to you? Does he feel the same?

“My lady?" Amber asks you, when you dip your head underneath the rose-infused waters of your bath. "What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply back quickly, hugging your knees to your chest. You take a glance at the mauve coat that Zhongli had left on your shoulders and think about how it will still smell like him.

Amber can only look at you in mild concern when you bury your heated face into your hands and try not to think of kind eyes, a warm embrace, and a gentle voice.

(But you do anyway.)

Zhongli finds himself talking more freely than ever in your presence, especially now that the two of you have made it a habit of walking around the compound or drinking tea to pass the time together. He talks about fantastical things or expands on random trivia he thinks you would enjoy, even though he finds himself more often than not overindulging.

Your eyes are bright and alert when he tells you about the folktales he had learned when he was younger, so he tells you as many as you can in the cold, wintry months. Under the cozy kotatsu imported over from Inazuma, Zhongli shares slices of mandarin with you as he retells the history of the Qilin to you-- a mythical creature whose stone statues stand at guard in front of the main compounds of the palace.

“In many stories, the Qilin is sacred pets of the gods and rank highly only below the dragon and the phoenix,” Zhongli says, accepting the last slice of fruit you slide into his hands. "It’s said to appear with the imminent arrival or passing of a sage or illustrious ruler."

“I see…” You listen to him attentively, hands absently clearing the table of the orange peels without saying a word. You let out a breath of laughter as you joke, “Hopefully, if I pray hard enough, the Qilin might gift their presence when I ascend to the throne.”

“Nonsense,” Zhongli replies immediately. “If the qilin does exist, you do not need prayer for the qilin to appear before you, as benevolent as you are, my Princess.” He takes the slice and brings it to his lips to taste the sweetness of the mandarin, catching a glimpse at the way you hide your smile behind your hand.

“You have a way with words as usual,” you tell him. “You spoil me with praises, xiansheng; how ever will I survive without them now?” You bemoan, laughing afterwards. Though he knows you’re joking--surely-- he still feels his heart tremble at your words. It is in these moments that he feels keenly how it is to be Amber, abashed by the praise that flows freely from your lips and by the fondness that rings true through the way you speak. To be at the center of your attention is something that Zhongli understands very well to be addicting.

It is only when Zhongli hears the light rapping of knuckles on wood does he realize how long he has spoken and how late it is.

"My apologies," Zhongli says, surprised from his thoughts to bow his head (you fussed at him about apologizing before, but even with your kind reprimands, it is hard for him to kick the habits ingrained in him). "I didn't mean to dominate the conversation this entire time. It's even time for supper--"

"Bamboo Shoot Soup," you pipe up instead, and he can only look up at you stunned as you thank the maid. She sets down the pair of utensils in front of the two of you and clears the table to make space for the large metal hotpot. "It's your favorite dish, isn't it?” You say cheekily, “I thought it was a perfect dish to eat during the cold weather."

What are the protocols to eating dinner with the royal family? Zhongli thinks to himself warily, feeling wildly as though he is constantly stepping out of line despite his learned nature. Still, you would scold him for his distancing, so Zhongli decides to do as the both of you please, as improper as it may be, and waits to be served.

The bamboo soup is beautifully slow-cooked, the broth milky white; just taking a waft of the aroma is enough for him to know that the meat is tender and the bamboo shoots are soaked to the center with flavor. The warmth that pervades is partly due to the fresh heat of the soup but also from the fact that you had remembered a detail he shared in passing. (He says ‘in passing’ but he had gone into detail about where to procure the best ingredients for each component of the meal while you listened to him with eager nods. The bamboo shoots, he recognizes, are from Qingce Village. Did you remember even the smallest details from your conversation when he speaks?) Like many other times before, he is speechless. It seems as though you are constantly surprising him-- for the better.

"What happens next?"

Zhongli blinks, the steam from his bowl rising up to his face. "Pardon?"

"Oh, never mind! We should eat first!" You say, smiling widely in a way that makes his heart leap. You pick up your chopsticks and click them together playfully. "But tell me what happens next in the story later on, Zhongli-xiansheng."

"One day you'll find yourself someone who listens to you and you'll talk their ear off."

Zhongli remembers Guizhong telling him this time and time again, though he never believed in it. He is old-fashioned, he always replies back. He is overly burdened by the expectations of his family and passionate in things that most others cannot care to relate to. How would he know that someday, as proof of the wisdom (or perhaps abundance of hope and love) that Guizhong held, he would find someone who cared enough to listen and look at him as though he knew the meaning of life itself?

The bright-eyed gaze you shoot at him lasts only a moment, and perhaps you don't even know the magnitude of your gesture, but Zhongli feels his chest burn nonetheless with gratitude and soften at the kindness you have shown him. He reaches out to place his hand gently on yours. "Thank you," he says, squeezing your hand. "I'll be sure to not lose my place in the story then so you can hear the rest of it."

He blinks when you look at him, frozen and wide-eyed, and that is when he retracts his hand, feeling as embarrassed as you look. "Ah, my apologies again--"

"No, it's-- it's alright," you stammer, looking down at your bowl. Zhongli feels his face redden and he drops his gaze as well. "But yes, you better remember! I'm counting on you!"

"Yes-- yes, of course," he says, clearing his throat. "It would be my pleasure to." Before Zhongli can wallow in mortification, he hears the beginnings of your laugh and looks up to see your smile as wide as ever. And just like that, he can feel himself be at ease again, just as you have always made him feel with your presence.

"Perhaps next time," he says, a small smile dancing on his lips, "my lady can tell me a story instead."

"Only if you fill in the details I missed," you quip back easily, and he laughs.

Even with an impeccable memory, Zhongli still cannot remember the last time he has ever laughed so easily and so readily as though he could never run out of laughter. He thinks of quiet hours in his study, pouring over pages of text without speaking till his voice grows hoarse from disuse. He remembers days of entertaining guests who never truly listened to what he was saying, and he finds that he is the happiest he has ever been for a long time.

He has you to thank for that.

This is why he responds back, with a soft reverence that is reserved only for you. "Of course." He returns your smile with his own. "I would be honored to, my Princess."

Reverence should be a tone well-practiced and used in the royal court, but when Zhongli stands aside during the proceedings, he hears very little of it directed toward you. You have half of the court talking over you despite your grace, and he can clearly see your patience wear thin when your presence goes unacknowledged by one of the court officials.

"My studies have been going steadily," you speak unto the crowd, clearly and powerfully, as though you have always known how to command attention. Projecting your voice, you maintain your gaze on all of them as you speak. Zhongli can see from the way your hands clench at your side that despite your display, fear has not left you, and for that, his pride for you seems to overflow.

"With the xiansheng, I can foresee being able to replace my great uncle for the time before the end of this year," you say. "I will have prepared myself dutifully until the time has come--"

"The end of this year?" One of the nobles exclaims in protest, making you pause. "How would you be ready at the end of the calendar when you have started lessons, not even yesteryear?"

"I can't imagine the magnitude of power placed upon the shoulders of the inexperienced,” another one drawls. “Perhaps, ah, the Princess will consider taking a husband to make up for it?"

Zhongli doesn't realize he's gripping imprints into the palm of his hands until he goes to raise his hand and realizes they have gone numb from his tension. The nerve of some of the nobles-- some of which he can recognize have never sought to be on your side. He wishes nothing more than to be able to provide them a verbal lashing, but he knows that neither you nor he can do anything at this point in time.

With knowledge comes power, and you do not know enough to utilize the title you have nor the inherent authority that comes with it. Though one day, you will, if he can help it, regardless of what has been expected of him.

It makes his skin crawl to know that many nobles look to him and believe he is on their side. How many times have they requested him to keep you away from the main chambers to check on your great uncle? How many times have they hoped he would provide falsities and ignorance in the guise of guidance so that you would never truly ascend to the throne? Even with the promise of power beyond his wildest dreams, Zhongli cannot bring it to himself to manipulate you in such a manner. Even though his hands are clean, he still cannot help but taste sin on his lips for knowing the harm that exists against you without your knowledge.

When is the right time to inform you, if at all? Is it kind or cruel of him to keep this ploy from you? (Is his judgment even sound, as muddled as it is with his rapidly growing feelings for you?)

You narrow your eyes, your lips pressed in a straight line, but you refrain, once again. And Zhongli feels a burst of pride at your show of restraint and composure fitting of a lady of your status. "Yes, this may be one of the things I will take into consideration, and I appreciate--" Zhongli feels himself tense at the way you spoke, "--the counsel of the court, though I still foresee my way coming to fruition regardless."

There is a stilted silence that follows your words, and you look toward the messenger who has come with the land's grievances in letters. "I believe this matter can be discussed at a later time," you say with finality. "Let us look at the first report from the harbor."

Using what you know from your lessons thus far, you guide the conversation towards solutions for the problems brought to the court by the people. You are too inexperienced to make decisions on your own, gathering opinions from your council; corrupt or not, they know more about managing land than you. But Zhongli sees how you watch carefully as the discussion continues, letting the information sink in so that you can utilize it in the future, and he is reminded again of how far you have come from a princess holding that urn to the prospective empress quietly learning how to lead a country.

(Is it any surprise at all that he is enamored with you?)

Court adjourns after hours, and Zhongli follows you as you leave first, your robes billowing behind you seamlessly as you hold your head up high. The guards bow their heads as you pass by them, your ladies-in-waiting slowly retreating from the room when you arrive, closing the door behind them. The moment everyone is gone, you sigh in relief, your shoulders dropping to a more comfortable height as you stretch your arms and legs.

“I applaud you on your conduct during court,” Zhongli says finally, amused by how nonchalant you act in comparison to how high-strung you are in front of others. “That was an impressive display of authority.” He sees your face flush from the compliment as you stammer out your thanks. He chuckles. "Perhaps I should start getting used to calling you 'Empress’ then, Princess.”

"Yes?" Zhongli replies, confused. "Is that not a title you would like to be referred to?"

"'Princess?'" He hears you echo, turning yourself to him, and Zhongli loses his train of thoughts when he sees your expression with brows pulled together, disconcerted. "Just... 'princess?'"

"No--well, yes..." you say, trailing off. Your hand, out of habit, nervously reaches up to fiddle with your brooch. "I was just thinking you would have normally referred to me a little differently is all."

Zhongli tilts his head slightly in thought as he watches you press your lips together in what he assumes to be in embarrassment. Has he been calling you differently without his knowledge? He doesn’t think so; you have always been the Princess for him, and he, your xiansheng.

But, ah, he thinks, he has not always called you ‘my Princess’ has he? (Astonishing what one word can change.)

For a brief moment, Zhongli’s mind wonders whether he has overstepped his boundary, but he quickly reminds himself with your words, that if you truly did not want him to call you by that, you would tell him. The fact you protested at his recent use of your title… It was the slip of the tongue; Amber has referred to you by the same title, and Zhongli has always, in some form, coveted the same level of intimacy that the two of you possessed. His fondness for you must have seeped into his words, and he would never have anticipated having you reciprocate.

That being said, could you blame him for feeling pleased that you wanted to be referred to as his Princess?

“But 'Princess' is fine,” he hears you say, gathering the composure to sweep your hands down your gown and appear nonplussed. You take out your fan and hold it to your face as you begin to walk toward the study. “I don’t mind it. You should call me as you so wish, I--”

Your laughter is enough as a sign of validation, but then he hears you say, shier than you have ever been, “My xiansheng,” and he thinks his heart balloons until it takes up the entire expanse of his chest with how much affection he feels for you.

"It is soon time for our next lessons," he says, following behind you without pause, "my Princess." And he watches, enamored, as you look back at him with a smile blooming on your face. "Is that... alright with you?"

“Yes,” he says to you, feeling as though that is the only thing he can say. You shoot him another captivating smile and turn, and all Zhongli can do is walk only a step behind you.

And he follows you for as long as you will allow him, hoping his choice to keep the darkness at bay is the right one.

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin zhongli #zhongli #female reader #genshin imagines #sry for repost tags did not work n made me sad #also smth about the possessive pronoun hits diff #imperial drama au

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

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Anakin and Obi-Wan switch lightsaber forms, but make it a character study. Written for @isolde-and-monsters

Perseverance

In the aftermath of Naboo, watching his new Padawan sleep while his own braid was wrapped around his hand, Obi-Wan decided he could not endure another loss of this magnitude. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the Sith in front of his eyes, his attacks so much faster than Obi-Wan’s, his strikes more powerful.

Obi-Wan had never wanted power, not in the way he found himself starved for it now. He had butted heads with Qui-Gon often enough, but never when it came to his lightsaber form. For all that Qui-Gon’s teaching methods could be all over the place, in this, they were not. He made Obi-Wan run more drills than any other Padawan and never failed to correct even the slightest mistake. A few of his Master’s friends made jokes about Qui-Gon’s own padawanhood that left him rolling his eyes and pointedly ask Obi-Wan for his opinion on his own education.

Obi-Wan had only ever smiled and asked for another lesson.

His Master had been an excellent fighter, one of the best duelists their Order had and yet, perhaps due to making up for Obi-Wan’s lack of skill, he had lost.

Ataru had felt like a pattern out of tune ever since. Where once it was the winds guiding Obi-Wan to the skies, it now felt like wild currents dragging him down. When Obi-Wan tried to find the right rhythm, he found himself repeating steps that lead nowhere but towards uncertainty, fear, and anger. He needed to try something different, needed to switch, before his doubts threatened to consume him whole.

Anakin mumbled something in his sleep and the blanket slipped from his shoulders. Despite yawning multiple times, he had refused to go to bed, wanting to stay up with Obi-Wan. A smile sneaked itself onto Obi-Wan’s face when he wrapped Anakin in a blanket, only for the boy to snuggle up to him, searching for another source of heat. Anakin was struggling at the Temple, not just because of all the years he’d missed out on, but because of he was fighting against the horrors he had already endured.

It was a Master’s duty to protect their Padawan, carry the weight of the galaxy on their back so that a student could learn to thrive in their own time.

Anakin shouldn’t be forced to helplessly watch Obi-Wan die.

He picked up Djem So the following day when Anakin was in class. He needed a weapon that wasn’t restrained to one area, something that would teach him to stand his ground, defend, and attack at the same time. Nobody commented on the fact that it was particularly well-suited for lightsaber combat.

(They didn’t need to. Obi-Wan knew what he was doing.)

Resilience

Anakin was an angry child. He could feel his rage boiling beneath his skin like a sun, scorching, burning all that it touched when he lost control and lashed out. Even when he didn’t mean to, it just all rose to the surface and Anakin exploded, the weight of the universe behind him, ready to drown out everyone and everything within range.

It exhausted him.

In the aftermath of his tantrums, be they because of selfish and uncaring politicians or because the other Padawans kept pushing him and Anakin thought he couldn’t keep up, it all ended similarly.

Anakin, on his own, choking on tears he didn’t dare cry because he still tasted Tatooine on his tongue and heard his mother’s voice in his ears, reminding him to be careful with his heart. This didn’t feel like keeping his soul safe and his mind moonlit instead of sun-starved.

The Force called him by a name and fate Anakin felt much too small for and he didn’t know how to handle it, how to endure, how to stop breaking.

He curled his left hand to a fist, his nails dug crescent marks into his skin as he waited for Obi-Wan to scold him. His Master was the best the Order had and Anakin wanted to live up to all his expectations, but so very often, he felt as if he were failing him instead.

“I don’t think this is working out,” Obi-Wan commented and turned off his lightsaber, clipping it to his belt again.

Anakin bit his lips, stared at his feet. Obi-Wan was finally allowing Anakin to specialize in a lightsaber form after years of training, and he couldn’t keep up, follow Obi-Wan as naturally as he should. He was good in combat, one of the best in his age group, and yet Anakin struggled when he shouldn’t, too quickly overcome by the need to lash out.

“Anakin, are you sure you want to specialize in Djem So?”

He looked up and instead of seeing Obi-Wan’s disappointment, he found interest instead.

“Yes!” Anakin replied quickly. “Of course! I can do it, I swear, I just need more training.”

“I don’t doubt your capabilities, Anakin. You’d be a formidable fighter. I just wonder whether another form wouldn’t suit you more.”

Confused, Anakin searched for the signs of a joke in Obi-Wan’s expression, but he was dead serious. “Like what?” Anakin asked.

“Soresu,” Obi-Wan answered. “You’re quick, but your speed often leads to you getting overeager. You have a lot of energy and could easily outlast any opponent if you contained yourself a little more and I think it would lift the stress of your shoulders.”

“I’m not stressed,” Anakin protested immediately, pretending he wasn’t lying to himself.

Obi-Wan cracked a slight smile at that and playfully tugged at Anakin’s braid before he could duck away. “I apologize for making such an assumption, Padawan. I know you demand more of yourself than anyone else, but you need not be sword and shield at the same time. Grow for yourself first and the galaxy after.”

Obi-Wan’s words made sense, somehow. Anakin had always thought that Soresu was kind of boring, but maybe he did need just a bit of a break, time to calm down and learn how to breathe again without sand forcing its way down his throat. And if Anakin’s defense got a bit better, he might be able to finally stop all of Obi-Wan’s attacks. He could always switch to another Form later.

“Okay,” he agreed. “What’s the first stance?”

(Anakin never did end up switching his fighting style, relying on the steady beat of drums to keep his head clear and his thoughts structured when the world seemed so keen to break him apart. He did not jump into battle against the traitorous Jedi, the Sith, remaining at his Master’s side.

And when they drop a small spitfire Padawan in front of him in the middle of a war that had already claimed too many lives, he hoped he could teach her this lesson as well.)

#star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #fanfic

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kingweaslee · 3 years ago

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The queer narrative in A suitable boy

The whole narrative of the suitable boy consists of two parallel love stories leading to a marriage, between Lata and Haresh (or between Lata and the idea of marriage in general), and Maan and Firoz. But both the love story and the marriage is subverted in a sense.

The love between Lata and Haresh is unconventional, because it an arranged marriage, arranged by society and people other than the couple involved, where love is not usually an expectation. Maan and Firoz's relationship is love in the conventional sense, but it will never be accepted by society. In a way their situations are reversed.

It is about halfway into the book that we realize that Haresh is a prospective suitor. Similarly, unless its a very careful reader who can catch on from the slight hints, we don't realize that Maan and Firoz are lovers, or had been lovers, (it is made clear that Firoz is still in love with Maan) till about 800 pages in. In a way that too goes against reader's expectations. There are hints about both Firoz and Maan's sexuality and their relationship from the first time he is introduced, but they are disguised, and the average reader, expecting a straight story about marriage from the title and everything else, does not notice it.

Both the love stories have a "deviation" from the people they are supposed to end up with. Lata gets involved with Kabir, Maan with Saeeda Bai. The whole situation leads to a love triangle of sorts which explodes in what is essentially, for both cases, a lovers' quarrel.

Kabir is a presence in Haresh and Lata's conversation even if he's not really there. Lata is preoccupied with her thoughts about Kabir, and it makes her see Haresh in an unfavorable light and be sharp with him. Haresh loses his temper and leaves. The implosion is of a small magnitude and is very easily resolved with civil apologies in letters. The other explosion between Maan and Firoz is colossal and destroys their families and everyone around them. Their apology, by contrast is emotional but wordless. The intensity of the explosion in one is balanced out by the comparative lack of it in the other, the compact clarity of words in one reconciliation in one is balanced by the failure to communicate with words in the other. Firoz and Maan reconcile through touch and gestures, Haresh and Lata through written words on paper.

Both Maan and Lata realize the fault of their deviations and are disenchanted by the end of the book. Lata leaves Kabir and chooses Haresh, Maan is leaves Saaeda Bai and chooses Firoz. (the author states very clearly that the whole incident has made Saaeda realise she's in love with Maan, and Maan has had a similar realisation about Firoz.)

The two weddings which frame the story are significant. At Savita's wedding Lata thinks very unfavorably of marriage, particularly arranged marriage. At her own, she has accepted it. She hasn't had the opportunity to get to know Haresh and love him in the conventional sense the way she has with Amit and Kabir, but she's sure she will learn to love him. The love story is subverted, but the marriage is not.

Maan and Firoz's marriage is a symbolic, symbolized through the rose petal. In many Indian weddings, flower petals are showered on the new couple and considered a blessing from the gods. In Savita's wedding, a rose petal is stuck on Maan's head and he complains that "these things float out of nowhere". Firoz gently brushes it away. But in Lata's wedding when one or two rose petals floats from somewhere, neither of them brush it off. They have accepted their relationship and what they mean to each other. The "marriage" is of course not a real marriage, here the marriage is subverted but the love is not.

Lata and Haresh's story takes place entirely on the surface of the narrative, all important conversations and letters are shown to the reader. Maan and Firoz's story takes place in the wings, the reader has to read between the lines and piece the information together. Lata and Haresh do not have a single encounter where the reader is not present, but not so with Maan and Firoz. We see the start of what is obviously a sex scene (perhaps put in to remove any doubt of interpretation) but as soon as it starts it is cut off to the next chapter. We don't hear their conversation, we are not privy to their past. Beyond the first apology, we don't get to see how they reconcile and rebuild their relationship, we only see them laughing together in the end. As queer narratives have done in the past, their story exists between the lines of the official (heteronormative) narrative.

I think this was deliberately done by the author. Considering Vikram Seth is bisexual himself I wouldn't be surprised if he meant to use Lata and Haresh's story as a cover to tell Maan and Firoz's story.

#a suitable boy #vikram seth #maan kapoor #firoz khan #lata kapoor #haresh khanna #is this a stretch?#i don't see how people can read the book and come out with the interpretation that it is a story about arranged marriage #i didn't like the weird romanticization of arranged marraiges either #but it makes sense if you see it as a cover for the queer story #i am pretty proud of my theory tbh well done brain #tina rambles

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detectivehannibal · 4 years ago

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Two Timed

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst.

Requested by: @vampirevatican

A/N (edit): I hear you guys’ plea for a part 2. I have another request to write, but it is on my radar!

Word Count: 2,598

“Don’t give him the satisfaction of a second chance.”

You had been suspicious for awhile. It was surely hard to ignore the tug in your chest that was telling you something was off. In the seven years you had been married to Hannibal Lecter, you had learned how to be a keen observer. You had learned to be a careful listener and a focused watcher. In a general sense, he had taught you to be extremely in touch with all of your senses. This was turning out to be your worst nightmare.

For starters, he was later coming home from work. You initially shrugged this off as perhaps he was off doing his unspeakable errands. However, the situation became very clear when he came home with just the slightest bit of lipstick on his shirt collar. Something that a non-observant person would blatantly miss. After that, all the signs were like a stop sign in your face. The unfamiliar scent of perfume that lingered around him when he walked past you. The simple yet vague answers he would give when you asked him about his day. It all came together quickly and life as you knew it was crashing down.

You didn’t want to believe that he was cheating on you. Hannibal Lecter, the most refined and morally just man you had ever known, being unfaithful to his wife. It was shocking and quite ironic. You didn’t want to have to go snooping for answers. You had always respected Hannibal’s space and personal belongings and never touched anything without asking first. However, you were too upset one fateful evening to care at this point. You searched every part of his study searching for even the smallest hint as of to who this mystery woman was.

That’s when you found the letter.

It wasn’t easy to spot. It wasn’t exactly sitting in plain view. You had to rummage through stacks of papers and folders before you saw it. The letter had been written on archival paper, something a little more formal and had some weight to it as it rested in your hands. The seamless piece of paper was addressed to “My dearest Alana” in Hannibal’s unmistakable handwriting.

Oh.

Your heart sank into your shoes when you read the header. This had to be a mistake. Surely this wasn’t the Dr. Alana Bloom who had been over for dinner on multiple occasions. The woman who had been mentored by your husband when she was in school to be a psychiatrist. It made your stomach curl in the worst way. The very woman who was acting as your husband’s mistress had been under your nose the entire time. You had almost wished she had been a stranger to you.

The fact that you were finding out due to a letter was a double smack in the face. When you were dating Hannibal, he often would write you letters of the same magnitude. They expressed his deepest care and feelings for you. It was his way of pouring his soul and heart out to you. Now it seemed that had meant absolutely nothing.

Hot tears wasted no time filling your eyes and streaming your cheeks. This was the most betrayal you had ever felt. You were overwhelmed with anger, sadness, disappointment, and hurt all at the same time. How could he do this to you? You never in a million years would you have seen this coming. He was so adamant about people who were disrespectful and had no regard for others. This was very out of character.

You shoved the letter back where you found it and raced to your car. There was no way you could stay here. You needed to get away to think. You needed to find someone who would care enough to listen before you did something stupid. Will Graham was your first immediate thought. You had been friends with him before ever knowing Hannibal. As a matter of fact, you met Hannibal through Will. You knew Will would listen. He was always there for you no matter what...whether he cared to be or not. His home was about an hour away from you and Hannibal’s shared home. It was a bit of a drive, but you were desperate. You pondered how to handle the situation while you were in commute.

Your immediate solution was to turn Hannibal in to the police. You knew he was the killer they had been looking for. It would be the ultimate revenge and the most badass way to leave your lasting mark. You could have Hannibal Lecter at your mercy. You had the power to end his reign of cannibalistic terror. Unfortunately this plan had its leaks and you realized something infuriating. Hannibal would always be one step ahead. More than likely, he’d find out that you knew of the affair just as you were reporting him to Jack Crawford. He would obviously know that giving him up would be your first response and he’d have ample amount of time to get away without a trace.

And then you’d end up dead at his hands.

Damn him. At the time being, you were unsure of what to do. You could never attempt to live life as it was before while also knowing of his secret affair. That would be too cruel to yourself. You were worth way more than that. You deserved better.

After what felt like an eternity, you pulled into Will’s yard. You hoped he wouldn’t mind an unexpected visit. It wasn’t too terribly late into the night, only about 9:15 or so. You knocked on his front door gently, this was followed by a sound from the inside of multiple sets of fuzzy paws rushing towards the door, alerting their human that he had a visitor. You peeked through the window to see a group of wagging tails and bright canine eyes. Oh, to be one of Will’s stray pups. You would always be well fed, treated with care, and have a cozy place to live. What a life.

Will approached the door finally, his brows slightly dipping upon seeing your reddened eyes and flushed skin. You managed to hold it together long enough to muster a shaky greeting once he opened the door;

“Hi, Will.”

He was holding the doorknob with one hand, his other resting on the door frame;

“Hello,” He said suspiciously; “Have you been crying?”

Your lip quivered at his questions and a fresh round of tears welled up;

“Can I come in?” You asked choking down a sob.

A brief flash of panic crossed the unofficial FBI agent’s face. He didn’t do well with a crying woman. He stepped aside to allow you to enter his home. You were happily welcomed by his dogs, Winston even sitting by your feet to request an ear rub. You squatted in front of him and stroked his soft, honey colored fur. He licked your salty tears from your cheeks, a sad laugh coming from your chest.

Will closed the door behind him and frantically tried to see if he could figure out what was wrong without having to ask and further upset you. He noted that you weren’t wearing your wedding ring. You never left the house without it, so he knew it had something to do with Hannibal. Once you rose back from the floor and turned to him, he spoke;

“Did Hannibal do something?” He asked as gently as possible.

He hated seeing you upset. He didn’t want to make it worse. You nodded in response, the flood of emotions washing over you again. The reality of the situation was really beginning to set in.

“Yeah. He...He’s cheating on me,” You said with a cracking voice. You went on at the sight of Will’s face going white; “I found a love letter in his study.”

His eyes widened as he took a moment to process what you were saying. Who would ever want to be unfaithful to you? You were perfect in every way.

“Are you sure it wasn’t for you? Perhaps he hadn’t addressed it yet?” He offered a simple solution.

If only that simplicity was the truth. You fell onto his sofa and shook your head;

“It was addressed to Alana.” You stated.

Now that made his blood turn cold. This couldn’t be happening.

“Alana Bloom? What makes you so sure it’s her?” He asked in disbelief, sitting next to you

“Because she’s the only Alana that Hannibal and I both know, Will. She’s the only logical person. They go way back.” You said feeling defeated.

Will stressfully ran a hand through his hair. As a third party this was a lot to take in. He could only imagine how you were feeling. Just like you, he never would’ve expected this from either of them.

“[Y/N], I’m sorry.” He apologized.

He couldn’t help but feel a little responsible. He was the one who had introduced you two after all. He felt that this could’ve been avoided.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” You said honestly; “I’m sorry for coming over here and making this your problem too. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Your problems can always be mine. I guarantee that. You can always come here.” He comforted.

You gave the best smile you could. Will had really always been there for you. If he was being honest, he wanted to kiss you in that moment. He just wanted you to understand how much he cared about you. He never wanted you to doubt it. But he didn’t kiss you. He would never take advantage of your emotions like that. After all, you were still a married woman. He didn’t want to force you to stoop to Hannibal’s level. Instead, he just put a hand over yours and rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand.

On the subject of Hannibal, your phone had buzzed in your bag several times over the last several minutes. You knew it was Hannibal wondering where you were. You also knew he would quickly figure out that you were at Will’s home considering that he’s the only person you’d ever go see this late at night. It wouldn’t be long before Hannibal would be at his front door looking for you.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t live with him knowing he’s got someone on the side.” You admitted.

“You especially shouldn’t live with him now. You can’t stay married.” He advised.

You knew this. You had a strict rule that always applied to your previous relationships. There was no excuse for cheating. That would be a dealbreaker every time. Divorce was common, but you never thought you’d end up a divorced woman.

“I know. I mean what do I say to him?” You asked.

Will tucked his head to the side. It was a loaded question for sure. He wasn’t the relationship expert. He hadn’t had many serious relationships in his life.

“Tell him how you feel. Make sure he understands how much he’s hurt you. Don’t hold back just because you love him,” He replied; “Don’t give him the satisfaction of a second chance.”

You were listening against your better judgement. You wanted so badly for this to just be a horrible dream. You wanted to wake up and this not be real. Silence fell over the both of you. You were out of things to say. You started sobbing again, collapsing into Will’s arms. He held you as you cries filled his home and caused his dogs to whine in sympathy. Your pity party was interrupted by a knock on the door a few minutes later.

The man of the hour had arrived.

Part of you wanted to run away and never see him again, but then you’d never get to tell him how you felt. And also he’d find you in record time. Will shot you a look before getting up to answer the door. Hannibal was standing there, still in his work suit and his demeanor was as cool as ever.

“Hello, Will. Is [Y/N] here? She doesn’t seem to be at home,” He stated.

“Yeah,” Will responded flatly; “She’s here. You’ve got some nerve showing up here, Dr. Lecter.”

Will was upset. His trusted psychiatrist had hurt his best friend by using his other friend. He had a right to be angry. Hannibal looked over Will’s shoulder to find you on the couch. He pushed past Will and into the room;

“Darling, I really wish you had informed me that you were going to be here.” He said disregarding Will’s previous sentence.

You stood from the couch. You were furious, yet calm. You stood in front of your husband, looking into his dark eyes with a numb expression. This was your chance.

“I know, Hannibal. I know about you and Alana.” You confessed.

While his face didn’t show any signs of shock, his heart skipped a beat. He obviously had never planned on you finding out, so this wasn’t what he expected. Will was watching, arms crossed as he observed.

“How did you find out?” Hannibal asked nonchalantly.

If he had to guess, he would’ve suspected that maybe Alana came clean to Will who conveyed the truth. That was the first time Hannibal would’ve been wrong about anything.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know about it. And I want you to know how much you’ve hurt me because of it.” You said.

You weren’t crying anymore. You were past that point.

“When I said ‘I do’ on our wedding day, I meant it. Every word of my vows was the truth. I was ecstatic to spend my life with you. I was beyond thrilled to have forever to spend with someone I loved. I just wish I had known it didn’t go both ways,” You spoke softly; “If our marriage wasn’t what you signed up for, then I suppose I owe you an apology. But if it was everything you expected and it still wasn’t enough...then I don’t know what to tell you. I gave you...I gave us everything I had. My whole heart and soul. I wanted to be sure we were each other’s forever. But I see I didn’t do as well as I could have.”

Hannibal was speechless. There wasn’t anything he could say. He was ashamed. Ashamed of getting caught and ashamed for hurting an innocent person. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your wedding ring. You silently took his hand and placed it in his palm. It was cliche, but it was powerful. You were done.

“I’ll be moved out by tomorrow. Don’t try calling me. Don’t come looking for me. I’m leaving. I hope you can live with what you’ve done,” You said brushing past him.

You looked at Will as you went to exit his home. He knew you’d call him in a few days after you had time to yourself. You would never leave him behind. You stopped at the door, leaving Hannibal with one final sentence;

“Goodbye, Hannibal.”

You walked down the front porch steps and into your car. You didn’t know where you were going to go, but you had to get away somewhere. You drove away in silence, letting the road take you wherever it wanted. You couldn’t help but reflect on the good times you had with Hannibal. It would be inhuman not to. At the end of the day, even if it didn’t work out, Hannibal was your love story. You would never be able to change that.

No matter how hard you tried.

#hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter ask

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spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

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The One With The Soulmate

~Notes: Hiya loves! This is a one shot from my The One With The Marauders series and I’m just moving it here to Tumblr<3

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“You are seriously insatiable tonight,” Remus rebukes, swatting Sirius’s hand away from where he was eagerly grabbing at his arse for another round of fun, positively delicious, bloody remarkable, mind-blowing fun. God Sirius thanks every deity above that he fell in love with such a secretive, little wildcat.

“Oi, wasn’t the whole purpose of this getting married shtick so we could do that whenever we please?” Sirius harrumphs, flopping back on their bed, starfished out as he watches his ridiculously beautiful husband dropping his towel to the floor and digging through their shared drawer for a new pair of pants. He really tries his damndest to not focus on how the dying evening light filters through their room’s open window, bathing Remus in this resplendent, almost heavenly glow, turning the tips of his eyelashes as golden as his hair and caressing the dips and valleys of his lithe muscles, accentuating the smattering of freckles on his thighs and the dimples he’s got on the small of his back. God Sirius can’t take his eyes off of him for even a moment. “Because if not I reckon I can sue for false advertising.”

Remus only sniffs at him, affecting a lofty air as he pulls on the green, turtle net sweater that Sirius especially likes on him for how it brings out the amber flecks in Remus’s emerald eyes and how it hugs his physique in the exact right breath to show off how bloody good looking he is. “We did that right when you came home from the firm, and then again in the shower less than five minutes ago. Don’t tell me it was that forgettable?” He asks with a pointed hiking of the brow.

“Never my lovely little croissant,” Sirius contends hurriedly, popping up from his lounging position to snatch for Remus’s boney wrists, and dragging the shorter man down to sit in his still very naked lap. “You are the best shag and handsomest fellow and—“ Remus claps his hand over Sirius’s mouth, probably trying to come off stern, but Sirius could totally catch the way the corner of his lips begin to flinch upwards— he’s endeared and Sirius knows it.

“Enough of that bollocks, else I’ll get a cavity.”

“But my beautiful crumpet, I want to sing your praises,” Sirius pouts mockingly, kisses the tip of his nose, while one of his well built arms slings around Remus’s slender waste, with his free hand slowly crawling up his inner thigh, thwarted nearly immediately by Remus standing up in a huff.

“Like a bloody mutt.” He scolds.

“Only for you my delightfully delectable cabbage,” Sirius leers, finally standing up and taking the proffered slacks so to get ready for this little soiree Lily’s law firm is holding for their fiftieth anniversary.

“When do you reckon these awful nicknames will drop off?”

“You’re the one who said you like it when I speak French at you,” Sirius goads, smacking Remus’s pert arse as he struts into their master-bath.

“Oi, when it’s spoken in the ruddy language, and not some awful accent you’ve conjured up.” Remus counters moodily before he grabs for one of the colognes on their vanity, and Sirius only smiles privately to himself, so beyond besotted with him that it’s getting detrimental for his health, exhibit A being how he very nearly squirts his aftershave right into his eyes.

But God Remus is so worth it.

The ballroom of the swanky, Mayfair hotel is dressed up in all the opulence that should be expected for a soiree made up of the throng of stuffy, stuck up solicitors that are present. Sirius is not impressed in the slightest, even if he can work the room for one of these parties as effortlessly as breathing thanks to his upbringing as the son of a Lorde and Countess; though he still hates the ambiance of it all, so much so that it makes his skin crawl to this day, but he promised to be here and at least Remus is right besides him, with Sirius’s hand in his back pocket and hazel eyes flickering to him every few minutes or so, as if attuned to Sirius and all his mercurial moods.

God he loves him.

“Alice and I have been shagging non stop,” Frank says, which works well enough to bring Sirius’s attention away from wanting to drag Remus behind the champaign fountain so to have his wicked way with him, and back to the conversation they’re all having; even if that means that instead of looking passive, Sirius is sneering over at Frank.

“Dacorum man.”

Frank apologizes, beyond glum. “We just don’t know what to do. The doctors say that we shouldn’t have this much difficulty with it, but we just checked before coming and still, nothing.”

“I’m sorry mate, that’s awful.” Remus tells him, and Dorcas nods along, but Sirius just rolls his eyes.

“We’re not even thirty yet for fuck’s sake,” he tells him. “Maybe ’s a sign for you both to stop trying to ruin your lives with a baby.”

“Shut it Sirius,” Dorcas hisses, kicking at his ankle hard enough to make him wince.

“Ouch, hey! I’m just saying, a kid’s a lot of responsibility, and commitment.”

“I’ve been with Alice since we were seventeen Black,” Frank tells him hotly . “I think I’m already properly committed.”

“Then what’s the point of the kid!”

Frank raises his brows, floundering with no words as if he just could not comprehend Sirius and all his Sirius-ness, which is fair, the only two people who’s been able to do as much turned out being his brother, (James), and his lover, (Remus)… Speaking of which…

“I’m sorry he’s acting like such an arse Frank, he doesn’t mean it.” the sandy blonde says cooly, giving Sirius one of his looks that he usually keeps designated for his more rowdy students. “Do you.”

Sirius glares at him before looking back at Frank and nodding stiffly. “Sorry mate, you and Flores would be marvelous parents, I’m just being prickish.”

“Nothing knew then,” Frank says, but it’s coupled with an amiable grin so Sirius knows he’s off the hook.

“Right, well why don’t I make it up to you by grabbing you a drink? Yeah?”

“See if they’ve got an iced white?”

“Me too Black,” Dorcas scoffs, doesn’t even bother to look at him to make the command.

“Righto,” Sirius claps Frank’s shoulder with a friendly squeeze, winking at Dorcas and glancing over at Remus before he goes. “Vodka tonic?”

“With lemon please.”

Sirius nods, still pecks him on the lips even if they’re sorta in a fight, as if Sirius could ever stay away for too long.

By the grace of God, the open bar is mostly vacant, except for a familiar head of messy hair he’s considered family for over half his life.

“All right Prongs?”

James pivots around, drinks already in hand and grinning at the sight of him. “Wow, didn’t even recognize you for a tick there Pads, you don’t even have your hand plastered to Moony’s bum!.”

Sirius smirks, tossing him a covert two finger salute as he saddles up besides him and orders the round of drinks. “What can I say Prongsy, the cheeky bugger made me vow to have it there constantly, can’t just jilt my bloke like that, can I?”

James grimaces with a roll of the eyes, and Sirius’s far accustomed to that look of exasperation from him by now. “You’re a mutt.”

“Would you believe you aren’t the first person to say that to me within the last hour?”

“God save our poor Moony.”

“Oh God doesn’t have to worry, I’m taking care of him just fine.”

“Are you being gross about my best friend,” Lily asks as she struts up towards them, looking like an absolute diamond, even if her nose is wrinkled indelicately.

“Aren’t I always in your opinion?” Sirius asks cheekily, trying to balance the four drinks in his grasp before she just rolls her eyes and grabs the flutes of wine for Frank and Dorcas.

“Your impossible prat-ness aside, I actually think you being all grossly territorial over Remus tonight is actually a good thing.”

“THat’s a first,” James says, but Sirius can only glare, suspicious.

“Why’s that? Oi! Don’t tell me that absolute plonker Dearborn is here!”

“Oh God no,” Lily startles, shaking her head as if the thought was too insane to even fathom. “’S just the firm’s just hired this new bloke and I’m really quite positive that he’s Rem’s soulmate.”

“Lily! Don’t say that!” James balks, glancing over at Sirius worriedly, but he in turn only laughs at the magnitude of the statement.

“Jesus, Evans, didn’t think you believed in that ridiculous shite?”

“’S not ridiculous Sirius! And yeah, ‘course I do, like James and I are definitely soulmates.” She twists slightly so to kiss the curve of James’s jaw, making him go a bit blotchy. Poor git’s wrapped around her littlest finger.

“And what? You reckon Remus and I are just here to kill some time?”

“No, don’t be a pillock,” Lily reproves. “’s just he’s his soulmate is all.”

Okay, Sirius’s amusement has officially given way to irritation, and he twists his head so to scowl down at her as they make their way to the others. “Alright Evans, explain yourself then, yeah? Tell me how he’s Moony’s supposed soulmate.

“Well he’s French.”

“I speak French.”

“He’s got amazing, blonde hair.”

“I’ve got amazing, black hair.”

“He majored in literature just like Remus.” Lily says airily, knowing that Sirius can’t match that being an architect himself.

“Well— I read all that snotty shite Remus asks me too.” He huffs, and Lily answers with a shrug to her delicate shoulders.

“Fine then, I’m wrong. You’ve got nothing to worry bout.”

She struts off to their little lump of friends as if to cut the conversation off completely, and Sirius is perfectly find with that. She’s acting off her bloody rocker. But, if Sirius stands closer to Remus than usual for the rest of the night, or if he ends up kissing his temple whenever he feels like someone is watching them, or if he glares at one of the blokes working catering after deigning to offer Remus an empanada— Well that’s Sirius’s business and his alone. He’s not intimidated by this soulmate shite, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like he’s trying to stave off the bastard or something. He does all of that simply because Remus is his husband now, and he loves getting to show that off to all onlookers, even the ones who may or may not be Remus’s soulmate.

“We’ve got dinner with Reggie and his latest girlfriend tonight,” Remus tells Sirius the following Tuesday, tossing the scarf his mother had gifted him last Christmas— with a matching one for Sirius— over his shoulder as they stroll around to the front of the Three Broomsticks for their morning coffees, hands linked and the early winter snow catching in both sets of their lashes.

And God does Sirius love the sound of that, of their schedules overlapping, becoming one almost. Loves the idea that where ever one goes the other follows. Sirius knows that they’ve both have their demons, from Sirius’s neglect and emotional abuse as a child— occasionally sprinkled with a good smack or two if his mother was particularly fuming. To Remus’s complex of never feeling like he can ever be enough, and the way Lyall had acted for years after Remus had come out to his parents as gay, coupled with his multiple hospital visits as a lad until they finally figured out his lupus diagnosis. But they’re better, so much fucking better now. Plenty of the credit going to the remarkable group of friends whom they’ve picked up along the way, but another huge chunk was finding one another, and Sirius knows it in his bones. Knows that there couldn’t be anyone else for him, and sure he knows Remus sometimes deserves more, deserves better— But he’s chosen him, he’s chosen Sirius. He loves Sirius. And it’s remarkable and unbelievable and amazing, and Sirius holds onto the sensation of it with hungry piety.

“Love? Did you hear that?”

Sirius jolts back to the moment, and smiles softly down at him, kissing the corner of Remus’s mouth in penance. “Yes, of course gorgeous. I didn’t forget, I’ll be home early and maybe we can have a lie down before leaving if you’ve finished grading those papers?”

Remus’s laugh right then is like the most splendid instrument Sirius has ever heard, light and magical and warm as a bonfire. “Try to be good and maybe.” He tells him with a cold fingered tapping of his nose before he flounces off to the main counter to order for them.

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stares after him instead of grabbing the gang’s typical seats up front, but is startled when he hear’s a choked out noise coming from behind him and sees Lily, panic faced and eyes wandering frantically.

“Oi, what’s squirming up your arse Evans.” He asks her suspiciously, thick brows furrowed.

“I didn’t know you guys would be here,” she explains so quickly that her words begin to crash into one another. “Oh bloody hell, the one time I have a late start!”

She stomps her foot and Sirius shoots her a fully fledged glower. “What is making you so damn barmy for Christ’s sake.”

Lily parts her lips, but no noise comes out, because right then someone follows her indoors, a very familiar someone if only based off of descriptions. A very tall, very blonde, very smiley looking someone.

Sirius hates him right on sight.

“I’m sorry I took so long at that shop Lily, my mother loves these, how do you say, snow globes?” The stranger says, shaking one for emphasis with Big Ben set in the center.

“Ridiculous tourist trinkets is more like it,” Sirius practically snarls, which earns him a confused look by the blonde and a tired one by Lily.

“Right then, well Sirius this’s Thomas Martin, Thomas this is Sirius Black.”

“Lupin-Black now, ta Lils.”

“Oh,” Thomas says, blue eyes blinking wearily. “Nice to meet you, ah, Sirius.” He extends his hand, and when Sirius shakes it he makes sure to feel the bloke’s bones crushing together, just so he understands who exactly he’s speaking with.

The French arse eventually pulls away, pinning Sirius with a one eyed squint as he curls and stretches his fingers.

“Oh God,” Lily groans, leading them to their spot and depositing herself onto the sofa with absolute exasperation, and Sirius only continues to glare at Thomas as he sits besides her, growing stiffer once Remus returns.

“Oh, hiya Lils,” he smiles, handing Sirius his drink before flickering his gaze to the fucking Frenchman.

“‘lo love, this’s the newest hire at the firm, Thomas. Thomas, this’s my best mate, Remus.” She introduces quickly, the fucking trader.

“Remus?” Thomas asks, dimpling down at Sirius’s fucking husband with bright eyes. And Sirius has to curl his fists so not to punch him right in the sodding face, only growing angrier when Remus chuckles and ducks his head, like he was nervous by him! Like he thought he was in fact very good looking and very charming and his damn soulmate.

“Yeah, blame that on my mum, she was big into the classics.”

Thomas’s grin widens even more and Sirius feels the pulse on his neck beginning to throb. “No, it’s very charming. My Grandfather was very, erm, focussed on those studies as well? Begged my parents to name me Enkidu. They thankfully refused.”

Remus laughs fully now, and Sirius wants to a punch a wall. It took him literal months to make Remus laugh like that— genuine and glimmering and gorgeous. “Lucky bloke. Though I do have to admit that Gilgamesh is a favorite of mine, I think I’ve read the epic twenty times over.”

“Oh mine too,” the fucking Frenchman says, stepping closer to Remus and now in front of Sirius fully, gambling bravely that Sirius wouldn’t try to cap him right here. “If you ask me however, I do believe that he and Enkidu are more than just, friends.” His eyes flicker down to Remus’s lips for a split second and when he looks back up his face is positively leering.

Sirius sees red.

“God, so nice to finally talk to someone who gets it, the professors I work under are usually so painfully heteronormative that it’s crippling.” Remus tells him, smiling kindly.

“Oh, I’m the furthest away from that, I assure you.”

He winks! He fucking winks! Sirius swears to God! He sees the bastard winking at his husband! His fucking husband! What the bloody hell does he think that platinum band on Remus’s finger matching Sirius’s own is suppose to represent! Holy shit!

“I’d love to read anything you have on the subject, most things translated to French are a bit clunky.”

He’s trying to ask him out! Right here! Right in front of Sirius! Sirius is going to strangle his snail swallowing neck! Thankfully, Lily must sense his inner turmoil because she interjects their conversation right then, asking Thomas to grab her a jasmine tea.

“Oh yes of course,” he nods congenially, rounding back on Remus before he leaves. “Would you like a pastry? On me.”

Is he trying to ask Remus to eat it off of him? What the hell! It took nearly a year of them fucking for Sirius to get Remus to bring food in the bedroom, to get to watch Remus lick the chocolate syrup off his cock. And what? Does he think he’s even got a chance so quickly!

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Remus grins and a part of Sirius dies on the inside. “But I’ll come tag along, yeah? I love talking about this stuff and Sirius absolutely hates this ancient rubbish.”

“I do not! I think these dead blokes are very interesting,” he harrumphs, heated, with pouting lips and crossed arms. But Remus only tosses back his head with uninhibited laughter in response, which makes the fucking Frenchman beam that bit brighter.

“After you,” he says with a swish of the hand.

Sirius is going to be tried for murder, and he’s not even sorry about it.

“’s okay love,” Lily reassures him, patting his head dotingly. “We’ll find you someone new.”

“I hate you Evans!”

“Don’t blame the messenger!”

Sirius is about to tell her just how much he does exactly that, but then he catches on the fucking Frenchman putting his hand over Remus’s to prevent him from sliding over his card and all the fight leaves him in an instant.

Sirius ended up not even going to the on sight location for the latest project he’s heading at the firm. He instead spent the bulk of the morning and part of the afternoon grinding his teeth as Remus spoke and barbed and giggled with the fucking Frenchman, like he was enjoying himself. And it was torture, watching the way they naturally clicked and got on— Literal fucking torture.

Sirius is still fuming as they sit in front of his younger brother and his newest bird, a pretty girl named Amal, who’s just graduated from a posh, fashion institute in the north of France. And Christ it’s like he’s being bombarded with the idea of that country all day.

“God that must’ve been such a wonderful experience,” Remus says, smiling as she leans forwards with a grin, speaking louder over the chatter of the busy sushi joint they had all agreed upon.

“Oh yes, the cuisine was simply unmatched, even if I did end up missing London, being home and all. Though I’m afraid my French is seriously dwindling compared to my English and Arabic now.”

“You should ask Reggie to practice with you, I know I love it when Sirius speaks the language.” He winks right then, making Amal crow with laughter and Regulus roll his eyes fondly. But Sirius stays peeved off with his hinged jaw, absolutely seething.

“Bet my hopeless brother recites poetry to you and everything, rose in his mouth and all.”

Remus laughs and Sirius suddenly has the horrid image of the fucking Frenchman doing as much outside the window to their bedroom, and is furious all over again.

“Well Reggie, Remus here does fancy all things French, foods and wines and blokes and just the whole lot.”

“Well good, we have something in common,” Amal snickers, lacing her hand through Regulus’s own over the tabletop. Sirius and Remus haven’t held hands since the waitress brought out their drinks, and remembering as much makes Sirius take a swig of his ail, hating everything.

“Yes well, you can say it’s Remus’s soulmate, France I mean.” He says, words beginning to slur. “He’s meant for French food and wines and blokes, innit true love? You’d prefer a French bloke?”

Amal frowns and Regulus pins him with a one eyed squint, befuddled. But Sirius only gathers his wits about him when Remus clammers noisily out his chair and tugs on his arm to follow suit.

“Reg order us the specials yeah? And a round of spring rolls,” he instructs, words clipped, and a small dent peeking out between his brows, like it does when he’s especially annoyed. “C’mon Sirius we need to talk.”

“But that’d be awfully rude,” Sirius retorts, already hates the flat, fuming tone Remus is speaking with, and feels good and properly nervous for the impending argument.

“They have one another, ’s fine. Now let’s go.”

Sirius concedes and pretends it doesn’t feel like he’s being lead to the gallows.

“All right prick,” Remus huffs, rounding on Sirius right after he locks the door to the single user loo. “What has gotten you in such a bloody awful mood.”

Sirius sniffs, arms crossed against his chest and his head tilted imperiously. “I’m peachy.”

“You’ve been acting like an arse ever since we had coffee with Lily,” Remus counters, reproving.

“Actually love, if you didn’t notice, Lily left about halfway through you and the blonde’s little clucking session.”

Remus furrows his brows now, pillowy lips pinched and looking lost as hell. “You’re angry because Lily left for work?”

“Oh for bloody hell Remus!” Sirius erupts, tossing his arms in the air. “I’m angry because you met your ruddy soulmate and now you’re going to ride off into the sunset with’m and read French poetry together while eating cheese and bread and talking about highbrow shit like Aeneid!”

Remus startles backwards, long lashes flapping and mouth gaped open. “Oh Christ, you’ve gone absolutely barmy. You’re mad.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I feel like I should call someone about my husband going bloody mental.”

“I repeat. Not. Helping.”

“What in hell has convinced you that this random bloke is my soulmate?” Remus asks, back to being patient as ever.

“Lily!” Sirius shouts. “She told me that you and the fucking Frenchman are soulmates! And she’s right okay! She’s bloody spot on.”

Remus rolls back his entire head now, groaning out, “You are such an idiot.”

“Real nice Moons,” Sirius frowns, doesn’t even know how to feel now, the anger seeping out of him the longer he’s standing besides Remus, leaving an awful, clawing abandonment in its wake.

“Did you ever once think to ask me what I think of the damn concept of soulmates? Hmm?” He asks, single brow hiked with pure condescension.

And oh.

Sirius is stuck for a minute there, doesn’t see an out to the question. “Well…. Erm—“

“Well if you had asked, like a normal sodding bloke! I wold’ve told you that I married you because I know your my soulmate you arse! And it isn’t because of some ridiculous notion of stardust or providence or whatever else. It’s because we grew together, and we fight for one another, and even when you’re being a complete prick or we’re arguing like mad you’re the only one I want. Only person I can ever see myself with, the only person I want to try this hard for. The only fucking person I ever want to call my husband! My partner! lover!”

“Oh.” Sirius breathes out, all his fears being strangled by the conviction embedded into Remus’s words.

And it’s like all of Sirius’s insides melt, like all the adoration and love and reverence he holds for Remus is pooling in his stomach and threatening to pour out his every orifice. And God he can’t even inhale, only scrambles to lock his hands around Remus’s cheeks and press his head against Remus’s own.

“Yeah? You really think that.”

“Hell, I thought the wedding and all would’ve made that clear.”

Sirius chuckles, only lightly, his thumb dragging beneath Remus’s eye tenderly. “God I love you, so endlessly. Please forgive me for being an idiot?”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll keep you around,” Remus teases, bouncing on the balls of his feet to kiss Sirius’s nose and lock his arms around his neck, and the sensation of it— them knotted into one another— could never be replicated in a thousand years, not like this, not like them.

Other Wolfstar One Shots | Send Me A Prompt

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #harry potter series #spilt ink #FIC: Friends AU

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mimisempai · 3 years ago

Text

I love you too much to let you go

Summary:

Mobius says to himself that he did what he had to do to make Loki happy... fortunately he will come back to his senses and open his eyes.

Tumblr request : how about a break up and then forgiveness story?

Notes:

Honestly I never write break-ups, I am not fond making "my" characters suffer. I won't be doing it again anytime soon, but I hope I've met the challenge.

HAPPY ENDING!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32753194

1428 words - Rating G

Mobius rubbed his eyes, stretched, and slowly sat up. He reached out to the other side, out of habit. The space next to him was empty. Because Mobius did the right thing.

He stood up, walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. He looked at his reflection in the mirror without seeing it.

"I just think it's wiser to stop things before they go too far."

"We've been together for over a year, we've already gone too far." had replied Loki

"I am old and mortal. You have your whole life ahead of you and I do not wish to stand in your way. "

"In my way? But what way Mobius?" Mobius could sense the incomprehension in Loki's voice.

"I do not wish to be a burden to you."

"Mobius, how can you say that?" The voice was now pleading

"I'm saying that we should... that it's in our best interest to..."

"You're breaking up with me. Say it."

"Yes I want us to break up, before it hurts too much."

He saw Loki's features contort with anger. His gaze was as cold as ice.

"You'll thank me eventually...it's the right thing to do."

"How can I thank you when you are sacrificing me on the altar of your integrity, sacrificing our love on the altar of your fear.I thought you said I had the choice to do what I wanted with my life, but do you realize you just took that choice away from me? Who is now the scared little boy?"

Mobius answered nothing and stood in the middle of the living room until Loki walked out, closing the door, gently, without slamming it.

Mobius lived through that day and the next. The apartment was filled with Loki's absence, and Mobius spent more time at work to avoid feeling it. He told himself that Loki's things should be packed, but the thought of touching anything that evoked his presence made him sick.

"Go home!" HB ordered him when she realized that Mobius hardly ever went home and slept in his office.

"This is not my home anymore..." muttered Mobius.

"It's your fault" HB knew all about their breakup and had called Mobius an idiot more than once. "Go to sleep and especially get yourself a wash!"

"I'm sorry," Mobius said. He straightened up and went home.

Once the door was closed, he leaned on it and let himself slide against it. After a few seconds, he realized he was not alone and heard voices coming from the living room.

"Loki, did you even read all those books?" asked a voice Mobius knew. Casey.

"Almost all of them," Loki said with a tired tone, and Mobius froze, "The ones I didn't read were from Mobius, who..."

It was me who read them aloud to both of us.

"It must be nice to have someone take care of you like that."

"Yeah it is... unbelievable," Loki said, and Mobius could hear the clenching of his teeth.

"Mobius is great," Casey replied, "Everyone loves him."

"Sometimes that's not enough," Loki answered softly.

Casey didn't seem to hear him and continued, "To think that before he met you it was Loki-this or Loki-that, and even more so, after he met you it was the same. For anyone who knew Mobius, like me, it was crystal clear that he was completely dedicated to you. He had never put his head on the line for anyone like you."

"Shut up," Loki muttered. Mobius put his head in his hands.

What have I done?

"When you left, when you followed the variant, it wasn't the same. I'd never seen him like that in all the time I've known him. He hardly slept at all, until we found you."

"Mobius loves me, I know that," Loki said softly. "It's just... Like I told you, apparently that's not enough for him. It's not enough for him to fight."

"Loki," Casey continued, "I know most people think I'm an idiot. But you kept talking to me and being nice. So why are you letting him break up with you? You have to fight for him. You love each other. Everyone can see it, the young recruits when they hear about you, they call you the Time Lovers. For three days you've been a shadow of yourself."

"I'll have to find another light then," Loki blurted out.

Casey didn't respond and sighed.

Mobius decided it was time to make his presence known. He cleared his throat and walked toward the living room. "Good evening."

"Mobius!" Loki turned around. "I was, uh, packing up some stuff. I thought you'd be home later."

"I decided to come home early today."

Mobius realized that Loki was indeed a shadow of himself as Casey had said, and Mobius was to be blamed. The magnitude of his mistake was clear to him. He took a step towards Loki, then became aware of Casey's presence.

"Casey... do you-"

"I'm leaving." he paused, looked at Loki and said without letting out a sound, "Fight for it."

Loki nodded and Casey left.

Mobius waited for the front door to close.

"Loki, I'm sorry, I think I made a big mistake."

"You think?" Loki replied in a bitter tone.

"I'm sure of it. I lost faith in us for a while because I overheard a conversation that I probably shouldn't have. People were comparing us and saying how I was no good for you. That I was holding you back. I could only see my flaws, I could only see how I could possibly hurt you. I didn't realize...I didn't know...I couldn't see what I could offer you anymore." Mobius could no longer hold back his words, nor his tears, so desperate was he to convince Loki.

"I love you with all my being, Loki. Without you, nothing has any meaning, taste, flavor, light. And I realize that I am no longer able to live without you, so even if it makes me selfish, please Loki, come back to me."

Loki approached him and took his hand, "Mobius, how can you believe that you are not good for me? You trusted me when in the eyes of the universe I was anything but trustworthy, you saw the good in me when I had done nothing but evil, you made me want to become good, to become trustworthy, to become as you saw me. If you are not good for me, then no one is. How can you think you are holding me back when you have set me free and because of you I am no longer tied to the ground by my destiny." Tears were also running down Loki's cheeks. He continued, his voice trembling, "Even as you broke up with me I knew you loved me and I didn't stop loving you."

"Loki, I'm so sorry for the harm I may have done, for acting like a fool."

Loki shook his head, "You acted like a real idiot, but the harm you did was to both of us. You know, for a long time I thought I'd be the one to do the first stupid thing, to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing to make you want to leave me. I didn't think you would do it alone."

"I apologize with all my heart Loki."

Mobius took Loki's face in his hands and with his forehead against his, eyes in eyes, he said in a clear voice.

"I love you."

"For all time"

"Always."

"So we don't break up then?" joked Loki, who leaned in until his mouth was inches from Mobius'.

Mobius closed the distance then kissed Loki long and hard.

When they parted, Loki said softly, "I love you. I love everything about you. And I can't stand one more day of life without you. It's been a hell of a few days Mobius. I forgive you with all my heart but don't let this kind of thing break us up like this again. We've trusted each other since the very beginning, so trust me too when you doubt yourself."

"Thank you." whispered Mobius, exhaling with relief.

Loki took Mobius by the hand and led him to the couch, where he sat Mobius down, then got into his favorite position, his head in Mobius' lap, this time facing Mobius and wrapped his long arms around his waist before whispering against his stomach, "Don't ever do that to me again, Mobius. It was worse than the day I found out I was adopted, I thought my heart was being ripped out."

"Never again," Mobius promised, "I swear it to you." He leaned over and placed a long kiss on Loki's forehead.

They stayed like that for a long time, savoring the moment.

Their love had survived. _________

Whole series of oneshots here : X

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

#lokius #lokius fic #loki seris #loki #mobius m mobius #moki #wowki #loki x mobius #timehusbands #time frost #established relationship #break up and make up #casey (loki)#Hunter B-15

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago

Text

Tracing Time

Monday, 15:18

Song: The Neighbourhood - Reflections

The clock at the front of the lecture hall is too far away for Sander to actually hear its ticking, but it feels like it’s louder than the tapping of his pen where he’s drumming it against his notebook. This is propped open with only a few lines of actual notes and a lot of doodles, with a quick, ragged sketch of Robbe on the bottom half of the page. Sander sighs quietly to himself as he fails his futile attempt to listen to the professor, and goes back to the drawing to add on some extra shading and more careful detail.

This is so much easier to get caught up in. Time disappears when it comes to art or Robbe, so combining the two is similar to falling into a black hole. The gravity of it is so strong, making it impossible for Sander to escape as time stops and everything else ceases to exist. He gets eaten up in it, lost until the point where everything whites out but the scratch of pen on paper and the familiar shape of Robbe’s eyes. There is no talking or ticking to make him want to peel his skin off (or at least fidget about in his chair).

It’s not the best plan, however, because he zones out a little too completely. He doesn’t realise that the class has ended until a girl clears her throat next to him, standing in the aisle and waiting to get past. Sander whips his gaze around and notices his other classmates already filing out of the room.

He flushes, muttering an apology as he quickly gets to his feet and presses back to let the girl and her friend slip past him. She glances down at his notebook as she passes and her lips quirk in a knowing smile, but she merely says, “Cute. Nice work on the lips.”

Sander’s blush deepens, but he returns her smile and manages to thank her quietly before she slips away. Her friend raises her brows and smirks at him, but doesn’t say anything as she follows. He lets out a breath and slumps back against his now folded-up chair, taking a moment to collect himself. He snatches up his bag and hastily stows away his belongings, only taking time to carefully close the notebook and tuck it in between the others in his bag. He trots down the steps and almost makes it to the door without any further embarrassment, and then the professor is calling his name.

Lars Coomans isn’t Sander’s favourite professor, only because he teaches art theory rather than anything practical. Sander doesn’t mind learning about history when he finds the subject interesting, but that only happens about twelve percent of the time. (Again, this isn’t Lars’ fault.) The man is not his favourite professor, but he might be one of his favourite people. He’s a tall man in his late forties with a tiny bald patch on the right side of his head and a soft voice. He’s relatively laid back and certainly kind.

For this reason, Sander doesn’t even feel the need to groan as he hangs back, even while the last stragglers shoot him curious looks on the way out. Lars waits until they’ve left to smile at Sander and lean back against his desk, head tilted as he considers his student.

Now, Sander begins to feel a bit nervous.

“How are you, Sander?”

The question is kind, careful, and it baffles him. He knows that all of his professors are aware of his illness, but none of them make a habit of checking up on him. They’re aware, from when he misses a week or two of classes or, on the rare occasion, needs to ask for an extension on an assignment. They’re aware, but beyond that, it doesn’t come up. No one makes a fuss about it and he’s grateful. And maybe Lars isn’t, either, maybe it’s just his kindness sprouting in the start of the conversation, nothing more than a mere courtesy. But the searching way he’s looking at Sander makes him hesitant, and he clasps his right hand around his left wrist and shifts on his feet before clearing his throat. He decides to take the casual route. “I’m fine, how are you?”

Lars seems to relax, lips quirking further for a moment before he shakes his head and waves a hand. “Oh, good, good, thank you. No, I’m not trying to be nosy, I just ask because you didn’t submit your assignment before noon today.”

Sander blinks. “Sorry?”

“The papers that were due this morning?” Lars blinks back, tilting his head. When Sander continues to stare at him blankly, he offers, “On the renaissance?”

Oh. Sander’s mouth opens and closes for a moment before he finds his voice. “But that’s not due until Friday evening?” It comes out as a question as his brow furrows in confusion. He’s sure the two assignments weren’t due in one day, and he frequently checks his calendar. He’s lost, and he’s beginning to panic slightly.

“No, it was due today,” Lars says softly, searching again as he crosses his legs at the ankles and taps the edge of his desk. “Daems has an assignment due on Friday, I believe, you have him, don’t you?”

Realisation hits abruptly. “Fuck,” he breathes, raising a hand to cover his face. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know—I must have mixed the dates, put the classes in wrong.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But Lars just nods, his whole posture softening in understanding. “Alright,” he sighs. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, it’s an easy mistake. Can you get it to me by the end of the day?”

Sander swallows. “I haven’t started it,” he admits. He’d started doing the research, but he didn’t even have enough of that yet. He would be lucky to finish that by the end of the day, never mind the paper itself.

“Okay, well, you thought you had until Friday.” Lars rubs a hand over his chin and finally just shakes his head. “Alright. I’ll put you down for an extension until the time you thought it was due. And at least you don’t have the other one to worry about now, since I’m assuming that means you submitted it this morning.”

Relief flows through Sander in streams, but the banks are prickled. He purses his lips tightly and squeezes his wrist. “Lars, I just fucked up. I don’t have a good excuse, I don't want any pity.”

“No,” Lars immediately protests, pushing away from his desk to stand closer to Sander. “It’s nothing of the sort. No pity, or special treatment. You explained you made a mistake and I’ve no reason not to trust you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re one of the best students here, Sander. I know because I pass that work of yours on the street every day. Even someone that good has to slip up sometimes, hm?”

Sander can only stare at him, feeling his cheeks warm again. He ducks his head, embarrassed at the compliment and the thought of his professor seeing the magnitude of his sappy love on a regular basis.

Lars only chuckles, bumping Sander’s shoulder. “I know I’m teasing, but I mean it. You’ve never even asked me for an extension before. I know you weren’t just slacking off. It feels bad, I know, but it’s not a big deal, kid. Just brush it off and then get it done, alright?”

Sander considers him. Then with a deep breath, he nods and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Don’t stress.” Lars squeezes his shoulder, then waves him away. “Come find me or email me if you have any questions, okay? Now go on, no need to hang around an old man any longer.”

Sander huffs, but offers him one last nod and grateful smile before making his way out. As soon as he’s passed through the door, he falters in his step and his eyes close, anger towards himself returning with a vengeance. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? How has it taken this long for that to happen?

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, willing the frustration away. It doesn’t work entirely, but he manages a few slow breaths and collects himself enough to leave. He doesn’t think too much about where he’s going, just follows the feeling and lets his feet carry him to his bike, then pedal automatically through the streets.

The garage comes into view, and Sander tucks his bike away before rapping his knuckles against the door, not having to think about the familiar knock beyond muscle memory. His feet are tapping on the ground, and he does his best to shake the nerves out of his skin as he waits.

He’s not in full panic mode yet, not really. The only thoughts he can conjure are more swears and variations of stupid, stupid, stupid. He needs something distracting enough to quiet these rants down, but mindless enough that he can attempt to sort his thoughts out.

This is part of the reason he can’t go to Robbe, no matter how much he wants to. Robbe will be too kind. Too soothing. He’s the only one ever able to fully drown out Sander’s thoughts enough so that he stops being unkind to himself.

He doesn’t want that, at the moment. He thinks he deserves this more.

This being the frustration that leads him to bang the rhythmic code on the door once more when he doesn’t get an answer.

“Woah,” a familiar voice interrupts. “You’re not usually the kind who breaks in by knocking the place down.”

Sander turns slowly on his heel to face Adi. The man (as Sander considers him, because he is actually three years older and holds genuine wisdom on occasion) is staring him down in amusement. Quite literally staring down, as he has a good few inches on Sander, but he often leans back and slouches his shoulders to make up for it. He’s only about as tall as Jens, really, but he’s broader and looks overall bigger and more intimidating.

Robbe might be tiny next to him, and Sander might find it adorable, but Robbe is also completely unfazed because of long-time exposure to Jens.

Which is only mildly disappointing. (Robbe is extra adorable when he’s both dwarfed and flustered.)

“Sorry,” Sander says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think that there might not be anyone here. I should’ve texted you first.”

Adi just huffs and moves to open the door, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, that would’ve been easier on your hands.” His own light-brown hand is slender and quick as he unlocks the door, movements as automatically familiar as Sander’s when he’s drawing.

They don’t speak even as they make it inside. Adi traipses around quietly to turn on lights and check up on everything, weaving between trucks, and Sander moves through to the back of the room to the piece he’s been working on. He throws his bag down and immediately crouches to examine his paint cans, eyes flickering between them and his work as he debates where to pick up again. Adi joins him after a moment, but still hangs back, leaning against the wall behind Sander silently.

Sander thinks this is probably why Adi might actually be his best friend, because he has known Adi even longer than his group from the Academy and Adi understands him just as well as Lucas.

“I fucked up,” Sander says eventually, so quietly he’s unsure if Adi hears him over the spray of the can. He’s ready to repeat himself in the responding silence, but then Adi is standing at his side.

Adi tilts his head. “Not with Robbe.”

“No,” Sander agrees, and finds some relief in it. At least it isn’t Robbe.

“Another friend?”

“School.”

“Oh. Bad?”

Sander lets his hand fall to his side and sighs. Adi is calm and curious but not comforting, nothing more than a steady presence next to him. It allows Sander to reorder his thoughts into something he can actually articulate. “No, it’s not even a problem, really. I just made a mistake and it’s pissing me off.”

“But it’s not a disaster?” Adi tilts his head further.

“Probably not.” When Adi only continues to stand and look, he heaves another sigh. “I mixed up the dates for two assignments and submitted the wrong one today, meaning I missed the actual deadline for the other. But he’s just giving me that time as an extension, because apparently I’m a good student. Can you fucking believe that?”

Adi’s lips finally quirk, his amusement returning at Sander’s incredulous, exasperated exclamation. “No, I can’t, actually. But then again you’re kinda art obsessed, so maybe.”

This time Sander blows out a breath that can’t really be considered a sigh, with the farting noise that accidentally accompanies it. He wipes a hand over his mouth as if it will erase the sound while Adi barks a laugh.

“So you’re just pissed because your brain did you dirty,” Adi summarises.

Sander grimaces, but nods. “And wondering how it’s taken this long for me to fuck up like that.”

“Maybe because you’re not a fuck-up.” Adi raises a brow pointedly, but Sander simply waves him off. The sentiment is kind, but it doesn’t change the fact that he fucked up. Then Adi adds, “And anyone can get their wires crossed like that. You’re not that unique.”

It draws a snort out of Sander against his will. It doesn’t matter that he knows what Adi is really trying to say, hears the reassurance and reminder tucked within the words; the blatant dry tone it comes out in startles him enough to set it off. Adi’s forming grin doesn’t match it and makes it easier for Sander to see through him, but he’ll let him away with it this once.

He knocks his paint can against Adi’s shoulder. “Thanks.” It’s much more clearly genuine than Adi had been, and more than Sander expected himself to give, but he does feel better and he appreciates it. It doesn’t matter that ‘thanks’ is as difficult as ‘sorry’; that just means Adi will know he means it.

Sander is sure of it when Adi simply nods in response, turning to examine Sander’s artwork rather than put pressure on him to figure out his expression. He watches on as Sander gets back to work, and eventually shifts to lean back against the wall. “Things are good with Robbe, then?”

“Yeah, always.” Sander smiles, unbidden, at the simple mention. He doesn’t feel the need to be embarrassed about it, even when Adi huffs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” he notes, and Sander pauses. “Any special plans?”

Sander stays still for a moment, and then shrugs, putting his arm into motion again. He hasn’t thought about it. He might have been avoiding thinking about it. “Unless it’s a surprise. I know I’ll see Robbe, but that’s it. I do that everyday.”

“You not hanging out with all of them? What about Gilles and his gang, and Lucas and whoever?”

Sander’s mouth twitches, but he quickly schools it away. “I’ll see the guys at uni and maybe Lucas if we go to the flat or I pick Robbe up at school.”

He can just see Adi in his peripheral, and catches his thoughtful nod and careful bite of the lip. “Right, right. You ever planning on bringing him here again?”

“Robbe?” Sander asks, just to be a little shit.

“Fuck, no. I love him, I do, but he’s hardly an artist. Nah, Lucas.”

Sander brings Lucas at least twice a month, and Adi knows it. “They’re all busy with school. Final year and all that.”

“Yeah, but he’s applying to the Academy right? So, technically, this is like studying.”

“Do you want to see Lucas again, Adi?” Sander asks, mustering as much mock-astonishment into his tone as he can.

He receives a scoff for his efforts. “You know it’s not like that, you fucking asshole.”

“Good, because you know, he has a boyfriend, Adi.”

“Who happens to be Robbe’s best friend and your kind-of friend, yeah, yeah, I know. I also happen to be straight, dickhead.” He cocks his head at Sander and his lips slip into a smirk. “While you also have a boyfriend, and you’re whipped as hell for him, and yet look who you still came running to to kiss your boo-boos.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sander says this time, tossing the now-empty spray can at him. Adi dodges with a startled noise followed by his low, booming laughter, and Sander just shakes his head and marvels at his quiet mind.

~^~

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#wtfock #sobbe #sander driesen #sander season #tracing time

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