#threats as a form of banter? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Text

How To Adapt To Fire (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, fade-to-black, nudity, suggestive descriptions, dirty jokes, etc.

A/N: Taglist is full.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Johnny watches you slap another news clipping to the board he’d bought you for thirty-two dollars and twenty-three cents, tired eyes blinking slowly. Standing in his apartment’s living room in his boxers and an oversized shirt, he’d woken up to the sound of muttering, and it had been just that for the last week.

When he’d allowed you to live in his spare room until you could find a new apartment building to call your own, he didn’t expect you there to be so much grumbling. Like a little bug in his ear—not that he minded all that much. At least, if you were that bug.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “How did he find me? How did he know I already knew so much about the case?”

He, the arsonist.

Your entire building had been a total loss—and, sure enough, the lock had been busted off of your apartment door just like the scene of the fires that resulted in casualties. You had been targeted, and it wasn’t just an accident. There was intent there; a threat.

Stay away from me, or else.

Johnny had sighed long when he read that in the report he’d gotten his hands on—there was no way in hell anything was stopping you except…well, except yourself.

While he had envisioned one day potentially asking you to move in with him, he hadn’t expected that to happen so soon. Certainly not before the first fucking date. He hadn’t even gained the courage to ask you out yet, and here you were—pajama pants polling at your ankles and Johnny’s baggy sweatshirt loose around your shoulders. The Scot stands with the heat of sleep and attraction on his skin.

He tried not to stare, really he did, but the way you looked in his clothes was too much of a distraction for his own good.

The man clears his throat, face burning.

“I’m beggin’ you to give it a rest, Dearie. At least five minutes.” Johnny sighs. “It’s not healthy.”

He doesn’t think he’s seen you shed a tear over your apartment—about your belongings. In reality, he was taken aback by it. Soap wouldn’t have blamed you at all…but you just seemed angry. It worried him, but the emotion was well within your right to hold. Just as it was within his right to try and keep you from rushing into danger.

“Not now,” you grumble. “Not until I know how he found out my room number.”

“You aren’t exactly unknown.” The fireman walks closer to your standing form, hand moving up to scratch at his back as he gunts. “Mostly everyone who would care to look into your career knows about you. It wouldn’t be hard.”

Johnny moves his vision over the board, pausing before he licks his lips.

“...They’ll be needing me in today, Hen,” he breathes.

Your lips tighten, and you glance over quickly to find blue eyes already looking. Snapping your attention back to the board, you push back against the burn of your face.

“It’s your job, I’m not going to tell you not to go in.”

“If you need me here, then I can—”

“John,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a heavy frown and turning his way. “No way. Go in.”

Johnny’s serious face doesn’t lessen, and you’re struck with how often those lines on his face are becoming commonplace.

You wouldn’t say that you were taking this well.

Forcing yourself to work; making your mind push back at the deep pit that seemed to be growing. Everything you’d worked for—everything you’d had. Gone. Up in smoke.

Two people had died in that inferno, and you can’t help but put that on yourself.

Fingers going up to tap at your chin, your attention goes back to the board, the heavy weight of bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. You’d tried to re-write what you had in your notes as well as you were able, but there had been a reason for making a physical board in the first place.

Johnny watches you, his brows tight and his fingers twitching. Sighing, he fixes his feet and lightly places a hand on the back of your spine, blinking quickly your eyes dart over before the tension begins to bleed from your muscles.

Your gaze begins to soften, but your voice is still a light firmness. “Stop that.”

The man blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop being all…” You huff, sagging into his hand. “You.”

Johnny pushes a chuckle, shifting to stare at you fully and letting the smirk move over his lips. His fingers move along your back, rubbing tiny circles as the room goes airy—how quick it was that you could fall into this sense of attachment. To anyone outside of the apartment, it would seem the two of you were in a strange relationship, and that would be true to some extent.

Your face heats up, and Johnny’s large palm flattens. He moves and presses his nose into your hair.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, then?” He grunts, and you can feel his flickering smirk as clear as day.

Leaning over into him, you sigh, glaring at the board as your heart patters.

“It means you’re distracting me.”

Johnny hums, thumb moving up and down over the knob of your spine. “Talk to me,” he mutters. “Let me help, aye?” He blinks slowly, face hot and his lungs palpitating in his chest. The man cared about you so much—his heart ached for what you’d been put through. Losing a home like that.

Your lashes flutter, a near purr emitting from your throat at the hypnotic movements of Johnny’s grip. Like a damn harpy, he was digging his claws into you; it had been happening for months. Of course, you’d let him touch you—how could you not? Even his sense of courage and justice was something that let you know his character, his honor.

This case was just as important to him as it was to you.

“Go,” you mutter, shifting your head so that you can stare at him. Johnny’s visage pulls back, his stubble moving with the worried angle of his lips; his skull tilts, almost like a dog cocking its snout. “We can figure something out later—if I get you fired I’d finally gain a conscious.”

Johnny sighs, looking you up and down. “...I’ll be making dinner tonight. Just,” he breathes, and as his hand leaves you, your body fights the instinct to shiver. “Wait for me, Bonnie.”

You take in the closeness between the two of you—how your bodies melt into one another as if on instinct. Something was startling about how easy it was to live in the same apartment as Johnny. It had almost been too easy. Sharing food, blankets, and looks.

Your eyes follow after Soap as he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before turning and walking back to his room, bare feet padding over the floor. His legs move, small burns and scars all over before your vision travels up the broadness of his back; the stretch of his arms as he brings them up with a groan to itch at his head.

Licking your lips, the sight is enough to quiet your mind. Seeing how, like water, his clothes morph into the swell of his thighs and the…your face bursts into fire, and your head snaps away.

Clearing your throat, you blink quickly and try to re-focus on your board of suspects.

—

Johnny tightens the belt over his waist, huffing softly as he walks into the fire department’s bay door—passing the red trucks and patting the dogs as they come up to mob him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, the clicking of little claws tapping over the concrete floors and the panting of hot breath. “Good to see you too, little rascals.”

The fireman looks around the area, seeing some of the boys mulling about doing repairs or fixing up the slight mess. Johnny motions a hand when he’s greeted, and before long he’s entering the main hub of where he wants to go—the kitchen.

Grabbing a cup, the Scot’s intention is to get some water before settling into his desk and diving into something that can take his mind off the woman living in his apartment. Licking his lips, Johnny gets momentarily lost in the remembrance of your skin—your determination.

He’s angry. Angry that someone’s done this to you; had disrupted your life so violently. A question was stuck swirling in his head as he began hearing the murmuring from the walk-in pantry.

What would have happened if you hadn’t been with him that morning?

“What do you mean ‘that was you?’” Johnny’s fingers freeze around the rim of a glass, blinking into his own smaller reflection. Brows furrowing, the Scot’s head swivels to the kitchen pantry and the barely cracked open door and the voice that emanates from it.

For some reason, the stagnant air after that sentence makes Johnny’s spine straighten. Blue eyes stare blankly, and fingers twitch as the same voice starts again.

“I thought you said it was over?! That the last one was,” a strangled word, a fast inhale. “We had a fucking deal.”

Heart slow in his chest, Soap stares the longer this seemingly one-sided conversation goes on. There was something off—the words seemed hurried; panicked, even. It wasn’t the usual emotions you had when having a talk with someone.

Taking a steady step back, the Scot remembered how fast your pulse had run when he had you at his chest a week ago—the fast slam and the whites of your eyes on full display. Even if you didn’t confess it to him, Johnny knew you’d been afraid of the fire. Fearful. He knew you weren’t sleeping.

Maybe the fireman was being paranoid, but anything that he didn’t understand made his hackles rise like a feral dog—certainly with you, technically, under his watch now. Everyone was a potential threat. Face stiff, Johnny begins walking over to the pantry with nearly silent feet, boots softly flattening to the tile floor.

Stopping outside of the door, his ears hone in.

“This isn’t right! There’s a difference between what you do and what I do! We stuck together, but this is it. I’ve covered for you—I’ve tried to smooth everything out, but this isn’t something that I can look past anymore. She wasn’t even involved yet!”

Johnny’s lips tighten, his eyes burning through the barrier until he lifts his hand and settles it loosely on the doorknob, not pushing even as the thin material shifts minutely. The alarms in his head were going off, and he didn’t like that.

Muscles tight, the Scot moves a bit closer, shoulder just beginning to touch the wood before—

Kurt Matthews, one of the rookie firefighters, shoves himself through.

Johnny strangles a gasp as the two men nearly collide with one another, only shoving out, what he hopes to be, a casual call of, “Hell’s bells. Careful there, Kid.”

The man’s wild eyes lock on him, stumbling back before Soap’s hands move to grasp his arm, a dark phone held lightly in Kurt’s hand. Johnny looks at it silently before he forces a blank chuckle. “Sorry, then. Was going to get some bread—you know how it is, eh?” Kurt looks frazzled, a sheen of sweat over his face; eyes tiny. “The boys never fill up the bread box after they finish a loaf.”

“What?” Matthews quickly mutters, before shaking his head and waving a hand. “Yeah, right, whatever.”

He swiftly moves past the Scot, brushing shoulders. The mohawked man’s nose pulls in, and blue eyes watch the disappearing individual.

Johnny’s throat swallows down saliva.

Kurt Matthews smells like gasoline.

—

You hear the sound of the TV and sniffle, pushing the heels of your hands into your stinging eyes.

It wasn’t a question as to why you had waited until Johnny left to let yourself feel the hopelessness that was sinking into your chest—you were surprised you lasted that long, though. Tiny tears dribble out over your cheeks, but you fight them with a growl.

“Keep it together,” you sigh harshly. “C’mon, keep it together.”

Your heart jerks when the front door of the apartment opens, and you’re quick to stand up from the couch where you had been sitting, clearing your throat as Johnny’s call echoes.

“Just me!”

You divulge immediately into your hurried sentences, waving a hand. The shake in your voice is obvious. “I have some of the names I remember writing down—it isn’t much but I—”

“What happened?” Johnny’s hands capture your face in a swift second; he isn’t even out of his work clothes before he’s over and touching you. It’s like he teleported over at the slightest hint of distress, not even a moment of hesitation. “Whoa, hey, hey,” he breathes a bit slower, softer. “What’s this then, Bonnie?”

Delicate movements of his fingers scrape your flesh, thumb running as blue eyes come into focus. Your lungs tighten up again at the sight of tense worry—Johnny’s face all hard with the lines of his forehead and the narrowing of his eyelids.

“Let me see,” he utters, tilting your head up so the brightness of your eyes is visible to him; the wetness of your flesh. “Hey, now.”

The man’s attention goes up and down on the off chance this is physical pain instead of the internal kind. But he knows better than that. So, Johnny stuffs down the hunch he had about the man in his own ranks and places all of his concern on you and your bitter tears.

Even when you try to grumble his worry away.

“It’s just stupid tears, MacTavish,” your voice cracks as he drags you to him, curling his arm behind the stretch of your shoulder blades in an addictive display that leaves your nose sniffling again. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Quit it,” the Scot pleads. “Jesus, Pencils,” he sighs, arms trapping you in just like before. “Just let me hold you, yeah? I swear, you’ll make my heart burst ‘fore I get you to admit you’re feeling something.”

Your glossy eyes flinch into a weak glare. “I’m not that emotionally constipated, jackass.”

Johnny’s breath moves over your scalp.

“You sure about that?” Your face goes to an annoyed sheen, and from the soft rest of Johnny’s chest, you look over at him. He’s trying a light smirk, but his eyes are still serious.

Letting yourself melt into him, you take in his scent and the heat he offers you, surrounded by the remnants of his life and future—this apartment that offers you a reprieve.

You close your eyes and let your hands shift up to grab at Johnny’s shirt slowly, your heart gradually easing. Unaware of the soft gaze watching every second; his own grip tightening.

“...You’re like a dog,” you whisper, tears drying. “Always running over.” Your pause lays out a beautiful scene. “I like it.”

Johnny’s cheeks flare to a bright red. He clears his throat, glancing away from your face. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Hm,” you hum, shrugging and nuzzling your nose into his pulse. You hear it racing. “Up to you, I suppose.”

The man laughs, chest jerking.

The silence that falls after is like a blanket—settling thickly over the space as the last of your sniffles finally halt. You didn’t like crying; not in front of others. It was easier to just push through it, but Johnny’s presence made you soft, at the same time you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. But it did make your fear lessen, and maybe that was something you couldn’t overlook.

You tighten your hold on his waist, and he grunts, glancing down at you as his gut swirls. The man’s half-lidded eyes flutter, fingers flinching along your clothes. The room gets warmer, or maybe it’s just him.

“I guess,” you begin under your breath, voice muffled by his skin. “I could use your help. Officially.”

“Ooo,” the Scot whispers. “‘Officially’—look at that.”

You huff, lips pulling up.

“Well,” the man mutters, chin resting on top of your head as the sun outside begins to dip lower. “‘Officially’ I have some information that my Bonnie little boss might like to hear.”

Your smirk grows wider, your heart hammering faster as your pulse moves with fire.

“Oh?” Your nails drag his sides, and you feel Johnny’s breath hitch, a low purr emanating from his chest.

“Oh, aye,” a hand grips your chin, dragging you back until you’re once more blinking into his gaze head-on. His finger pets your flesh, your breath puffing out as he stares down at you. He swallows down the nervousness in the back of his throat, the urgency that instinct pushes away in this moment of anticipation as he watches your face. “But I’m having a moment, it seems—can’t think straight.”

“Why’s that?” You lick your lips and see cobalt blue follow them.

“Because this Hen in front of me has been a damn tease since I’ve met ‘er.”

Any snappy reply is cut short before it even can fully register in your head, and all thoughts halt the second his firm mouth is on your own.

You gasp, but there isn’t an ounce of yourself that pulls back, not when Johnny’s fingers play at your shirt-hem, or even when your own slide under his clothes. You don’t pull back when they hit the floor—don’t pull back when your bodies follow suit.

A dance of fire and ice moves with the writhing of flesh and the passing of heavy kisses; panting breath. Grunts and groans as if every pass of lips and teeth is a knife into supple skin. Tense legs and flexing arms—dragging fingertips digging into every latchable dip even as the dead of night grows longer.

It’s only after every desire has been satiated that you finally utter about the finer details of this mess.

Johnny’s hands move down your bare back, slipping to grip your waist and drag you into him as you sigh. Your thigh lifts to rest over his hip, leg hanging uselessly over as it brushes the ruffled sheets as lips find your neck, tiny nips and passes of skin mixing as your eyes flutter.

The fireman makes a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, hand sliding to hook under your kneecap, caressing.

“So attentive,” you murmur, and your fingers run through his hair, itching at his mohawk as the longer strands slip through. Johnny burrows closer, nose pushing your head upwards as he kisses the space where your neck connects to the underside of your chin.

He chuckles smoothly, stubble scraping along as you shiver at the sensation. The hard press of his pecs shove into you, and you lightly breathe; fingers twitching.

“How are we feeling?” Johnny grunts in between his worship.

“Energized,” you grin, half-closed eyes shimmering.

The man smiles widely, grip sliding downward slowly as he chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Not like that,” you groan, shoving his hand away as he laughs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm over his eyes.

“Ah,” Johnny’s chest jumps with his amusement, itching at his bare abdomen for a moment. “Worth a try, then.”

“Dog,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve had enough of a fill.”

“That’s all up to opinion, Dearie.” He smirks, peeking at you as your face heats up.

Shoving at his shoulder, he laughs again and pushes up, hands melting into the mattress beside your head as he looms above you as a large wall.

“I’ll never have enough of a fill when it comes to you and your wet c-”

You snap a hand to his mouth, covering it as you glare openly, sneering. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have me in this bed again.”

Johnny’s glinting eyes stare from above your hand, and you feel his smile as clear as day as his face stays stuck close to yours.

A teasing kiss is leveled on your palm and you roll your eyes, pulling away to lightly push at his forehead. The Scot lets you shove at him, and you sit up fully as he grunts and rests his back on the headboard.

Shifting your body, you straddle his lap and grasp his chin.

“A few hours ago,” Johnny’s eyes are blown, and you feel his touch on your hips. He hums in question, barely listening above the squeeze of your legs. “You were going to tell me something—a lead.”

“Was I?” The fireman breathes, licking at your finger as it goes to rest on his bottom lip.

You cock your head with seriousness and a level of amusement in your gaze. “You were. Tell me.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk, Pencils.” Johnny sets a sloppy kiss on your collarbone and sighs.

There’s a moment where you both stare into one another, and the gravity of this begins to set in once more. Carnal desire and feelings aside, there was always an edge to the both of you—this need to be seen through whether for some sense of justice or care.

“Kurt Matthews—rookie fireman,” Johnny grunts, looking away for a quick moment. “Heard him speaking on the phone, got a bad feeling ‘bout it that I can’t place. Might be nothing, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell you.”

“Kurt,” you breathe, brows pulling in. There’s a long pause. “Kurt Matthews…that sounds familiar.”

Hopping off Johnny, the man groans softly, a slightly needy look following after as your bare body slips away. He knocks his skull against the headboard, side-eyeing your backside as you hurry off to your board. A light smirk makes itself known before your voice snaps him out of his memories. “Stop looking at my ass, MacTavish!”

His face goes beet red as he grunts, quickly snapping his eyes away.

You wrap yourself into one of the blankets that was on the couch, letting it hang off of your shoulders as you snatch one of the papers on your mess of information.

“A fireman,” you mutter to yourself, finger running down names and brief descriptions. “An inside job? No, that would be…” Your eyes spark to life as Soap shuffles in, running through his hair. “That would be one hell of a story.”

Attention locked in, your eyes instantly stop on your own chicken scratch—the name at the bottom of the page.

Kurt Matthews. Witness to fire on the fifth; one dead.

“Off duty? Or not hired yet?” You ask, lips tightening. “Why was he at the scene? Johnny,” your curious voice calls to him, and he slips up behind you, flattening his front to your back. You lean into him, showing him the paper. “When did he get taken on into the department?”

“Month ago,” Johnny’s face pulls, frowning. A name catches his attention, and he tilts his head. “Why’s Duncan on there?”

Your attention moves to the scribbled title. Johnny continues as you read, your stomach sinking.

Duncan Ballard. Employee of Warren Electrical. No involvement.

You wave a hand. “He has nothing to do with this case. That was back when I was looking into the money laundering—”

“They’re cousins.”

Your body twists, face confused. “What…?”

Johnny blinks, glancing at you and then back to the paper, he vaguely gestures to the two names. “Duncan and Kurt—they’re cousins. Met him at one of the department cookouts. Strange bloke, but I never thought much about it. Just thought he liked the profession a bit because Kurt was getting involved.”

You stare at him, a million thoughts dashing from behind your eyes. “Duncan was the man I interviewed about the Warren Electrical case. He was cleared by the police,” you stutter, looking to the side. “He was the only employee of the company that didn’t confess or implicate someone else. There was no evidence to…”

You trail off before your spine tightens. Your body pushes itself out of Johnny’s hold, rushing to his computer and opening it like a bat out of hell.

“Give me the name of one of the fire victims.”

The Scot watches after, hurriedly forcing out, “Mike Lane.”

An article pops up—one that you hadn’t written but that another journalist had. Warren Electrical Employee Exposes All.

“Another,” you breathe, eyes stuck on the screen.

“Kit Cannon.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

“Johnny, one more.”

“Hadden Taylor.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

Your throat closes for a moment before you force out in the middle of Soap easing out another name, still not sure where you’re going with this. “He’s trying to kill off anyone who snitched.”

Johnny pauses, coming over to look as he thinks—as he looks over the articles you show him with a grim face, he tilts his head.

“Even then, why were you a target? All you did was interview him. And why now?”

“He knows I have all of the resources,” you begin. “If anyone can catch him, it would be me—I interviewed him when he was in temporary custody. It would have seemed like he didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to keep his appearance of innocence.”

Your mind struggles through the potential answers. “But you’re right—why now? Is it because of the trial coming up? And how does this connect with Kurt?”

“He smelled like Gasoline when he walked past me,” Johnny adds, rubbing at his chin; itching at his scar. He spares you a look, mulling over the words that he’d heard in the pantry. “...I think he’s trying to cover his cousin’s crimes with his own. Make it seem like they’re all a part of one damn scheme.”

“He’s the one going for the abandoned buildings,” you agree, nodding a few times, looking over into Johnny’s eyes. “Kurt Matthews and Duncan Ballard. Okay. We have our leads.”

Before the Scot can speak on it, you’re rushing past, grabbing clothes from the floor and shoving them on. His face moves in, confusion overtaking his building shock.

“What are you doing?” You shove into your pants, not sparing a look before you button them.

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Johnny’s left in the middle of the room, naked, watching after you with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief.

“...What?”

—

You hang up your phone with one of the many people you know in the city, dropping it to your side as you and the fireman stand in front of your car. You have an address for Kurt’s home—not one for Duncan, but that can happen later. With what Johnny had said not moments before, Matthews was expressing hesitation. Go for the weaker link first.

The streets are lit up. It’s still night out but the long hours are beginning to thin into morning; it can’t be later than three AM. Vehicles rush past, and, occasionally, people walk to wherever they are off to. The city never sleeps, just as you don’t.

“Woah,” Johnny grabs onto you before your hand can latch onto the driver’s seat door. He waves his other hand and stares at you heavily. “We can’t just go into this with our dicks in our hands, Bonnie.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have one of those,” you huff. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“That isn’t,” Johnny sighs aggressively, shaking his head. “I’ll not have you in danger. We need to pass this along the chain.”

“The chain,” you grumble, “hates me. We’re the best bet right now.” Raising a brow you point a finger under his nose. “If I recall, you asked to be involved.”

Johnny frowns heavily, looking unimpressed until he takes a deep breath. He rasps out, “You’re lucky you’re damn near a goddess—”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and not a second later, he’s answering as you mess with your satchel. Taking out a piece of paper, you try not to show how much his little comment made you want to float into the air, giddy, nearly, as you write down Kurt’s address sloppily.

“MacTavish,” Johnny grunts out, turning slightly away.

You open your car door, but a hand moves out and keeps it closed enough to a point where you can’t slip inside, you pout and Johnny raises a brow as he listens. Your eyes notice how his jaw clenches, and he lets off an aggressive sigh like a boar when he registers the words being said from over the line.

Your heart drops when you watch his shoulders sag, hips moving as they situate themselves.

“Right. I’ll be over.” Cobalt eyes snap to yours when the call ends, deathly serious. “One of the boys had to run out tonight during his twenty-four-hour—family emergency. I was on call for him.”

You open your mouth to speak.

“No,” Johnny points at you, digging out his own keys from his pants as he backs up. He shakes his head. “No—you’re not going alone. Don’t even ask it, Pencils.”

Your loud scoff echoes. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You fucking thought it,” he grunts, glaring. “Get your pretty arse back inside the apartment and we do this together tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” you wave a hand, stepping back onto the sidewalk as the Scot moves to his vehicle only two cars down, sarcastically monologuing. “All naked and waiting to be ravished by your brutish body. Whatever will I do without you, my brave firefighter?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Soap mutters to himself, and just as he unlocks his car and opens the door, you’re there at his side. A light kiss is pressed into his flesh, and he freezes.

“Be safe,” you mutter, and he melts—tension loosening. He smirks and glances over, carefully grabbing your face before connecting his lips to yours with a low groan.

“Maybe you should be naked and waiting for me—”

“Go!”

Johnny chuckles against your lips. “Keep your head on for me, Pencils. I’ll be back soon, and we can find the fucker that did this, eh?”

As he gets into his car and drives away, you watch after him and bite at your lips. And then as he turns the street corner, you jog over to your car and slip inside.

—

The home was run down.

It wasn’t a place where you would want to raise a family, and neither was the neighborhood. In fact, barely anyone seemed to live on this street, and even if there were entire rows of houses, there weren’t even any lights on—nothing illuminated the streets except the lamps, and you were parked under one with your satchel in your lap.

Experience didn’t mean you never get nervous.

You feel the clamminess of your palms as you flex them, replaying Johnny’s words in your head over and over. You knew the house was here, so, you could always just…come back later. There was no harm in it.

Yet, your eyes narrow, and your rage builds.

This fucker was related to the man that burned down your apartment building—was potentially covering for him so you wouldn’t break the case on Duncan killing off the snitches for Warren Electrical’s schemes. But all because of an interview with him? All you’d done was sit down with the guy; why did he feel the need to track you down? Breaking into someone's house and lighting it up with matches was personal—incredibly personal.

Duncan had given you a warning to keep away, and you hated warnings with a fiery passion. If anything, it had just set you on his ass more.

“Okay,” you huff, and reach inside of your satchel, flicking on the recorder you stuffed inside and stating your name, age, and important information.

And then you open the car door and exit.

Speed walking to the door, you look down the dark streets and hunch into yourself, the calls of crows and the wind moving the overgrown grass. Cracked concrete hits the ground as you kick pieces away, and at the two steps leading to the front door, you think that perhaps this might be a bad idea.

Bad ideas are what make good articles.

You hum, face innocent. “Johnny’s gonna fucking kill me.”

Knuckles raising, you send three firm knocks into the paint-speckled wood, and wait. And wait.

And wait.

Your face tightens, your legs shifting minutely as the seconds draw long. A part of you is somewhat relieved until you hear a small creak just when you’re about to walk away. You freeze, and your eyes move slowly to the glass of the side window in a gradual glance.

Your eyes lock onto a face staring back.

Gasping, your foot takes a rapid step backward, but before you can rush away, Kurt rips open the door and pleads in a tiny voice as he grabs your arm. You flinch, raising up a heavy fist. But his words stop you from sending it forward.

“No! No, you can’t be here!” Your eyes blink rapidly, stuttering through your initial panic.

“What?”

“Leave!” Kurt snaps, eyes wild. “While he’s still asleep—he can’t see you here or he’ll—” There’s a splash of liquid and you shout. Kurt lets go of you quickly as he looks down at himself as his clothes get flooded from behind.

The sharp smell hits you before your ears twitch to the sound of a lighting match.

Kurt screams, snapping around as you fall backward off the steps, slamming into the ground with a panicked flinching in your lungs. A large shadow stands in the doorway. “I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—!”

Kurt Matthews goes up in flames, and in the fire and the rabid screams of sizzling flesh, you’re left shouting in pure fear. Duncan’s familiar face was illuminated by an orange and red inferno and he watches you blankly with a box of matches in his right hand.

You run off so fast, your heels get kicked off in a flurry of a chase.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

646 notes · View notes

bossbtch1 · 11 months

Text

Against All Odds part 2

The GIFs are not mine; credit goes to the respective artist/creator.

Summary : After the ‘incident’ on the gym with Bucky, now you had left with some unanswered questions about your relationship with him. You decided to confront him about it.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (No mentions of body type or ethnicity other than the reader being female)

General tags : Slight smut and pure angst

TW: Strong language, Masturbation (f), Hurt, Heavy angst, Bucky an asshole

Word Count: 7k

A/N : Hey there! Guess who's back? This is the long-awaited Part 2. My apologies for the delay; I've revised the plot about three times to ensure its genuinely angsty. It's about to get tougher before it gets better! Get ready for the emotional rollercoaster!

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

If you like my story, please go check out my other stories here

These are the aesthetic for part 2 (solely for visual representation of what going to happen on the story, this meant no representation for body type or ethnicity)

You were panicking as someone could see you in such state, strangely, Bucky seemed unfazed, his expression steady despite the unexpected interruption. Then, your heart skipped a beat as the doorknob turned.

The person outside attempted to open the door, but they couldn’t. Relief flooded you, thank God Bucky had locked the door. "Is someone in here? You know you can’t lock the door," the voice outside the room chastised, followed by insistent knocks.

"Fuck." Bucky muttered, frustration etched on his face. "Who's interrupting us now?" He released you from his embrace, standing up abruptly. "We need to leave." His hand found yours, offering support as he helped you to your feet.

Your legs felt wobbly, but Bucky steadied you as he handed over your clothes. "Here," he said, helping you slip into them. "Put these on."

Bucky was about to pulled up his pants, when he saw your panties in his hand. A mischievous smile formed on his lips. "Hold still."

Confused, you questioned, "What are you doing?"

He playfully stuffed your panties into his pocket. "I'm keeping these as a little souvenir."

"You can't just take those!" you protested, your face flushing with embarrassment.

Bucky simply shrugged, his expression unapologetic. "Sure, I can," he said, enjoying the playful banter despite the urgency of the situation.

Before you could retort, the voice from outside grew more impatient. "Hey! I can hear you in there. I'm coming in if you don't answer me," it warned, the threat clear in its tone.

Bucky's expression changed, growing serious as the sound of keys jiggling reached his ears. With a swift nod, you both understood it was time to make your escape.

"We have to go. Now." He said, ushering you towards the other exit, his arm protectively wrapping around you. "Just keep quiet."

You finished putting your clothes back on. Bucky held onto you as he walked across the room, looking for your shoes. You were about to put on your shoes, when you heard the same person call out. You could hear he was picking keys to opened the door.

Bucky glanced over at the door. "He’s going see us. We should go."

But you halted his hasty retreat, pulling him back toward you. "Bucky, wait," you said, you blushed. "I don't think I can walk." You admitted.

He grinned, a look of pure male satisfaction on his face. "Here hop on," he turned his back to you. "I'll give you a piggyback ride."

"What? No, that's embarrassing." you protested, even though you really did need help walking. You felt stupid for feeling so excited, but the thought of being carried by him, made your stomach flutter.

Bucky was persistent. "C'mon, I’ll carry you." he motioned for you to climb onto his back.

"Bucky... I don’t know...," You argued, blushing as you looked down at the ground.

"Oh, please." Bucky scoffed. "I can bench press 500 pounds without breaking a sweat. You weigh nothing to me." He reassured you, his arms outstretched as he bent down.

"Fine," you gave in. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hopped onto his back. Bucky hoisted you up, wrapping his hands underneath your thighs. "This is kind of weird."

"You better hold on tight." He grabbed your shoes with him and went to the back door. "Ready?"

“Yeah.” You tightened your arms around him.

Then you remember, "Wait! I haven't got my phone. It's still on the floor." You protested.

Bucky groaned in exasperation. "You know, that's what's going to get us caught."

"Yes, but then they’ll know it was me in here. Turn around and grab my phone.” You ordered him. He did as you told him even though he wasn’t happy about it, gabbing your phone from the floor.

Bucky started walking towards the door. The sound of keys were being turned, it looked like he found the key. "Hurry, Buck!" You said to him.

"Don't worry, I'll get us out of here."

He pushed the door open and stepped out. You had made it halfway through the alleyway when you saw someone coming. "Shit, run."

Bucky bolted down the alley, with you holding onto him. You both were safe until you reached the elevator, and then you could relax. Once you inside the elevator, Bucky kept you perched on his back. He refused to let you go until the doors closed.

Are we good now?" you asked, your voice still tinged with the adrenaline from the escape.

"Yes," Bucky answered. "We're good now."

"You can put me down now, Bucky." You suggested.

"You sure?" He looked back at you. "You're not as heavy as I thought."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered sarcastically, rolling your eyes at his attempt to lighten the mood.

He chuckled softly as he carefully lowered you to the ground. You reached up and felt how your hair had become all tangled. Your lips were swollen from his kisses. And you couldn't even begin to imagine what your eyes looked like.

"Thanks for the ride," you said, a weary smile gracing your lips as you recalled the unconventional piggyback escape.

"Anytime, doll," Bucky responded with a hint of amusement, his relief palpable.

You smoothed out your clothes and fixed your hair. You leaned against the wall, catching your breath.

"Hey," Bucky said, his voice softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder, his eyes searching yours. "Are you okay?"

You offered a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm fine." However, curiosity crept into your voice, "But earlier, when we were... interrupted. Who was it?"

Bucky hesitated before admitting, "No one, I was just messing with you."

A wave of relief washed over you upon hearing his words. You stood next to each other, neither one of you saying a word. The air between you was heavy, but not uncomfortably so. You were glad you had finally slept with him. You had wanted it for a while now, but he was so hard to read.

You wondered what happened now. Would things be awkward between the two of you? Would he pretend like nothing happened?

You were about to break the silence when the elevator door slid open, interrupting your thoughts.

"After you," Bucky said, offering a gallant gesture, indicating for you to exit first.

"Thank you," you replied, stepping out of the elevator. Bucky followed you, and you both began your walk down the corridor in the direction of your room.

In the midst of the silence, Bucky took a deep breath, as if mustering the words he wanted to say. "Listen, Y/N."

You turned to him. "Yes?" you responded, ready for the conversation you knew was coming.

However, as Bucky was about to speak, Steve entered the compound, heading down the same hallway toward both of you. A twinge of frustration shot through you as you silently cursed Steve for his untimely intrusion, just when the conversation appeared ready to take a more serious turn.

You couldn't help but wonder, 'What is he doing here?' as your irritation simmered beneath the surface.

"Y/N, about—" Bucky started again, his words cut off as you held up a hand.

"Hold that thought," you interrupted him, your gaze fixated down the hall where Steve was approaching.

"What's wrong?"

"Steve's coming," you replied, your irritation evident. The interruption was untimely, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance at the universe's sense of timing.

Bucky followed your gaze, and his face fell as soon as he saw his friend. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath.

You both watched as Steve drew nearer, his pace slowing down as he approached you and Bucky. "Hi, Buck," Steve greeted his friend, patting him on the shoulder. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glanced over at you, then back at Bucky. “I thought you left hours ago."

"I did, but I had some stuff to take care of," Bucky replied swiftly, his expression unreadable. You sensed an immediate shift in Bucky's demeanor, a return to his cold, distant self in the presence of his friend.

You were about to question Steve's unexpected presence, considering he was supposed to be on a mission with the rest of the team. However, Bucky voiced the query before you could. "Has the mission ended? Where’s everyone?"

Steve nodded, his expression serious. "It hasn't, but I had to drop something off, and I'll be heading out again soon," he explained. "Mostly things had been wrapped up, just one last loose end."

"Alright, good to hear," Bucky said, acknowledging the update.

Steve's brows knitted together, his lips curving into a frown. "You look a little disheveled. What were you doing?" he asked, his suspicion evident in his tone.

"We were training," you chimed in, your voice steady, a lie slipping from your lips without hesitation. The lie rolled off your tongue with ease, and technically, it wasn't entirely false – you and Bucky had indeed been ‘sparring’ earlier.

"Oh, I see." Steve nodded, seeming satisfied with your explanation. "I'm glad you're getting some one-on-one time.”

"It was a pretty intense session," Bucky replied, his tone flat, his eyes avoiding Steve's scrutinizing gaze. You couldn't help but conceal a smile; indeed, it had been an incredibly intense workout, but not in the way Steve was imagining.

Steve raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Well, alright. As long as it was a good workout," he said, his tone carrying a hint of suspicion, although he ultimately seemed to dismiss his concerns, not pressing further.

Steve then turned his attention to you, his expression laden with guilt. "Y/N, about the mission..." He hesitated, clearly burdened by a sense of responsibility, though you knew all too well there was nothing he could have done differently.

Your patience wore thin, not this again, you thought, feeling your mood sour. "It's okay, Steve," you said, your tone carrying a hint of annoyance. "I know it wasn't your fault."

Steve managed a smile, though the unease lingered in his eyes. "Thanks, but I still feel responsible."

"Drop it, Steve. It really wasn't your fault," you insisted, your tone firm.

Sensing the conversation wasn't going anywhere productive, you decided to retreat to your room, especially now that Bucky seemed to have reverted to his usual self and showed no intention of continuing the discussion you'd been having.

"Well, I guess I should get going. See ya later," you said, offering a half-hearted wave before making your exit. As you walked away, a sense of disappointment settled in your chest.

You could barely walk, your thighs aching as you began to walked away. Unbeknownst to you, Steve's eyes followed your limping form, "What the hell happened to her?" he wondered aloud, his concern evident. You blushed deeply, hastening your pace in an attempt to avoid further scrutiny.

Overhearing Steve's question, Bucky replied, his tone nonchalant, "Don't know."

Once you made it to your room, you sighed in relief as you closed the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.

"I can't believe we just had sex in the gym," you mumbled to yourself, your voice muffled by the soft fabric of the pillow. Replaying the events in your head, you couldn't help but wonder about Bucky's behavior. "Why does he act differently around the team and then like this with me? What's his problem? Does he want me, or does he not want to be seen with me? Is he ashamed of me?"

You're worried that the whole "fuck and don't talk" thing is going to be the new thing. You couldn't help but wish it wouldn't happened in the future. It was great sex, but it would be even greater if there were actual feelings involved.

"What do I do?" You asked the pillow, knowing the inanimate object wouldn't respond. Exhausted from both the training session and your ‘sparring’ with Bucky was tiring you even more, you decided to take a nap, planning to contemplate your next steps once you had some rest.

The nap was short-lived when a soft knock echoed through the room. You rolled over in bed, and then you heard, "Y/N, are you asleep?" Wanda's gentle voice seeped through the door, causing you to frown as you sat up.

Recognizing it was Wanda, you got up from your bed and opened the door. "Oh, sorry, you were indeed asleep," she remarked, noticing your hair messed up. "I apologize for waking you up."

"I wanted your help," she said, her fingers fidgeting as she sat on the edge of your bed. "Vision's birthday is in two days," she explained, leaving you wondering how this concerned you. "And I want to give him something nice."

You let her finish, nodding in understanding. "I want to buy him this present, but I'm embarrassed," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You furrowed your brow, trying to grasp her dilemma. "Embarrassed?" you prodded, waiting for her to elaborate.

"I've never been to a sex store, I've never bought... you know... that sort of thing before. I thought if you could help me, it would be a bit less awkward," Wanda confessed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

You were taken aback by her request, feeling both bewildered and unsure how to respond. "A sex store?"

She blushed deeper, her words tumbling out in a rush, "Well, Vision and I have been experimenting, and we've tried a lot of things. There's something new I want to try-"

"Wait, wait, wait," you interrupted, raising your hand to stop her. "I don't want to know any details.” You put a hand on her shoulder. "What you do with Vis is your business, and I'm glad that you're both happy."

You continued, your confusion apparent, "Wanda, why are you asking me to help you? Why don't you ask Natasha?" You hesitated, admitting your own unease about the situation. The idea of going to a sex store was equally embarrassing to you.

"I trust you," Wanda said earnestly. "I love Natasha, but sometimes she's too wild, you know? She'd probably buy me something that would end up on the Pornhub." Her reasoning made sense, and you recalled Natasha's tendency to be overly candid about her sex life.

"Besides," she added, "Natasha's on a mission, and she won't be back in time. By the time she and Vision return, it'll be too late." Her plea was both desperate and hopeful, and you couldn't help but empathize with her situation.

"Why can't you just go alone?” You inquired, trying to grasp her hesitation.

"It’s too embarrassing.” Wanda admitted, her eyes dropping to her lap. "People recognize me, and I'm worried about what they'll say, what they'll think." She hesitated before continuing, "I mean, people don't recognize you."

Ouch that hurt, but you knew what she meant.

Wanda quickly realized her blunder. "Y/N, I'm so, so sorry. I-I didn't mean it like that. You had a mask with your costume, and your name is a secret, so... I'm just nervous. I'm sorry," she apologized, her tone filled with regret.

You chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "It's fine, I get what you mean," you reassured her, rubbing the back of your neck. "I don't like the idea of people recognizing me either."

There was a brief pause as you considered her request. "Um... I don't know, Wanda. It's not really my area," you said, hesitant about getting involved in such a personal matter.

"Please, Y/N. It would really mean a lot to me. I'm nervous about going by myself. I've never bought these kinds of things," Wanda pleaded.

You were about to decline her request when she dropped a bombshell. "I wasn't going to use this on you, but you leave me no choice," she said, her tone taking a sly turn.

"Uh, okay? What did you see?" you asked, frowning in confusion.

"You and Bucky," she smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I know all about the secret affair."

Your heart skipped a beat as you heard her words. Trying to maintain your composure, you feigned innocence. "What secret affair?" you responded, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Wanda continued to wear that knowing smirk. "I saw you and Bucky in the gym," she added, not letting you off the hook.

You swallowed hard, feeling your pulse quicken. "Oh, we were just sparring," you said, attempting to provide a reasonable explanation, though your voice sounded weaker than you had hoped.

Wanda gave you a look that said, 'Yeah, right.' "Sure, you were.” She continued to smirk, “If by mean sparring involving his tongue down your throat and his dick in you.”

Your eyes widened, and you stammered, "Wh-what?” Trying to play it off coolly, you added, “You must be mistaken. We didn't..."

Wanda chuckled, her amusement evident. “Don't lie to me. Bucky's eyes met mine." She teased, her playful demeanor breaking the tension in the room. She continued, "and you, my friend, looked so fucking hot."

You blushed harder, but you felt a bit proud, "Well, you can't blame me. Bucky's so hot and so damn sexy, he can make any girl go weak in the knees."

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts, focusing on the more pressing issue at hand. "But seriously, how did you see us? Why aren't you on the mission? But Bucky said no one else entered the gym today." A flicker of confusion crossed your face as you recalled the locked door. "How did you even get in?"

Wanda chuckled, her amusement undeniably genuine. "Relax, you're like a storm of questions. Let me break it down for you." She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes glinting with mischief. "First, the mission? Turns out, I'm a bit too unpredictable for Tony's taste. He thinks my powers might mess up the plan. So, here I am, stuck in the compound."

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Tony Stark's cautious approach. Your sympathy for her situation grew.

"And about the gym door," she continued, her tone casual, "well, that's where my power come in handy. I can open any door with a wave of my hand and step right in, undetected."

"I'm sorry," you said sincerely. "About the mission, I mean. I couldn't go either. Maybe that makes you feel a bit better."

Wanda offered you a warm and forgiving smile. "No need to apologize," she said, dismissing your apology with a wave of her hand. Leaning in closer, her tone took on a mischievous edge. "Now, let me continue," she said with a sly grin. "I was getting ready for my gym session earlier, and then I heard some interesting sounds coming from this room. I peeked in, saw you and Bucky having a heated argument, and I was about to step in."

You squirmed in your seat, mortified by her revelation.

Wanda continued with a sly grin, relishing the opportunity to tease you. "And then... he kissed you," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "and I instantly knew things were about to get intense. It was quite the show by the way,"

Your face turned various shades of red as you tried to process her unexpected presence during such an intimate moment.

She chuckled, her tone playful. "But here's the kicker, after Bucky noticed me, he didn't bother slowing down. He kept on kissing into you, while he was looking at me. That's when I decided it was my cue to make a graceful exit.”

You were taken aback by that revelation. "Wait so you only saw us kissing? You didn't see what happened next?" you asked.

Wanda raised an eyebrow and nodded. "That's right, just the kissing. But the way you were moaning, I had a pretty good idea of where things were headed."

You hid your face in your hands, unable to shake the embarrassment that had washed over you. "Wanda, you witch!" She was playing you so good. She was just guessing about it. If you played it cool, maybe you could salvage the situation. After all, Wanda didn't know the extent of your involvement with Bucky.

"What? Am I wrong?" she said, grinning slyly.

"Maybe?"

"Liar, I know I'm not." She said. “Now I know you fucked each other.” she concluded, raising an eyebrow mischievously, thoroughly enjoying the newfound power dynamic.

"Okay, we were caught in the act," you sighed, defeated. You blushed a little, "What are you going to do about it? Tell on us?"

"I'm not going to tell anyone about you lovebirds, if that's what you're worried about," Wanda assured, her expression surprisingly understanding, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Your embarrassment surged again, "Lovebirds? We're not..." you began, attempting to deny any romantic involvement.

She cut you off with a knowing grin. "Oh, please. I've seen enough romantic tension to recognize it when I see it. And you two? Well, let's just say, your 'sparring session' was more intense than any training I've witnessed."

"But it was probably a one-time thing." You tried to sound nonchalant, but even you knew it was a stretch. "That's just physical attraction. Nothing more."

"Really?" Wanda gave you a skeptikal looks. "It looked like there was something more going on between the two of you than just fucking. I saw the way he looked at you when no one was looking. It was different. Like you were his. Like he didn't want anyone to touch you, and you were his and only his."

"Wanda, are you serious?"

She nodded, "Yes! I know there's something more between you and Bucky, and I also know you have feelings for him, too."

You hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I don't know... we haven't talked about it." You sighed, "I don't think he wants more than just sex, anyway."

Wanda gave you a confused look, "Are you serious? Did he tell you that?"

You shook your head slowly. "Well, no, not really. He hasn't mentioned anything, and it's not like we've had the chance to discuss our relationship."

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you this. Bucky will kill me if he finds out, but I'm going to say it anyway," she confessed. You chuckled inwardly, the most powerful Avenger, being cautious of Bucky.

Intrigued, you leaned in closer, your curiosity piqued. "What's going on?"

Wanda continued, "He told me not to tell you that I saw you two kissing because he didn't want you to worry about it. And when I asked where you were, he said you were probably sleeping, and I should let you be."

"He said that?" You felt your heart swell. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach.

Wanda nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Yes, and that's why I'm sure there's more to it. I can see it in his eyes. I know he has feelings for you."

"He does? How did you know?"

"Y/N, I know people. I can read his mind if you want, but that would be an invasion of his privacy," Wanda explained, her tone reassuring yet firm.

"Yeah, of course. I won't let you do that," you quickly responded, appreciating her respect for boundaries. "But thanks, Wanda. I appreciate you telling me."

"Now, let's go back to my problem.” she said, steering the conversation back to her original request. “Come on, Y/N, please help me go to the sex store.”

You hesitated, considering her request. Then an idea struck you. "How about we just order online?" you suggested. "That way, neither of us has to go near the place. We can discreetly make the purchase online."

"That does sound like a better plan," she nodded eagerly. Then, with a hint of desperation in her voice, she added, "But, please, make sure it's addressed to you and not me. I really don't want anyone to know I made that purchase," she implored.

You raised a valid concern. "What about me? People will still find out if it's shipped to me."

Wanda leaned in, her voice low and reassuring. "But they don’t know your real name, Y/N. No one knows except us and the Avengers."

You sighed, feeling a mixture of annoyance and reluctant agreement. "Fine," you conceded, rolling your eyes. "It will be addressed to me. But please, Wanda, promise me you will keep your mouth shut."

"Of course, Y/N, you can trust me. I won't breathe a word to anyone," Wanda assured you with a genuine sincerity. "Your secret's safe with me, I swear."

Relieved, you allowed a small smile. In response, she beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thank you, Y/N! You're the best person ever!" she exclaimed, squeezing you with enthusiasm.

You chuckled awkwardly. "You're welcome, I guess." Returning the hug, you hoped that your decision wouldn't lead to unexpected complications.

She broke the hug, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'll send you the link later," she said, her tone tinged with excitement. Rising to her feet, she continued, "I'll leave you to rest now. You must be exhausted after your workout, aren't you?" She smirked knowingly, her gaze flickering towards the door, "And I bet Bucky play a big part on it too, didn't he?"

"Shut up." You grabbed a nearby pillow and playfully tossed it at her. She dodged it with a laugh before heading towards the door.

"Bye, Y/N," she called out, her voice fading as she exited the room.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but smile at her audacious attitude. She was certainly something, and you knew this secret shopping mission of hers was bound to be an adventure.

You stepped into the shower to get rid of the smell of sweat. The water hit your back and you felt so relaxed, your hand trailed down between your legs, you thought about how good it felt to have his cock inside of you, how he fucked you in the gym.

You stepped on the shower to get ride of the smell of sweat and sex that Bucky left you with. When the cold water touched your skin, it brought you back to the real world.

"Ow! Ow! Shit, shit!" You said under the shower and quickly turned it into warm water. "I forgot how much this place is always cold." You whispered, and began washing your hair and body.

Now you felt relax as the water fell on your head and back. The memory of the moment that happened not even an hour ago played on your mind, like a movie. 'That's right doll, take my cock' and the sound of his low and raspy voice echoed on your head.

Your hand trailed down your body, and when you got to your pussy, you rubbed your clit. "Fuck" you hissed.

You could feel your arousal growing as you started fingering yourself. You leaned your head against the shower wall and moaned his name. You thought about how good it felt to have his mouth all over your neck and body.

The water was hot and steamy, but not enough to cover your moans. Your breathing was ragged and uneven. You imagined it was Bucky who was there with you, touching you. You closed your eyes and tried to recall every detail of the encounter.

Your fingers were now deep inside your pussy, pumping hard and fast. You could still feel his tongue on your clit, licking and sucking. You knew he liked to watch you squirm.

You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure in your stomach was getting stronger and stronger.

"Cum for me, doll." He whispered in your ear.

"Bucky! Fuck!" You screamed. You arched your back, your eyes rolling back. Your whole body shook with pleasure, waves of pleasure coursed through your veins.

You stood under the shower and breathed deeply. You didn't want to move, the hot water felt nice against your skin. But eventually you got out, wrapped yourself in a towel, and walked to the mirror. "God, look at that" you said, examining your neck.

There was a hickey where Bucky had sucked on it, and another one on your chest. It was too obvious for the others to see, but you didn't mind. You enjoyed it, and the memory made you smile.

As you saw yourself smiling like a fool, you slapped your cheeks lightly, "No, Y/N. Get a hold of yourself. You are not doing this again." But you knew you wanted to do it again.

As you dressed and settled on the bed, your phone chimed, and you saw Wanda sent you a link. Tapping on the link and the site appeared on your phone. You saw a variety of different vibrators and dildos and other stuff.

You tapped on the vibrator and it was in different colors. Black, red, pink, purple, etc.

"Oh wow." you breathed, your eyes widening as you scrolled through the available choices. As you delved deeper into the product descriptions, your intrigue grew.

'Great for solo or partnered play, its shape is flexible so it can be inserted easily, the base is wide enough so it won't slip out and the curved end is made to hit your g-spot, this vibrator is the best and you can't go wrong with it, you will always get pleasure and will leave you satisfied.'

You scrolled through the page, your eyes widening at the sheer array of options. " Jesus Christ, there are so many," you muttered, marveling at the variety.

You didn't know what to pick. So, you decided to take a screenshot and sent it to Wanda. "Wanda, I'm so confused. Which one should I pick?" You texted her. "What kind do you want? The purple one? Or the black and white one?"

Her response came swiftly. "Get both, also the lingerie. Oh, and make sure to get some lube, I need a lot for the toys," she texted back.

"Damn, Wanda, I didn’t know you were such a naughty girl," you mumbled to yourself, amused by her boldness.

"Ugh, gross, I’m going to need therapy after this," you quickly replied, feeling a mix of amusement and horror.

"And I need to bleach my eyes after seeing you two," she replied, her response laced with playful sarcasm.

You chuckled and continued browsing the website. "So much stuff. How can people use all these? Is this the kind of thing people use?" You whispered. You couldn't help but wonder which ones Bucky might enjoy.

There was this one that caught your attention. You clicked on the image, the vibrator popped open, and a description appeared. It was an eight-inch g-spot vibrator and anal vibrator with a remote control. It was a dual action toy that stimulated both the vagina and the anus.

'This 8 inch dual action toy is an ultra powerful vibrator that delivers powerful stimulation to both the vagina and the anus. The soft and silky material makes it a perfect beginner's toy, and its strong motor and wide bulbous tip makes it great for experienced users too.

With a curved end that will hit your g-spot and an insertable length of 8 inches, it's sure will give you a powerful sensation and will leave you screaming in pleasure. It also has a strong motor and 15 different speed and vibration patterns.

This toy is also waterproof, so you can enjoy it in the bath or the shower.'

Then you saw a video of a woman using it. The sounds were really loud and it sounded like it was being used for the first time. "How can she handle all that noise? It sounds like a jet taking off." You thought, watching the video.

Wanda's text jolted you back to reality. "Have you picked the items yet? I'm waiting," she inquired, her impatience coming through.

"Yeah, I already put them in the cart. I'm about to buy them."

"Okay, thank you! Good night!" she messaged, her excitement palpable.

"Good night," you responded.

Exhaustion began to weigh on you, your eyelids growing heavier by the moment. You were utterly spent, and as you settled into the comfort of your bed, sleep swiftly claimed you.

The next day, you woke up early, your throat was dry, scratchy, and sore. Part of it was Bucky's fault, he fucked your throat too rough hitting the back of your throat.

He's a beast.

You then recalled, ‘you loved choking on my cock huh?’ As Bucky's dirty words rang in your ear. You had to admit, that was the best blow job you've ever given. You didn't know why, but something about the fact that he was using your mouth for his own pleasure excited you. You found yourself wanting to please him.

"Fuck." You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, the darkness soothing your sore eyes.

You walked into the kitchen to get some water, you took the bottle of water from the fridge and drank it. You wondered if Bucky stayed to keep an eye on you and Wanda since now both of you were considered as a threat.

You still haven't discussed about what happened with Bucky. What's the relationship now? Were you just fuck buddies? Was that one-time thing? Or does he want more? Your heart raced at the thought of having more with him, you've never been in a relationship before, but with him? That sounds amazing.

After finishing your water and tossing the empty bottle into the trash, you decided to pay a visit to Bucky's room. However, when you arrived, you found his bed empty. Disappointment washed over you, and you wondered if he had been called away on a mission.

As you exited Bucky's room, you bumped into Wanda. "Morning, babe," she greeted you cheerfully.

"Hey, Wanda. Have you seen Bucky?" you inquired.

"Yeah, he's in the gym," she replied with a knowing smile.

"Great, thanks," you said, feeling a renewed sense of hope. You exchanged a few quick words with Wanda before she set off for the market to gather supplies for the day's meals, and you headed off to find Bucky. Wanda wished you luck before parting ways.

You went to the gym to see Bucky. When you reached there, the gym was empty, there was no one there.

“Bucky?” you called.

"Yeah?" His response came as he walked out, wearing only a towel. Despite the serious conversation on your mind, you couldn't help but steal a glance at the way his abs looked after the shower, water still dripping down his torso. "What's up? You good?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay.” You said, clearing your throat in an attempt to regain your composure. "Just wanted to talk."

"About?"

"Us," you said, meeting his eyes. "About what happened last night." He had an unreadable expression, the look on his face didn't make it seem like he was happy about this conversation.

Bucky let out a sigh, his face expressing a clear desire to avoid the topic. "Y/N, can we not? I'm not in the mood." He began putting on his clothes, his movements brisk and uneasy. He clearly uncomfortable with the conversation at hand.

But you couldn't let it go. The events of the previous night hung between you, an unspoken question begging for an answer. "No, Bucky, we can't just ignore it. I know things have been weird between us," you began, "What does it mean for us? I mean, is it going to happen again?"

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his jaw clenched. "Y/N, stop." He warned, his tone growing stern for you to drop the conversation.

You sighed, looking at him with sad eyes. "Why are you doing this? Why do you keep pushing me away?" You asked, your voice determined, refusing to let the matter rest.

"I don't want to talk about this." he hissed, his patience fraying as he continued to dress, his movements becoming more agitated. "I have important stuff to do right now, so no."

"I want to know why the fuck you're acting this way!" you snapped, getting frustrated with his behavior. "Stop being a dick and just tell me. Are we going to do this again or what? What does this mean for us, huh? Is it a one-time thing or something more?” you demanded, raising your voice.

"God damnit Y/N! Just fucking stop! What's wrong with you?!" He yelled, his frustration boiling over. "Just fucking leave.”

Your heart sank, but you refused to back down. "No, not until you explain what our relationship is now," you insisted, your voice steady, though your hands trembled with the intensity of your emotions.

His glare could have frozen hell over, his eyes radiating cold anger, "We are not in a relationship. We have nothing. Do you understand? Nothing." he stated bluntly, his gaze piercing through you as he threw his duffle bag to the floor in a fit of frustration, its contents spilling out.

The look in his eyes...there was no emotion there. Just the cold stare of someone who no longer cared, and it felt like a stab to the chest. "You want to talk? Fine. Let's fucking talk. We fucked, that's it. It was a fucking mistake.”

The impact of his words hit you like a bullet to the chest. You felt a lump form in your throat, choking back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "What…?" holding his glare as you tried to mask the hurt in your expression. This was worse than any outcomes you had ever imagined.

"A mistake, Y/N. I shouldn't have done that. It was a bad idea. It happened because I was stressed and needed to release some steam." His voice growing colder, "it was the only thing that got my mind off of everything.”

The finality of his words sinking in. “It was a fucking mistake. You happened to be there and I happened to be horny. We fucked. End of the story. Nothing else. Now fucking leave."

You had expected this to be just a one-time thing, and you thought you could handle that. But what he said was far worse, leaving you feeling utterly devastated, the weight of his rejection crushing you.

"I just happened to be there for you to fuck? To release your steam? You think of me that way?" You asked him.

He remained silent, refusing to look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor. Why were you still standing here, allowing him to strip away your dignity? Yet, a part of you desperately clung to the hope for an answer.

Every word carved a deeper wound into your heart, yet you pressed on. "No, I need an answer," you insisted, your voice growing more desperate. "Was it just sex?”

He met your question with a nonchalant shrug, his indifference cutting deeper than any rejection. "That's all it was. Yes."

"So, it meant nothing, I'm just another girl you fucked?" you asked, the pain in your voice evident as you tried to make sense of his words.

He continued to re-packing his bags, "What more do you want me to say, Y/N?" he retorted, his anger rising once again. "That I made a mistake? That I fucked up? That I regret it? There, happy? Or do you want to hear me tell you that I used you?"

Your heart broke into a million pieces as the truth of his words struck you like a hammer to the chest. You had given your heart to him, only for him to break it. You couldn't speak, could barely breath.

"It meant nothing to me, Y/N," he continued, his voice filled with disgust. "It was a moment of weakness, and it should never have happened."

You wanted to scream, to lash out, to strike him, but instead, you stood there in silence, unable to move. Bucky's words were like daggers, piercing your heart, leaving a deep wound that would never heal. You felt numb, the pain and betrayal too much for your body and mind to handle. You knew that you would never be the same, that a part of you would always be broken.

"I thought we had a connection." You asked, your voice small, the tremor betraying your vulnerability.

His response, devoid of any sympathy or remorse, struck like a knife to your heart. "Well, you were fucking wrong. You're a fucking mistake, Y/N. You should have known better than to expect anything from me. Now get the fuck out of my sight."

The finality of his words was a slap to your face, the sting of his rejection leaving a deep, jagged scar across your heart. You would never forget his words, or the way he looked at you, his eyes filled with hatred and disdain.

You couldn't comprehend why he was acting like this. Was this the real him? He was cold, emotionless, completely different from the person you thought you knew in the gym, making you question whether the person who had shared that passionate moment with you was real.

You should've known better. You shouldn’t listen to Wanda on the first place, her suggestion was ridiculous and it led to this mess. Your heart was broken, the pain was unbearable. You were alone.

You had no one.

But the rawness of the rejection stung. It was time to leave, to salvage what remained of your wounded pride and self-respect.

"Fuck you, Barnes.”

"You already did, sweetheart.” You saw a slight smirk, “Unless you want more, I can give you that. You have a body to die for.”

Fed up with his disrespectful attitude, you turned to leave, your hand gripping the doorknob. However, something compelled you to turn back and confront him. As you faced him again, you noticed his gaze lingering on you, catching a flicker of something in his eyes, perhaps regret? But then, his expression hardened once more returned to its cold, distant state.

Summoning your strength, you said, "You really know how to hurt people, Barnes."

Bucky's response was laced with bitterness and self-awareness, acknowledging the pain he had caused, "I know, I'm a master of it." He said without looking at you with expression that you couldn't quite read, as if he wanted to say something more. Yet, he remained silent.

The room grew quiet, a heavy silence settling between the two of you, neither one willing to speak first. After what felt like an eternity, you averted your gaze, your eyes glistening with unshed tears, and whispered your farewell. "Goodbye, Barnes." With that, you turned on your heel and walked out, the door slamming shut behind you, the sound echoing the finality of the moment.

As you left the gym, your steps heavy and your heart heavier, the weight of the emotional wounds settled in. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you made your way back to your room. There, behind a locked door, you allowed your emotions to spill out. You collapsed onto the bed, your sobs echoing in the room. You didn't know how long you cried, but it was enough time for your head to hurt. You wiped your tears, feeling the exhaustion set in.

Bucky was mean, he was really mean. You thought he had changed but apparently not. Not anyone was capable of changing. As you cried, you made a silent promise to yourself: you wouldn't let him hurt you again.

E/N : I apologize for leaving you hanging with another cliffhanger, but I didn't want to make Part 2 too lengthy and risk boring you. I acknowledge it might not be as good as Part 1, and for that, I apologize. Rest assured, I'll make it worth the wait in Part 3 (I promise)! On a positive note, who's excited for the groveling trope? I certainly am! Get ready for some intense moments! intense moments ahead!

All the sub-plot with Wanda will start to make sense in Part 3 as it intertwines, and you can expect some moments of jealousy and possessiveness from Bucky as well.

Don't forget to show your support by leaving likes and comments; I'd love to hear your thoughts! 😊📚

Taglist:

@vicmc624 @am-3-thyst @barnesandsteven @naeenae @rainy-day-lady @nouk1998 @cl7ire @oneofthedyingpoets @dnovastark @waywardhunter95

If you want to be added/removed, just let me know!

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #marvel x reader

1K notes · View notes

lilacs-stars · 2 months

Text

shattered reflections

pairing: morgie le fay x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is merlin's daughter) SUMMARY: you, the perfect child and student, have always been the epitome of righteousness. but what happens when you encounter a particularly annoying VK one night, when you're out doing something you're not supposed to? GENRE: pure, unbridled, heart-wrenching angst (I recommend a box of tissues), action scenes, some light humor, a bit of comfort, flirty banter CW: absent mother, neglectful father, family troubles, cursing, magical fighting, a bit of blood, threats, mentions of violence and stealing, heavy emotions WC: 15.2k (to those of you hungry for morgie fics…you have been fed) BACKGROUND: the mirror of ytirev is pronounced yih-tur-ev, the spells are all in latin (for anyone wondering)

A/N: this got a loooot longer and deeper than I thought it would...seriously how did we get here. I had fun adding some touches of light humor to offset the angst, and experimenting with different pov's was nice too. sooo go get comfy and settle down, and have fun reading this! (the ending is worth it I swear). thank you to the anon who requested this for all the details, I hope you enjoy! all feedback is highly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts and reactions!

A piercing clatter sounds from somewhere behind you. You whip around, eyes locking with snake-like slits glowing in the dark.

Shit, you think.

They finally discovered my secret.

“…can anyone explain to me the properties of goblin mucus?” the teacher of your Magical Artifacts and Antiquities class asks.

A hand shoots up, causing a smile to spread on her face as she calls on the student—only to be met with the reply, “Miss, it says in our textbook that there’s a highly powerful and dangerous artifact stored here, in Merlin Academy. What’s that all about?”

The teacher’s smile falters for a brief second, but she answers the question regardless. “Yes, every class today has asked me about that. It seems like it’s only the dangerous objects that attract students’ attention. Class, turn to page two hundred seventy-five, where there is a more detailed explanation.”

Everyone flips through the pages of their books, more eager to learn than they’ve been for the entire lesson. Your teacher waits a moment before continuing.

“As it says in your textbooks, the Mirror of Ytirev is indeed kept in this school, although it is locked away in a very safe and secure place. For everyone’s safety, and the Mirror’s security. Now, can anyone tell me how it was created?”

You raise your hand swiftly, already knowing the answer from having read this chapter before it was even covered in class, along with the next three chapters. “After the creator of the Evil Queen’s magic mirror originally made it, he accidentally dropped it on the floor, causing it to shatter. He reconstructed the mirror using the larger shards, which became the famed mirror that eventually ended up in the hands of the Evil Queen. But there were still many miniscule fragments left from the first mirror, so he melted them again and made a smaller, weaker version of the Evil Queen's mirror. The small mirror is known today as the Mirror of Ytirev.”

Your teacher beams again at your perfect recitation. “That is precisely correct, Y/N. Although I don’t expect anything less from the headmaster’s daughter, of course.

“This mirror has the ability to show its user exactly one truth, an answer to any question. But since its original form was shattered, its magic is no longer stable. That’s why it is covered in this chapter,” she continues to the class. “As you can see in the image in your textbook, it is a portable artifact, putting it in Category D, Type Three.”

You look down at your textbook, studying the picture of the mirror, despite having looked at it before. It depicts a vintage handheld mirror, encased in a detailed and ornate silver frame that surrounds the glass itself. The intricate carvings of the metal create symmetrical twin arches at the top of the mirror, ending in fancy loops. In these arches two bright red gemstones are set, their edges cleanly cut and shining brilliantly. The glass of the mirror looks almost cracked, although you know it isn't really.

Just as the thought passes through your mind, someone calls out, “Why is the mirror cracked? I thought the creator fixed it.”

The answer pops up in your brain before the teacher even opens her mouth, but you still patiently listen to her as she explains to the rest of the class. “It’s not really cracked, it just appears that way to anyone who looks at it. The only time someone can see the mirror’s smooth surface is if they’re staring directly in the eyes of their own reflection. When someone does this, it is rumored they will see the truest form of themselves, the truth they desire the most.”

Someone else raises their hand, and the teacher calls on them this time. “So,” they ask, “you can get the answer to anything from that? Like how to become rich or live forever?”

The teacher masks what you can tell is a rather displeased look with yet another—fake—smile. She turns to face the entire class, a telltale sign that the student said something wrong. “Now, as we all know, there’s always a price to magic. When it comes to this mirror, due to its unstable powers, there are many prices.”

She continues her lecture, one that provides you with absolutely no new information, but being the ever-diligent student you are, you continue to listen intently. “If you look at the next page, it explains that anyone who wishes to use the Mirror must first present an offering that is very dear to them. If the Mirror accepts the offering, it allows the person to ask their question.” “And if it doesn’t?” your classmate asked.

“Does anyone know the answer to that?” The teacher looks around the class, before her eyes land on you. “Y/N?”

You brighten up at being called on, before rattling off the information as if it was common knowledge. “If the Mirror doesn’t accept the offering, or if it becomes displeased for any other reason, it will drag the person’s soul not to enlightenment, but to eternal torment. They will end up losing their mind and going crazy, with any form of intelligent life getting absorbed by the Mirror.”

“Correct again,” your teacher praises, and you beam. “And if that's not enough to ward any of you off, keep in mind that everyone who has ever used the Mirror has gone completely mad. No one has ever obtained the answer they sought; instead, they were all lost to its evil spirit. And let me assure you, many people throughout history have attempted to use the Mirror, only to fail. Therefore, it was voted as too dangerous for any beneficial uses by the Department of Magical Security. That is why it is contained here, under the watchful eye of our very own Headmaster Merlin.”

At the mention of your father, everyone turns to stare at you, as if you’re somehow the reason the Mirror is locked up. Despite the stifling moment of silence, you shrug off the unwanted attention. After all, you’re used to this. Used to the looks that other kids give you when you receive special attention from teachers for being the smartest one, for always raising your hand, for answering questions perfectly, for acing every test and having every homework assignment completed—yet refusing to share your answers (“But if I tell you the answers, how will you ever learn?”).

Used to the whispers that follow you everywhere you go, rumors of your family life; how your mother must have left because of your father’s bad habits, or neglect, or because she was having an affair with another man. Constant reminders of the past.

Used to how everyone walks on eggshells around you, how they all put you on a ledge far away from them. How people’s conversations quiet as you pass by, afraid you’ll go and report them to your father at the slightest whiff of mischief. How they always eye you when they pass notes in class or plan a prank—as if you weren't already aware of what they were doing—sometimes even begging you not to tell on them.

Used to how teachers and adults in your life expect the absolute best of you. Even when there’s no more left of yourself to give.

How they expect you to be the absolute best, a paragon of righteousness. You always have to determine the right decision, make the right call, be the epitome of morality and virtue. This is your burden to bear, all by yourself; instead of worries over bad grades or boys, you suffer under the crushing weight of the expectations of everyone around you. The expectations of society.

Briiiiiiingg! The sound of the bell marking the end of class snaps you out of your musings. “Um, Miss?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the sounds of everyone packing their bags.

“You didn’t tell us what our homework assignment is for tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for reminding me, Y/N,” the teacher exclaims amidst a chorus of groans, along with a few colorful words directed your way. “Everyone, please finish up chapter three and be prepared to turn in your report on seventh century runes by the start of tomorrow’s class.”

After all, you’re used to how right they are about you.

…Or so they think.

“Oh good, Y/N! I was looking for you all over, you know,” a panting, all-too familiar voice calls out from behind you. You freeze in your tracks, grimacing. After a deep breath, you paint a smile on your face, before turning around.

A tall man, although much shorter due to his slouched posture, hurries towards you animatedly. His short, dark brown hair is matted against the top of his head, and a thick, bushy beard trails down from his chin, rounding above his mouth in a matching mustache. He dons a pair of thin spectacles that hang low on his large nose, dressed in a dark blue robe with faint golden embroidery and a waistcoat to match. A little brown stick juts out from a hidden pocket inside his robe, an object you can only assume to be his wand—which you are quite shocked he hadn’t lost today yet.

“Dad!” you say as enthusiastically as you can muster, but if anyone had been looking closely, they would have seen the way you ever so slightly cringe as he stumbles towards you. You silently thank the heavens that this man doesn’t pay much attention to anything. Not even to his own family.

Merlin clambers towards you, gripping one of your shoulders once you’re within arm’s length. He pants, leaning his weight on you as he catches his breath.

“Dad, what is it?” you ask him, trying your best not to fall over from supporting him.

“I-I…k-keys,” he wheezes.

“You lost your keys?” This certainly isn't the first time he’s come to you with this problem, and you definitely won't bet it'll be his last.

He nods, clutching his chest as his breathing finally evens out. “Phew,” he says, letting go of your shoulder. “My spare keys to my office…I can’t seem to find where I’ve put them.”

“You mean that big ring that has a copy of about every single key needed to unlock absolutely anything in this school?” you ask, incredulous at the way he nods feverishly. Honestly, how he doesn’t see the issue with what you just plainly pointed out is beyond you.

“Nope, haven’t seen them,” you reply. “Have you checked under the counter? Inside your desk drawers? In the little pockets sewn in the other pockets in all of your robes? On top of a clothing rack? Under the vase of orchids? In the fish bowl? In the left sock from your pair that has those reindeers on them?”

He nods at each one, sometimes hesitating as if recalling something deep in his memory , but then continuing to fervently nod nonetheless. You sigh again. “Well, I don’t know then. I suppose you’ve found someplace new to hide them this time.”

“Hmm…” he mutters, scratching his beard.

“Well, Dad, I don’t know if you heard, but I, uh, I made top student of my year last quarter. For the fifth consecutive time,” you mention, trying to ease into the conversation, albeit very tentatively and with great unease. Most people’s parents would applaud them and give them a prize for merely getting an A. Yours, on the other hand, barely remembers which grade you’re in.

Your father snaps his head up, staring at you with an eccentric haze in his eyes. You feel a small glimmer of hope; maybe he’s going to give you a pat on the back this time, or perhaps offer to take you out for a celebratory dinner. You wait for his response, completely still as if frozen in time, anticipation buzzing throughout every nerve.

“Wait…I believe I put it in the mouth of that owl statue…” He freezes erratically, brow furrowed in deep concentration, before releasing the tension in his body and going back to slumping. “No, I think I already checked there.”

You take a nice, long, deep breath, using up every last ounce of your carefully practiced self-control, which you had perfected through years of deploying in stifling social situations that made you want to crawl out of your own skin, to remain calm in this moment. “Well, I hope you find it.” Giving him one last attempt at even a semblance of a smile, you sharply turn back around on your heel, continuing down the hall to your first class of the day.

Watching the early morning rays of sunshine through the tall windows of the corridor, you think back to the discussion you had yesterday in your Artifacts class. You had answered every question correctly, every fact written in ink not only committed to memory but etched into the very foundation of your brain.

You wonder if he knows of all the hard work you put into school. All the grueling hours you spend studying, all the sleepless nights you spend fighting against your body’s very nature to stay awake and keep your eyes open just enough to read the page. Heck, you wonder if he even remembers that your birthday is coming up next month—or that you gave him your wish list ages ago to ensure that he gets at least one present you asked for, unlike other years.

No, of course he doesn’t remember, you remind yourself. He doesn’t care about me. He never did.

Just like he didn’t care about Mom when she disappeared.

“Ugh, my nail chipped again. I should find the girl who did these and squeeze her to death.”

A tentacle floating in midair tightens and coils around nothingness, miming the strangulation of an innocent soul with a disturbing nonchalance. A girl with dark skin and long locks in colors such as blue, teal, and yellow, done up in a small bunch on top of her head, checks the painted nails on her left hand with a scowl on her face.

“Come on, Uli, you’re getting your nails done like, every week,” the god of the Underworld replies, indifference practically seeping through his spiked leather jacket as he chews gum and gives the sea witch a look. “At least find yourself someone better.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Uliana snaps, dropping her hand exasperatedly as she huffs.

A sorceress with purple eyeshadow and two sleek, black horns protruding from the sides of her head rolls her eyes as she complains, “This is so boring.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do then, love?” a crisply accented voice asks, sounding from a boy with neatly parted brown hair and a golden hook that ends in a sharp, gleaming point.

“Did you hear that there’s a, like, super dangerous magical object being kept here?” Maleficent asks, somehow keeping her voice incredibly monotonous and deathly uninterested, even as her words themselves convey enthusiasm.

“Yeah, apparently it can tell anyone anything they want to know,” Hades replies. “I don’t know why they’re keeping it here, though.”

Uliana turns back to the group, a malicious glint in her eye. Even before she opens her mouth, the boy with powers rather similar to those of a snake can already guess what she’s going to say.

“How about we go steal it?” she asks, a wicked grin already twisting onto her features.

“You do realize that everyone who’s ever used it has gone mad, right?” Hook asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously as he gives Uliana a look of disbelief.

“We won’t use it ourselves, idiot,” she snaps. “But it’ll be fun to steal it and cause a panic. Right, Morgie?”

Morgie swallows, looking up at Uliana with wide eyes. “Of course! C’mon, you guys. Think of the mischief we can cause with it! We can make people think some kids used it and went crazy”—he leans in, excitement growing as he speaks, making wide gestures with his hands—“and everyone would be so scared! They’d probably cancel school, too!”

Uliana grins diabolically again. “Morgie, honey,” she starts, slipping one of her tentacles under his chin, lifting his face up towards her. “How about you do this one?”

“I-I, uh…” he stammers, uncertainty laced in his voice. He definitely wasn't expecting this turn of events.

“Come on, please,” Uliana pouts. “Do it for me? After all, you’re only stealing a little mirror. How hard can that be?”

Morgie glances up at her again, before tugging uncomfortably on the black scarf wrapped around his neck. “But…it’s super dangerous…”

“Don’t you want to be evil? Don't you want to wreak havoc and cause pain?” Uliana taunts. “Or, are you”—she lets out a faux gasp—“afraid?”

“N-no, not at all!" Morgie exclaims, trying to sound more courageous than he feels. “I’ll do it!”

“Perfect,” the sea witch coos, removing her tentacle arm. “You’ll do it tonight.” She turns back to the group, adding, “I hear that old troll keeps the most dangerous and evil artifacts locked up in a room off the east wing, on the third level.”

Morgie gulps, already trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d be doing the heist tonight. Hook, jumping off a ledge, asks, “You mean the one guarded by different spells and magical alarms?”

Uliana grins wickedly. “Nothing a little bit of Kraken Powder can’t fix.” She holds up a small vial hanging from a string around her neck like a necklace. It's common knowledge how incredibly rare Kraken Powder is, which makes sense, given how potent its anti-magic properties are.

Everyone catches on to what Uliana's implying, causing the group to all laugh together at their evil plan. Morgie tries his best to join along, but he can’t quite seem to get rid of the uneasy knot already forming in the pit of his stomach.

“You remember the plan?”

Uliana’s slippery tentacles glisten under the moonlight, flailing around behind her in midair. Morgie nods, attempting to still his quivering hands before Uliana notices them. He tries, with a miserable sense of impending doom, to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail.

“Here, I stole these from Merlin’s office,” Uliana explains as one of her tentacles drops a large ring filled with probably around two dozen keys, each in various shapes and colors, straight into Morgie's open palm. “One of these has to fit the door. You didn’t forget what you need to do, right?”

Morgie clears his throat, choking out a meager, “Yep.” He pockets the keys, seriously hoping they don’t clink together and make too much noise while he moves. As Uliana already repeated a hundred times, “It’s crucial you don’t get caught.”

Morgie reaches up to touch the vial hanging from his neck yet again, making sure it’s still there—after all, better safe than sorry. Once more, he glances at the large grandfather clock in the common area where he and Uliana lurk in the shadows, waiting. Finally, its bells chime midnight, and Uliana turns back to him as the ringing reverberates around them.

“Go, hurry!” the sea witch urges, pushing him toward the door with a tentacle.

Morgie nods, hurriedly rushing to the exit. The first part of the plan—a plan he so diligently committed to memory—is for him to sneak out while the bells are still ringing, to mask the sound of the door opening and closing. Thankfully, he makes it out by the tenth chime, carefully closing the door to make sure the latch doesn’t sound by the eleventh.

Okay, I’m really doing this, Morgie thinks as he stares into the deserted corridor. He tiptoes around silently, but still as quickly as possible. Time is, obviously, of utmost importance in missions like this.

At last, he reaches his destination. The unassuming—and misleadingly so—wooden door looms over him, ominous through the lens of his knowledge of what lies beyond it.

An amateur villain would simply pick the lock and open the door, but Morgie is too experienced in such endeavors to make a rookie mistake like that (Uliana told him what to do, step-by-step).

He hovers his hand above the lock, taking a steadying breath as he summons the powers that reside within him. His pupils shrink into the tiniest slivers of blackness as a dark, magical smoke emits from his palm. He makes a faint hissing noise, reciting an old incantation in a tongue far different from what normal humans use, and the lock softly clicks as the door creaks open. Practically inviting him inside.

Morgie pushes it open the rest of the way, making sure to shut it behind him so as to not raise the suspicion of any night guards roaming the halls.

He turns back around, now faced with a dark, menacing hallway. Walking slowly down it, he looks around with a chilling captivation. Old suits of armor leer down at him, rustic and each coated with a thick layer of dust. Large spiderwebs cover every visible nook and cranny, which makes Morgie exceedingly grateful that the actual spiders aren't in his line of sight.

At the end of the corridor stands yet another large door, matching the first. This one, according to Uliana, has even more security than the other. Time to use my secret weapon, Morgie thinks, reaching to pull the vial of Kraken Powder out from under his shirt. He opens the cap and sprinkles a little of the finely grained dust into his palm, then blows it over the lock of the door.

At first glance, it appears the powder didn’t work, as nothing seem to change. But anyone with an affinity for magical energy can feel the spells placed on the lock of the door melt away without a trace. After the door is unarmed, Morgie fishes in his pocket for the keys. They clang horribly as he pulls them out, echoing up into the tall ceiling of the hallway. He freezes, listening intently for footsteps somewhere outside. When he hears none, Morgie begins the task of figuring out which key fits the lock.

He goes through nearly half the ring (Seriously, who keeps all their keys in one place?) before finding the one that fits perfectly. Twisting it with a swift movement, the door unlocks, and he creeps inside.

To his immense shock, there isn't a room behind the door filled with evil objects or piled with gold coins. Instead, there’s a…

…library?

Morgie walks inside, utterly confused. Had Uliana gotten the location wrong? No, there's no way. The doors were too guarded for a normal library.

He continues down one of the aisles, wondering why he's never seen this place before. It is extremely large, with arched ceilings meters and meters above his head. Tall bookshelves tower over him, so tall that he can barely see the highest shelves.

Lined against the walls and placed on the shelves are also glass jars and containers filled with seemingly normal items: a seashell necklace, a deck of playing cards, a cane with the head of a snake. But there's something sinister about them; some strange aura that hovers above each object. In fact, it fills the entire expanse of the library.

Morgie stops by one of the shelves, reading the titles. He brushes his fingers along one of the spines—and that’s when he feels it. An ominous energy rushes through his fingertips, electrifying his every nerve at it travels through him, causing him to realize that this is no normal book. It’s a book of dark magic.

He spins around in a circle, eyeing the entirety of the library. Now that he thinks about it, the whole place has the heavy atmosphere of dark magic. And that’s when it hits him: this is no normal library, and neither are the books. This is the room of forbidden artifacts. It just so happens that most of those artifacts are books, probably containing content deemed too dangerous for normal people to learn.

Morgie briefly considers taking a few of the books off the shelves and perusing through them, or maybe even slipping a couple in his jacket and taking them back with him. After all, all these forbidden books must have countless evil spells and potions. If he and the rest of his group got their hands on these…

However, after a moment of serious consideration, he decides the better of it. He's here for another purpose, and Uliana would be outraged if he only came back with a few meager books, no matter the contents.

Continuing through the labyrinth of shelves, Morgie looks around meticulously, trying to figure out a rhyme or reason to the order of things. No student has ever been in here, and he doubts many of the teachers have, either. Therefore, there were no references or guides to help him and his friends figure out where in the room the Mirror is located. Plus, he doesn’t think any of them had expected the place to be so colossal—he surely hadn't.

After a few minutes of stumbling around in the near darkness, he finally comes across a ladder leaning against one of the shelves. It’s so tall he can’t see the top of it, but deciding it’s his best chance at finding his bearings, Morgie begins the long climb up.

He isn’t really afraid of heights. Not in the way that some people refuse to go on anything more than a few feet off the ground. But he honestly doesn’t see how anyone couldn’t feel at least a little queasy at the high altitude. I must be a dozen meters off the ground, Morgie realizes as he glances down. I wonder what would happen if I fell—

He cuts the thought off before he can imagine the gruesome details. Instead, he looks back up and around the library. From all the way up here, he can see the top of the shelves, and he really was right: this place was designed to be a maze.

On the far side of the area, his eyes spot lots of glass cases reflecting the soft moonlight and flames of enchanted candles. That must be where most of the objects are kept. Chances are, the Mirror’s there too.

He mentally charts out a course through the labyrinth, trying to remember the directions for more than two seconds. Right, left, left again, forward, right, right again, left, forward—or wait, was it right? After a few minutes, he climbs back down the ladder, praying to the demons of the Underworld that he remembers the path correctly and doesn’t get lost.

Morgie makes his way through the maze, growing more and more fascinated by the creepy and wonderful objects around him. He can’t stop thinking about how nice—and useful—it would be to pocket some of them, or maybe come back here and spend more time studying them. Every time he passes by something that intrigues him, his mind immediately wonders if it would fit inside his clothes.

Despite this, he resists the urge to steal things, as he can’t have anything weighing him down in case there are more challenges or enchantments he has to disarm before getting the Mirror. But perhaps on the way back…

His train of thought drifts away as he finally reaches a large area that is surrounded by glass cases, on tables and lining the shelves set into the walls. He never imagined there would be so many forbidden artifacts in total, much less in one place, although maybe that's because he's never really paid attention in class.

From the top of a shelf a few meters away, something catches his eye. A mysterious, eerie white fog pours from one of the highest shelves, dissipating as it cascades down the front of the bookcase. He remembers hearing something about mist related to the Mirror, and deciding it’s worth a shot, he moves closer to check it out.

And that’s when he sees it.

A dark flurry of movement from another one of the top shelves catches his attention. Morgie snaps his head up, brows furrowing as he squints, eyes trailing the structures above him. But he can’t quite make out anything, at least not in the faint light, so he hesitantly shrugs it off and continues towards the mysterious fog—albeit not being able to shake off the strange feeling he has that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He takes a few more steps, and just as he's nearly convinced himself he’s only being paranoid, it happens again. Now that he’s closer, he can see there’s another tall ladder reaching up to around where the movement is happening, close to the Mirror. This time, his eyes register the shape.

A dark, human figure moves up the ladder, blending in and out of the shadows.

Morgie’s eyes grow wide, pupils shrinking back into snake-like slits as a reptilian hiss escapes his mouth. There shouldn't be anyone else here.

The figure freezes in place before turning around to face him, hanging halfway up the ladder. Although Morgie can’t see their face, concealed by a thick black hood, he can tell they saw him.

He stretches out his arms, summoning black magic that swirls around his hands and up to his elbows again. After but a second of him and the hooded figure staring at each other—which somehow felt like an hour—Morgie throws his arm forward, aimed for the figure.

A ball of twisting dark energy shoots from his hand and towards the hooded face. The figure ducks down, dodging the attack. Undeterred, Morgie hurls more swirls of dark magic. The figure dodges the first few of them, but they must have realized that merely ducking down won't be enough to win this fight, because they summon a shield of buzzing yellow electricity to block the next few attacks.

Morgie quickly becomes aware that he isn’t winning the fight like this; he needs a new strategy. And that’s when he spots it.

He puts his hands close together in front of his chest, gathering a potent sphere of black magic between his palms. The figure stands there, motionless, still hanging onto the ladder.

If you can’t knock them down, pull the carpet out from under their feet.

He thrusts both of his hands forward, sending the ball of magic not at the figure, but at the base of the ladder instead. By the time they realize what he's doing, it’s too late.

Morgie’s magic collides with the bottom rungs, exploding the material and sending wooden splinters flying everywhere. He watches as the figure falls, swiftly summoning a flash of lightning below them as they plummet, easing the crash as they hit the ground.

The aftermath of the explosion has Morgie ducking down and covering his face with his arm, barely being able to make out what happened to the hooded person. As the dust finally settles, Morgie spots the figure get up, gripping their head as if in pain. They stumble a little, then bush off their black robe as they check for other injuries.

As if abruptly remembering why they had fallen, they spin around to face Morgie. He stares, wide-eyed in pure disbelief, as the figure comes face-to-face with him. Even though they don’t seem to be too hurt, and definitely still alive, the force of the impact caused their hood to be knocked off their head.

Morgie’s mouth drops open as he registers the figure’s face.

There, in front of him, in the forbidden archive harboring some of the world's most dangerously powerful magical objects during the dead of night, stands the headmaster’s daughter.

Your grimace grows as you lock eyes with a boy with light brown hair, hazel eyes shrunk into slits resembling a snake’s, causing your head to throb even worse.

You watch as the realization dawns upon the boy’s face, cursing the skies for this little issue that you now have to deal with.

He knows your secret.

“Y-you, you, you’re the headmaster’s daughter,” he sputters out, disbelief still painted on his face, as clear as day. Seriously, if he keeps his jaw open like that, it’ll fall off.

“Yeah, no shit,” you spit back, not paying much attention to his stunned little face. Your mind is overwhelmed with a swirling whirlwind of thoughts and ideas on how to get rid of this new liability, each plan vying for your attention, each one crueler than the last.

After all, now that he knows who you really are, how you're not a rule-abiding goody-goody, there’s no point in keeping up your sweet, innocent facade. You finally let your mask slip off, the mask that you wear constantly in the presence of others. The mask that you only relieve yourself of when you’re all alone, with no one to see your callous, vindictive, cynical side. Your true side.

Ever since that day, at least. The day that forever changed your life.

“What are you doing here?” the boy stammers, as if it isn't already dreadfully obvious.

“The same thing you’re doing here.” “How do you know what I’m doing here?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. Honestly, this kid could not be more of a dunderhead. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Either get out of my way, or I’ll make you get out of my way.”

At your threat, the boy, whose name you happen to remember from a class you took with him last year, changes his stance. Morgie widens his legs, arms fanned out besides him whilst summoning dark energy that clings to his skin, alive and breathing, yet submissive to its master’s will.

“Aren’t you like, a goody-goody?” he asks, face still scrunched in confusion. “I’ve heard teachers go on and on about how good your grades are, how polite you are, how you’re the perfect student.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at his relentless questions. It 's already bad enough that he knows this much. You don't need him finding out more.

“Well, looks can be deceiving,” you respond as vaguely as possible, hoping that it’ll shut him up. Instead, he cocks his head to the side, shooting back, “I don’t really think so.”

You try your best to not encourage him and his irritating questions, but you can’t help but begrudgingly ask, “How so?”

Morgie looks at you for a beat with an intent gaze, before replying, “I always thought you were too pretty for a hero.”

Uh, excuse me, what? you think. Now it’s your turn to be shocked. “You don’t find me scary?” You had always assumed that people would be terrified if they saw your real, unfiltered side.

“No, not really. I mean, I’m evil too. If anything, I find you even hotter now that I know you’re not a goody-goody.”

Blinking hard, your eyebrows shoot into the air. There is no way he just said that. Your mind is uncontrollably reeling at his words, but only for a brief moment. Before you can read too deeply into it, your attention is quickly snapped back to the black magic still swirling around him, growing by the second. Ah, a ploy to distract me. Maybe he is more clever than he lets on.

“Listen, Morgie,” you snarl threateningly. “That mirror is mine.”

“Wait, you’re here for the Mirror too?” he asks, with far too light a tone for a situation such as this.

“Th-that was obvious the whole time!” you exclaim, unbelievably irritated. “What did you think I was here for?” “I dunno, a book or something.” He shrugs casually, before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, what do you want the Mirror for?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap back, fingers thrumming with the rush of energy as you summon your own magic. Letting your curiosity get the better of you yet again, you add, “Why do you want it?”

“I’m a villain. I steal things for fun,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What does a goody-two-shoes hero want to do with a forbidden artifact?”

Barely listening to his words, you study him carefully, needing to know the extent of his powers if you’re going to win the inevitable fight that you can sense coming. You see how his ever-growing dark magic stalls temporarily as he talks, probably from getting distracted while speaking. That’s it. Deciding to buy yourself some time, you use this little weakness to your advantage.

“I want the Mirror because I want to use it.” Even though you’re planning on entertaining his pointless questions, you definitely aren’t going to give him information for free.

“Use it? To get an answer?” His magic hesitates again.

“No, to look at myself.” You see the way his eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to implode. “Of course to get an answer, you dumbass! Unlike you, I don’t go risking my life ‘for fun.’”

“What are you even going to use as an offering? You have to give it something, you know.”

You sigh, reaching underneath your shirt to pull out a small silver locket, its chain blackened from the trials of time. Dangling it from your fingers, you show it to Morgie.

“A locket?” he asks incredulously. “The offering's supposed to be something really special or precious.”

“It is really precious,” you hiss, tucking it back into your shirt. “It’s the most precious thing I own. If anything’s going to make the Mirror work, it’s this.”

“Well, you’re not going to get the Mirror anyways. It’s mine.” He widens his stance again, his magic continuing to grow around him. No, I need a little more time, you think, masking your growing panic with an insouciant eye roll.

“Why?” you question. “You’re not even going to use it.”

“I still need it.” “But why?”

“I won’t tell you if you won’t tell me!” he exclaims. Despite his little outburst, you can tell there’s something he’s hiding. After all, you are a master of concealing the truth yourself. “Plus, you know that everyone who's ever used the mirror has gone crazy, right? You’re literally sentencing yourself to a life of madness.” You give him an unamused look. “I’m the top of our year. Obviously I know everything there is to know about the Mirror of Ytirev.”

He gazes at you in a way you can’t decipher, but it’s softer, more sympathetic than his former glare. You notice that his snake eyes have disappeared as well, despite the magical energy still surrounding him. “Then why are you still doing this, despite the risks?”

You falter, for just a second, letting a sliver of emotion slip through. But as quickly as it happened, you patch it back up, returning to your cold, glowering face. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay.” You expect him to drop it after that, but he continues to press you. “You’re prepared to give up your morals? Your status as a hero? You’re willing to lose all your integrity for one answer?”

God, he talks too much. With a sniff, you throw your hands out in front of you, releasing a bright flash of crackling electricity that had been building up as you cry out, “I don’t care how evil I have to become, I will find the truth, one way or another!”

The lightning shoots forward without warning, hot as an inferno, piercing straight through his chest and flinging him backwards into a shelf like a ragdoll. He falls down to his knees, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to get up again. Clutching his chest, he wheezes yet still manages to stand up, summoning wispy black tendrils that shoot at you like arrows.

You tuck and roll, dodging them, whilst building up more crackling lightning between your fingers. The last tendril hits far too close to you for comfort, burning a hole in your robe. That would have been my flesh, had it hit me, you realize in sudden horror.

Seeing as how your opponent is summoning even more dark magic to hit you with, now engulfing his entire body, you break into a sprint. Black spears collide with the shelves behind you one after another, barely missing you, as you run past glass cases, each containing a different artifact that glistens in the silver moonlight. Something across the arena seizes your attention, and a plan begins to piece itself together in your head. You continue your dash towards the shelves behind Morgie. Once you reach a section with books instead of random magical objects, you slow your pace. Amidst Morgie's unrelenting attacks, you create a golden shield of electricity that sparks and crackles, almost alive, and which reaches as tall as you. You jog past the shelves, head craned as you scan the book titles as quickly as possible.

Morgie persists in launching balls of dark magic directly at you, smashing into your shield. Your panic rises as cracks begin to form, at first only small fissures, but growing larger and larger with each sphere that pummels your way.

You run parallel to the shelf, which boxes in the rest of the area in a rectangular shape, eyes frantically darting over words with barely enough time for your brain to comprehend them.

Glancing up as a whorl of blackness blasts the books resting directly in front of you, you duck down, yet continue to run. That’s when you see a thick tome, larger than the others and bearing a dark red cover, jutting out from a shelf a few meters in front of you. With your magical shield barely staying intact, you lunge towards it, snatching the book as you fall towards the ground and somersault behind a desk-sized wooden stand to hide. On top of it stands a glass display case, with faint candlelight illuminating the rustic, yet enchanted, metal shield contained inside it.

You crouch down, flipping through the pages of the book desperately, trying to find the incantation you know has to be in there. One time, on one of your random visits to the library—the normal one, not this hell of the most cursed items in the land—you had picked up a text that talked about the history of spellcasting. Detailed inside was a description of one of the first books of curses ever written, which had been banned from production shortly after its release due to the nature of its contents. There had been a small sketch next to the explanation, which just so happens to match the tome now weighing in your hands.

Morgie’s blasts of magic don’t stop, pounding the wooden stand and the glass case alike. You think he yells something, but you can’t tell; you’re too focused on squinting at the fine print on the page, eyes wildly scanning the names of the spells. The desk quakes with every attack, causing your hands to tremble as you rifle through the pages hastily, pointer finger trailing down the lists of incantations.

Finally, your eyes lock onto the one you want. “Obiectum impedit semitam,” you recite, gaze darting between the page and the glass case above you. It quivers vigorously, yet remains unscathed due to its magic-bulletproof nature.

“Evanescet a lumine irae meae!” As soon as the last syllable leaves your tongue, the glass case dissipates into thin air. Your hand darts up, clutching the shield and shoving it in front of you. Just in time, as the wooden stand protecting you explodes from the force of Morgie’s dark magic, blasting into a shower of mere splinters that rain down around you. The shockwave causes you to recoil, even as the shield absorbs the brunt of the impact.

Quickly regaining your bearings, you crouch even lower behind the metal. Thumbing through the book pages briskly, your eyes skim the ink, trying to find the first spell that can help you now.

“Inimicus meus, caveto tibi,” you mutter the incantation rapidly, trying your best not to stumble over the archaic words—who knows what sort of havoc that would make. “Transi me et in carcere gelido capieris.”

You peek your head over the shield as you say the last line, locking in on your target. He stands there, panting, worn from his latest, potent attack. Morgie barely has enough time to widen his eyes as the final word escapes your mouth, instantly creating ice stalagmites that burst forth from the ground, crisscrossing as they trap him in a prison of ice. They tower high all around while entrapping him in a circle, frost coating their sleek outsides, which narrow into dangerously sharp tips.

The air turns frigid, and you can see flurries of movement as Morgie thrashes within his glacial cell. Already, he’s trying to break out. Through the cracks between the icicles, you can see a swirling vortex of black magic fighting the freezingly cold charm. Even though it is a strong spell, you know it won’t last for long. Especially not with the dark energy that is slowly, yet surely, thawing out the ice.

Springing up again, you bolt to the shelves on the other side, jumping over small puddles forming on the floor. The book is still open in your hands as you wildly tear through one page after another, the minuscule words shaking and blurring together as you run. Honestly, what kind of asshole decides to print in such a tiny font? you internally rage. Flipping through the large sheets of paper filled with small text reminds you of reading a dictionary. In a way, the spellbook is a dictionary of sorts, with the way every curse is listed alphabetically, in a neat and orderly manner—much unlike your current frenzied state, with how your heart pounds against your chest as if trying to break free, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins cuts off any semblance of a coherent thought forming in your brain.

Twisting sharply to your right, you dart towards the shelf that the Mirror stands on. You stare up at it as you continue to run, eyes practically sending a silent plea while it sits on its throne undisturbed, watching the scenes before it unfold as if viewing a play from the highest seat in the opera house; somehow mildly amused, yet still condescendingly blasé at the same time.

Flipping to the L section of the spellbook, you scan the page for a spell that can help you reach it at last. Finally finish the last stretch of your journey.

The icicle prison behind you makes a dreadfully loud crack. Your heart only races even faster with a jolt, your breathing coming out only in sharp, erratic gulps that make you feel light-headed, as if you’re not getting enough oxygen no matter how much you gasp for air.

As you scan the page, this time with a renewed fervor that has your eyes darting across the words, too panicked to even finish a sentence before leaping to the next, you make a very interesting revelation indeed. For whatever reason, the genius who wrote this book decided not to add levitation to the list of spells, but instead included lignum pullelare, which roughly translates to “sprouting a tree”.

Another thunderous boom sounds again from the constantly fracturing icicles, a violent reminder of the ticking clock. You decide that this spell, no matter how absurd, is the best shot you have. Inhaling another sharp breath that burns your lungs, you cry, “Surge, virens gigas, de terra immunda,” your eyes glued to the page. “Ascendunt ad lunam et super caelos!”

A branch smashes into your chest, knocking the wind out of you—you really need to get used to how quickly these spells take effect—lifting you up as a colossal tree ascends from the ground, growing much more rapidly than even a beanstalk, much less a normal tree. The metal shield slips out of your grasp from the impact, your fingers desperately flailing in its direction futile as it falls and hits the floor with a dull thud.

Your get snapped back to the present from the momentary distraction as your body starts slipping off the branch, with how it's quickly growing into a thick, strong limb with no end in sight. You slide off the ever-stretching wood, scratches cutting into your arms as you frantically try to wrap them around the branch, until only your hands are still hanging on. Using the book, which remains gripped firmly in one hand, you fling it open and cling to each cover. The book's pages spread wide around the wood as you hold on for dear life.

You continue shooting upwards along with the tree, the bookcase racing past you, when a realization hits you like a strike of lightning. This tree won’t stop growing anytime soon, and when it does, you’ll be too high up—if you're still alive, that is.

Glancing above you, you spot the Mirror and the shelf it sits on getting closer, and getting closer fast. Making up your mind, or rather, making a brash decision fueled by your skyrocketing panic, you wait until the shelf you need to reach comes into view. Then, you jump off.

Flinging yourself towards the bookcase, you manage to latch on to a shelf, fingers wrapping around the ledge while your feet find purchase on another ridge a few feet below. The book remains clutched in one hand, your iron grip refusing to let it go. Realizing you can't do anything while holding it, you risk letting go with one hand. Gripping onto the shelf with your other hand, you tuck the book under your chin, angling your head down as you struggle to hold it between your neck and body.

You peer up at your grasp on the shelf, the unforgiving ridges digging into your skin, carving painful lines into your fingers. Your feet barely remain balanced, the ledge not jutting out as far as you’d like it to. Turning your heels in to stay on the little shelf space there is in front of the books, you wince as the ridges between your arms and legs bite into your body. The sweat coating your palms causes your grip to start slipping off, your eyes wide in sheer terror as you let go for a brief second, thrusting your hands further back and hooking onto the edge again.

Glimpsing back down, you see the Mirror resting in its glass cage a few shelves below you, the strange white mist slithering underneath the glass and pouring out over the bookcase like a waterfall. With your chin still uncomfortably positioned as to not lose the book, you release on hand and leg from the shelf, leaving you hanging in between life and death itself.

You move your free hand down one ledge below, then the corresponding foot, haltingly scaling your way down the bookcase. Each time precariously letting go of your grip or footing to blindly feel below yourself for another ledge to stay on. After a few iterations, your feet finally stand on the same shelf as the Mirror, right next to the glass case.

Another piercing boom echoes behind you, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you flinch against the bookcase, quivering breaths sending your heartbeat shooting through the roof. Your eyes dart down to the book you squeeze with your neck, then to where your hands are barely clinging on to the shelf. There’s no chance of using the book to make the glass disappear again. Cursing yourself for not memorizing the incantation earlier, your mind swarms with thoughts, each one so loud they drown out each other.

An idea forms in your head—or rather, slams itself into the sides of your brain like a wave crashing in a bottle while it screams for attention—as you warily lift one foot on top of the heel of the other shoe, maneuvering it off your foot.

Now with only a sock left, you press your toes against the glass container. Inhaling a sharp breath, causing your lungs to ache as they scream for more, you muster enough energy to summon a bolt of lightning, focusing all your attention on passing electrical current through your body and to your foot.

The hotness of the electricity heats up the glass, melting it until there’s a decent-sized hole the size of your foot there. Shuffling to the side and raising your shoeless foot to the ledge above, you draw back your other leg and smash it into the glass, causing the compromised structure to shatter everywhere.

Climbing down the bookcase farther, you come face-to-face with the Mirror of Yteriv at last. It looks exactly like it was depicted in that textbook, sporting an elegant silver frame and seemingly shattered surface, with the two rubies staring at you like glowing eyes.

A loud explosion rings behind you, resounding throughout the entire library. You snatch the Mirror with one hand, turning your head to the side as far as you can without letting the book slip, just in time to see Morgie demolish the ice prison as he breaks free.

It's clear that since now he's no longer bound by frozen spikes of ice, you’re his next target. Taking in an abrupt gasp of air—the only preparation you have—you let go of the shelf.

You plummet towards the ground for only a second before creating small thunderbolts beneath each of your feet, suspending you in midair. Already, you can see Morgie charging up another attack, aiming it straight at you. Book in one hand, Mirror in the other, you take off into a run through the air. Small platforms of electricity form beneath your feet with every step, dissipating again as soon as your foot lifts.

Balls of dark magic hurl towards you, and you already know you have no chance of winning this fight—not like this. But you don’t need to win. Glancing down at the Mirror clutched in your palm as you jump off a thunderbolt, right as it gets blasted by a black orb, you realize that you’ve already completed your mission. Now, all that’s left is to get out of here.

Your mind scrambles for a way out that doesn’t involve getting blasted into smithereens, eyes still fixed on the Mirror as you continue to dash around in midair. Watching the wispy tendrils of white smoke pour out of the artifact, a previous memory from something you read in a book hits you like a flash.

As the Mirror of Ytirev connects to its wielder’s soul, so do its properties, the book had said. The mist emitted by the Mirror fluctuates with the wielder’s emotions; the more powerfully one feels their emotions, negative ones in particular, the more smoke it produces.

A room filled with smoke? You can’t think of a more perfect cover to help you escape.

Grip tightening even further around the Mirror as you leap to another lightning platform, dodging a new attack, you rack your brain for every negative emotion you have—which turns out to be a lot. The adrenaline pumping through your veins as your life flashes before your very eyes from every near-death experience. The way your heart shatters a little more every time your father overlooks your accomplishments, not paying any mind to how hard you strive to please him. Just to get a single smile, a pat on the back, a meager look of pride in your direction. One simple “That’s my daughter!” sent your way.

The anger deep inside you starts to bubble, pure rage sizzling and growing hotter every second you spend lost in your emotions. A fury that is always there, making every breath a little shorter, every happy moment a little duller. A dormant feeling that is usually left undisturbed, except for when it's triggered. Then it becomes a fire that burns hotter than any flame in the depths of hell.

The emotions and thoughts and memories that you keep suppressed in a corner of your heart all coming flooding out, like a dam finally bursting free. How could everyone strand you like that? Leave you all alone to suffer through your grief, while always expecting you to be kind and cheerful. They know what happened, and they have to know how badly it hurts. Yet not a single one cares. Not your dad, not your teachers, not your friends. No one in the entire world ever so much as offered a shoulder for you to cry on or gave you a comforting smile. Not one “I’m here for you” or “It’s all right, take your time.” No, all they did was raise their expectations, setting the bar so high until you’re barely clinging to it, trying to pull yourself up despite your weary arms. Lifting it to such heights that losing your grip and falling would mean certain death.

You think of the snarling, twisted animal that resides deep inside you, embedded into your very being, clawing at the aching hole in your heart left by the absence of your mother. Finally letting it break free after being caged for so long, you feel, oh-so agonizingly, how it scratches its way up your throat and escapes you in a wretched sob.

Why did she leave me? How could she leave me? I’m her daughter, for fuck’s sake. Who can abandon their child like that? Does she not care about me?

Did she ever even love me?

Painful thoughts consume your head as a few stray tears run down your cheek. You grit your teeth, sucking in shaky gasps of breaths. Smothered by your anguish, submerged in emotion.

Yet, despite all this, it works. Remembering the entire point of your self-inflicted despair, your head snaps down to the Mirror. Although your legs burn and throb from all the incessant running, you can’t stop. At least not yet.

Thick fog exudes from the Mirror, rapidly engulfing the whole of the arena. Within a few moments, everything is covered in the dense whiteness, so heavy you can barely see your hand, even if you hold it directly in front of your face.

Morgie disappears in the fog as well, to the point where you can no longer see nor hear him. Assuming that he’s no longer a threat for now—if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, and if he can’t see you, he can’t attack you—you summon a staircase of thunderbolts and walk down it until you safely step onto solid ground.

Your legs practically give way at the first touch of hard floor, the urge to collapse and lie on the ground excruciatingly strong. Mustering up the last of your strength and willpower, you force your feet to step one after another, desperately trying to distract yourself from the fire burning in your muscles at even the strain of supporting your own weight.

Almost done. Almost.

Practically rendered blind by the all-encompassing mist, you keep one hand outstretched, making sure you won’t collide with anything—especially Morgie. Pocketing the Mirror, you continue through the fog. You had made sure to note your direction in relation to the exit before everything became completely invisible as to help you easily find your way out without getting lost. But after a few minutes in the overwhelming whiteness, you start to doubt yourself.

What’s even worse is that there’s no sign of Morgie. You’re not foolish enough to expect him to pop up right in front of you, but you don’t hear him making any sounds either. No footsteps, no breathing, nothing. Your strides are far more muffled as you take your other shoe off too, annoyed at the limping effect the difference in heights causes. But nothing from him.

Your mind starts wandering to what happened to him, refusing to admit that the smallest part of you feels the tiniest bit concerned. Does he need help? Is he still alive? Your intentions were to steal the Mirror and disarm him, not kill him. You’re not evil enough for that.

Not yet, anyway.

After stumbling through the murky fog for a bit longer, you start to notice that now, you can see your hand extended in front of you. The fog is thinning, you think, which means I must be nearing the edge of this area and heading towards the bookcases.

A little bit further, and the fog disperses to all but a thin mist. The bookshelves in front of you come into view, the rows and rows of them finally visible as they expand into the distance. Follow those, and you’ll find the door you came in through.

So, so close…

You take a few more steps, the heavy spellbook still in hand as you reach into your pocket with an unusual, yet profound, sense of paranoia, ensuring the Mirror is still there. Out of nowhere, you feel a strange sort of chill cover your feet. You chalk it up to your lack of shoes, but, not being able to resist the urge, you glance down.

That’s when you see strange feathery tendrils of black smoke on the floor, in stark contrast to the thin mist that hangs in the air. They slither and wrap around your feet as they move, condensing together in front of you and rising up a meter off the ground in the shape of a hissing black cobra.

The cobra flares out its hood whilst flicking its tongue at you, swaying side to side as it stretches to its full height. You stumble backwards, hesitating for only a second too long before it dawns on you where the snake came from.

Behind you, a brooding voice sounds. “Going somewhere?” Morgie asks.

You spin around sharply, dismay and a special breed of horror painted on your face as you turn to face him. “I don’t care what you do, the Mirror is mine,” you growl, shooting him a lethal glare that truly could kill.

“I don’t think so.” He gathers more black magic around his palm, creating an orb that whirls around like a dark, spherical tornado. You both stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, a fracture in time, trying to decide your next move—when he suddenly throws his hand forward.

You flinch away, yanking the book in front of your face as a shield. After a second, when you don’t feel anything, you open your eyes, turning back in his direction in confusion.

And that’s when you see that you weren't the target of his attack.

The book in front of you was.

The dark magic gnaws at it from the back cover, where it hit on impact, eating away at the pages. “No!” you scream, desperately flipping through the paper as the magic destroys it. Your own magic may be quite strong, but since you're barely allowed to practice it, it’s nowhere near the son of Morgana’s abilities or prowess. This book was your only chance at defeating him.

Frantically rifling through the pages, a look of pure horror on your face, you try to scan the spells for something to save you. Teleportation is soon gone, as well as fireball. As soon as you catch a glimpse of a spell name that could be helpful, the incantation is instantly obliterated.

Panic building faster than even the speed of the dark magic, you flip to the front of the book, trying to find a spell at the beginning of the alphabet so you have enough time to actually read the incantation.

But apple is of no use, and neither is bridge. Morgie stands there, gaze transfixed on your struggling form, wickedly smiling with an amused raise of his eyebrows. Guess he really is a villain after all.

The black energy eroding the book spreads across both covers, demolishing the tome as you hold it in your feverishly trembling hands. Your eyes race across the letters, desperate to find one that could even have a chance at saving you.

Dragon, no.

Claws, not that.

Chasm, not that either.

None of these will help me! your internal voice screeches, the book dissipating as you hold it. Then, your eyes snag along a word.

Chains. The perfect spell.

“Ut qui inritat, catenas sentiat iras,” you wildly spit out, heart racing, tongue unable to move fast enough. Your eyes dart frenziedly ahead of your mouth, running on sheer panic as you try to memorize the words in case the book does disappear. “Pati in compedibus, ut solvas pretium peccatorum tuorum,” you continue to cry out.

As the last fibers of the pages evaporate in black fumes, you thrust a hand in Morgie’s direction, yelling the last few words. “Eris enim sine fuga ligatus!”

Nothing.

Then, boom.

The residual magic from the demolished book, no longer contained in a physical form, explodes, the force sending you flying backwards. You soar for a couple feet before colliding with a shelf behind you, your head slamming against a sharp edge.

You crumple to the floor, body bruised, beaten, and bloody. The world spins, your head throbs, and you feel so generally shitty that you want to crawl out of your body and leave this physical hindrance behind.

Your head feels too heavy to lift up, and so it falls forward, swaying back and forth. A warm sensation on the back of your skull draws your senses back to the present, and you lift one weary hand to the spot. Bringing it back down in front of your face, you see a whole lot of red smothered on it, just as more trickles down onto the base of your head and neck.

Groaning, you lift your face to scan your surroundings as the dust settles yet again. The fog is now almost completely gone, allowing you to see rather clearly. Sight still blurry, you barely make out the figure a few meters in front of you as heavy chains whip up from the floor, wrapping around his arms.

More spring up around his legs, dragging him down and causing his knees to buckle. He fights against the metal, but they only tighten as even more encircle his torso, tethering him to the ground. He leans forwards, now kneeling before you, arms spread out and chained to the floor on either side.

In front of him, halfway between you two, lies the Mirror of Yteriv, face-up on the floor.

Scrambling to get up, you slowly manage to stand, leaning your weight on the bookcase behind you. The ground sways underneath your feet, but you don’t collapse. One shaky step after another, you make your way over to the mirror.

You practically crumple to the floor as you lean down to snatch it up, the sounds of chains rattling against each other echoing through your head as their prisoner resists his bonds.

You straighten again, running your fingers over every millimeter of the Mirror’s surface to ensure that the cracks reflected on it are only part of its usual appearance and not actual damage caused during the explosion. Once you're sure of its safety, you look down at the figure shackled in front of you.

Morgie looks up at you, hair disheveled and face bruised, a few drops of blood spattered on his cheek. His eyes are a storm of anguish and a wounded kind of sorrow, his jaw clenched tight. You’d like to think that he isn’t peering up at you, body tied and bound, with resentment etched into his features, but you know you’d be lying to yourself.

He gives another violent tug against the chains, but to no avail. Neither of you speak a word, remaining in complete silence, yet somehow saying a thousand things through your eyes. You stare down at him, at the way he can barely lift his head due to his restraints, the agony swirling in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings in ways that make you ache through your core.

But you’ve already come this far. You can’t turn back now.

The deafening silence remains as you raise the Mirror up in front of yourself, the white mist wrapping around you as if beckoning you closer. The red eyes glow even brighter, their judgment intensifying as your reflection begins to appear in the glass. The cracks on the surface slowly fade away as you come into view, until finally revealing a completely smooth and unmarred image as you gaze into your own eyes.

Except they aren’t yours.

Your reflection in the mirror is not of yourself, but of a younger version of you. She smiles effulgently, a pure, innocent sparkle of wonder in her eyes. A look of untainted bliss painted on her face as she beams.

A look you haven’t seen in your own reflection for a long time.

“Mommy?” her young, high-pitched voice calls out. “Mommy? Moooommy? Where are you?”

A sob gets caught in your throat as you gasp, tears framing your vision. As if the memory finally gets uncovered in your mind, after being hidden away all these years from your brain deeming it too painful, you realize when this is—or rather, what this is.

“Mommy?” she calls again, her smile faltering as her little brow furrows in confusion, her face scrunching ever so slightly. “Mommy?” She turns her head to the side, looking at something out of view before asking, “Daddy, where’s Mommy?”

Your chest heaves as a sharp cry escapes you, the pain taking a physical form in the tears streaking your cheeks, your face contorting as you weep. In the background, a man’s faint, shaky sobs sound.

The mirror slips from your fingers, landing on the ground with an echoing thud. You whimper, uncontrollably trembling breaths causing your chest to jolt back and forth. You don’t move, can’t move, empty hand still suspended in midair.

You feel numb, yet like you're experiencing every emotion all at once. Your brain can’t wrap around this, around any of this, can’t comprehend your own thoughts. Can’t process what you feel. You’ve shoved your emotion down for so long, that now that they’re no longer bottled up, you don’t know how to deal with them.

“I’m sorry.” The voice cuts through the thick silence, snapping you out of the raging war inside your head.

You glance over at Morgie, still wrapped in chains. His eyes no longer hold the same animosity and misery, but instead a soft sort of sympathy, an underlying look of understanding as he peers up at you, head slightly raised.

“I don’t want your pity,” you sniff indignantly.

“I’m not pitying you.”

You look down at him, your chest heaving, eyes bloodshot. Taking shaky gasps of breath through your mouth, your body quivers as you wait for him to continue.

“I didn’t know about your mom, and you’re totally justified for wanting to know what happened to her,” Morgie continues. “You can take that Mirror and walk out of here if you want.” You keep on staring at him, not saying anything, frozen with anticipation as he carries on. “But are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?”

You gulp before responding, voice hoarse and eyes half-lidded, voice cold and numb. “Would you still hesitate to take that risk, even when it means it could make your future finally be one worth living?”

“Your future is already one worth living,” Morgie replies. “You may not see it, but you’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He shakes his head, eyes still boring into you. “Don’t ruin it like this. Blinded by your pain.”

Sniffling, you inhale a shuddering breath. “And how do you know my pain is blinding me, and not making me see clearer? Clearer than I have in my entire life. Clearer than she did.” You jut your chin towards the mirror lying on the floor.

“I don’t. But what I do know, from seeing my own mother, is that pain like this gets you nowhere. Letting the people who were supposed to love you instead turn you bitter and cynical never fixes things. You may think that becoming evil is the solution, but it’s not. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You stare at him intensely, a raw kind of pain displayed on your face, one that no one has ever seen before. A thousand emotions flicker through your eyes, your lips twisting into a whimpering attempt at a smile as you cry again, the sob wracking through your body. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Hope flashes in your eyes, reflected in his. Your gaze softens, looking at him as if he’s the beacon of light at the end of the tunnel. A small grin breaks his steady demeanor, looking at you with optimism shining through the glimmer in his eyes.

You reach down, picking up the Mirror again. You stare at it, although not directly at your reflection this time. He peers up at you, still shackled to the floor, eyes wide with anticipation.

You slip the Mirror into the pocket of your cloak once again before turning around, your back to him. Twisting your head to the side so he hears you, you say, “The chains will disappear in an hour.”

Turning your head back, you walk away and leave him behind, black cape flickering in the dark night.

Unclasping the back, you slip off the locket, placing it in front of you. The rusty metal is reflected in the mirror in front of it, along with the tears that splatter on its surface.

It had belonged to your mother, the only thing you had left of her. She had given it to you when you were a little kid, not too long before she left. It was old and weathered, the silver having tarnished over time. Still, you religiously wore it every single day, never taking it off as if it's a part of your body. And sometimes, if you stare at it hard enough, you can almost trick yourself into believing she's still there.

Safely back in your dorm, all alone, you had set the Mirror down, flipping to the notebook page where you had transcribed the incantations for the ritual, without a second thought.

Now, sitting on the ground, the Mirror leaning against a leg of your desk with your locket as an offering in front of it, you start to hesitate. Your face twists in pure agony, features scrunched up, lips quivering uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears splatter onto your hands and lap.

It’s too late to turn back now.

Taking another shaky breath, you extend your hands forward to the Mirror, placing one thumb on each red gemstone embedded in the intricate silver design. The jewels watch you, scorning your every action. Just like everyone else.

Your eyes flutter closed, letting out the steadiest exhale you’ve had all night. “Speculum, speculum, in conspectu oculorum meorum,” you whisper, feeling the way the rubies press into the flesh of your thumbs. Already, the Mirror starts discharging more fog, enveloping you as it grows denser with each syllable. “Accipe donum meum et veritas libera me.”

You open your eyes as the last words leave your tongue, staring straight into the eyes of your own reflection.

The red gems glow radiantly, emitting a bright light that nearly blinds you. You squint, yet still unrelentingly stare into your eyes—or rather, your younger self's eyes. The fog swirls around you, swallowing you whole. You can’t see anything anymore, can’t even tell where you are. You feel as though your soul, your life’s very essence, gets sucked out of your body and into the Mirror.

You have the sensation of being shoved forward, but you don’t fall. In fact, you don't have a body anymore, no physical vessel to hold you. You try to look down, but you're greeted by the absence of your legs, sheer nothingness filling the space beneath you. You can’t really move around either, not in the way you’re used to. All you can do is simply float, your existence diminished to an untethered life force, with some semblance of what you once were.

Looking around, everything around you is white like before, but not in the suffocating way the fog was. Instead, you stand in a wide expanse of whiteness, a vast field of empty space. It stretches on forever, with no end in sight. It’s as if you’re stuck in a blank canvas, waiting for a painter to bring you to life.

The sound of wind whistles all around you, but not so much as a breeze actually comes. In fact, everything is completely unmoving. Despite the stifling stillness, you remain listening to the sound of the wind. If you strain hard enough, you can hear something almost like faint whispers filling your senses.

You look around again, ignoring the eerie voices. According to all the texts you read, after the Mirror accepts the wielder’s offering, they can ask for their answer. You’re not quite sure if this field of emptiness means your offering’s been accepted, but seeing as how you don’t feel insane yet, you think it’s safe to presume so. Still, your brain can’t help but point out that crazy people probably don’t feel like they’re crazy either.

Shaking off your doubts, you decide to continue with the process. After all, it is the only shot you have. You had memorized all the incantations for this particular spell earlier, repeating them over and over again until every word was engraved into your mind.

“Scire volo verum,” you recite. “I wish to know a truth.” Nothing happens.

You take a deep breath. “I wish to know why my mom left.”

The wind around you grows louder, howling even in the still air. The whispers increase in volume, once seemingly non-threatening and benign, now forming a cacophony of overlapping, chaotic voices. They grow distorted and grating, pushing in from every side, wrapping around you and slithering into your brain. You can’t block them out, no matter how hard you try; can’t swat them away, can’t make them leave, leaving you trying to tear them out of your head, despite not having hands anymore.

Suddenly, the white vastness turns a dark gray, and you start getting pulled downward towards something, like moving towards the center of a black hole. The whispers grow claws and fangs, clawing and scratching at your chest as they drag you down, making it hard for you to breathe.

You try to fight back, but the voices now in your head keep pulling you down. They’ve taken over you, consuming you whole, and it’s impossible not to succumb to their will.

As they continue to drag you down into the abyss, you turn around—or rather, focus on the other side of your vague form of spiritual energy—and notice a tiny black dot very far down, but steadily growing bigger as you move towards it.

The whispers are screaming now, cries of agony of those who came before you, encompassing you whole and forcing you to the depths of this dark chasm.

And that’s when it hits you.

The others who used the Mirror did all end up getting the truths they sought.

And the truth was what drove them to madness.

You panic, trying to shake off the invisible hands of the whisperers, but they only tighten their hold around you. No matter how hard you fight them, they don’t relent in their endeavor of pulling you towards damnation.

“Are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?” Morgie’s words echo in your head out of nowhere, haunting you with regret. You absolutely despise admitting it, but fuck, he was right.

Your last conversation with him replays in your mind, reminding you of your foolishness and idiocy. You had been so focused on getting what you wanted that you were indeed blinded to the truth that had been right in front of you this whole time.

“Your future is one worth living.”

His voice swirls around in your brain, drawing your attention away a little from the screaming voices in your head.

“You’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person.”

You realize these are probably the last words you’ll ever hear.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You feel like crying again, the despair that’s taken root in you fighting to escape. Still, you don’t have an actual body in this dreamscape, so crying is impossible.

“It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You look back up the other direction and away from the black dot, resigned to your fate as you get dragged down into the chasm, deeper, deeper, deeper. At first, you think you’re imagining it; a mirage created by your mind to distract you from your pain. But as the descent continues, you begin to realize that it may not be an illusion after all.

In front of you, from the direction you came, a faint golden thread, seemingly made of pure light, stretches from your form of consciousness and ascends, up, up, up, all the way to the never-ending sky. With each of Morgie’s words you repeat in your head, the string of light grows stronger, brighter.

“You’re talented.”

The thread becomes thicker and more luminous, and you begin to realize that your descent has slowed down as well.

“And smart.”

The thread grows again, and you slow down a little more.

“And pretty.”

Your eyes follow the string upwards, and now, you see there’s a faint patch of white amidst the murky gray surrounding you.

“You’re a good person.”

The thread, still shooting out straight from your form, gleams with a shimmering golden light now. You notice that you’re no longer getting dragged downwards, but instead up, towards the whiteness. The screaming voices aren’t as insufferably loud anymore, either.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You keep ascending, getting drawn faster and faster up. Morgie’s words serve as your lifeline, saving you from insanity.

“You’re not worth it.”

Now, you see that the white patch is actually an opening, an escape from this hell. The thread leads to it, its blinding brightness concealing whatever lies beyond.

“I know so.”

The last of his words give you the final push you need, sending you straight into the white light.

Your head snaps up with a sharp, terrified exhale. You look down, taking a moment to register that you’re back in your room. The locket dangles from one of your hands, the Mirror clutched in the other.

Fresh tears replacing the dried ones on your cheeks as you let out a sob of excruciating heartache, a sound of pure agony. The kind that no one should have to go through.

You look down at the cracked surface of the Mirror—a feeling of raw, unbridled anger set in the way you clench your jaw, and the way your face contorts with your cries—staring straight at the evil red eyes still gleaming at you.

With a swift motion, you lift your hand above your head, still grasping tight. Mustering together all your might, you hurl the Mirror towards the ground, watching as it shatters into a sea of glittering pieces.

“You’re late.”

You lean against the rough brick wall of an empty corridor, arms crossed, your figure partially obscured in shadows.

“And I’m surprised you’re still here,” Morgie quips, walking towards you. “Why’d you even want to talk with me? Especially through leaving that threatening note next to my nightstand for me to find when I woke up.”

He stops in front of you, leaving you to glower at him. Suddenly, with no warning, you lunge towards him, seizing the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the wall, your other hand summoning a rod of crackling lightning.

His eyes widen with a startled gaze, but he doesn’t look quite as fearful as you want him to be. “Now, listen here.” You press the tip of the lightning bolt against his neck. “If you say a word of what happened last night to anyone—especially my father—I will kill you.”

Although you try to sound as menacing as possible, Morgie is unfazed. An amused smirk spreads across his face as he replies, “Alright, relax. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone anyways.”

His eyes trail down from your gaze to the locket dangling from your neck. He reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb along the tarnished metal as he softly says, “You didn’t go through with it, huh?”

You pull away, frustrated at his compassionate tone. “No. I decided…it was too risky. After all, what’s the point of figuring out the past if I can’t ever use that information, right?” A small smile spreads across Morgie’s face, that sympathetic, delicate look in his eyes again. Your irritation rising at this, you add, with a growl, “Although I will find a way to get my answer. I don’t care how bad I have to become, if you, or my father, or anyone stands in my way, you’ll truly see how evil I can be!”

Morgie keeps his unfettered appearance up. God, he’s so annoying! you mentally scream in frustration.

“Why are you so fixed on this?” he asks, tilting his head sideways and furrowing his brow as if trying to look past your cold, vengeful, rancorous mask and figure out the scarred little girl buried underneath.

You roll your eyes instead of answering. Never one to express emotions, the thought of opening up now about your years of pain feels terrifyingly vulnerable. It’s so much easier to just build walls around your heart and shut everyone out.

“Tell me this, and I promise I won’t tell a word of what happened last night to anyone,” Morgie bargains.

You narrow your eyes. “You already said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Well, now I’m having second thoughts.”

You raise your arm again to summon another bolt of electricity, and Morgie lifts his hands, palms facing forward, in a gesture of surrender. “Relax, I won’t say anything, fine. But I just want you to talk to me. Bottling up your emotions like this isn’t healthy. Last night should be a good example of that.”

You shoot another glare at him, but can’t deny the fact that he’s right. Still, you hate the idea of how exposed and weak you'd be if you actually told someone how you feel.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

You peer up at him, eyes wide in shock, as he continues. “I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to worry about me abandoning you.”

Gulping, you nod, averting his gaze. Instead, you choose to look down at your shoes, studying the laces as you speak. “I…when my mom left, it was so sudden. No goodbyes, nothing. It was like one day, she just vanished.”

Your voice cracks, and Morgie places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, unknowingly pulling you closer to him. You swallow, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “My dad didn’t even care. It was as if she never existed. And everyone else…they all knew what happened. But they paid no attention whatsoever. They expected me to act normal, be all nice and sweet as if nothing changed. It made me hate them, hate all of them.”

“Do you hate me?”

Morgie’s voice rings in the empty corridor, quiet yet speaking louder than a thousand shouts. You look up at him again, his image slightly blurred by the tears welling at the bottom of your eyes. You look up and you see the boy that stood by your side at your worst, who didn’t get scared or run away when you showed him your true colors.

The boy who said things no one’s ever said to you, whose words saved you from destroying yourself.

The boy who stands here, a concerned crinkle on his forehead as he awaits your answer. He doesn’t have to be here, listening to your problems. He doesn’t have to care.

But he does.

“No,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t hate you.”

In the suffocating sea of fake smiles and stifling pressures, Morgie is like a breath of fresh air. The first gulp of oxygen that you take as your head breaks free from the water.

“That’s a relief,” he responds, a trace of a smirk ghosting his features.

You give a small, bittersweet laugh. “Ever since my mom left and my dad stopped caring about me, I’ve never had anyone to talk to. No one seems to care about my emotions, or ask me how I’m doing. It’s as if I’m not a real person who has actual feelings.”

You’re on the verge of tears again, and Morgie must realize this, because he tries to lighten the mood by attempting—and failing—to inconspicuously wrap an arm around your shoulder as he says, “So, what I’m hearing from all this, is that you need a strong, reliable figure in your life to lean on, right? Like…a boyfriend or something?”

You duck under his arm, moving a good few feet away from him while fixing him with another glare. “Yeah no, I’m good.”

“Come on, that was smooth! You’ve got to admit it,” he whines, drawing out a small giggle from you.

It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this: a true, heartfelt laugh, not the fake one that you do to appease other people under the pressure of society's expectations. It feels nice, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

All because of him.

“I don’t know, maybe I'll consider it with some time, if you treat me well,” you joke as you turn your head away with faux indifference.

“Hey, a slim chance is better than no chance at all, right?” Morgie moves closer to you again, as if he can’t stand having so much space between the two of you. “I can see I’ve made some progress since last night, when you tried to kill me.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the bruises on my body.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so weak and sensitive,” you retort with a grin.

He nudges you playfully and you laugh again, shaking your head with an amused look. “Hey, I was wondering,” he asks, locking eyes with you, “what did you end up doing with the Mirror?”

You give a knowing grin, masking the undercurrent of what’s left unsaid. You vaguely respond, “It’s in a better place now.”

“If you say so,” Morgie replies, his smile returning to his face and lighting up his features once again. He continues to tease you, and you oblige him, keeping up the friendly banter as he walks you to class.

The Enchanted Lake glistens, reflecting the sun’s gentle rays with a bright shimmer. Deep down, under feet of clear blue water and various forms of aquatic life, in a far corner of the lake, lies a bag of glass shards. Next to it floats an ornate metal carving with a hollow center, reminiscent of something once set there. And at the top, two glowing red gemstones briefly flicker and die out, like watchful eyes finally closing.

end x

read more of my works here!

taglist: @4ng3l-ch1ld @astrynyx @0strawberrysorbet0 @ljaylmaoo @maggiecc @elltheawkward @eretsupremacy89 @dreamerofasgard @mabs04

just leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

a/n: how did this get so long...if you're still here, and if you actually read that entire thing, thank you so so soo much! I'm sending you a virtual cookie and a hug (if you're comfortable with it ofc) because you're absolutely awesome! <3 hope you enjoyed reading!

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

182 notes · View notes

jazzyblusnowflake · 6 months

Text

OKAY SO

since yall wanted me to talk more about this Demon!Uzi and Hunter/Exorcist!N,V,J au I'm just gonna write down my ideas here just to get them out of my head-

thanks to @purrple-bat for helping with some of the ideas :D

some details may be nsfw cuz i mentioned it previously so that's your content warning🔞

also there may be plot holes and its not fully complete or whatever im just trying to get this out of my head 😭 main ship is NUziV // ViolentBitingBiscuits

the Au is an urban setting- not a forest and fantasy dnd kinda thing-

Tessa is the leader of several groups of teams that are demon hunters and exorcists.

J, V and N are in the same team and those are their codenames.

Uzi is a halfie, with Khan as the human parent and Nori as the demon parent. they are referred to as "Changelings" too.

Uzi cannot be exorcised from her demon side or she will become a mindless unresponsive zombie. methods have still not been found on how to exorcise these demons and disabling their powers without killing them, mostly due to the lack of anyone caring.

Demons feed on different things related to humans, mostly their emotions, with a heavy preference on fear, pain, anguish and etc

some more bolder demons will kill or drink blood of humans but even in the demons society that's a taboo and if any leads are traced back to you being a demon, you will be eliminated by your own kind before the humans can get to you.

Uzi was caught by accident, fully blended in as a human.

She's cheeky and likes making humans miserable and playing around with them, but she's not really one of the threatening ones, she doesn't want to or care about hurting them.

Doll is a full demon and is kinda like a sister figure to Uzi [but not really cuz sometimes they f-], always advising her to get away from humans and she might end up getting hurt or some shit.

Nori has multiple lovers, she feeds off the love and lust but she considers it a just a treat, she's actually one of the most powerful demons around and absolutely loves feeding off of nightmares, trauma, horror and dread. she does have a soft spot for khan tho as her only human lover. khan is generally just dumb for loving a demon as his wife. smh

Nori is a high ranked demon meaning she could share her energy with other demons if any of them would want to pass as normal humans and just live in society. also could send out demons to capture or punish one of their own for breaking rules.

Uzi starts out weak but upon capture, bluffs a lot about how powerful she is and that she likes to play around with them.

They keep Uzi to get information out of her about other demons.

On attempts at getting away she does end up getting closer to N.

Uzi likes feeding on misery and angst but the genuineness of Ns affections made her thirsty for more.

She ends up also getting closer to V from bantering and sometimes talking about stuff and etc and sometimes sparring and fights when she attempts to escape. N saves V at one point before Uzi did some real damage. V grew to actually respect her more after that.

Uzi was let go after a while since they checked and she wasn't really at a power level to threat anyone [much to Uzi's resentment that she could be powerful if she wanted to >:( ]

Hunters and exorcists have magical seals hacked into their bodies for protection. their arms have these symbols that can be used as weapons that appear in translucent shapes like claws and shields and swords. 5 pair of vertical eyes appear above their heads and a glowing X marks their face when they are using their powers- marking that the demon cannot get into their heads. their eyes glow gold once using their powers despite the original color of their eyes.

the same kind of powers and seals appear on demons but they don't hack it into their bodies, they gain it with ranks. demons have human forms and demon forms, changelings are just weaker from the beginning. unless they are possessed...

V and N start giving Uzi "treats" whenever she helps them out in catching more dangerous demons. this ranges from kisses, bites, their blood toooooo more intimate stuff :3 at first this starts out as an idea to get her to talk but after a while V couldn't help but to feel affection towards this pint sized little gremlin.

Uzi gets overwhelmed when she is showered with affection by being in the middle of V and N, she is touch and affection starved and she gets easily addicted to it, wanting to claim the two as her own.

V and N putting seals on Uzi that makes her enjoy their touches and intimacy more but edging her and keeping her from releasing until she gives them the info they need. Uzi probably would tell them the info anyway- she just likes to see how far she could handle the two before she breaks into a begging, pleading mess.

Uzi purrs and does everything in her power to keep anyone from finding out...

Drinking demon blood makes Hunters gain more power, and drinking human blood makes demons feel pleasure and ecstasy as well as gaining more power, especially if the human is a hunter/magic user.

Uzis wings are sensitive and she likes to clean them with a wet cloth. N and V like to help her with this. and her tail mouth too lol.

The demons have a hellish demon sect that even they all fear... i think you can guess who the head of it is...

Aaaaand i think thats all for now idk. bye- //exploads

295 notes · View notes

kattomei · 2 months

Text

Fic where insecure!reader who strives for perfection keeps accepting other people's requests at the expense of her health and Sebastian is left to follow her around everywhere because he's concerned and worried half to death, lol.

Wordcount: 4,874

Warnings: none. Just tooth-rotting fluff and a very stressed out Seb.

(this is my first ever fanfic pls be nice...I do appreciate any constructive criticism tho- and I'm also in the process of writing a few others, i alr have a crap ton of drafts so stick around if u happen to like this one! ☺️)

Sebastian noticed a gradual shift in your once-lively demeanor. Your usual sunny disposition, which seemed to consistently lift the spirits of those around you, was now tinged with a growing exhaustion of some sort. The usual bounce in your step was replaced by a slightly slower, lagging stride, and your typical bright smile that could instantly push away any dreariness out of a room was now feeling subtly gloomier.

The changes were miniscule at most, but Sebastian pondered internally that, had he not been watching you so closely, he would've otherwise thought nothing was amiss.

Even your conversations had become disheartening, as his recent attempts had only been met with a sense of detachment. He had grown to long for your usual, easy flow of banter and witty remarks. Despite Sebastian's best efforts to keep your exchanges the same, that had only served to make it feel even more forced and one-sided as he observed you in classes, your gaze seeming to frequently be unfocused and your mind, lacking of any coherent thought.

At first, Sebastian dismissed the changes as nothing out of the ordinary, as everyone had all been preparing for the approaching N.E.W.T.'s exams. He simply reasoned that similar signs of fatigue could be observed in his fellow sixth-years, attributing to the stress that comes with these events.

----

As morning brightness streamed through the Transfiguration's classroom windows, You, Poppy and Natty sat side by side, engaged in silent contemplation, having an almost unspoken agreement on not to converse as the looming threat of exams has all but drained you three completely.

Mrs. Weasley's rather authoritive voice encompassed the otherwise silent space. Though most of her words seemed to lack any coherence as you actively fought the sleep taking over your slumped form.

You hadn't even realised when the exhaustion had won your silent battle but you're quickly awakened by Poppy's warm palm on your shoulder, fluttering your eyes open to be met with her concerned gaze

"Are you okay?" The hufflepuff noted the unusual darkness circling your undereye, peering behind you to share a troubled expression with Natty.

"I'm fine, no worries." You quickly dismissed her and shook your head enthusiastically, ignoring how the action had all but made the room spin.

Natty's worried voice spoke up from behind you, "Are you sure? It is not like you to fall asleep, and during class hours no less." she insisted.

"I assure you both, I'm feeling quite alright." you piped, rather frantically and curse at the slight waver in your voice, certain that both girls had noticed it. You straightened your shoulders from it's slouched position, as if to further prove your point. Natty's scrutinizing gaze made it clear that the feeble attempt hadn't convinced her, however.

The minutes ticked by slowly, each of them feeling like an eternity. The class seemed to last significantly longer than usual, further adding to your mild frustration. However, your clouded thinking, or rather lack thereof, was eventually interrupted by the booming voice of Mrs. Weasley..

"Now, I would like all of you to repeat after me, AH-viss." Her command was followed soon after by echoed choruses of the incantation from the class. "Very well. Now, Kindly try it for yourself. Do remember the meticulous 'M' movement, lest you find the idea of being faced with countless squawking, flightless creatures compelling." She grimaced as though an unsavoury memory flashed in her mind, before shortly replacing it with her usual assuring smile.

Even without paying close attention, you heard enough to know that the spell's purpose was to conjure several, flying medium sized birds. You Steadily pulled out your wand, and point it upwards, you steel yourself... then tensed. Pausing for a moment, you rack your brain to recall the incantation.

Just as your worries began to mount, Poppy's clear words suddenly piped from beside you, looking over you see her apprehensively whipping her wand : "Avis!" Despite the timid attempt at casting, her incantation rang out with such clarity that you questioned briefly if she had noticed your silent struggle.

You silently thanked her eitherway, and with a steadied hand, you took a small breath before casting, "Avis!" With a swift flick of your wand, a loud boom reverberated through the air, like a shot from a gun. As the smoke cleared, your gaze settled on the small, twittering bird now infront of you. It's wings fluttered clumsily as it heaved it's body afloat with visible effort.

Looking to your right you see Natty with her assortment of conjured birds swiftly circling around her head - a stark contrast to your own haphazardly flying bird. It was clear that was how the spell was supposed to work, an array of birds instead of the lone creature you had conjured.

Natty directed her gaze towards you as her eyes flicked down and noticed your meager creation. She tilted her head to examine your chubby aviary. Her expression turned visibly worried as she noted the sorry state of your conjured bird. She knew that, normally, your class performance was held to a high standard, often even rivalling her own. However, observing the stuttered beating of your bird's wing only deepened her concern further.

When class had finally ended, you wasted no time in quickly pushing yourself off your seat and striding out the door, knowingly avoiding your friends' impending interrogation.

You slipped out into the hall, and maneuvered around the sea of students with practiced agility. As you strode down the corridor, you were keenly aware of the presence of Poppy and Natty trailing behind you, their footsteps growing nearer with each passing moment. This thought had only caused you to hasten your hurried pace.

Quickly rounding a corner your forehead slams against someone's firm chest and two calloused hands perched itself onto your shoulders to help keep you steady, the familiar scent of books and pine fills your senses. As you look up to confirm your suspicions you see that it's none other than the subject to most of your budding affections since the past year.

Sebastian's shocked expression shifts into one of fondness as he realises that it's you. He then presents you with his usual charming grin. Sensing your distress shortly after though, his face drops, and his warm hand tightens it's hold against your shoulder blades.

"You alright? You look like you've just sprinted through an angry horde of diricawls." He masks his growing concern with humour in attempt to alleviate your tension and he can't help but crack a small smile as he feels you relax under his palm.

"Merlin, why does everybody keep asking me that.." You groan loudly infront of the boy, and he rolls his eyes in response, smiling fondly. "I don't know, It might be because you more or less resemble a pesky raccoon with how dark your undereyes have gotten."

"Oh, bugger off, will you?" you merely huff out indignantly and cross your arms in response. The action only serves to make him laugh, his boyish charm radiating off of his echoed laugher, and you unconsciously melt against his hold.

Sebastian's laughter fades as his gaze dropped back to study you intently, causing you to squirm subtly under the intensity of his stare. His amusement quickly gave way to concern as he asked with more seriousness, his tone softer than before, "No, but seriously, you've been looking a bit worse for wear these past few days. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Been keeping a close eye on me, have you?" You chimed, your lips tugging upwards into a slight smirk before you could stop yourself. Sebastian merely quirks an eyebrow at your insinuation, and you shift uncomfortably under him when his signature charming grin slowly made it's way onto his face. He had to admit that he missed your rather flirty banter and snarky remarks (not sure if you ever meant to make it seem that way, but he liked to think you did.)

Sebastian's voice came out casual and nonchalant, almost playful, as he continued, "Despite your usual, slow judgement, I can see you know. Besides, who could possibly resist keeping their eyes on you? " His words were spoken casually, yet held a hint of flirtation, a slight jab at your obliviousness to his observation.

Before you could even question what he meant, Poppy's voice rings throughout the hall calling out your name, making you look over your shoulder to see her and Natty steadily closing the distance between the four of you.

Without sparing the boy a reply you swiftly duck against Sebastian's hold and hurriedly jog away from his tall frame. Not looking back, you beeline to your next class and silently pray that nobody else bombards you with the same queries and worried glances that had been plaguing you all morning.

Sebastian was left to stand alone, shock evident on his face as his arms are left frozen midair where it had once been grasping your slender shoulders, his form unmoving and mind still reeling from your abrupt departure.

Snapping out of his daze, his head snapped from your steadily distancing frame to your friends' approaching figures. Both girls had finally managed to reach him, and the duo were left slightly breathless.

Sebastian, being the ever courteous lad that he was, waited patiently for the two to gather their bearings before shooting each of them a questioning look.

"That girl does not know when to take a break!" Natty heaved slightly panting, whereas Poppy slumped over herself from beside Natty, her hands perched on her own chest as visible distress plastered itself on her usual calm and serene face.

"She's been performing quite poorly in class and has even been dozing off. 'Suspect she's exhausted.." Poppy said, frowning and continued "It's nothing outrageous for a student of course, especially now during N.E.W.T's... But you know better than anyone how she normally is, Sebastian. She'd sooner lick the floor rather than let her grades drop.." She mused worriedly.

Sebastian did, in fact know better than anyone that you would strive for the best grades you could possibly get, seeming to brighten with the validation you received from professor's whenever you performed particularly well in classes.

He couldn't help but sink deeper into concern when he realised that at this point, it wasn't just him who noticed your peculiar behaviour. He worried what kind of predicament weighed your otherwise steadfast bright and energetic demeanour and cause it to dimmer significantly.

---

This tiring game of cat and mouse continue as the trio fight tooth and nail to try and drag you into resting. And as another day passes by, more of your mutual friends start picking up on your recent oddities.

Garreth confessed that while he usually did respect you dearly, he couldn't resist the fits of laughter bubbling from his chest at the sight of you, covered in black soot. You were brewing a batch of Wiggenwald and it all but exploded into your face. The dark substance had coated your normally otherwise pristine and spotless skin.

After a while even Ominis, despite lacking the significant bodily sensation of sight, managed to notice your tired energy contrasting the usual sunny girl he's come to know. Everyone tries everything they can to make you rest, but for someone who possesses a considerably fragile disposition you owned a rather steel hard stubbornness (much to your friends displeasure).

Normally, Sebastian would think this trait of yours quite endearing, but these days between everyone including him trying to force you to rest and only having you huffing and rejecting is just proving to irk him more and more.

You've been trying to ignore the dizzying sensations badgering you in random hours the entirety of the day. Afternoon arrives and you're walking with Sebastian and Ominis towards the Potions wing.

Striding rather abruptly, your vision blurs in an instant and the room starts spinning, stumbling slightly you steady yourself in a frenzy and attempt to mask the growing throbbing of your head, hoping to Merlin that both boys had failed to notice.

Purposely avoiding their line of gaze you hurriedly continue to walk forward, missing the deep scowl now etched onto Sebastian's lip and Ominis' visible agitation, the latter's wand pulsing a radiant red.

***

As Sebastian spots you in the hall the next day, you seemed to look worse than ever before, skin ghastly pale and your usual vibrant face lacking any of it's normal vigor. You looked ready to pass out at any given moment, before he could stop himself he followed you out of heavy concern, purposely sticking to you at a safe distance, intent and ready to catch you when you inevitably fainted before you had the chance to even hit the floor.

He trailed behind your form as quietly as he could (though he doubted there was any use in that since you looked as if your mind held no coherent thought whatsoever.)

You turned a corner and he stalked silently over to the wall to peek his head out. Taking in the view just in time to see a Hufflepuff walking over to greet you, stopping abruptly and leaning his back against the wall he hears the girl say "I'm Adelaide Oakes, you're that sixth year everyone's been talking about since last July aren't you? I've heard about your... endeavours through countless others and I've been hoping to get some time alone with you..."

Sensing where this was going Sebastian leans forward to hear better into the conversation, hoping, praying that you wouldn't even entertain the idea on accepting whatever this girl was going to ask of you.

The aforementioned said something about suspecting her dear uncle had gotten himself in a band of goblin's bad favours, and she continued by expressing the worry it had all caused her for the past week. Sebastian mentally cursed as he saw your tired eyes softening at the troubled girl's words, knowing full well that you were going to accept the moment the girl finished talking.

Sebastian suspected you were planning to sneak out the moment classes were over, and his mind was already whirling with ideas on how to prevent you from doing so.

With your last class of the day being Arithmancy, Sebastian had already decided that he would intercept you the second you stepped out of the classroom, determined to stop you from carrying out your plan.

As the Slytherin made his way towards his next class, his thoughts drifted off, and he couldn't help but mull over why you seemed to be so willing to help someone else in such a state. Sauntering along, he found himself puzzling over your decision.

He arrived at his designated seat in class and settled down, resting his chin on his palm as his brows scrunched together in thought. Sebastian found himself lost in contemplation, mentally tuning out Professor Weasley's lecture.

Sebastian reached his conclusion as the class continued, realizing that your willingness to help stemmed from your ridiculously kind nature. He thought that you simply couldn't bear the thought of saying no to anyone, and he silently lamented this thought throughout the remainder of the class.

***

But of course, something just had to go wrong. The second Professor Weasley dismissed Transfiguration classes, Sebastian bolted upright and ran straight through the door before most had even gotten the chance to take a few steps from their desks.

'Why does the castle's halls have to be so darn crowded this particular time of day?' Sebastian thought bitterly to himself, shoving his way into the cramped cluster of students.

Reaching his destination infront of the open classroom door, Sebastian cursed again, his eyes darting from side to side as he scanned the room, desperately searching the area for any sign of you. Spinning quickly, he anxiously scoured the corridor, but you remained nowhere to be seen.

After glumly kicking the nearby doorframe, Sebastian stalked away with a deep frown, opting to wait for your return instead. He overheard the general direction the girl had pointed you in and thought you would most likely enter through the north exit, passing by a grandfather clock, he noted the time:

5:30 in the afternoon.

With a huff, he sat himself down in front of the giant double doors, stilling as he prepared to wait for your return, ready to tend to you the moment you entered.

----

Weakly striding up the Hogwarts ground's north entrance you reached a hand up to push open the heavy, double door. The sun peeked out of the horizon, steadily rising as some birds started to chirp, all while the cold morning air nipped against your flushed cheeks, Your palm perched on your forehead as a deep gash on your shoulder prevented you on making use of both hands.

Trudging upwards, you swayed under the dizziness and fatigue. Besides the crimson slice across your upper arm, your body was littered with bruises and other minor injuries, your mind, foggy. Wondering how you'd even managed to escape alive and rescue Adelaide's uncle considering your already pitiful state - you had no idea.

Pushing open the large entrance, you stepped inside, your head throbbed painfully as the heavy door slammed shut with a deafening thud.

----

Sebastian's slouched form jerked awake from the echoing sound of the door closing. Rubbing his eyes, his vision focused on the figure now standing at the entryway. Hastily standing up to squint at the figure, he's greeted by a clear view of your disheveled appearance infront of him.

Sebastian observed you taking a few steps forward, and he slowly started to stride towards you. You seemed to be in such a daze that you failed to have even noticed his approaching presence.

Sebastian's concern escalates as he watches you waver and wobble on your feet. Unconsciously, he transitions his stride into a jog, and then a sprint, quickly closing the distance between you- just in time to catch you right before your body collapsed, preventing your unconscious form from hitting the cold marble floor.

***

Waking up to the view of the hospital wing's pristine white ceiling you gingerly blink a few more times in attempt to try and refocus your vision.

Turning your head to the side, you're greeted with Sebastian's slouched form sitting on a stool beside you. Dark circles encompassed his undereye and his hair seemed to be messier than usual. He seemed to be in deep thought, both elbows on his knees and chin resting on his palm, brows furrowed while he chewed on his bottom lip, staring intensely at a corner of the room.

His gaze wandered until it locked with yours, without warning he swiftly straightened his body and clutched your unmoving hand positioned on your side. He seemed to be in an internal debate with himself as his mouth closed and opened repeatedly.

Finally, after silently confirming that you seemed to be in a steady enough condition, he yelled loudly, making you visibly flinch in response to the sheer volume and intensity of his voice. "How could you have been so utterly daft!? You've been out doing who knows what, running around the highlands doing favours while being in such a state!? Imelda had been going at it in my ear for the better part of the morning reprimanding me for ever letting you get away with all of it in the first place-- And honestly I can't blame her! Merlin , If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were intentionally trying to get yourself killed!"

You were speechless, you had expected some sort of lecture, but definitely not something that heated. You stupidly stared at him with wide eyes paired with a slightly agape mouth, until finally managing to sputter something out. "I-I'm...sorry...?"

You were surprised at his outburst because you hadn't ever witnessed Sebastian being this emotional, except when it was something that had been related to Anne.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of your bedridden form, pale complexion, cracked lips, and labored, shallow breaths had all but hit Sebastian with a gut-wrenching familiarity. He simply couldn't bare the concerning resemblance you momentarily held of his cursed twin, and without thinking, he had lashed out the emotions of his revelation to you.

Letting out a shaky exhale he rested his gaze back onto yours, his eyes round and forehead wrinkled. "You.... I don't understand. Why on Merlin's name, would you do something so foolish? "

Wincing at the sharp edge in the last word of his question, you averted your gaze, shame washing over you as you instinctively pressed your lips together in a thin, tight line. "I...I'm sorry, I just, I-.." Mentally cursing at your pathetic stammering, your face steadily grew hot, and your eyes brimmed with tears. "u-uhm-...." Your voice cracked, forcing you to briefly clench your eyes shut to contain the tears threatening to spill over.

Sebastian instantly softened and unconsciously rubbed his thumb over the back of your clutched hand. "I apologise, I... While I daresay this wasn't an overreaction on my part, eitherway I'm still sorry." A few seconds of silence pass before he continues. "I get that you find it difficult to reject favours... But is it truly that hard to say no for you?"

Swallowing heavily, you slowly shake your head, denying his prior assumption which, in turn earns you a confused stare from Sebastian. "...I don't do it because I find it difficult to say no to others."

Pausing, you hesitantly look back at the boy and he replies, slowly. "Then why..?" Inhaling a sharp breath you continue, "I do it to feel like I'm a better person than I actually am.. I'm just constantly worried about what others think of me. This image of being the almighty 'Hero of Hogwarts' It's...It's like a shadow that follows me everywhere, and... I'm scared of the day when everyone realises that I'm really... nobody special."

"Bullshit." Sebastian firmly speaks out, making you stare at him with wide eyes. Brief silence envelopes you both, the slytherin pauses to sigh deeply before looking at you with furrowed brows paired with wide, round eyes before giving your hand another gentle squeeze.

"Where on earth have you been getting these ideas?" He asks, before his expression of gentle concern shifts to one of anger "Has someone been planting these absurdities into your head??" Hastily, you shake your head and it takes a moment for Sebastian to recollect himself before directing an incredulous stare at you (as if it was hard for him to comprehend that you could even think you weren't deserving of your reputation and title.) Because truthfully, he thought you of all people deserved it most, and he would sooner dive fifty meters off the edge of a cliff before letting you think differently.

He rubs his thumb over the back of your palm again before raising his unoccupied hand onto your upper arm and slowly sliding it onto your shoulder. "You're absolutely unreal. I mean, the least you could do to appear more human is to grow an insufferably large ego- to match all the things you've managed to do. I mean, of all the thick-headed prats I know... none of them could even begin to compare with all the things you've accomplished."

Suddenly, the room feels considerably warmer, the thick hospital blanket draped down your lower body suddenly becoming more unbearable as the seconds ticked by, you're avoiding Sebastian's gaze as he addresses you with the utmost gentleness you've ever heard someone speak.

"....Think about it, you started late into hogwarts-- fifth year, where OWL's and every heavy workload starts piling up when you were running behind in five years worth of education. And yet you managed to pass through considerably one of the hardest exams in hogwarts being only second to N.E.W.T's in difficulty- and all the while fighting trolls, poachers, goblins and ashwinders and who knows what every other day like they were child's play, WITH your limited duelling knowledge."

Sebastian retracts his hand from your shoulder and launches it onto his messy hair, pushing the strands back with his fingers before abruptly leaning his head back to let out an unbashed laugh and dropping it back down to lock eyes with you. "Bloody hell, don't even get me started on your duelling. I mean, you managed to beat me! Reigning duelling champion with Levioso! A damn first-year level levitation charm! On your first day, no less!"

The brunette scoffed and rolled his eyes as you giggle, feigning annoyance while he secretly feels himself melt at the sound. "Yeah, you're probably feeling quite pleased with yourself now, aren't you?" His scowl gradually faded into an endearing smile as he gazed back at you. "Good."

Your laughter falters as you're caught off guard by the look of fondness his gaze held as he stared at you. He continues his verbal tirade, but this time he looks to the side, opposite of you, unable to meet your gaze as he blurts out the last of his confession.

"I don't know how you ever came to the conclusion that you're somehow undeserving of everything you've rightfully earned. Well, I'll even go as far as disagree and say that you deserve more... But- that's not the point" He falters for a brief moment, stuttering slightly as his ears flush a delicate shade of red, and you can't help but bite your lip, suppressing a giggle at the sight.

He inhales sharply, before continuing speaking, his tone filled with conviction. "But... I know you better than anyone else. And I can say this with absolute certainty, you are far from a nobody. You're strong... kind,- and one of the bravest people I know. You may not see it, but trust me, you're anything but insignificant." Your breath catches in your throat as he slowly turns his head back to look at you .

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you lock eyes for a while. You take a deep breath and summon your courage, raising your free hand, you gently rest it on his, the one that's grasping your own. His eyes follow the movement closely, then he snaps his gaze back to your face. A demure smile graces your lips, unknowingly making his heart stutter at the sight. Then, you give his hand a firm, reassuring squeeze, and he swears he felt his soul ascend for a brief second.

Your shared little moment is quickly dissolved as the hospital wing's doors slam open, the familiar view of your friend group marching in. Instinctively, you tug both your hands out of his grasp, momentarily pulling your conjoined hands, and in turn, Sebastian- forward from the sudden action.

Imelda's familiar rumbustious voice fills the quiet room. "Nice of you to rejoin the land of the living." she announces, whereas Poppy quickly makes her way over to your side, opposite of where Sebastian was situated.

"Does your head hurt?-" Not giving you any time to reply, she hastily grabs both your shoulders. "Your shoulders are so tense- I'll ask Nurse Blainey to prepare you a calming draught right after this." She coos, before swiftly raising a hand over to your forehead "Oh my, you're heating up...Your face is unbelievably red- Oh, poor you-"

"Merlin, let the girl breathe Poppy." Imelda barks out a laugh from the foot of your mattress. You manage to flash a weak smile to the worried hufflepuff before she reluctantly leans back and steps away from your bed.

Sneaking a quick glance back over to Sebastian, you're greeted with the view of him unmistakably pouting, his hand left on the spot ontop of your bed where you had pulled away from him. Your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of Ominis' musing.

"I can't say we didn't tell you something like this would end up happening if you didn't stop, but you're just as stubborn as our dear Mr. Sallow, here." Everyone collectively shares a laugh before Natty steps over to your side holding up a pile of parchment.

"It's some of our classwork you missed throughout the day, we all decided to help out in gathering it.... To make sure you wouldn't miss out on any of the lessons." the girl smiled before putting the assortment of work on your bedside table.

"Thank Natty, She thought about the idea first, she deserves most of the credit." Garreth confesses, effectively causing Natty to rub her neck, and she looks over to you, bashful. "Well, I don't share all the same classes with you, so none of this could have been done without everyone's help."

As the group steadily starts talking between themselves, You slowly slide your hand over to Sebastian's, your touch tentative as you shyly maneuver to link your pinky with his, keeping your gaze fixed on your chatting friends. He's initially caught-off-guard by the gesture but quickly responds by shifting his finger to press gently against yours, his pout transforming into a subtle, tender smile.

In your mind, you made a mental note to talk to Sebastian after your friends left, with the intention of continuing your prior conversation to where it had been left off.

#sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x reader #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #hogwarts legacy #imelda reyes #poppy sweeting #natsai onai #insecure reader

166 notes · View notes

pursuitseternal · 9 months

Text

“The Second Day” of “Antics of the Newly Ascended:” staring Batstarion🦇

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 1.3K Pure antics and comedy

🦇 art by @marimosalad Link to full art

Summary: You can’t pick a lock without your Rogue, even if he is Ascnedant now. So you wait… and wait… until a new unexpected visitor flies in.

CW: Banter, Poop jokes, Tav filtering Astarion’s threats and antics, sneezes, and cute fluffy vampiric bats with an attitude 🦇 (no smut)

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterist

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

“Hells, what is taking him so…flipping long?”

For a split second, you think Gale might actually swear, but no. The goody-two-shoes scout wins out in the end. You giggle anyway.

“Said he’d be back quick with a new set of lockpicks ready to go, Mister Ascendant Lord and expert of the underbelly of Baldur’s Gate…” Gale huffs and folds his arms crossly.

Karlach snorts next to you, both your backs leaning against the alley walls. You keep to the shadows, eyeing up the house you need to enter… surreptitiously. Those Flaming Fist have been everywhere lately, and you still needed your Rogue to break you in nearly everywhere in the City.

“He’s probably too busy doing Ascendant things to hurry, Gale,” Karlach chuckles, peering her horned head into the street.

“Like what?” you ask, folding your arms and pouting your lips, “what could he possibly be doing but rushing back to be with me?”

Gale rolls his eyes, seeing the wry expression on your face, he realizes you joke. “Oh, good one,” he chortles. “Oh lots of things, I would imagine if I applied my wildest musings…”

“Get to the point wizard!” Karlach slaps him on the back. “More taunting, fewer words.”

Gale sputters for air after having it knocked from his body. And you laugh at that.

Suddenly, you feel a breeze pass your face. A blur of white settles on the wall beside your head. Hanging upside down.

A fluffy white bat. It chitters at you.

“Oh shit,” Karlach jolts at the sight. “That thing is massive.”

It seems to chitter more.. proudly at that. You narrow your eyes at it… your other companions draw away a step, leaving the beast with space.

“If Astarion were here, he’d probably call it a snack and snatch it from the air…” Gale jabs, a self-confident smile on his face, proud of his own humor. His own best entertainment.

“Naw… he’s too busy picking out new fancy clothes…” Karlach peers into the street.

“Too busy trying to burst into a sea of mist…” Gale laughs.

You giggle, thinking of something he did just that morning, for an hour, “Preening his hair into a perfect coif before kissing his reflection…”

Gale’s mouth snaps shut. The bat on the wall chitters noisily again, flapping its wings as it comes to dart around your head. “That bat is all over you,” his eyes narrow, “but I’m fresh out of Speak with Animals potions for now.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind, maybe he’s lonely…” You hold out your hand, an offering to let the little mammal rest somewhere soft. “Gives me something to look after until Astarion comes back.”

“Don’t let him see you’ve got a new pet…” Gale taunts, leaning closer to peer at the creature that now rests in your palm, “He might get jealous and snap it up in his fangs.”

Does… is the bat… glaring at Gale?

You look closely, but Karlach guffaws. “Oh oh, I’ve got it. I think I know what’s keeping the Vampire Ascendant! He’s probably stuck taking his first shit in two-hundred years...”

Okay, now that bat in your palm is definitely glaring, and chittering, and… pissed. You look closely at last, it’s white fur catches the sun in shades of silver, its eyes are a deep red… almost a crimson…

You stop. “Astarion?” you murmur at the little creature, patting its head with a single finger.

It… He… bounces on your hand, chittering away, pointed little face nodding.

“For fucks sake…” Karlach groans. “How the fuck did you turn into that?”

Gale leans closer… but not too close just in case. “I’ve read that some Vampires can take forms themselves, if powerful enough.” He grins widely, “Could be ferocious werewolf, or noxious cloud…” that grin twists, “Yours is adorable, if I do say so myself, Astarion.”

You can almost hear the ire in the noises that he makes in reply. Still nonsense chatter, but the emotion is clear.

He is not amused.

“Gale, you do realize he will turn back, and he will be pissed,” you warn with a shake of your head. You freeze, a whisper tickling inside your mind as the creature in your palm twitches and rests. “Astarion says it’s not his fault you're a pack of incompetent… oh,” you pause, patting him on his head with a finger, “I’m not going to say that part, my love.”

“He’s… talking to you?” Gale twists his head and raises a brow. “Like, mind to mind?”

“Yes,” you nod, “we are just as baffled at the moment, I will be honest with you, even if he said not to tell you…” the bat starts scrabbling up your arm, chittering even more noisily than before. “Stop whining, darling. You’ll figure it out.” He comes to rest on your shoulder, hanging upside down from the seam of your shirt. “And he says he would rather you never again speculate about his bowel movements either, on pain of… I’m going to say, a severe talking to.”

“That’s not what he said is it?” Karlach guffaws.

You can’t help but let your finger scritch under his little chin as he dangles from your shoulder. “No, no,” you giggle as you watch his beady little eyes flutter shut at the petting. “He used his regular ascendantly foul mouth.”

“Well, Vampire Ascendant or not, he’s not going to be much help breaking and entering in that form, is he?” Gale snips, rolling his eyes.

“He says he would be more than happy to talk us through it, if we… oh, again? I’m not suggesting that, my pet,” you shake your head, removing your scratching finger to wag it at him. “Naughty,” you chide.

“How did you get like that anyway, Astarion?” Karlach chuffs, folding her arms and swaying on her feet.

“He sneezed,” you reply. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to share that. I’m sorry, my love. You really should be more obvious about what is for my ears… er… mind alone.”

“Maybe…” Gale gives a mischievous grin, “if we get you to sneeze again… maybe you’ll change back to a form with fingers that can actually do some good.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out a little bit of powder, and blows.

The little bat writhes, fur standing on end, flat folded nose twitching before….

“Achoo!” The sneeze echoes off the alley walls, a burst of black mist that tingles your skin as his tall, lean and wiry body forms against your arm. You can sense his irritation, out right, cuttingly sharp annoyance lacing his angry breaths. Once the mist clears, Astarion is, in fact, glaring at you all. Crimson eyes dart from one to the next. “I am… going to fucking kill you,” he hisses.

“Shh…” you cajole, raising your finger to scritch under his smooth chin, clenched tight in his rage. Instantly, the moment you begin your gentle petting, he eases, eyes fluttering shut.

“I think he likes that, soldier,” Karlach whispers a giggle. “Do you feed him little treats when he’s a good boy?”

“Only if he gets us into that house with those dexterous hands of his,” you chuckle and slide your hand to stroke his cheek.

“Fine,” he sighs, exasperated, tired, and annoyed. “But not one of you breathes a word of this to Halsin… or Wyll… or… anyone.”

“Agreed,” Karlach slaps him on the back.

He begins rummaging his lithe fingers through his pack, turning those crimson eyes on you as you watch. “And you, my consort, don’t think I’m not going to make you pay for that mirror-kissing comment earlier…”

“Don’t think you won’t have to earn those chin scritches, my love,” you giggle in return as he flashes that fanged smirk at you.

“One more, my darling?” he purrs, watching the others start into the street already. “One for the road, one in case we die today?”

Your fingers reach quickly to oblige, his eyes closing to savor your attentive care. And you giggle, “Who can argue with that?”

413 notes · View notes

okkotsuus · 1 year

Note

Can you write the seeing your ex as your boyfriend qwith nagi, shidou, sae, and kaiser?

ex encounters (bllk pt.3) !

features: seishiro n. ryusei s. sae i. michael k.

contents: nagi and ryu are adults bc i need them to be out of blue lock. ig hurt comfort. established relationship. strong language. shidou is himself. violence (shidou). killing threats (shidou). banter. sae treats the ex like rin when he gets back from spain <3. theatrics (kaiser). being physically imposing (all but sae’s shortass). in the kaiser one the ex doesn’t try to get back with the reader. 2.2k words

tw for the exes: childhood lovers. overbearing. falling out of love. got beat up by shidou. narcissist. can’t take a goddamn hint. accusations of cheating. cheating. lack of trust. invasion of privacy (phone). yelling. throwing things. control issues.

pt.1 — pt.2 — pt.4

nagi would be one of two things: annoyed or just not caring. he’ll most likely go from not caring to annoyed if your ex continues to persist or gets too familiar.

you were waiting outside of the stadium for nagi, he had just had a game and you were driving him home because driving was ‘a drag.’ the game had just let out so there were crowds of people pouring out. when something brushes against you, you ignore it; thinking it was just someone who didn’t realize you were standing there while walking past. but when it becomes a repeated tap, you turn in mild annoyance.

y’know, your boyfriend’s soccer game is not really the place you would have expected to see your childhood boyfriend. well, you kind of planned to never see him again, as you had moved far, far away from that town for university. but life was a bitch.

“y/n, hey! didja see the game? that nagi guy was super cool!” he was the exact same, just a little sharper around the edges. but that didn’t mean you exactly wanted to see him, you weren’t friends and you didn’t want to be: plus you already had a boyfriend who you loved very much.

“yeah, he is.” you kept as curt as possible, trying to communicate how little you wanted to talk to him. but you did remember that he was quite pushy with something he wanted. and your memory tends to serve you right, including now.

“say, how about you and i go get a drink? i’d love to catch up with ya!” you hesitated, very much not knowing what to say. thankfully whatever higher power there is decided to be merciful on you and send reinforcements.

reinforcements in the form of your boyfriend, seishiro nagi. “hey, y/n- oh, who’s this?” nagi idly walked to you, allowing you to notice that the stadium had completely cleared out in the time that you had been speaking with your ex. your ex sort of just stares at him for a moment, vaguely starstruck.

“oh my god you know him? that’s all the more reason to get back together with you!” your eyes widen, surprised at his boldness. nagi just stares at the dude, standing closely at your side. he thinks the guy will just eventually go away; but you know better.

“actually, he’s my-”

“let’s go get that drink now, you can bring him too!”

“i’m their boyfriend, you’re annoying.” with that nagi drapes himself over you, resting his head on your shoulder. your ex tries to sputter out a response but the lidded glare that nagi shoots him from behind you quickly shuts him up, leaving him to stumble away.

you just giggle as nagi huffs, grumbling about “how pesky” that was. you turn to rest your forearms on his shoulders, tracing his sleepy face with your eyes. he presses a kiss to your hairline and decides to finally address you.

“glad i didn’t have’ta fight that hard for ya, would’ve, but it would’ve been so tiring…”

shidou would straight up kill the guy if you let him, like you have to physically restrain him or pspsps him back to you like a mf cat so he doesn’t actually murder somebody.

shidou had left you for just one minute to go “take a massive dookie” as he proclaimed so very loudly in the middle of the diner. you were exasperated, but remained in your seat while idly sipping at whatever drink he ordered; payback for publicly embarrassing you yet again.

while he was gone, your food came out, as per policy: it was brought out by the cook. the cook who had, by the spin of a wheel, turned out to be your ex. to be honest, there was nothing wrong with him, the two of you just mutually fell out of love. well, at least you thought.

because here was your ex chatting you up, holding the serving tray which was long emptied of the ordered food. “how’ve you been bab- sorry, y/n?” that’s suspicious. you just mumbled out a one-word response and continued sipping your boyfriend’s drink.

“what do we have here? some bastard swooping in on what’s mine while i went to take a shit!?” shidou’s loud voice booms from the other side of the diner, you began to rapidly chug his drink as payback for the scene you knew he was about to cause.

your ex sort of just gawks at him for a moment, most likely due to what had just come out of his loud-ass mouth. also due to his physicality: he was like a male model with his bigass, lion-esque eyeliner and dyed hair, not to mention the atrocious fit he picked out just because he knew you hated that shirt. shidou was a sight to see, you really wished you didn’t have to look at him, especially since he insisted on making your life a living hell.

shidou sort of lunged at the guy, you felt bad, you really did. but what were you supposed to do, jump in front of him and go “stop!! this isn’t you!!” you would rather die.

“I’LL KILL YOU FUCKER!!” you finished his drink and set it down, letting out a refreshed sigh as you finally decided to deal with your man-child roach boyfriend. he was currently shaking your ex by the collar, a bruise visible just under his left eye.

you grabbed shidou by the back of his collar and yanked, you hoped it would end up ripping that horrendous shirt but it sadly did not. shidou just looked at you, still shaking him.

“pspsps, drop it, don’t make me get the spray bottle.” immediately your ex was released. he kind of just sat on the ground next to the reeling man, who stared up at you through his antenna bangs with a deadpan. you were constantly done with him, but he was also constantly done with you.

“y/n, what the fuck?”

“shhh… good boy, now go pay the tab so we can just leave before the police get here <3” shidou just grumbled and went to go pay the astounded cashier while you wolfed down your food. if you were gonna risk an obstruction of justice charge at least you were gonna eat those damn hash browns.

shidou returned and you dragged him away from his food, which he had brought a box for. while he yelled about that you just kept pulling him out; which he let you.

“i’m not gonna apologize for defending what’s mine, yer mine and the world should fucking know it.”

sae would be so deadpan, to the point where you even begin to wonder if he actually cares. once he gets tired of trying to give your ex a hint he just tells him that he’s “lukewarm” and pulls you away.

the last thing you expected was to be getting hit on by your boyfriend’s opponent. the striker for the team that sae was playing against just happened to be your ex. what can you say, you like soccer players, no shame in having a type.

what you also didn’t expect was for it to be while you were literally standing next to sae, like: your ex sauntered up to you, saw you were with a guy, and proceed to try and rizz you up. it would be funny if you didn’t hate his guts. he’s and egotistic maniac off the field and he sucks on field. its like a child bragging about something their parents did; he gets spoonfed easy shots by the rest of his team.

“hey y/n, whatdya say after we win; you come back to my place? i’ve been meaning to try to ask you out again…” this was the fifth time now that he’s asked that, all of the other times you just dodged it or changed the subject. but you were seriously getting annoyed, and sae’s lack of interest was getting to you.

“no. i have a boyfriend.” he just scoffed at you, clearly not believing you.

“if it’s this guy, i’d expect better from you. unless you wanted to seriously downgrade after dating me!” he began to laugh so obnoxiously that you swear you were about to pop a vein.

a tongue clicked next to you and you saw your boyfriend glowering at the man, as if he were scum on the bottom of his shoe. “you’re lukewarm. i’ll beat you five to zero.”

with that, sae pulled you away from your fuming ex. his hand was gentle in holding yours, contrasting the chilling expression he had displayed on his soft features just seconds earlier. he leads you to your seat in the vip section and goes to warm-up.

sae proceeds to crush your ex 5-0, scoring every single goal. his team is a bit confused but guesses what’s going on when sae counts out the remaining goals to the opposite team’s striker like a countdown.

when the game’s finished, sae walked up to the divider and hops it, pulling you up by your hand and looking directly at the camera.

“this is y/n, they are my significant other, don’t hit on them unless you can beat me at football, like [ex’s name] tried to.”

kaiser would be more offended than you. this dramatic mf would create a whole scene, he’s the one freaking out about it and you’re trying to calm him down. i hate his bitchass.

you had known kaiser for a long time before you started dating him. you met him while you were still with your ex in fact. one thing that your ex hated the most was the fact that you knew him, claiming that he was always trying to ‘get with you.’

he even went as far as to go through your phone to try to find evidence of you cheating on him. but when he looked through your texts with kaiser, he only found our that you already knew that he was actually cheating on you, which was true. your ex had been hitting up others, one of them messaging you after he posted you on your birthday.

you broke up with him that night, because you were already planning to and because you were so mad he looked through your phone. he lost it. you had to shut yourself in the bathroom while he threw dishes and shouted, you called kaiser in tears and had to have him sneak you out of the bathroom window. it was the worst night of your life.

so now when he stands in front of you, while your hand is intertwined with the man who made him so insecure, you were prepared for whatever shitshow was about to happen. what you didn’t expect was kaiser to lose his shit.

“the hell you think yer doin’ here, can’t believe you dare to show your rat face in front of them again.” his voice is cold as he glares at them with his chin tilted up in disgust. you were more amused than anxious now, it was truly endearing that he cared this much.

“tch. i knew you were cheating on me with him, should’ve never let you talk to this bastard.”

“ex-fucking-cuse me?” kaiser was rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and beginning to approach your ex, who began to shrink back. kaiser was not the least intimidating person: his tall stature and lithe muscles coupled with his calculating cerulean gaze made a dangerous figure.

in an effort to keep the peace, you tug at the back of his shirt. he stops immediately and turns to you, gaze turning from hollow to warm so fast that it almost gives you whiplash. you can visibly see his pupils dilate as his gaze reaches yours, just that was enough to fall in love with him.

“c’mon mein Kaiser, don’t let someone like him bother you…” his form loosened, clearly in agreeance. you ex began to shout obscenities, but when the cruel blue gaze reached him again, it was quickly silent. he left in a storming rage, deciding to play it safe.

your boyfriend rests his hands on your hips and rests his forehead against yours, his lashes fluttering shut.

“can’t help it, meine liebe, anyone who dares to hurt you deserves the wrath of dein Kaiser.”

okkotsuus 23

2K notes · View notes

ru8yx · 4 months

Note

Secret lady Crown Prince Eshawr x reader? I don’t mind what kind of format you put it in.

CROWN PRINCE ESHAWR X READER!!

From the moment of her birth, her life had been predestined as a plaything for her family, and they bestowed upon her a name as sweet as the gentlest flowers and as passionately fiery as the wind.

As the first daughter of the Duke, every aspect of her future had been meticulously planned, shaped by the heavy weight of the family's expectations and ambitions.

Fate had woven a path she had little choice but to follow, each step leading her deeper into the intricate web of the ducal machinations.

Their destinies intertwined like a bittersweet thread, woven by the intricate hand of fate. The Crown Prince, with golden locks that danced in the sunlight and eyes the hue of molten gold, was her predestined match, chosen to be her future husband.

Under the watchful gaze of their families, she too was caught in the trap, as they bowed in introduction, their lives now inexorably linked by the constraints of their assigned roles. Like flies entrapped in a spider's web, their path forward was laid out before them, with no escape in sight.

She had endured a lifetime of lessons, honed to be the perfect future Empress, leaving no room for errors.

Her every waking moment was spent striving for flawlessness under the relentless scrutiny of demanding nobility. Everywhere she went, their greedy eyes tracked her every move, waiting to pounce at the slightest imperfection.

Despite the suffocating weight of expectations and the omnipresent gaze, she stood tall, unyielding in her regal bearing. She would always bear the title of Crown Princess, a symbol of both her lineage and the burden of her role in the tumultuous world of imperial politics.

Eshawr, the beloved Crown Prince, was exalted as the very life force of the empire, lavished with praise for simply existing.

To her, however, he was much more than that—he was her devoted husband, whose playful banter and steadfast presence provided both comfort and joy.

Despite the looming threat of his family's curse, which claimed the lives of partners of the royal family in tragic manners, Eshawr remained vigilant, standing guard through numerous sleepless nights to protect the one whom he had sworn to spend his life with.

Fate, though relentless, couldn’t dampen the love that burned within their entwined hearts.

The nobles painted a vivid picture of their love, likening it to a fairytale, with the princess embodying grace and beauty while the prince was the dashing savior protecting her from the ills of the world.

However, beneath the surface, cracks began to form, threatening to shatter the perfect facade. Problems emerged, revealing that nothing in life was ever truly flawless, reminding them that even the most enchanting fairytales could have unexpected twists and turns in the narrative of their love story.

She was known for her iron grip, unwavering and stoic, allowing no weakness or emotion to sully her image as the Crown Princess.

The nickname "Iron Grip Rose" had been bestowed upon her, symbolizing her unwavering strength and resilience.

She had endured countless trials without ever letting on the pain and suffering that gnawed at her from within. However, the tragic death of her beloved husband, the Crown Prince, left her broken and vulnerable, shattering the impenetrable façade she had nurtured so fiercely.

Plagued by the torment of losing her beloved husband, the woman spiraled into madness, descending deeper into despair with each passing day.

She refused to eat or drink, her body becoming frail and her once radiant eyes turning lifeless and dull. Driven to the brink, she pulled at her hair, howling like a wounded beast, feeling the weight of isolation and desolation, her heart shattered beyond repair.

The absence of her husband had torn away the light that illuminated her world, leaving only the suffocating darkness to consume her.

The whispers of the maids echoed in the grand halls, lamenting the transformation of the once-beloved princess into a tormented wraith.

They spoke of how sorrow had drained her vibrancy, how she appeared so lifeless and pain-stricken, murmuring unintelligible words as she rocked back and forth.

And all the while, her gaze remained fixated on a portrait of her and her beloved late husband, a time when they radiated in power and beauty, before fate wrenched his life away.

The descent into insanity reached its pinnacle as she vented her anguish on her surroundings, smashing even the most fragile of vases and leaving her hand bloodied from the shattered shards.

As tears streamed down her face, she saw her deceased husband before her, his teasing smile still haunting her. In her delusion, he beckoned to her from the balcony, his tall figure standing against the backdrop of the sky.

In a moment of desperation and despair, she gripped her dress and lunged toward him, only to be met with a fatal fall from her chamber’s window

❝ they say, if you stand underneath the balcony of princess [name] you could still hear her cries and screams of pain❞

HII THX SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING 🫶hope u enjoyed , (hope its not badly written ) and no happiness 💕🎀

#manhwa x reader #manhwa #secret lady #secret lady x reader #x reader #crown prince #crown princess #crown prince x reader #prince Eshawr

237 notes · View notes

astarionancuntnin · 3 months

Text

Bad Blood

summary: it was meant to be a nice, simple plan. get the sorceress to fall in love with him to assure his own safety, nothing more. what he didn't plan was to fall for her as well, and all the complications that came along with it.

my own twist on the astarion confession scene with the reader!tav from my previous fic, Undisclosed Desires

rating: M

word count: 3.6k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, sorceress!tav)

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, self-destructive tendencies from tav, dissociation, mention of past trauma (rape/abusive relationship), toxic coping mechanism, near death experience, talks of manipulation tricks (Astarion's confession speech). full list on ao3

a/n: a follow up to Undisclosed Desires (master list can be found here), now featuring astarion POV! reading the previous fic isnt mandatory but i do highly suggest it to get a feel of their relationship + reader!tav's character and the build up that brought them there (mind you UD is explicit).

read on ao3

or keep reading down below ~

How do I try? I don't know why I wanna fall in love

I wanna die, every time I see you parking up

Forget about the fights, remember the nights we had, it's not enough

I wanna lie, pretend I'm alright, but-

I’m… not expecting you to say it back, but I meant what I said yesterday. I don’t know where this’ll go, but I know I want to be with you.

The words resonated in Astarion’s head.

He pretended to be sleeping back then, but he heard everything she said. He appreciated that she didn’t expect an answer from him, since he wouldn’t have been able to give one. Of course, this was the expected outcome; he did everything to make her fall for him. It was easy after all, a routine of sorts. She was cold at first and he doubted he could get to her, but in the end, everything had gone exactly according to plan. Except for one simple detail.

I think I’m in love with you.

Astarion has had those words in mind ever since her declaration, a few nights ago. Since then, she was more lenient with him in general, but what he was most grateful for was how she was more keen on letting him feed on her. They didn’t talk about what happened, but their relationship was stable. He had what he wanted; security from the leader of the group, assurance that she wasn’t going to turn on him, and a meal every night. She was also less aggressive towards him but she still had that fire in her that made her a menace on the battlefield, without taking away that softness towards people in need. That balance in her character, this goodness within that drifted him towards her, that made him love her in return.

…Love? No, that couldn’t be right. He found himself enjoying the banter between the two of them, it’s true. She was just as witty as he was, and their back and forth was the most fun he had during the day. She challenged him, kept him on his toes, ready for anything, and the few times they had sex were great, he couldn’t deny that either. It started out as a ruse to have her trust and protect him, but then it became more intimate, she opened herself up to him during those precious moments. He was able to know her unlike anyone else among their group.

She was more than he expected her to be, and at first, he hated it. Couldn’t believe how his own plan turned against him. But then he saw how she cared, when no one else did, and she let herself be vulnerable for him when she came forward with her own feelings. When he held her close that morning, he didn’t want to let go. She sounded so sincere, felt so warm and soft against him, a safe haven. Until he could come forward with his own feelings, if he ever did, he would accept any form of affection from her, when she’s the least likely to notice. After all, he couldn’t let himself show any type of vulnerability, lest fall for her. It would go against his plan.

Every chance she had to take a stand for him, she did. She was merciless and cruel to those who posed a threat to their group, protecting him as much as she protected herself. She was probably the most courageous member of their party, but as of late, this courage turned into recklessness; casting strong spells that could have wiped an entire village when a simple, smaller one, would’ve done the trick. Every fight made her take more unnecessary risks to secure their victory, and given the shadowlands were dangerous territory, she believed it justified her recent impulsiveness. She used to be more strategic, she was resourceful and able to lead battles using everyone’s abilities; that’s why they had put her in charge of their group, but their latest fights had been too close for comfort, and tension had risen around camp. It has worked so far, she had claimed, not seeing the issue with her behaviour, and dismissing everyone who came forward to express their concern.

But what would they do when it would fail?

His fellow companions blamed it on the shadow-cursed lands that must’ve been affecting her, surely, as she was growing back to her cold, distant self, but Astarion noticed the change in her behaviour specifically following their visit at Last Light Inn. She was fine when they first entered the vicinity, but by the time they were leaving, the sorceress seemed anxious and eager to go back into the woods, away from the security the inn provided, oddly enough. When she was asked about it, she blamed it on a bad gut feeling. Shadowheart agreed and blamed it on the presence of the Selunite, who they didn’t even get the chance to discuss with. The rest of their party didn’t push for more information following that interaction, and she stayed mostly silent for the rest of the day and even ignored Astarion’s remarks, which was unlike her.

Still, she let him feed the following nights, but she seemed away during their sessions. She wasn’t exactly the talkative type and he didn’t want to pry, but she caught his attention when she walked out of her tent, panting, a few times throughout these last nights. When he had taken a peek, he found her clutching at her chest, struggling to breathe as she was pacing nearby. Something was troubling her and it felt too critical to let it go unnoticed. After tonight, Astarion decided to confront her about it.

She was dabbing her neck, cleaning the traces of his recent feeding, her eyes lost in the distance, when he spoke up. “I’ve noticed you seem… away, during our little sessions, as of late.”

“Hm?” She’s snapped back to reality, proving his point, but still avoiding any eye contact. “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“But I do worry. Especially with those nightmares you’ve been having lately.”

Her gaze locked with his, a dread settling within her. Her eyes darted across her tent, questioning if it was even worth it to lay her heart out. She sighed deeply, taking in a moment to find the words and it took her a few tries to finally speak up.

“When we passed by the Last Light Inn, I… recognised someone. He…” Her breath cut short. “We used to date. Ish. It wasn’t a great experience, to put it lightly. I was young and naive, and he took advantage of it. He–” Her breathing quickened as she was explaining further, the memories vividly coming back to her. The words got stuck in her throat, unable to carry on. “I hated myself for so long. I felt guilty of what had happened to me. It took me years to get over it– I thought I was over it, but the second I saw him again, it all came back at once.”

She paused once more, trying to regulate her breathing. “I spent all those years thinking about how I could make him regret what he did to me, if we ever crossed paths again. And when it finally happened, I froze. I. fucking. froze.”

Tears were threatening to fall and she pulled her knees close to her chest, turning her head aside; she couldn’t bear to let him see her in that state. “I’m sorry– you need to leave.”

He wanted to hold her, tell her that he would be by her side no matter what, that he would help her get her revenge if that’s what she desired, just like she promised to help him out against Cazador, but he simply couldn’t. The words remained caged in his chest as he got up and opened the flap of her tent before bidding his goodbyes.

The next morning, she avoided him like he used to avoid the sun; anytime he was nearby, she would turn to face someone else among their group, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him. Her speech was concise, mathematical, she had lost any sign of the emotions she had experienced the night prior. When she selected the members of the party for the day, he was surprised to be a part of it. He wasn't scared to be left in camp, after all, she made it clear in the past that his ability to lock pick any and every thing made him a valuable asset, but he had his doubts after how she had been acting this morning.

The sorceress proposed to visit Moonrise Tower to get to the heart of their problem, but the shadow curse had made it tedious to navigate further and Karlach urged the group to revisit the Last Light Inn to get the help of the Selunite cleric. With the majority of the party agreeing, their leader had no choice but to step over her current feelings for the sake of their mission, but she made it clear that they wouldn’t stay a second longer than needed in there.

To her dismay, that moment would take up most of their day.

After receiving the blessing of the cleric, a winged man, that Isobel referred to as Marcus, arrived from the skies claiming that she needed to leave with him, and when it was made clear that it wasn't an option, a fight ensued with his own army of undead. They should've been able to handle them, it was their first fight of the day and they were prepared for anything. Or so they thought.

The hits from their enemies were stronger than anticipated and Shadowheart barely managed to keep everyone alive with Marcus who drained them dry at every chance he had; against their best attempt, Isobel was knocked out and captured by the winged man.

Without the moon cleric to protect the inn, all its inhabitants were claimed by the shadow curse; one by one, the group of adventurers watched them die and turn against them, prolonging their already lengthy battle. They defeated all the harpers within the inn before making their way outside, where another group of possessed fighters were waiting for them. The fight had been going on for what felt like forever; waves of new enemies kept coming in and the party was running short on spells and patience. More worrisome: Shadowheart had used her last healing spell.

With everyone’s health running dangerously low, the sorceress knew she had to act fast to assure their victory. She was scanning the battlefield to evaluate her options when she froze, her gaze stuck on one of the Harpers that was approaching them. Astarion recognized her behaviour from the night before and he knew he had to step in. He screamed her name, trying to make her snap out of it, but she remained motionless, unable to react to her environment, as a range of emotions visibly flooded her all at once. Without Karlach by her side to slash the undead that was coming for her, she would’ve been downed right there and then. The fiery tiefling screamed her name again and grabbed her by her shoulder, grounding her back to reality.

“Soldier, hey! You with me?”

Their leader blinked quickly, taking back her surroundings, “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine, sorry.”

“What’s happened to you? You were this close to being a goner.”

She didn’t answer back, but when her eyes fell back on the Harper she recognized seconds ago, an uncontrollable anger started boiling within her, and although Astarion noticed the fists clenching tighter and tighter at her sides, he wasn’t expecting what came next.

She freed herself from Karlach’s grasp on her shoulder as she bolted straight to the Harper she had in her sights. No one was able to stop her before she casted flaming hands on the undead, with a guttural scream that was cut short by the explosion that followed.

Blinded by rage, the sorceress missed to notice the multiple barrels of smoke powder that surrounded their last enemies as she cast her spell, blowing them up and herself in the process.

The rest of the party remained far enough to be spared by the explosion, Karlach receiving barely any damage. As the smoke settled down, the figure of their friend appeared, spread on the ground among the corpses of their fallen enemies.

No… it can't be…

Despite his distance from her, Astarion was the first one to reach her. He quickly rushed past the cleric and barbarian to land next to the fainted sorceress, bringing her head close to him. He tried to look for her eyes, but they were shut tight with no sign of life.

“Wake up… Wake up! Come on now. Please…” His hold of her became desperate, looking for any sign of consciousness; her body’s warmth was turning to a familiar coldness, and the soft melody of her heartbeat was getting quieter. Dread started to settle in and he shot a deadly stare at Shadowheart who was still standing next to Karlach, checking on her smaller wounds. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?! Heal her!”

“I'm all out of spells!” She tried to explain. “We need to bring her back to our camp.”

“Would it kill you to try?”

Karlach nodded, agreeing that their friend was in bigger need of care than her, and Shadowheart approached the fainted party member begrudgingly, knowing fully well she would be of no help, and knelt next to her as she tried to cast a healing spell, but nothing happened. She tried again, and again, but her magic had run out. “I'm sorry, I– I can't.”

“What do you mean, you can't?!” Astarion spat out. “That's your sole purpose! What good of a cleric are you if you can't even heal her!”

“Hey!” Karlach stepped in before Shadowheart could retort. “Yelling won't get us anywhere, alright? We're all exhausted, and Soldier here needs serious help – let's just all go back to camp? Halsin might be able to take a look at her.”

His eyes narrowed, looking back at his lover, and he nodded to his friend. Without wasting any more time, Karlach picked her lifeless body from the ground, leading the march to their campsite without muttering another word.

Back at camp, the party rushed to bring the burned sorceress to Halsin’s tent. At the brief sight of her lifeless body, everyone else rushed to see the state she was in.

“By Sylvanus, what happened back there?”

“Does it matter? She clearly needs help!” Astarion shouted.

“She was in the middle of an explosion, it was pretty bad.” Karlach stepped in, providing an answer for the archdruid. ”Can you fix her up?”

“I’ll do what I can, my friend, but I’ll need some time– “ He turned to Astarion who was hovering. “And space. Do not worry, I will come to you once I am done.”

With those last words, Karlach laid their fallen friend down in Halsin’s tent and guided Astarion out with a pat on the shoulder and a soft “Come on, Fangs''. He followed her, giving one last look at the woman he grew to love, a mix of anger and worry painted over his face. Astarion remained at his tent, trying to take his mind off of her by sewing up his torn clothes, but his mind kept going back to the moments before the explosion. He had pieced together what had happened, but he couldn't understand why she had put herself at risk like so. She was the smartest among them – he even enjoyed taunting Gale about it – and she was logical in combat. Why would she go as far as to risk her life over this? He kept pacing around in circles for the rest of the evening, expecting the worst as time went by.

As night time approached, the flap’s of Halsin's tent opened to reveal an exhausted healer. Astarion hurried to him, his worry circulating to the druid with unspoken words.

“I stabilised her.” He tried to reassure the pale elf. “She will be alright, but she needs to rest. Her wounds were… a lot. If she didn't have the resolve of a sorceress, she might’ve not made it.”

His eyes darted to the opening of the tent, mindlessly walking in, not ready for what was before him: the sorceress half naked, her clothes having been replaced almost completely by bandages. The few bits of her skin left bare showed old scars and new bruises covering them. She lifted her eyes to meet his, only to turn away at the vision of his visible worry.

“It's bad, isn't it?” she sighed heavily. “He said I shouldn't use my powers for a few days. Said it could ‘compromise the healing process’.” She mocked the archdruid’s voice. When Astarion didn’t say anything in return, her eyes darted back to him to notice his expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“And you shouldn’t have blown yourself up, dear.”

“It’s not like I did it intentionally.”

“Not unless your intention was to end your life,” he snapped.

“Gods, what’s wrong with you?”

“Me?! What's wrong with me is that I happen to care for a brat who's prone to self destructive behaviour!”

“Excuse me?!” She raised herself up on her elbows.

“That stunt you pulled back there? You almost died!”

“We all could've died! I made the right choice to save our skins and nobody is grateful for it.” She groaned in pain, her body reminding her of her recent wounds.

“What choice?! Blowing yourself up? You blindly rushed in and put your life at risk. Gods, do you even realise the danger you put yourself in?”

“It was a calculated risk,” she hissed, her voice lowering. “And… I needed to do it.”

“What, kill yourself?”

“Ugh, I don’t even know why I’m trying to justify myself to you – It worked out, didn’t it? Why are you making such a big deal out of it now?”

“Because I care about you!”

"Oh right, it would be such a shame if something happened to your precious meal."

"You are more than that to me!”

She froze, the anger vanishing from her face, “...What do you mean?”

“When you… when I held you in my arms, back there I – I thought you were gone.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t think I would care, Hells, I didn’t plan to, I–”

She quickly blinked in confusion, “Plan?” and he realised just then what he had let out; he needed to come clean.

“I know how it’s going to sound but, please, just hear me out. I… I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you… Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

She stayed silent, taking in everything he confessed, her gaze going back and forth as she was considering his words, and Astarion was starting to fear this was a mistake; this was meant to show her he cared just as much as she did. He couldn’t afford to lose her, not now that he laid out his feelings, not after almost losing her. He reached out for her hand, trying to bring her back to him.

“You–... you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

She scoffed, finally finding her voice again. “So all this time…” Her chest rose as her breathing accelerated and she pulled her hand away from him in disbelief. “Everything you said, what we did–… Gods, were you even attracted to me?”

“Of course I was! Look at you, for goodness sake – you’re a vision. And you’re so much more than that.”

“Right. Then all of this,” she points at the two of them, “The flirting, the teasing, the soft words, you caring about me… It was an act, all along?”

“No! I mean– only at first, but then what we had – after that first night – it was real, I swear.”

She looks away as her eyes tear up, removing her hand from his grasp. “Why are you telling me this, Astarion?”

“I… I’m not sure… But you deserved to know.”

“I cannot believe I let myself fall for you. I’m such a fool.”

“Please–” He reached out for her hand again and she backed off abruptly.

“Don't touch me.”

The familiar words made his undead heart clench in pain and he backed off slowly. Despite her visible tears, Astarion knew she was boiling with rage.

“I really do care about you. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”

The tears streamed down her face as she blinked, her gaze stuck on the ground before them.

“You better have had your fill yesterday, because that was the last time I let you feed on me.” Her eyes met his, in a fury that he had never seen before, and she spoke with a shaky but dark voice. “I don't want you anywhere near me anymore.”

He nodded, “I understand–”

“I don't think you do,” she cut him off, her raging eyes piercing through him.

He looked at her incredulous, until she confirmed his worst fear.

“I want you gone from this camp by tomorrow morning.”

But every time I see those eyes

I wonder if you know you're keeping me up late at night

I don't know where to go

I pretend, I don't care, I tell myself you're right here

It's nothing but a nightmare, nightmare

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce

167 notes · View notes

lokis-coconut28 · 15 days

Text

A Green & Gold Sundae

A/N : Hello! Thank you so much for your patience on this one! Life got wild. Thinking about a Part 2?

I appreciate the love and support you all gave on Sports Bra! I hope you enjoy this one as well :)

Warnings: Food play, Smutttt, 18+ ONLY Minors DNI

Summary: (Y/N x Loki) Insomnia leads to late night dessert with the God of Mischief. WC 2.3k

Masterlist Here

Toss, turn, repeat. Insomnia washed over you like a tidal wave dragging your mind into the sleepless abyss. You focused on the alarm clock atop the desk inquisitively - 12:18am, Sunday morning. With a discontented sigh you emerged out of bed in hopes of quelling your restless night.

Meandering into the kitchen, you glanced over at the common room. Loki was nestled comfortably in the corner chaise, studying a leather bound tome reservedly in the soft light. Thor clad with headset shouted an incoherent threat at the television to a “NoobMaster69”. You quietly opened the refrigerator, scanning the shelves for a midnight snack, unaware of the eyes that were lingering on your form.

You heard commotion, rolling your eyes as you witnessed Thor throwing his headset on the ground. He tromped your direction, countenance mellowing as he spotted you rummaging in the ice box.

“Y/N!” Thor beamed. “You cannot sleep? Up for playing a game with me?”

You shook your head, declining, while grabbing a can of whipped cream from the door. You took the cap off and sprayed it directly into your mouth.

“Nohhh fank youh.” You slurred, mouth full of froth.

Thor chortled and snagged the can from you, dispersing a mighty tower of cream into his mouth. You jovially bantered, laughing whilst requesting, “Another!”

“Of course!”

You leant back, Thor squirting more cream into your mouth. Loki's eyes widened, subcontiously clenching the book in his lap. His focus sharpened in surveillance of his brother in such close proximity to you. He felt- no he couldn’t. He certainly did not feel jealous.

“Loki? Want some?” You jocundly inquired from across the space, fracturing Loki from his envious thoughts.

“Only idiots and fools play these witless games, mortal.” Loki venomously spat at you. He slammed his book shut, abandoning it on the chair, strutting with haste out of range down the hall.

The joy you had exuded moments prior shriveled inside your heart like a dying flower. Loki had never spoken to you so harshly.

Thor noticed your discomfort at Loki's insult. He leaned down and whispered, “He is adopted,” into your ear. You stifled a half-chuckle and smacked his large bicep.

“Be nice!” You scolded lightheartedly, beginning to head toward your own room.

There was a soft knock on your door, barely audible. You glimpsed at the clock and grumbled. 3:30am. Tony. Stark was notorious for recruiting you to work in the early hours. While you were grateful to be part of this team, briefing documents were the last thing you felt like reading in your insomniatic state.

Moseying over to the sound, you swung the door open in exasperation, bracing yourself for Tony’s middle of the night assignment. You froze ice cold when you saw Loki before you instead.

“What brings you to my room, Laufeyson?”

Loki winced internally at the tone of your words. You never called him that.

“An apology. May I come in?” He said with an air of sincerity that riddled you with regret.

Silently stepping aside, you observed Loki as he cautiously entered your room. His hands dwelled behind his back, arms tight to his sides. He loomed with the utmost formal, stiff posture. Your interest was piqued at his bravery not only to come to your room, but to also offer an apology. Core tightening at the sudden realization you were alone with Loki in the middle of the night, you listened to him intently as he began to speak.

“Y/N… I owe you an apology for what I said tonight. How I spoke to you - it was harsh…” he shifted uncomfortably on his heels. “It’s just- it is not proper for royalty where I come from to do - well… fun things… Midgardian things.” Loki confessed in the tenebrosity of your bedroom. “And with Thor there… Well… He would tell The Warriors Three. I would never hear the end of it Y/N. Gossip spreads like wildfire in Asgard...”

You could tell Loki was being vulnerable, something that did not come first nature to him.

“...I find it difficult to let go of those customs. I am trying... So - if you would still have it… If the offer still stands…” he continued, revealing the can of whipped cream from behind his back with pleading eyes.

You raised your eyebrows at him with a playful grin. “Really?”

Apprehensively, he bowed his head in permission, handing over the canister.

“Come here.” You giggled, seizing the can. You crawled onto your bed, scooching to one side. You tapped the mattress beside you twice, beckoning the God of Mischief to come join you.

Following your lead, Loki tried to ignore the flutters in his stomach. Sitting next to you, he was painfully poised. Yet even in the late of night, he looked as collected and composed as he ever did, stature dripping with elegance.

“Lean against my leg.” You hushedly instructed.

Loki shimmied down low on the bed, resting his head carefully against your slightly bent knee. He looked straight up at you, seeking guidance. Allowing someone to have control of himself was new. Steadily, he rested his body perpendicular to yours.

“Tilt your head back.”

You cradled his scalp and gently tugged his hair, encouraging access to his mouth. All traces of awkwardness melted away as he arched slowly into your palm. You admired Loki’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the new angle exposing his alabastrine flesh. Your eyes lingered, watching the heartbeat quicken in his strong neck, deep veins coursing like a sapphire river. You shifted your left leg slightly, arousal starting to stir from forbidden thoughts of your colleague.

“Good.” You praised, loosening the grip on his obsidian curls. A small smirk formed on your lips. “Open up, please.”

His breath hitched as he willed the tension in his jaw to release, slightly parting his mouth. He wet his lips with his tongue, allowing access for your dessert. Gently, you pressed the nozzle downward, forcing sweet cream to squirt from the star-shaped tip. Loki flinched, startled from the sound of the pressure that was built up in the can. You smiled reassuringly, sliding your hand down to support the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay. Relax your body. It’s good right?” You soothed.

“Mmm-mmhmm. Another,” he hissed, mimicking your words to Thor earlier. A familiar burning swept over your stomach at his new inflection, laced with lust and possession.

Loki’s hands fidgeted near his groin, attempting to hide his arousal as you pressed down again. He allowed his eyes to fall shut, appreciating the feeling of you. The way you were cradling him felt so intimate. Your delicate hand holding him sent him to a state of tranquility he hadn’t felt in eternities…

You made a large swirl in his mouth. Not nearly enough to make him choke, but certainly more than filling it. Loki’s eyes snapped open and glared at you in artificial anger.

“I’m sorry… I had to do it.” You feigned your most innocent and apologetic look.

Loki deftly dipped his pointer finger through the peak of cream in his mouth before consuming the rest. He tilted his head toward you, observing your expression. You were at ease with him. Peaceful and serene… Not afraid.

Loki raised his finger to your mouth. He hoped this was not too forward of him, he hoped not to scare you away.

Loki’s outstretched arm revealed the erection straining against his pants. His dormant hand began clenching his thigh as you bewitchingly leaned forward and sucked his finger clean of the foam, eyeing his visible arousal. Setting the can down and mindlessly draping your free hand on his abdomen, you felt his diaphragm rise and fall under your fingertips. A blush crept across your face at his hungry eyes taking you in.

“Satisfied?” You questioned.

Loki leaned in close to you, gently sitting up in one fluid movement.

“It was quite good… However…” He tenderly rested his palm on your cheek, demanding eye contact. “I crave something sweeter.”

Loki ran seductive circles on your cheekbone, exalting the features of your profile, hesitating only for a moment's time. Forthwith, he captured your lips in a sultry embrace, comfortably fitting them between his own. You hummed in approval as you allowed him access to glide against your tongue. You both gave in to a sacred dance, tongues entwining in a passionate display of affection. Tasting each other, a heated frenzy between yourselves was created.

Loki pulled away searchingly. He studied your face for any trace of protest.

Coyly you lifted your lashes up at him, admiring the beauty in his irises. Being this close to him was enchanting.

“Yes?” You chuckled.

“I just - I want to be sure that was okay. I do not want to betray your trust, Y/N.” He whispered bashfully.

You pressed an affirming kiss on his lips, running your hand down his side. You spoke as you began to swap spots.

“Lay on your back, Prince.”

Loki leaned backward as you knelt between his spread thighs. Slight panic was evident on his face as your new positions did not allow for him to hide the bulge in his trousers.

And Gods. You were kneeling. His swollen cock throbbed at just the sight.

“Spray it for me now… Your Highness. Spray where you want me to taste.” You mewled sweetly, looking for approval as you slid his sweater up.

You drew a line with your finger on his exposed skin, bobbing your head once encouraging him to follow. Loki understood the instruction and sprayed a lawless line from his belly button to his sternum.

You hovered over his sculpted belly, stalking the cream line. You slid your tongue over the messy map he had drawn for you, licking it from the top of his navel up to his chest. You planted a kiss on his jawline. Out of your peripherals there was a flash of green resulting in the disappearance of Loki’s pullover.

“No cheating!” You playfully tugged his head back, massaging his scalp while he sprayed another line up his collarbone. You followed with a trail of kisses and sucks against his throat. He eased his eyes closed once more, letting his mouth drop open at your heated, sticky laps against the nerves in his neck.

“So- Sorry.. Y/N. No more cheating-”. You cut him off with a suction that was sure to leave a mark.

Cautiously, Loki drew a line down his happy trail. You locked eyes, licking the line up to his belly button whilst simultaneously pulling his bottoms down. He moaned in bliss as you placed a small peck above his pubic hair, continuing to tug the trousers down at a sinfully slow pace. His penis sprung free, dripping with pre-cum. You watched him pulsate as he gracefully drizzled a crown of whipped cream on his tip. His pupils dilated, dark in anticipation.

You thumbed Loki’s hip bone, drawing an invisible heart shape on his sensitive skin. His stomach flexed involuntarily at the contact. The corners of his mouth curved upward, noting the shape you had chosen.

“Command me, Loki.” You instructed him, sensually. “What do you want, Prince?”

“Suck, Pet.” He demanded, firm, yet lovingly. Obediently you leaned down and sucked the mix of whip and precum from his cock. Pleasure surged from his base to his tip as your cheeks hollowed.

“Another?” You sexily teased.

Loki let out a grunt of ecstasy and relief. He had been jealous of that word only hours ago, but now, how you said it to him, it was utterly intoxicating.

Tasting his silky knob, your saliva ran down Loki’s length. You pumped your hand, gliding up and down with a rhythm so divine not even magic could mimic the sensation. Loki looked down at you, working sweetly between his legs. You were absolutely delicious. His cock trembled, threatening release as your mouth and grip repetitively jerked his most private anatomy.

One hand stroking in pattern on his shaft, you allowed the other to gently fondle his testicles. He jolted forward into your mouth, relishing at the contact, feverishly humping upward.

“Y/N…” Loki panted. You tugged his scrotum, massaging each nut gently. Your eyes flicked up to the Prince’s hand clasping your duvet. You could tell he was dangerously close to the edge. Watching his chest rise and fall at a rapid pace, you hummed at the taste of his precum, taking him further to hit the back of your throat.

“Gods - Y/N…” he mewled . “Fuck! I’m - I’m going to cum Y/N…”

You winked at him as you rolled your tongue sweetly over the hole that was begging for relief. Relentlessly, you pumped and sucked Loki off, taking delight in his sugary taste. His body began to quiver, commencing his inevitable orgasm.

Loki’s hips lifted off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut tightly as his body bucked and vibrated. The intensity of pleasure washing over him as he expelled his seed into your mouth caused him to exhale a libertine moan. You supported his raised back with your hand, rubbing in encouragement as he let go, messily suctioning along with every shake and spurt of release. Tears of euphoria pooled in his eyes as he allowed you every last drop of his ejaculate. Once you were sure his release was complete, you swallowed Loki’s load. Sliding up next to him on the bed, you gently curled to his side, listening to his respiration.

“How does Midgardian dessert compare to Asgard’s?” You perked your eyebrow at him.

“Well, I have only had one Midgardian dessert.” He breathlessly purred against your ear. “And I think it may have caused me to develop a sweet-tooth.”

A long morning of dessert education was paved before you both, with Loki accepting your offer of a cherry on top, next. This was your favorite Sundae.

Thinking about a part 2 to this...

136 notes · View notes

alexandraisyes · 25 days

Text

Online Harassment

Online harassment has become an increasingly pervasive issue, affecting individuals across all platforms. From subtle microaggressions to outright threats, harassment takes many forms, each with its own set of consequences. In this post, we'll break down the different types of online harassment, their impact, and what can be done to address them.

Important vocabulary: Misinformation is false or inaccurate information—getting the facts wrong. Disinformation is false information that deliberately intends to mislead—intentionally misstating the facts.

Let's start with what does not count as harassment:

What Doesn't Count as Harassment

Constructive Criticism: Offering feedback aimed at improving someone's work or behavior. For example, a manager providing an employee with feedback on how to improve their performance.

Disagreement or Debate: Engaging in a civil disagreement or discussion on a topic. For example, two colleagues having a heated but respectful debate about a work-related issue.

Enforcing Rules or Policies: Applying rules or policies in a consistent and fair manner. For example, a teacher enforcing classroom rules or a supervisor addressing attendance issues according to company policy.

Isolated Incidents: A single, non-repetitive instance of a comment or action that might be offensive but is not part of a pattern of behavior. For example, a colleague making an offhand remark that could be seen as rude but immediately apologizes.

Perceived Slights or Misunderstandings: Situations where an action or comment is misinterpreted or taken out of context. For example, someone feeling slighted because of a misunderstood joke that wasn’t meant to offend.

Friendly Banter or Jokes (If Mutual): Light-hearted exchanges that both parties understand and accept as non-offensive. For example, friends or close colleagues teasing each other in a way that both find funny and acceptable.

Normal Management Actions: Legitimate management actions taken in the course of business, like performance reviews, promotions, or disciplinary actions. For example, a supervisor assigning tasks based on job performance and business needs.

Cultural Differences: Actions or behaviors rooted in cultural norms that may be misunderstood but are not intended to be offensive. For example, a greeting or gesture that is customary in one culture but may seem strange or awkward in another.

Refusal of Unreasonable Requests: Declining a request that is not reasonable or within someone’s rights to refuse. For example, an employee refusing to work overtime that was not agreed upon in their contract.

Addressing Harassment: Communicating to someone that their behavior is harassing you, when it is true. This can help make the individual aware of the impact of their behavior, seek resolution, validate your experience, set boundaries, and follow legal or organizational procedures. For example, telling a coworker that their repeated comments about your appearance are making you uncomfortable and asking them to stop.

Now let's break down what does count as harassment:

Disinformation and Defamation of Character

Definition:

Disinformation: This refers to false information that is deliberately created and spread to deceive or mislead others. It’s often used to manipulate public opinion, discredit individuals, or cause confusion.

Slander: This involves making false spoken statements that damage someone’s reputation.

Libel: Libel is similar to slander but involves false statements made in a fixed medium, typically written or published online.

Defamation of Character: This is a broader term encompassing both slander and libel, referring to any false statement, whether spoken or written, that harms a person's reputation.

As Harassment:

Disinformation becomes harassment when it is used maliciously to harm an individual's reputation or cause them distress. This might involve spreading false rumors about someone’s actions or beliefs, or fabricating stories to discredit them.

Slander/Libel/Defamation become harassment when false statements are made with the intent to damage someone's character or standing in the community, leading to social, professional, or personal harm. This is particularly damaging when spread online, where false information can quickly reach a wide audience.

Examples:

Disinformation: A group creates and spreads a false narrative that a well-known activist has engaged in illegal activities, with the aim of discrediting their work and damaging their public image. The false information is shared widely across social media platforms, leading others to believe the activist is untrustworthy.

Slander: During a live podcast, a speaker falsely accuses a colleague of being involved in unethical business practices. Even though the accusation is baseless, listeners begin to question the colleague's integrity.

Libel: An online blog publishes an article falsely claiming that a local politician has been accepting bribes. The article spreads rapidly, causing the politician to face public scrutiny and potentially affecting their career.

Impact on the Victim:

Emotional Distress: The victim may experience anxiety, stress, and a sense of powerlessness as their reputation is attacked. This can lead to mental health issues such as depression or anxiety disorders.

Social Isolation: As the false information spreads, the victim may find themselves ostracized by their community, friends, or professional network. They may be unfairly judged or treated differently by others who believe the falsehoods.

Professional Consequences: Defamation can result in job loss, damage to professional relationships, or loss of business opportunities, especially if the victim’s reputation is central to their work.

Financial Damage: The victim might incur legal costs in attempting to clear their name or experience a loss of income due to damaged reputation.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: In many jurisdictions, victims of defamation of character can pursue legal action against the perpetrator. They may sue for damages to compensate for the harm done to their reputation. However, these cases can be complex, requiring proof that the statements were false, made with malicious intent, and caused harm.

Platform Policies: Many social media platforms have guidelines against spreading false information and may take action by removing content or banning users who engage in such activities. However, enforcement can be inconsistent.

Ethical Implications: Even if legal action isn’t taken, spreading false information or engaging in defamation is ethically wrong and can have serious consequences for both the victim and society as a whole. It undermines trust in information sources and can contribute to a culture of misinformation and cynicism.

Disinformation and slander/libel can be deeply damaging, both personally and professionally, and are forms of harassment that are taken seriously both legally and ethically.

Amplifying Disinformation and Slander

Definition:

Amplifying Disinformation: This refers to the act of spreading or sharing deliberately false or misleading information created by someone else. It involves reblogging, retweeting, sharing posts, or forwarding messages that contain disinformation, even if the person amplifying it isn’t the original creator.

Amplifying Slander: This involves spreading spoken false statements about someone that are damaging to their reputation. It often occurs in social interactions, such as sharing gossip or rumors.

Amplifying Libel: This is similar to amplifying slander but involves sharing written or published false information that harms someone’s reputation. It typically occurs on social media, blogs, or other written formats.

As Harassment:

Amplifying Disinformation becomes harassment when it is done with malicious intent or reckless disregard for the truth. By spreading false information, individuals contribute to the harm caused to the victim, including damage to their reputation, emotional distress, and social or professional consequences.

Amplifying Slander/Libel becomes harassment when the person sharing the information knows it is false or harmful but continues to spread it, thereby further damaging the victim’s reputation and standing. Even if the person amplifying the content isn't the original source, they are still participating in and perpetuating the harm.

Examples:

Amplifying Disinformation: After seeing a tweet that deliberately spreads a false narrative about a political figure being involved in a criminal activity, a user retweets it with a comment that suggests they believe it, spreading the disinformation to their followers. The false claim quickly gains traction, causing the political figure significant public backlash.

Amplifying Slander: During a group chat, one person repeats a false rumor they heard about a coworker being unfaithful. Even though the rumor is baseless and was created with malicious intent, it quickly spreads through the workplace, damaging the coworker’s reputation and personal relationships.

Amplifying Libel: A person shares an article on their Facebook page that falsely accuses a local business owner of engaging in fraudulent activities. Although they didn’t write the article, their act of sharing it contributes to the spread of the disinformation, leading to a decline in the business owner’s customer base.

Impact on the Victim:

Increased Harm: The more widely disinformation or slander is shared, the more damage it can cause. As the false information reaches a larger audience, the victim may face increased social ostracization, professional setbacks, or emotional distress.

Difficulty in Correcting the Record: Once disinformation or slander is amplified, it can be challenging for the victim to correct the falsehoods. The spread of false information can take on a life of its own, making it hard for the truth to prevail.

Reputational Damage: The victim may suffer long-term harm to their personal and professional reputation, which can affect their relationships, career, and social standing.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: Amplifying disinformation, slander, or libel can expose the person spreading the false information to legal liability, particularly if they knowingly shared it with the intent to cause harm. In some cases, they may be sued for defamation or held responsible for damages caused by the spread of false information.

Ethical Responsibility: Even if there is no legal liability, those who amplify false information have an ethical responsibility to verify the accuracy of what they share. Spreading disinformation or slander without regard for the truth is unethical and can contribute to a culture of harassment and mistrust.

Platform Policies: Social media platforms often have policies against the spread of disinformation and may take action against users who repeatedly amplify harmful content. This could include warnings, suspensions, or permanent bans.

Amplifying disinformation and slander is a serious issue that can cause significant harm to individuals and communities. Those who engage in this behavior, even if they aren’t the original creators of the content, play a crucial role in perpetuating the damage and may face legal and ethical consequences.

Cyberbullying

Definition:

Cyberbullying involves the use of digital platforms, such as social media, messaging apps, or online forums, to repeatedly target, intimidate, or belittle an individual. It is a form of bullying that occurs online and can include various forms of aggressive behavior.

As Harassment:

Cyberbullying becomes harassment when the behavior is intentional, repeated, and causes significant emotional distress or harm to the victim. It can involve sending threatening or abusive messages, spreading rumors, or using online platforms to isolate or degrade someone.

Examples:

Personal Attacks: A student repeatedly sends mean-spirited and threatening messages to a classmate through a messaging app. These messages include insults, threats of violence, and derogatory comments about the victim’s appearance and personal life.

Public Shaming: A group of people creates a social media page specifically to post embarrassing photos and make derogatory comments about an individual. The posts are shared widely, leading to public humiliation.

Spreading Rumors: An individual creates fake profiles to spread false and harmful rumors about someone, such as accusing them of dishonest or immoral behavior. This false information is shared across multiple platforms, damaging the victim’s reputation.

Impact on the Victim:

Emotional Distress: Victims of cyberbullying may experience feelings of anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem. The constant online attacks can lead to severe emotional distress and a sense of helplessness.

Social Isolation: The victim may withdraw from online and offline social interactions due to fear of further harassment. This isolation can lead to a decline in social support and relationships.

Academic and Professional Impact: For students, cyberbullying can lead to decreased academic performance and school avoidance. For adults, it can affect job performance and professional relationships.

Physical Effects: The stress and anxiety caused by cyberbullying can result in physical symptoms such as headaches, sleep disturbances, and a weakened immune system.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: Many jurisdictions have laws specifically targeting cyberbullying. Legal actions can include restraining orders, criminal charges for harassment or threats, and civil lawsuits for damages. Laws vary by location, so the availability and extent of legal recourse depend on local regulations.

Platform Policies: Social media platforms and online services often have policies against cyberbullying. Users who engage in such behavior may face account suspension, bans, or content removal. Reporting mechanisms are available for victims to report abusive behavior.

Ethical Implications: Cyberbullying is ethically unacceptable as it inflicts unnecessary harm and distress on individuals. It contributes to a toxic online environment and can have severe consequences for victims. Promoting respectful and positive online interactions is crucial for fostering a supportive digital community.

Cyberbullying is a serious issue with far-reaching effects on individuals’ mental health and well-being. Addressing it requires both legal action and ethical responsibility, with efforts focused on prevention, support for victims, and creating a safer online environment.

Doxxing

Definition:

Doxxing (or "doxing") is the act of publicly revealing or publishing private, sensitive, or personal information about an individual without their consent. This information might include details like home addresses, phone numbers, email addresses, and workplace locations. The term "doxx" originates from the word "documents," reflecting the sharing of documents or personal details.

As Harassment:

Doxxing becomes harassment when the intention is to harm, intimidate, or distress the individual whose information is being exposed. It can be used to provoke harassment from others, incite physical threats, or damage the victim's privacy and security.

Examples:

Public Exposure: An individual’s personal details, such as their home address and phone number, are posted on a public forum or social media site after a heated online argument. This leads to unwanted contact and harassment from strangers.

Threatening Behavior: An online user publishes sensitive information about a journalist who has been critical of certain groups. The journalist starts receiving threatening messages and is forced to take security precautions.

Intimidation Tactics: After a disagreement in a gaming community, a player’s real-life address and contact information are shared with the community, leading to in-person threats and harassment.

Impact on the Victim:

Safety and Security Risks: The victim may face threats of physical harm or stalking due to the exposure of their personal information. This can lead to a heightened sense of vulnerability and fear.

Emotional Distress: Victims often experience significant emotional stress, including anxiety, fear, and a sense of invasion of privacy. The knowledge that their personal information is publicly accessible can be deeply unsettling.

Social and Professional Consequences: The victim’s reputation can be damaged, leading to unwanted attention and negative interactions in their personal and professional life. They might experience social ostracism or job-related issues as a result of the doxxing.

Financial Impact: In extreme cases, victims may incur costs related to increased security measures, legal fees, or changes in their contact information.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: Many jurisdictions consider doxxing a criminal offense, particularly if it involves threats, harassment, or incitement to violence. Laws related to privacy, harassment, and cybercrime can be applied to address doxxing. Victims can often seek legal protection or file complaints with law enforcement.

Platform Policies: Social media platforms and online services typically have policies against doxxing. They may take action such as removing the offending content, suspending accounts, or providing support to affected users. However, enforcement can vary.

Ethical Implications: Doxxing is ethically problematic as it involves a deliberate invasion of privacy and can lead to severe consequences for the victim. It violates principles of respect and confidentiality and contributes to a hostile online environment.

Doxxing represents a serious breach of privacy and security, with the potential for significant harm to individuals. Addressing doxxing requires both legal measures and a strong ethical commitment to protecting personal information and respecting others’ privacy.

Stalking

Definition:

Stalking involves persistent and unwanted attention or surveillance of an individual that causes them to feel fear or distress. It can occur through various means, including physical following, digital monitoring, or repeated harassment through communication channels. The intent is often to intimidate or control the victim.

As Harassment:

Stalking becomes harassment when it is done with the intent to cause emotional or psychological harm, invade the victim’s privacy, or exert control over their actions. The behavior is characterized by its repetitive nature and the fear it instills in the victim.

Examples:

Physical Stalking: An individual repeatedly shows up at the victim’s home or workplace, waits for them outside, or follows them in public places despite being asked to stop.

Digital Stalking: A person continually monitors the victim’s online activities, sends frequent and unwanted messages or emails, tracks their location through social media check-ins, and creates fake profiles to gain more access.

Harassing Communication: The stalker sends numerous threatening or intrusive messages, calls, or letters, making the victim feel unsafe and overwhelmed. This can include persistent contact despite clear requests to cease communication.

Impact on the Victim:

Emotional Distress: Victims often experience high levels of anxiety, fear, and paranoia. The constant sense of being watched or followed can lead to severe emotional trauma and mental health issues, such as depression or panic attacks.

Social Isolation: Victims may withdraw from social activities or change their routines to avoid the stalker. They might also feel compelled to move or alter their personal lives significantly to ensure their safety.

Professional Disruption: Stalking can interfere with the victim’s work life, leading to decreased productivity, job dissatisfaction, or even job loss if the stalking occurs at their workplace or affects their professional reputation.

Physical Safety: In severe cases, stalking can lead to physical threats or attacks, putting the victim's safety and well-being at risk. This may necessitate physical security measures or legal protections.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: Many jurisdictions have specific laws against stalking, which can include criminal charges and restraining orders. These laws address both physical and digital stalking behaviors, providing legal avenues for victims to seek protection and hold perpetrators accountable.

Platform Policies: Social media platforms and online services often have policies against stalking and harassment. Victims can report stalking behavior to these platforms, which may take action such as banning the perpetrator or removing harmful content.

Ethical Implications: Stalking is ethically unacceptable as it infringes on an individual’s right to privacy and security. It represents a severe violation of personal boundaries and can cause lasting harm. Ethical behavior involves respecting others' personal space and ensuring that interactions remain consensual and respectful.

Stalking is a grave form of harassment that involves a persistent invasion of privacy and control over the victim’s life. Addressing it requires both legal intervention and ethical commitment to safeguarding individuals' personal safety and well-being.

Hate Speech

Definition:

Hate speech refers to any communication—whether verbal, written, or visual—that disparages or incites violence or hostility against an individual or group based on attributes such as race, religion, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability. It involves expressions that promote hatred or violence towards people based on these characteristics.

As Harassment:

Hate speech becomes harassment when it is used to target individuals or groups with the intent to demean, intimidate, or incite violence against them. It often creates a hostile environment and contributes to systemic discrimination and exclusion. The impact of hate speech can extend beyond the immediate target to affect entire communities.

Examples:

Social Media Posts: A user posts derogatory comments and slurs about a specific racial or religious group, encouraging others to join in and spread similar messages. These posts can lead to a climate of hostility and exclusion for members of the targeted group.

Online Forums: On a discussion board, members share and amplify content that advocates violence against LGBTQ+ individuals, including graphic threats and dehumanizing rhetoric. This can make LGBTQ+ users feel unsafe and unwelcome on the platform.

Hate Groups: Organized hate groups use websites and social media to recruit and spread propaganda that targets specific ethnic or religious groups. Their messages include misinformation, inflammatory statements, and calls for discriminatory actions.

Impact on the Victim:

Emotional Harm: Victims of hate speech often experience emotional and psychological distress, including feelings of fear, anxiety, and depression. They may feel dehumanized or marginalized.

Social Exclusion: Hate speech can lead to social ostracization and reduced participation in community or public activities. Victims may withdraw from online communities or public spaces to avoid hostility.

Physical Safety: In severe cases, hate speech can incite real-world violence or harassment against individuals or groups, leading to physical harm or threats. It can also contribute to a climate of fear and insecurity.

Community Impact: Hate speech can contribute to broader societal divisions and tensions, fostering environments where prejudice and discrimination are normalized.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: The legality of hate speech varies by jurisdiction. Some countries have specific laws that criminalize hate speech, while others protect freedom of speech more broadly, making legal action challenging. In regions with laws against hate speech, victims may have the option to report incidents to law enforcement or seek legal remedies.

Platform Policies: Many social media platforms have policies prohibiting hate speech and may take action by removing content, suspending accounts, or banning users who engage in such behavior. However, enforcement can be inconsistent, and some platforms may struggle to balance moderation with free speech considerations.

Ethical Implications: Hate speech is widely regarded as unethical because it promotes discrimination and intolerance. It undermines the principles of respect and equality, contributing to societal harm. Addressing hate speech requires a commitment to fostering inclusive and respectful communities, both online and offline.

Hate speech is a serious form of harassment with far-reaching effects on individuals and communities. Recognizing its impact and taking action to prevent and address it is crucial for promoting a more respectful and inclusive digital environment.

Trolling

Definition:

Trolling is the act of making deliberately provocative, offensive, or off-topic comments with the intention of eliciting strong emotional responses from others. It often involves disrupting conversations, creating conflicts, or stirring up controversy for amusement or to upset others.

As Harassment:

Trolling becomes harassment when the intent is to target specific individuals or groups with the purpose of causing emotional distress, confusion, or frustration. This involves consistently targeting someone with offensive or inflammatory comments, aiming to disrupt their online experience or provoke a reaction.

Examples:

Social Media Comments: A user repeatedly posts inflammatory or offensive comments on posts related to sensitive topics like mental health or personal identity. Their goal is to provoke arguments, upset the original poster, and attract attention to their own posts.

Forum Disruption: On an online forum focused on a specific hobby or interest, a troll deliberately posts off-topic or derogatory comments to derail discussions, causing frustration and confusion among regular members.

Live Stream Interference: During a live stream, a troll bombards the chat with spam, offensive messages, and provocative statements to distract the streamer and viewers, disrupting the content and conversation.

Impact on the Victim:

Emotional Distress: Victims may experience frustration, anger, and stress as a result of trolling. The constant need to address or ignore disruptive comments can be mentally exhausting.

Disruption of Conversations: Trolling can derail meaningful discussions and create a hostile environment, making it difficult for others to engage in productive or enjoyable conversations.

Reduced Participation: The presence of trolls can lead to decreased participation in online communities, as users may avoid engaging with platforms or topics where they have previously been targeted.

Psychological Impact: Persistent trolling can contribute to anxiety, depression, or feelings of helplessness, particularly if the troll’s comments are deeply personal or offensive.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: The legal response to trolling varies by jurisdiction and the nature of the trolling. While many forms of trolling do not constitute a criminal offense, behaviors that involve threats, harassment, or incitement to violence may be actionable under cybercrime or harassment laws.

Platform Policies: Most social media and online platforms have community guidelines that address trolling. They may take action such as removing offending content, suspending accounts, or banning users who engage in trolling behavior. Enforcement can vary, and some platforms struggle to effectively manage trolling.

Ethical Implications: Trolling is generally considered unethical because it aims to disrupt, harm, or manipulate others for personal amusement. It undermines respectful and constructive communication and can contribute to a negative online culture. Addressing trolling involves fostering a more respectful online environment and encouraging positive interactions.

Trolling is a form of online harassment that can have significant emotional and social impacts on individuals and communities. Recognizing and addressing trolling behavior is important for maintaining healthy and respectful online interactions.

Impersonation

Definition:

Impersonation involves creating or using a fake identity to deceive others into believing that you are someone else. This can include pretending to be a public figure, a private individual, or a professional entity. The goal is often to mislead or manipulate others for various purposes, including personal gain, harassment, or deception.

As Harassment:

Impersonation becomes harassment when it is used to target individuals with the intention of causing harm, spreading false information, or engaging in malicious activities. This might involve creating fake profiles or accounts to misrepresent someone or to exploit their identity for harmful purposes.

Examples:

Social Media Accounts: A user creates a fake social media profile pretending to be a well-known celebrity or public figure, using it to post misleading or harmful content that could damage the real person’s reputation.

Email Scams: An individual sends emails from an address that looks like it belongs to a trusted authority or organization (e.g., a company executive or a government official) to deceive recipients into providing sensitive information or making financial transactions.

Online Fraud: Someone impersonates a person in an online dating profile, using fake photos and personal details to manipulate or exploit other users emotionally or financially.

Impact on the Victim:

Reputation Damage: The victim may suffer from reputational harm if false or misleading information is spread using their identity, leading to confusion, mistrust, or negative perceptions among their audience or associates.

Emotional Distress: Being impersonated can lead to significant emotional distress, including anxiety, embarrassment, and frustration. The victim may feel violated and powerless, particularly if the impersonation is done in a malicious or humiliating way.

Professional Consequences: For public figures, professionals, or businesses, impersonation can lead to professional repercussions, including loss of business opportunities, legal issues, or damage to professional relationships.

Financial Impact: If impersonation involves fraud, the victim may suffer financial losses or be involved in lengthy and costly legal battles to address the situation.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: Many jurisdictions have laws against impersonation, including identity theft, fraud, and misrepresentation. Victims may have legal avenues to pursue, such as filing complaints with law enforcement or taking civil action to seek damages. The specifics of legal recourse vary depending on local laws and the nature of the impersonation.

Platform Policies: Social media and online platforms often have policies against impersonation. They may take actions such as verifying identities, removing fake accounts, or suspending users who engage in impersonation. Effective enforcement of these policies can be challenging, especially given the scale of online interactions.

Ethical Implications: Impersonation is generally considered unethical because it involves deception and manipulation. It undermines trust and can have serious consequences for individuals and organizations. Ethical behavior online includes respecting others' identities and avoiding deceptive practices.

Impersonation can be a serious form of online harassment with far-reaching effects on both individuals and organizations. Addressing and preventing impersonation involves understanding its impacts, pursuing legal remedies when necessary, and fostering ethical online behavior.

Spamming

Definition:

Spamming refers to the repeated, unsolicited sending of messages or content, often with the intent to overwhelm, disrupt communication, or promote something, usually in a commercial context. It can occur through email, social media, messaging platforms, or other digital channels.

As Harassment:

Spamming becomes harassment when it is used to intentionally annoy, intimidate, or overwhelm an individual or organization. This might involve flooding someone's inbox with unwanted messages, bombarding a social media profile with repetitive or abusive comments, or inundating forums with irrelevant or harmful content. The goal is often to disrupt normal communication or to cause distress.

Examples:

Email Spamming: A user receives hundreds of unsolicited promotional emails, some of which contain malicious links or phishing attempts. The volume of spam clutters their inbox and makes it difficult to manage legitimate communications.

Social Media Spamming: An individual’s social media account is flooded with repetitive comments or messages from the same user or group. These comments might be abusive, irrelevant, or aimed at disrupting the user’s ability to engage with others on the platform.

Forum Spamming: A user continuously posts irrelevant or disruptive messages in online forums or discussion boards, often to derail conversations, promote products, or harass other users.

Impact on the Victim:

Overwhelm and Stress: The victim may feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of messages or content, leading to stress and frustration. Managing or filtering through spam can be time-consuming and mentally taxing.

Disruption of Communication: Spam can disrupt normal communication, making it difficult for the victim to focus on important messages or tasks. It can also crowd out legitimate content or conversations, reducing the effectiveness of communication platforms.

Privacy and Security Risks: Some spam messages may contain malicious links or attachments that can compromise the victim’s privacy or security, leading to potential data breaches or identity theft.

Financial Impact: For businesses, spamming can lead to loss of productivity, increased costs related to managing or mitigating spam, and potential damage to their reputation if customers are affected.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: Many jurisdictions have laws against spamming, especially when it involves malicious intent or financial fraud. For instance, the CAN-SPAM Act in the U.S. regulates commercial email and provides guidelines for managing spam. Victims of spam may also seek legal remedies for damages or file complaints with relevant authorities.

Platform Policies: Most digital platforms and services have policies against spamming. Violations can result in penalties such as account suspension, banning, or removal of the offending content.

Ethical Implications: Spamming is considered unethical as it disregards the recipient’s consent and aims to exploit or harass individuals. It disrupts normal communication practices and can contribute to a negative online experience for users.

Spamming, when used maliciously, can have significant negative impacts on individuals and organizations, and is addressed by legal frameworks and platform policies to protect users and maintain the integrity of digital communication.

Making Threats

Definition:

Threats to Harm Others: These are statements or actions that express an intention to cause physical harm or violence to another person. These threats can be explicit (directly stating the intention to harm) or implicit (suggesting harm or intimidation).

Threats to Harm Oneself: These are statements or actions that express a desire or intention to self-harm or commit suicide. Such threats may be made in distressing contexts and can indicate serious emotional or psychological issues.

As Harassment:

Threats to Harm Others: When threats are made to harm others, they can be a form of harassment if the intent is to intimidate, control, or manipulate the target. This can involve direct threats or veiled warnings intended to cause fear or distress. The impact can be significant, causing emotional and psychological trauma, and creating a sense of insecurity or danger for the victim.

Threats to Harm Oneself: Threats of self-harm can also be a form of harassment if they are used manipulatively or to provoke a response from others. In some cases, individuals may use threats of self-harm to exert control or to gain attention, which can create distress and concern among those who are aware of the threats.

Examples:

Threats to Harm Others:

Direct Threat: A user posts a message on social media stating, "I will come to your house and hurt you if you don’t stop talking about me." This explicit threat aims to intimidate the recipient.

Implicit Threat: An individual leaves a comment on a public forum suggesting, "People like you should be careful about what they say," followed by a vague reference to "consequences." This implies potential harm without explicit details.

Threats to Harm Oneself:

Direct Threat: A user posts on a social media platform saying, "I’m going to end my life tonight. I don’t see any way out." This expresses a clear intention to self-harm.

Implicit Threat: An individual frequently posts messages or updates about feeling hopeless and discusses self-destructive thoughts without explicitly stating their intent to self-harm, but hinting at severe distress.

Impact on the Victim:

Emotional and Psychological Trauma: For threats to harm others, victims may experience fear, anxiety, and a sense of vulnerability. The threat of violence can lead to psychological stress and trauma.

Behavioral Changes: Victims of threats may change their behavior to avoid potential harm, such as avoiding certain places or people, or taking additional precautions for their safety.

Distress and Concern: For threats of self-harm, friends, family, and others may experience significant emotional distress and concern, feeling helpless or anxious about the individual’s well-being.

Intervention and Support: Threats of self-harm often prompt intervention from mental health professionals or emergency services, which can be disruptive and may lead to involuntary treatment or hospitalization for the individual making the threats.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse:

Threats to Harm Others: Making threats of violence can be illegal in many jurisdictions. Victims can report these threats to law enforcement, who may investigate and take legal action if necessary. Criminal charges can be brought against individuals making credible threats of harm.

Threats to Harm Oneself: While threats of self-harm are not typically illegal, they often prompt intervention by mental health professionals and emergency services to ensure the individual’s safety. In some cases, these threats may lead to involuntary hospitalization or treatment if the person is deemed a danger to themselves.

Platform Policies: Many online platforms have policies against threats of violence and self-harm. Content that violates these policies may be removed, and users making such threats may be banned or suspended. Platforms often have mechanisms for reporting and addressing these issues.

Ethical Implications: Both types of threats raise serious ethical concerns. Making threats to harm others is fundamentally unethical and can have legal consequences. Threats of self-harm require sensitive handling, as they indicate significant distress and necessitate a compassionate response to address the underlying issues and provide appropriate support.

Threats, whether directed towards others or oneself, are serious and can have profound impacts on all involved. They are addressed through legal channels, platform policies, and ethical guidelines to protect individuals and provide necessary support.

Sexual Harassment

Definition:

Sexual Harassment: This is unwanted and unwelcome behavior of a sexual nature that creates a hostile or intimidating environment. It can occur in various forms, including physical, verbal, or non-verbal conduct. Sexual harassment is often characterized by a power imbalance and can occur in both professional and personal contexts.

As Harassment:

Sexual Harassment becomes harassment when it involves making someone feel uncomfortable, threatened, or demeaned through sexual advances, comments, or behavior. This includes behavior that interferes with the victim’s ability to participate in work or social environments and can create an atmosphere of intimidation or hostility.

Examples:

Verbal Harassment: Making inappropriate or suggestive comments, jokes, or propositions about someone's body or sexual activities. For instance, repeatedly commenting on a colleague’s appearance or making unwelcome advances.

Physical Harassment: Unwanted physical contact, such as touching, groping, or brushing up against someone in a manner that makes them uncomfortable. This can also include gestures or displays of sexually explicit material.

Non-Verbal Harassment: Sending sexually suggestive messages, images, or using body language that implies sexual interest or intent. This includes persistent staring or creating an atmosphere with sexually explicit material.

Online Harassment: Sending unsolicited explicit messages or images through social media, email, or messaging platforms. This can also involve tagging someone in inappropriate content or making unwanted advances through digital communication.

Impact on the Victim:

Emotional Distress: Victims may experience a range of emotional responses, including anxiety, depression, and fear. The harassment can lead to a diminished sense of safety and self-worth.

Professional Consequences: In a workplace setting, sexual harassment can affect job performance, career progression, and workplace relationships. Victims may face challenges in their professional environment, such as being passed over for promotions or experiencing isolation from colleagues.

Social and Personal Impact: Harassment can lead to a loss of confidence, social withdrawal, and strained personal relationships. Victims might avoid certain places or situations to escape harassment or its reminders.

Physical Health: The stress and emotional impact of harassment can manifest physically, leading to issues such as sleep disturbances, headaches, or other stress-related health problems.

Legal and Ethical Considerations:

Legal Recourse: Many jurisdictions have laws and regulations against sexual harassment. Victims may have legal avenues to pursue claims, such as filing complaints with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) in the U.S. or similar bodies in other countries. Legal action can result in compensation for damages, changes in workplace policies, or other remedies.

Platform Policies: Online platforms and workplaces typically have policies prohibiting sexual harassment. Violations can lead to account suspension, removal of content, or disciplinary actions against offenders. Reporting mechanisms are often available to address harassment claims.

Ethical Implications: Sexual harassment is a severe violation of ethical standards and personal boundaries. It undermines the dignity and rights of individuals and perpetuates a culture of inequality and fear. Ethical responses involve creating safe and respectful environments, actively addressing and preventing harassment, and supporting victims.

Sexual harassment is a serious issue with significant legal, ethical, and personal implications. Addressing it effectively requires a combination of legal action, supportive policies, and a commitment to creating respectful and safe environments for all individuals.

Understanding and addressing online harassment is crucial for fostering a safer and more respectful digital environment. From the deliberate spread of disinformation and defamation to the invasive impact of spamming and threats, each form of harassment has its own set of consequences that can deeply affect individuals and communities. Sexual harassment, in particular, represents a severe violation of personal dignity and can lead to significant emotional and professional harm.

By recognizing the different manifestations of harassment, from slander and libel to online threats and unwanted sexual advances, we can better equip ourselves to combat these issues effectively. Legal frameworks, platform policies, and ethical practices all play essential roles in addressing and mitigating harassment.

It is our collective responsibility to create and maintain environments—both online and offline—where individuals feel safe, respected, and heard. By staying informed, supporting victims, and holding perpetrators accountable, we can contribute to a more just and compassionate society. Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect, and it is up to all of us to uphold these values in every interaction.

115 notes · View notes